In the past few hours, I’ve listened through four of my cassettes, changed into three different outfits, and ignored two heated arguments (Dad unpacked all the kitchen boxes; Mom can’t find anything) all to prep for one party. But it’s an important one. It’s our welcome party.
However, I can’t find an outfit to save my life, because Leon texted “excited to see you tonight :)” and my body melted into a puddle on the floor, and now I can’t even button up a shirt right because my entire body is tingly.
I tear through my closet, knowing nothing I own will impress him.
I pull out my phone, without much thinking, and dial Deb. If anyone can calm me down, it’ll be her.
“Astrokid, what’s happening?”
I scoff, and consider hanging up on her to prove a point, but I say, “Shut it. I need your help. Wait, maybe this will work. Or does it look like I’m trying too hard?”
“Do you want me to stay on the line or …?”
“Yes, hold on, sorry.”
The outfit I’ve settled on is simple. Well, it’s one of those that isn’t really simple, but looks effortless. Black jeans over worn boots. A light jean jacket over a tan-and-gray-plaid shirt, over a black tee. Each time I look in the full-length mirror, I feel self-doubt gnaw at me in a way I don’t usually experience. Is this right? Is this too Brooklyn? I already ditched the John Mayer hat and infinity scarf—because let’s be honest, Clear Lake ain’t ready for that.
“Sure, okay, whatever, let me drop everything,” she says.
“What could you possibly be doing right now?”
The silence on the other end is palpable, and I realize I’m being pretty rude. I’ve always thought of Deb as mine, as in, you never had to make plans with her because she was always free (and vice versa).
“Okay, I’m being rude but I’m also freaked. We have our first party tonight. Like, with all the astronauts. StarWatch will be there.”
“Have they said anything about the cease and desist?” she asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “But I know they will soon. My videos have been getting a lot of traction lately.”
“Yeah, I’ve already seen you on the news twice since you moved. This has been an eventful week.”
“Exactly. Plus, I’m doubly freaking out because Leon Tucker said I was cute, and I also think he is cute, and it’s not like I can run to my parents and talk about this because, as you can probably hear, they are always shouting about something.”
“If you really wanted me just to say everything’s going to be fine and you’ll be great, we could have done this over text.”
Her voice is bitter, and it reminds me of the few times we passed each other in the stairwell or saw each other in school after I broke up with her. But just as our relationship was inevitable—she was the literal girl next door, with the wit and charm to make anyone want to be around her—so too was the rebirth of our friendship.
Our dating relationship was easy, until it wasn’t, for me at least. But our friendship always seemed to transcend our petty fights or obnoxious habits.
“I’m … sorry?” I say.
A sigh from the other end. “Fine, sorry. Guess it was my turn to be an ass. I just have a feeling this is going to be one of those catch-up sessions where you talk the whole time and then say ‘I gotta go’ and dash when I have things to tell you too.”
“That’s not true,” I say before glancing at the clock. “Shit, well …”
“You actually do have to go, don’t you?”
“The party started five minutes ago. I just don’t know how fashionably late we’re going to be.” I clear my throat. “I’ll call you later, okay? Maybe not tonight, but soon.”
“Fine, fine.” A beat. “And Cal?”
“Yeah?”
“Everything’s going to be fine and you’ll be great. You can text me a picture of your outfit if you want me to approve it, which I will, immediately. Just call me later, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.” I take a long breath and let it hiss out of my teeth.
“Love you,” she says.
“I know.”
We drive up to the party at eight fifteen, though if the party is as champagne-fueled as I’ve been led to believe, we will be walking back.
I pause inside the doorway, and my eyes widen at the sight. The walls are all wood with teal and gold details. The glassware is out, dozens of champagne glasses—bright, sparkling ones like the expensive crystal flutes my parents bring out every year on their anniversary. Copper serving trays are being passed around, with deviled eggs and other more questionable meat appetizers.
To the side, taking up an entire kitchen island, are the bottles of champagne sitting in a copper tub full of ice. Leon and Kat were right: no one would notice a bottle—or ten—missing from this supply.
Everyone’s dressed up in their own interpretation of the term. From air force uniforms to sleek dresses, to bow ties and blazers over jeans. Glasses clink; the scent of vanilla candles fills the space between the tightly packed bodies.
