Expect the unexpected.
I’m so confused, I can’t sleep.
It’s one in the morning. After tossing and turning for hours, I’ve given up. Grabbing my telescope, I tiptoe past my father’s bedroom door and sneak up to the roof to talk to my mom. I do that sometimes when I feel like I need a little advice.
The stairs to the roof are between my apartment and the hall-mounted fire extinguisher. In case there’s a fire and people have to get out of the apartment building quickly, the door’s always unlocked, so I’m not surprised to discover it’s already slightly ajar. Someone must have come up to tan earlier and not shut the door all the way.
As I set up my Hartforde telescope, I’m so deep in thought that when I hear my name softly spoken, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Sylvie?” It’s Tyler.
I’m so freaked out that I stumble backward. My foot catches the tripod for my telescope and suddenly, the world begins to look as if it’s gone “retrograde,” appearing to move in slow motion.
I’m falling backward, down toward the hard asphalt of the roof. My body rotates slightly as I tumble. I’m going to scrape my knee for sure. Or my hands, if I try to catch myself. Or maybe both.
My telescope is tilting the other direction, too far for me to reach. Lens first, it’s moving toward the ground. I know with every fiber in my being that the flip-mirror will shatter. I can’t possibly afford to get a replacement part. Not to mention that whole broken mirror = seven years bad luck stuff. I can’t afford that either.
All this crosses my brain in the few seconds since Tyler startled me.
Tyler.
I look at up him, horrified and expectant. He appears confused. With psychic clarity (Madame Jakarta would be proud) I know what he’s thinking. Tyler’s considering that he has about a millisecond to make a choice and act. Should he save me or save my telescope? What will he do?
A flick of his wrist and Tyler’s black Zorro cloak is suddenly soaring toward me. His body flings the other way toward my Hartforde. His plan is obvious. I’m supposed to land softly on the cloak, while he snags my precious telescope mid-descent. Tyler Gregory, Man in Black, is attempting to save the day.
Unfortunately, his cloak lands over my head instead of under my hands.
“Ouch.” I grimace as my left hip takes the brunt of the fall. At least I didn’t scrape up my hands or knee. But there will be a bruise, a big, juicy, black-and-blue one. I can’t check out the damage to my leg though, because the cloak is over my head. And even if it wasn’t cutting off my vision, I have my eyes closed bracing for the crashing sound of my telescope smashing against the hard rooftop into a gazillion little pieces.
Nothing. Silence.
Then Tyler, “Sylvie?! You all right?”
He pulls the cloak off my head, draping it carefully around my shoulders, to keep me … warm … or safe. Suddenly I’m overwhelmed by the scent of him in the fabric. It’s that woodsy, earthy scent I noticed in the café. Kind of a strange thing to keep noticing, but then again my sense of scent must be enhanced because my eyes are still shut tight.
“Telescope?” I grind out the one word, slowly opening my right eye.
“No damage,” he replies, but there’s an edge to his voice. “Wish I could say the same for you.”
I open both eyes fully and allow Tyler to help me up off the hard rooftop. We both look down at my thigh. Even in the moonlight, it’s clear that there’s a growing red patch that will be blue by dawn. My first assessment was correct, however: no blood. Too bad I hadn’t thought to change out of my cotton sleep shorts and tank top before I came up here. If I’d been wearing jeans, I’d have had a more durable, slightly thicker padding.
“You tried to save me.” I thank Tyler, handing him his cloak and taking a large step back, widening the distance between us. I gotta get away from his scent. It’s making my heart race in uncomfortable ways. I’m certain I’m having an allergic reaction to his cologne. At least that’s what I tell myself. Over and over again.
For every step I’m taking backward, he’s taking one forward, hand outstretched. It’s just as I begin to get a bit nervous, wondering why he won’t take a hint and let the distance between us grow, that I notice Tyler is holding out my telescope.
I stop running the backward marathon. I thank him profusely. From the bottom of my heart. I take the telescope and clutch it to my chest, like a new mother coddles her baby. “You made the right choice diving for the telescope,” I tell him.
“I thought you might say that.” Tyler grins, his white (very white, I respectfully admire) teeth shining in the moonlight. He shrugs. “Still wish my plan would’ve worked. I could have rescued the damsel and her telescope in one swift movement.”
“You tried and that’s what counts.” I set the telescope back on the tripod’s three legs, and angle the lens toward the night sky. “You might dress like Batman,” I say with a giggle, “but you’re only Bruce Wayne.”
Tyler laughs. I like the way the sound echoes in the dark.
“What are you doing up here?” we ask each other at nearly the exact same time.
