Chapter 19

JACK

Who decides to meet at the beach on a Friday night at rush hour?” I mumble.

Rooney’s sitting in my passenger seat rattling off directions even though we’re at a standstill.

“Once we get off the 101, we need to get onto the 405,” she explains, pinching and zooming the map on her phone. “Thanks for driving me, by the way. Talia has the car tonight. Now that I’m seeing it on the map, though, I’m realizing this is pretty inconvenient for you.”

“It’s no problem.” I stare straight ahead at the row of red taillights. “Can you tell me the exit once we get closer, let’s say, in an hour or so? If we’re lucky.”

Rooney shoots me a concerned look. “An hour? Jack, it’s four forty-five. I’m supposed to meet the group at six. The sun sets at six twenty. Google is saying there’s still… an hour and a half to get there? How is that possible?”

I glance at her phone screen. We’re north of Glendale. “There must be a concert tonight or a game,” I say. “Or nothing at all. This is LA.”

“When my mom comes to visit in a couple of weeks, she is not going to like this. The art show she’s taking me to is also in Santa Monica. We’re going to need to leave three hours early.”

“That would probably be best,” I agree.

She throws her hands up. “We haven’t even moved a car length, and it’s been fifteen minutes. What are people doing?”

“Exactly.”

“We should’ve left earlier,” she says. “I’m not going to make it.”

“I’m not a doctor,” I say, pressing the back of my hand to her forehead. “But I think you’re going to make it after all.”

“Are you… joking right now?” Rooney asks. “This is my first meet-up for the Cloud Lovers League, and you’re cracking jokes. Remember, doing any of this was all your idea.”

“We already left work early,” I reason. “I don’t want you to miss the sunset, either.”

“We’re actually going to watch the cirrocumulus clouds as the sun sets. Not the same thing. Those type of clouds are the ones that look like rows of small puffs,” she says excitedly. “It’s supposed to be a fuchsia sky tonight, which I now won’t see.”

I gesture toward the windshield. “Oh, you’ll still see it. That’s what’s great about the sky. It’s everywhere.”

Rooney turns to face me in her seat, her expression more thoughtful. “That’s the thing. It’s everywhere, and yet how often do you notice it?”

“What do you mean? I see the sky all the time.”

“Yeah. We see things all the time, but how often are we really looking? And it’s bigger than simply seeing shapes. Take those clouds, for instance,” she says, pointing to an extensive patch of cloud covering. “Doesn’t it look like the ripple of the surface of the ocean, but from below? It’s like we’re all underwater.”

“Sounds like Fate Test 4 is working,” I say. “You interacted with someone online, and now you’re noticing these beautiful things.”

“Time will tell if it’s actually working, but I do feel like I’m noticing these small, fleeting moments,” she says. “What’s incredible is that it’s ever-changing. Those clouds we just looked at? They’re darker and more scattered, and it’s only been a few minutes.”

I glance back up in the same direction. It’s true. Their color has taken on a bluer hue.

“It’s art created by the elements,” Rooney says, sounding amazed. “These magical moments are happening around us all the time, formed for no other reason than because invisible water vapor condenses into something visible in the air. They’re existing exactly as they are, but it takes focused observation to really give them meaning or purpose.”

“It’s like they’re hiding in plain sight,” I say.

This gets a smile out of Rooney. “I think you’re going to start noticing clouds now, too.”

I direct her attention to a cloud hovering above us. “That one looks like a paw.”

Rooney angles her phone up toward it to take a photo. “That’s for you to show Sprinkles later.”

“She’ll love it,” I say, catching myself smiling. I should not be bonding with this animal that’s not even mine. After nearly three weeks since finding Sprinkles, a neighbor finally called with information. Sprinkles’s previous owner moved out of state last month. Which means he left her behind. I tighten my grip around the steering wheel. Some people don’t deserve animals.

“Do you know what you’re going to do with her yet?” Rooney asks.

“The neighbors don’t want her. And I can’t put her up for adoption, either. I drove all the way to the shelter. Couldn’t bring myself to take Sprinkles into the building. You know she’s already found her favorite spot under the coffee table? And at night, she lies on my pillow and kneads my hair.”

“Jack, have you thought about keeping her?” Rooney asks softly.

“Me? Oh, I can’t have a cat. I work long hours. And we have our trip in a couple of weeks. I already feel terrible leaving her,” I say. “I’ve never had a pet. I wouldn’t even know what to do with one.”

“You’d do exactly what you’re doing now. Cats are generally pretty easy to care for. You can think about it over the trip,” she says. “She’s safe with you for now.”

For now. Those words linger longer than they should.

“What would you create if this were one of your installation themes? How might clouds play a part?” I ask, changing the subject. “It doesn’t even have to be for NASA.”

Rooney looks out the window and sighs. “I like to think it would be less about the clouds and more about nature. So much exists that we have no influence over. It’s like everything you’ve described about the universe, Mars even. We had nothing to do with that, and yet it’s stunning. I wish I had a better answer.”

“Let’s hope tonight’s fuchsia clouds help.”

“If we get there.” Rooney pulls the sleeves of what she calls her “chunky knit” sweater over her hands. She sinks lower into the seat, crossing her arms. “There’s still time. Let’s wait and see what happens. Maybe traffic will clear out.”

I pull the sunroof covering back so that the window is exposed above us. “You can get a better look this way.”

Rooney moves closer to me to lean her head back. Her bangs fall to the side, and I sneak a look at her eyes. At the same moment, she’s looking up at me. Heat shoots through me quickly, my cheeks the last to feel the effects. But even as my face burns, I keep my eyes trained on hers. In my peripheral vision, I can see the rise and fall of her chest quicken. It matches the pace of my own breathing.