I navigate around the pockets of chatting astronauts, their families, and media types. I can’t discern the music that plays, but the strumming of a rhythmic guitar floods the room. It’s coming from all around—the record player’s hooked up to a surround sound speaker system. It’s a heavy-handed metaphor for the whole night, but it works.
When I turn back, my dad comes through the door and freezes. “This is just like … oh my god.”
Tears start forming in his eyes, but he rubs his eyes quickly to shrug it off. We’re all dazzled, but thankfully everyone’s huddled in the kitchen, and they haven’t really paid attention to us.
“You remember those Life magazines I’ve showed you?” Dad asks. “With the astronaut parties with the families? This is it. It’s real.” He clears his throat as a tear rolls down his cheek. Mom puts a hand on his back.
I’m feeling something here. Some bizarre nostalgia for an era that came half a century before my existence.
It’s all beautiful. And overwhelming.
Until I hear the whisper-yelled commands of someone to my right. “Closer,” the voice says. “Did you get the tear?”
In the corner of the room, Kiara’s got her sights set on me and my dad, while Josh Farrow—“the face of Shooting Stars”—stands next to her with a clipboard, directing her every move.
Dad doesn’t notice, but just being in the same room as StarWatch makes me uncomfortable, so I slip away as Mom introduces herself to the families who were lucky enough to get out of gardening duty. As I reach the kitchen, Kat runs up and gives me a big hug. I did not think we were hugging friends. Or, maybe hugs are just a Texas thing.
She pulls out a Tupperware stocked with deviled eggs and starts placing them on the tray.
“I made these, so you better like ’em.”
“Why are they … green?”
She laughs. “Fair question. I add avocado to them. It’s my secret ingredient, though I guess when it completely changes the color it’s not so secret.”
“No, not exactly.”
I take one anyway, thankful there’s at least one meatless thing I can eat here. I scan the crowd, and my chest aches as I look for Leon. This isn’t a totally new feeling for me. There were sparks with Deb once. And something with Jeremy too.
But something about this feels different. Deb was my best friend, and we just fell into a comfortable relationship. Jeremy was new and exciting, and he was there as I took a self-guided tour of my own queerness—something I may never fully find the right label for.
But with Leon, the burning in my chest has never been so perfectly bright. So clear. It’s like when I spend hours picking background colors for the teaser images before my shows—when I hit that perfect shade of bluish-green, and I could never describe why it’s perfect, but it just is.
With my crush on Leon, it so clearly is right.
Every time I close my eyes and let my mind drift for too long, I see his face giving that side-eye smirk with those perfect teeth. Those teeth that rarely see the camera—back at the swings, it felt like he’d stocked up all his smiles for me, for that moment.
And something else—no, not his ridiculously sculpted gymnastics muscles—draws me to him. It’s the hesitant quality that the camera does get to see. The side I saw in the gardens. Everyone else here is so sure of themselves, so overconfident. But he’s different. Real.
I’m jerked out of my daydreaming by a palm on my back. I turn to see a woman in a dark blue blazer, and I’m caught off guard by her intense body language. She’s too close for comfort, and now her hand’s outstretched, and I wonder if my face reflects my shock.
“Donna Szleifer,” the woman says. “I’m NASA’s deputy social media manager, and this is Todd Collins, who directs our public affairs team.”
She pulls another suit next to her, and the man in it smiles briefly.
“Hi,” I say. Because I have no other words to say to these people right now. Because I should not be the one interacting with NASA staff. “I’m Cal.”
“We were surprised to see that you broke the news,” Todd says.
“But we shared your clip right away on Twitter and Facebook,” Donna says, “and tied it in with our press releases, and it’s gotten a lot of attention, which is great. Just great.”
I reach behind my head and rub my neck, just to give my hands something to do. My cheeks grow warm, and my shoulders form into a shrug.
“Yeah, look, I’m sorry abo—”
“Calvin Lewis,” Dad cuts in, and appears beside me, and I sigh as I’m saved from a potentially awkward conversation.
“Rebecca Lewis. But you can call me Becca,” my mother says and offers her hand. Her shyness is in full force, and she clutches her purse to her body as if someone here was going to snatch it from her. But she’s taking the lead in introducing herself. She’s putting herself out there. She’s really trying. Either that or she’s stocking up on stories to tell her therapist.
Out the corner of my eye, I see Kat by the back door. It’s a sliding glass door that’s propped open, though no lights or anything seem to be on. She nods toward the door and widens her eyes to give me the hint.
I slip out of the conversation, remembering the promise of champagne and time with Leon and Kat. Thankfully, it’s not too hard to go unnoticed.
But then I feel a presence behind me, a mammoth one, and it sends chills all over my body. The kind of chills that spike at your neck and raise hairs you didn’t even know you had, then rush down your back in shuddered pulses.
Craning my neck, I recognize the star of the astronauts’ volunteer day: Mark Bannon. Up close, it becomes even clearer that he is the tallest astronaut of all time.
That’s not an exaggeration. It’s his claim to fame. He’s six foot five, the exact tallest an air force fighter pilot can be, way taller than astronauts used to be allowed to be. But the Orpheus capsules are bigger, and he has the room to exist there.
His smile is huge, unmoving, like his face is made of stone. Actually, his whole body might be made of stone. I have a feeling that if I were to punch him in the gut, I’d be the one hurting.
“Mark Bannon,” I say, as if he doesn’t know his own name. “Um, Mr. Bannon. I mean, Mr. Mark Bannon. I enjoyed your speech at the park.”
“Just Mark is fine,” he says with a heavy laugh. “Thank you, thank you. You Calvin’s boy? I suspect we’ll all be getting to know each other quite well.”
“I guess so. Maybe you’ll get to fly with my dad someday.”
Mark laughs. “That’s not likely.”
“What do you—”
He holds up a hand. I obey his rock-palm and stop speaking. So much for my meaningless small talk.
“You know how long I’ve been here, right?” he asks somewhat condescendingly, as if I’m supposed to do anything but agree with him.
I do. He was one of the first.
“But there are six spots.”
“The role your dad would play in a mission—it’d mostly revolve around maneuvering the ship. Your dad’s a pilot, just like me and Mrs. Tucker. Only one of us will be picked for the mission. The other two will be alternates, so we’ll all be working the same drills, day in and day out.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice,” I say. “Look, it was great meeting you, but I have to go find someone.”
He lets me go after a firm (almost painful) handshake. Once I finally get outside, the music and the noise of the party all die down and I’m able to breathe, even despite the humidity.
The moon’s glow lights the backyard, enough for me to see that there’s no one back here. I walk around the yard, taking in the brief respite, wondering when Kat and Leon will join me, when I hear a noise.
“Cal!” someone says. I turn to find there’s a pathway to the side of the house that I hadn’t noticed before. Their yard is fenced in, which leaves a little nook for a few chairs, a bottle of champagne, and a small shed.
I walk quickly over, nearly breaking into a run, and stop to smile when I see Leon. He smiles back and gestures to the seat next to him.
“Good to see you,” I say. “Everyone else is fucking weird here.”
“You’re including Kat in that?”
“Your sister put avocado in the deviled eggs. She can’t be trusted.”
He laughs at that. A soft laugh—more strained than light. The moon illuminates his features, and my brows furrow to match his.
“Hey, you okay?”
He makes eye contact with me, briefly. “Oh, hmm. Yeah. Sorry, I guess I just get antisocial at these things.”
His sullen expression floods into my body, and I consider asking about it, but something stops me and tells me we’re not there yet.
I don’t know where we are, but I like the journey so far.
I take the unattended, opened champagne bottle on the ground and bring it to my lips. The tart, fizzy liquid burns my throat as I swallow it down. The taste isn’t great, but I could get used to it.
“I like this little hidden area,” I say, which makes him laugh. “No, I’m serious! This was the size of my bedroom in Brooklyn. It’s comforting.”
He looks dramatically from left to right. “This was your room?”
“Well, it had a ceiling, but yes.”
We pass the bottle, and the flavor gets better. The burning is less noticeable at least.
“So, Houston,” I say. “Anything fun to do downtown? Shows or anything?”