My gaze slowly falls to her lips. They’re Mars red tonight, the curve of her bottom lip accentuated. If I knew anything about art or how to make it, Rooney’s lips would be my main source of inspiration. I shake the thought loose. I’m driving Rooney to the beach so that she can be inspired to do her work for a program that I’m a part of. I can’t be thinking these thoughts.

A honk from a couple of lanes over breaks my attention. I face forward, hoping Rooney didn’t see me staring at her. How long was I looking at her mouth?

I redirect my attention to the music and adjust the volume. “Here, pick a song,” I say, handing her my phone. “It’s connected to Bluetooth.”

She scrolls slowly, her red-painted nails moving up and down. “I’m going to put it on shuffle, and your playlists can decide,” she says, wedging the phone into the cupholder before rummaging through her bag. “Thank goodness I brought car snacks. We might be here all night.”

Rooney sets a bag of mixed Asian rice crackers between us. We alternate reaching in for handfuls, and I become hyperaware that our hands could collide at any moment. The first few songs are jazz. The sounds of crunching fill the silence in the car as the sun drops slowly. Another thirty minutes pass, and we’re only north of Griffith Park. We’re zoned out staring ahead at the sea of lights when Queen’s “Under Pressure” comes on. At the first few beats, Rooney springs to life, her initial reaction to turn up the volume.

“Timely!” she shouts while she sways side to side in her seat. “Pressure! Pushing! Down! On! Me!”

I tap my finger against the wheel.

Rooney takes her sunglasses out of her bag and sings into them. “Sing it if you know it, Jack! And I know you know it because this shuffle is on your playlist.”

She holds her sunglasses in front of my mouth, indicating for me to sing.

I lean in. “Dee-day-da” is what comes out right as Freddie Mercury sings it.

We both laugh at the perfect timing. A knot of tension releases in me that feels familiar from our night in New York. Before I can fight it, we’re both dancing in place and sing-shouting, “Let me out!”

I can say with clarity and certainty that traffic has never been so fun before. And it’s because of Rooney. The heat from before comes rushing back, a mixture of my heart racing from all the movement and the sudden realization that I like her. Like her in the way that I shouldn’t. Even though I’m her liaison and even when she’s leaving in ten months. These feelings I have toward Rooney are already set in motion. All I can do now is try to stop them from developing into something bigger.

Naming this feeling is freeing in a way. In this moment, I am at ease. We could not move another mile for the rest of the night, and I would be okay with that. No, not just okay. I would be happy about it. Ecstatic, even. A part of me hopes that they shut the entire highway down right now, and we can be here. Stuck together.

“It’s almost six, Jack, and we’re nowhere near the exit we need to take. I’m supposed to be meeting them right now,” Rooney says with a whine. She stuffs a handful of crackers into her mouth. “I hate bailing on people.”

I wonder if going off-highway would be faster. But we’re already late. Getting from here to the beach isn’t going to happen in twenty minutes.

“Are there night clouds you might be able to look at?” I ask.

“Not the kind I’d want to see. Noctilucent clouds are rare,” she says with a sigh.

“It sounds like you’re learning a lot from this league. That’s cool.” When she doesn’t say anything, I add, “I’m sorry, Rooney. I don’t like canceling plans, either.”

Rooney gives me a look of appreciation. “Fine. You’re right. I’m calling it.” She types something into her Cloud Lovers League app. “I let them know I can’t make it, and we can turn around. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I hope you didn’t cancel plans for this.”

If canceled plans means watching a new space documentary with Sprinkles, then yes. Plans were canceled.

Rooney directs me to the nearest exit.

“This is wrong. We should be going east,” I tell her. “Is your GPS redirecting?”

I see a sly smile on Rooney’s face. “It’s time for me to do Fate Test 5,” she says. “‘Go the wrong direction on purpose.’ Let’s see where we end up.”

Once we’re off the exit and free from the standstill, Rooney randomly calls out left or right, and I follow her instructions. We weave through roads and into different neighborhoods. Fifteen minutes and several winding roads later, there’s a sign for the Hollywood Bowl Overlook off Mulholland Drive. I turn my car into the parking lot.

“You can’t see the beach. But you can see the clouds,” I say, putting the car into park.

“And really, that was the whole point,” she says, grinning. “Right on time, too. We’re even closer to them up here.”

We get out of the car and climb the stairs for a better view to take in the sights. There’s a look of amazement on Rooney’s face. The terrain rolls out ahead of us, the green of the treetops blending into the concrete of the city. We loom over the Hollywood Bowl as our eyes follow a natural path leading out toward a miniature version of downtown resting on the skyline.

“It’s so expansive,” Rooney says, leaning forward against the railing. “I almost didn’t even see the sign.”

In the distance, the Hollywood Sign looks like a speck, a star against a mountainside of sky.

“The Hollywood Sign is like clouds. You get used to it and forget it’s even there,” I say.

“Hiding in plain sight,” Rooney says, bumping me with her shoulder.

Above us, clouds are lined up in rows of small puffs like strings of popcorn. Closer to the horizon, the sky is bright orange. It gradually builds in color above it, from yellow to the fuchsia Rooney was eager to see. The clouds nearest us are teal, their shapes more pronounced.

The sky cracks open, revealing a burst of unexpected light blue as the last rays of sunshine take one last stretch. We stand there side by side, the heat from our bodies radiating between us. Before we know it, night has taken over. I sneak one more look at Rooney’s content face, the Big Dipper on her cheek elevated from her smile. I breathe out with a sigh of resignation.

If I don’t get a grip on these feelings, I’m in big trouble.