“We don’t get a ton of bands that play here. We’ll get stadium tours sometimes, but those are a little more mainstream—Elton John, Nicki Minaj, Justin Timberlake. People like that.” He smirks. “It’s probably not your scene.”
“Excuse me? You think I don’t like mainstream music?” I don’t bring up my cassette collection.
He shrugs. “You’ve got the Brooklyn hipster vibe, what can I say? You’re telling me you don’t go to indie shows?”
“Well, I never said that. Back home Deb and I saw a ton of indie shows. But the reasons for that are twofold: First, it’s Brooklyn, so indie shows are everywhere. Second, those tickets are cheap. It’s not like either of us could afford to see shows at Madison Square Garden.”
I take a swig from the bottle as he starts laughing again.
“You think you know me so well,” I say, wiping the foam from my lips. “But let me guess—you haven’t been to a concert since you came here. Oh, wait, I know your type. You listen to the radio, because you like a lot of different music, but you don’t really stan for anyone.”
“Wow, almost none of that was correct.” He pats my back condescendingly. “Really good try, though.”
“Fine, who do you stan for?”
“Dear god. I will tell you if you stop saying the word ‘stan.’ ” He keeps my gaze, and the reflection of the porch light makes his eyes shine. “I don’t have a favorite, but I literally couldn’t go to the gym for practice without my K-pop playlist.”
I hesitate, and he must see the confusion in my face, because he follows it up quickly, tension straining his voice.
“I mean, I like mainstream music like SZA and Khalid and whatever Calvin Harris song is currently at the top of the Billboard charts too.”
“No, K-pop is cool, I just never pictured you a fan of it. I haven’t listened much, but I’ve watched a few music videos before. They are super entertaining.”
He thaws a bit, and as I pass the champagne to him, I scoot a little closer. Almost imperceptible, but from this angle, our knees softly brush against each other. He doesn’t pull away, and the heat from his touch makes me melt.
“The music’s great, and there are so many artists I love in the genre, but there’s just something about how every song is high tempo and exciting—K-pop knows how to hit hard. It kind of makes me feel invincible. And I don’t get hung up on lyrics since, well, I don’t know what they’re saying.”
“Makes sense to me.” I offer him a genuine smile, and he returns it.
My smile widens, and a laugh comes out.
“What was that for?”
“Just, you and I are different in so many ways, but …” I drift off, formulating my thought. “We’re kind of playing the same role. We have this massive public presence, but we’ve got this whole life that the public doesn’t see. I can’t believe you’re that stoic, almost regal cutie from the Time magazine cover.”
He sighs, and a distant look takes over his expression.
There are a dozen more questions I planned on asking him, about the astronaut families, about his mom, about Clear Lake. But there’s one that, maybe it’s seeing him with his guard down like this, that I need to ask.
“Can I … be real with you for a second?” I hiss a long sigh through my teeth. “How do you all stay acting so perfect?”
I see the skepticism behind his eyes, so I pull back.
“Why do you ask?” he says. “This isn’t, like, for your show or anything, is it?”
I avoid eye contact and feel the blood rush to my head. “No, no. Of course not. I just … my family is … I don’t know, it was an idiotic question, sorry.”
He puts a hand on my knee, and I breathe in so fast it’s almost a gasp. It’s unfair that there are enough nerve endings stored in my knee to make a simple act like that leave me breathless.
Our eyes meet, and suddenly I’m the insecure one.
“My dad isn’t like yours,” I say. “My mom isn’t like yours. I’m not like you. We can’t carry ourselves like you do. We aren’t built to deal with this, no matter how much Dad thinks we are.”
“Cal, we’re not perfect. We’re far from it.”
“Come on, you are literally America’s family right now. You were on the cover of Time—all of you.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t treat me like that, please. I see it in your eyes right now, this awe of my perfect life. It’s not perfect. We can pretend, I guess. I can pretend better than I thought, actually. Well, maybe not—near the end of that Time photoshoot the photographer made us all do a serious pose because he said my smile didn’t look ‘right’ in the other shots. I can fake a confident, serious pose, but I can’t fake happiness.”
We’re close, but I want to lean in even closer. His melancholy buries itself into me, and I want to stop it. I focus on his face in the moonlight, and it’s then I realize I want to kiss him. I want to fix his insecurities and make it better, even if the happiness and rightness lasts only a couple of seconds. Or a few minutes. I bite my lips, subconsciously, and his gaze drops to them.
But it’s too fast. Or is it? He can’t deny this connection, the one I know buzzes through both of us. The fire’s not strong, but something’s there, smoldering.
I lean forward, just slightly.
And he stops me.
He puts a hand to my chest, and his eyes soften to almost a look of pity. My chest aches with awkwardness, and I want nothing more than to jump over this fence and never look back and—
“I think you’re cute,” he says. “I know we just met, but there’s something about you I really like. But I need to make sure you understand something first.”
I clear my throat and look past his ear. Anywhere that’s not his perfect eyes. “Oh, um. What’s that?”
“If you want to kiss me, kiss me because you like me. Not because you think it’ll make me happy.”
“But I—”
“You can’t just kiss away all the bad feelings I have. You can’t kiss me and make me better. I think you know that, but … I have to say it.”
There’s a part of me that wants to deny it. To say that I really just thought he was cute and super kissable and wanted to go for it—not that all those things aren’t true, but that’s not what made me lean in. I wanted to help. I wanted to kiss him and see him smile again.
He doesn’t deserve that, which is why I say, “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“Thought so.” He sighs. “You had that ‘poor puppy’ look. It was cute, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t like being the one who makes you look like that. Like you think I’m some broken baby bird or something.”
It’s silent for a bit. I wait for the awkwardness to set in, but as we pass the bottle back and forth, I feel myself worrying less about the silence and enjoying his company more. It’s a bit cooler out, and a nice breeze cuts through the humidity.
“Sorry if I made things weird,” he says. “I’m not usually so upfront about my, um, depression.” His voice dips, low and soft, like it’s a foreign word he knows he’s pronouncing incorrectly. “It’s something I’ve been trying lately. I’m not always my strongest advocate, you know?”
I nod. “For the record. I do want to kiss you, at some point. And not just to make you happy.”
He smiles at that, and the tension in my shoulders melts away.
“Someday,” he offers.
“Yeah, someday.”
I want to tell him I’m here, that he can talk to me if he needs to. Or I can sit here, inches from him, listening to him breathe. In, and out. I want him to know how remarkable it is that, of the billions of people in the world, I am the one who’s sitting next to him, under stars and the champagne’s haze. I want him to know the improbability of two people meeting like this. That it’s astounding, no matter how inconsequential it is. Sure, strangers meet all the time. It’s the universe’s way to say we don’t matter. None of this matters.
Our eyes meet. And it’s clear that, sometimes, the universe is just wrong.
I almost lean into him again, but I hear someone open the sliding glass door. It’s Kat, and she’s around the corner in a flash, taking up the third chair with a sigh.
“You guys are missing a hell of a party. They’re all sucking down the champagne. Cal’s dad and Stephanie Jonasson—” she turns to me and adds, “the one who brings her yappy dog to parties—are currently battling for control of the record player.”
“Good.” Leon laughs. “I hope they break it.”
Kat turns to me. “So this record player came with the house, because everything has to be sixties and seventies themed, I guess, and Mom kept bringing home these records after work. She would bring like ten home a week. One day she comes in with a big stack, and Dad is like, ‘Hey, what’s going on? Are you raiding a record store on your lunch break?’ First, she laughs because she doesn’t get much of a lunch break, being an astronaut and all, and then she says, ‘They just keep giving them to me. I can’t say no.’ ”
“You mean NASA is buying your mom records?” I ask.
“Dozens of them,” Leon explains. “They know Mom and Dad throw most of the parties here, and I think they think it sets the tone, or whatever. During one Shooting Stars episode they asked what Mom’s favorite record was. She got so flustered, it was great. I guess I get the retro appeal, but I don’t know why NASA won’t let them stream like normal people.”
“Ha, right.” My voice cracks.
“It’s total nonsense,” Kat says, then gasps. “Oh! Sorry, your cassette thing is totally different.”
I look down, and heat flushes my face.
“What?” Leon asks. “What did I say?”
“I—it’s embarrassing.” I never thought it was embarrassing before, until I heard those words come out of his mouth. “I have a tape deck. A cassette player, I mean. I get a lot of old cassettes, and whatever new ones come out. I’ve got a big collection now. The sound’s smoother, I guess.”
“We didn’t mean to make fun of you.” Kat laughs. “Well, we didn’t then. Now, I kind of do. How old is that cassette player I see in all your vids? Can I remind you that you were not alive in the eighties or nineties, and even if you were, you’d have no right collecting them?”
“Ohhhhh,” Leon says. “It’s a Brooklyn hipster thing, isn’t it? So, I think that means I was right.”
I laugh at that, and I slap at him to get him off my back.
“What are you two talking about?” Kat asks.
I roll my eyes as Leon launches into an explanation of our earlier conversation.
“Oh, you told him about the K-pop—that’s usually info you drop during the second date.”
Turning to her, I narrow my eyes.
“Uhhh,” Leon says. “We’d need a first date for that to happen.”
“Look, I’m just saying I ran interference for thirty whole minutes so you two could have some alone time. Champagne, the moon, the stars—all looks like first date material to me.”
The way my heart is beating … this isn’t a date, it’s on a totally separate plane. Do you need a first date when you can hide from gardening duty together under a tree, or get to know each other under a perfect night sky?
“Dating is overrated,” I say. “I like whatever we’re doing.”
Kat squeals, which makes Leon groan. After a few more minutes, we’re able to polish off the rest of the bottle.
“Oh, guess what? Cal’s mom said she’d start giving me some coding lessons,” Kat says while chucking the bottle in the recycling bin. “She’s awesome.”
I laugh, knowing my mom would die with joy if she knew a teen honestly thought she was awesome.
“That’s great,” Leon says. “But we should really get inside before they actually notice our disappearance.”
As we go in, I slip my hand in his and squeeze.
Leon and I keep tabs on each other, even when we’re in separate areas of the party, talking with various astronauts and their families. It’s a comfort that lasts me through the rest of the night.
Since Mom went home early, I’m waiting for Dad to come out front so we can go home. The faint scent of tobacco drifts my way, and my eyes follow the smoke trail. Parked on the street, in front of the house, is the white van I recognize as the one StarWatch uses. Leaning against the car, alone, is the producer from the garden.
“Hey. Kiara, right?” I say.
“Good memory.” Her cool demeanor clearly hasn’t changed. “How was your night, kid? Sounds like you and the Tucker kids were able to, uh, have some fun. Might want something to cover that champagne breath—here, hold on a sec.”
She pulls me to the door of the van, hands me a piece of gum. After it’s in my mouth, she says, “Close your eyes,” and spritzes my face and neck with a soft vanilla-scented spray.
“This will last you until you get home.” She smirks at my disbelief. “Not my first rodeo, kid.”
“Thanks. How … did you know?”
“You’re not the only reporter here, Cal.” She gestures to herself. “And I heard you all chatting around back during my second smoke break out here, just before someone chucked a large glass bottle into the recycling. I made some educated guesses.”
I laugh—if I wasn’t a little buzzed, I might be more worried. But if she wanted to expose us, she wouldn’t have told me. So I have to trust that there might be a modicum of dignity with Shooting Stars.
“Mind if I ask you something about StarWatch?” I say.
“Go for it.”
“Do you … hate your job? I noticed you at the party, and your expressions only ranged from unenthused to enraged.”
She shakes her head. “It’s complicated. I think some of this is cool, but it’s hard. We coasted for a few episodes on these parties just being fun and opulent and … champagne-fueled. But Josh has been breathing down my back lately to find a new story or get some drama. And let me tell you, these people are on their best behavior when a camera is on them. We got some really good gossip early into the party, but Josh wants to save it for later.”
“Isn’t going to Mars dramatic enough?” I ask. “Maybe I’m naive, but there are so many people working on this project—especially outside of the twenty astronauts—that you could focus on.”
She shakes her head. “I just do what they tell me. That’s why I’m an assistant producer.”
The Tuckers’ front door swings open. Behind my dad stand Leon and his mom. Leon gives me a wave, and I return it weakly. My cheeks flush with heat. I break away from the van to go see my dad.
I turn back to Kiara. “Thanks for the … you know. Hope you find your story.”
“I think I have.” She smirks, and she slowly pans from me to Leon and back. “But we’ll see how it plays out.”
“Want to drive back?” Dad asks, confirming that he one-hundred-percent does not smell the champagne on my breath or see the blurriness that covers my eyes—I whisper a silent thanks to Kiara.
I shrug, then look up into the sky. The streetlights are dim, so it feels like you can see all the stars out here. Thousands upon thousands more than Brooklyn, that’s for sure. Dad follows my gaze upward, to the sky, and releases a heavy sigh.
“Let’s walk back,” I say. “We can pick up the car later this weekend. Maybe you can remind me what all these constellations are, since I haven’t seen them in a while.”
He puts an arm around my shoulder, and I smell his champagne breath. I know he’s not that drunk—to be honest, I’ve never seen Dad super drunk. But he’s feeling good, and so am I. Which reminds me to breathe downward, since I don’t think he’d be too keen on me secretly drinking during my first week in Clear Lake, and a stick of gum can only do so much.
“Well, let’s start easy. See those stars that look like a pan?”
“I know the Big Dipper, Dad,” I say, laughing.
“What about that one? The five stars that look like a W?”
“Casio … something, right?”
He makes an affirmative grunt. “That’s Cassiopeia, and there are a lot more stars than five in it. Can’t really see most of them now, though. And if you look at that pentagon-looking one near it, that’s her husband, Cepheus.”
“Does Orpheus have a constellation?” I ask.
“Sort of.” He looks down at me and smiles. “The constellation Lyra is around here. It’s tiny, though, so I won’t be able to spot it. It represents the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.”
“And that is …?”
“The brief version? Eurydice dies; Orpheus takes his magical lyre and travels to Hades to save her. He plays his lyre for Hades, who promises to return Eurydice under one condition: she would follow, but if he turned to look at her, she’d be gone forever.”
“How’d that turn out?” I ask.
“Not well.” He shakes his head. “But it gave us a good name for the project. Orpheus, son of Apollo. A story about trust, and moving forward. It’s clever, I think.”
We continue walking as Dad points out all the constellations he knows. He even acknowledges his star-mapping skills are rusty. But it’s nice to have this moment.
“The astronauts are all really welcoming,” he says. “The NASA administrators were too. They kept asking questions about you, since they saw your update. Josh Farrow, though, whoo boy, he was so salty.”
“Look, I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t think—”
“Don’t be. NASA loved it. They want this stuff to go viral any way it can, especially to kids your age. They want you to keep doing it, since it’s better than us olds forcing it on them.”
My cheeks flush, and not because of the champagne this time. “Really? I don’t even know if I want to cover all this. That’s your thing; it seems … weird. Also, don’t say ‘olds’ ever, please.”
I’m expecting a weight to be lifted off my chest—I didn’t get us all in trouble—but it’s like the weight got swapped with an even larger one. NASA wants me to cover the missions, even though StarWatch is furious about it?
Anxious energy rattles around in my chest. On one hand, I don’t give a shit about that trashy network or any of its shows, so making them angry kind of sounds fun. But on the other hand, having my content controlled by NASA?
“Donna said you could tour the facilities anytime you want. See the shuttles. Maybe I can take you to work with me one day. Oh, here.”
I feel the pressure start to compound when he hands me her business card. When I moved here, I thought I’d only have to manage a new school, keep my head down for a year, and find a way to get back to New York to live with Deb. Within one week, I’ve got a new crush to deal with (and whatever baggage he’s hiding), a pissed-off best friend (and whatever baggage she’s hiding), and now the pressure from NASA along with the wrath of StarWatch (and whatever baggage they’re collectively hiding).
I don’t want my content controlled by anyone, but a part of me wants to help them. To really shove it in StarWatch’s face. This is the most newsworthy thing going on in America right now, and I have a front-row seat. Now that my BuzzFeed internship imploded, and I have no plan, I feel the need to do something that gives me back the control I had over my life.
Having this card in my hand feels like an opportunity. One I won’t be wasting.