I decide to answer first and honestly, though I don’t know what has possessed me to be so frank. “I came to talk to my mom,” I tell him and point at the telescope. You’d think Tyler would pin me with one wide eye and say, “Huh?’ or grab his cell phone and call 911 to have me committed to a psych ward, but he does neither. Tyler casually replies, “Say hi for me.” And flashes me another toothy grin.
“Now your turn,” I say simply.
He points across the rooftop to a place in the shadows. I now notice a sleeping bag laid out and a pillow.
“I was just about to settle in for the night,” he says.
“You’re sleeping up here?’ I ask, stunned. “Isn’t the rooftop uncomfortable?”
“I have an air mattress under my bag,” he replies simply.
“Did you have a fight with your parents? Or Cherise?” I am wracking my brain trying to come up with a reason Tyler would want to sleep up here instead of in his room. I mean, I know why I like to sleep outside (not that I’ve ever slept on the roof of our apartment building before): Sleeping under the stars is a natural extension of my love for astronomy. As far as I know, Tyler doesn’t love astronomy … so maybe he likes astrology?
He shakes his head at me. “Why do you think I’d have to be in a fight with someone to come out here? Couldn’t it be that I just like sleeping under the stars?”
I shrug. “It just seems odd. You aren’t in the astronomy club.” I pause then ask, “Are you into astrology like Cherise?”
“No,” Tyler answers. “Rest your brain, Sylvie. I like looking at the stars. It’s nice to sleep under them. That’s all there is to it.”
I think about his answer. I guess I’ve never really considered that there’s a middle ground between astronomy and astrology. I suppose Tyler’s like most people: They like the stars because they’re beautiful. They don’t need to know about Neptune’s moons. Or about “Neptune’s moon” either.
I nod as I take in this new realization.
“Thanks,” I tell Tyler.
“For what?”
I consider telling him that his perspective on the stars is intriguing or that because of his questions that day at the Corner Café, I now understand clearly why I want to study astronomy, but decide against it. “Just thanks,” I reply. It’s enough.
“You’re welcome.” He doesn’t press me for more.
“Want to look through my telescope?” I ask him, then immediately wish I hadn’t offered. It was a step backward. I actually like that Tyler’s enjoying the stars simply because they twinkle. I don’t want to mess with that.
I don’t have to rescind my offer because Tyler turns me down. He moves across the roof and lies back on his sleeping bag, hands behind his head. “Want to look at the sky from my vantage?” he offers.
“I …” I nearly choke as I brush away the thought of lying down on an air mattress with Tyler. “No, thanks.” I adjust the lens on my Hartforde and peer through the eyepiece.
I get lost in the stars and we’re both silent for a while. It’s comfortable. There’s no need to fill the silence with words. I take a peek at Mercury, and laugh at the idea that all of Cherise’s predictions will be coming true because it’s “retrograde.”
Time passes quickly. Tyler’s still and quiet. I glance at him lying on his mattress under the glow of the moon and wonder if he’s fallen asleep. I hope so, because I should go inside soon and I haven’t talked to Mom yet. I decide to go ahead and speak out loud, like I usually do, pushing Tyler’s presence out of my mind.
“Do you believe in destiny?” I ask in a low tone, my words drifting off the roof and floating upwards to Mom.
It’s not like I really expect a female booming voice to say, “Relax, Sylvie. Enjoy the process of falling in love. Those kisses will get better because Adam is the guy for you!” or alternately, “If the relationship doesn’t feel right, you should stop forcing it.”
I look through the telescope lens, searching the skies for a sign that Mom has heard me. A shooting star or a little twinkle would be plenty reassuring. The sky seems still and quiet when I take a deep breath and ask my follow-up question on a long sigh. “What should I do?”
“Make your own destiny.” The voice is so soft that at first I wonder if Mom has actually spoken to me from deep space. It takes a second to register; the voice, so smooth now, is the same one that surprised me when I first came to the rooftop.
“Tyler?” I ask, turning my head to face him.
“I know I’m interrupting a very private conversation, but I can’t help myself.” He rolls on his side and props himself up on one arm. I feel the heat of his gaze.
“It’s okay. But what do you mean?” I pull myself back from the telescope and turn to face him straight on. “Make your own destiny?” I’m curious.
“The stars illuminate our path,” Tyler says. “Like they have always done for explorers and navigators, the stars show us the way. Following the stars can provide courage to press forward when we feel lost.” He pauses, then adds, “They can’t tell us when or how to behave.”
“I don’t expect the stars to tell me exactly what to do,” I say, feeling a bit judged.
When Tyler doesn’t immediately respond, I put aside my initial reaction and allow myself to slip into that gray area where Tyler resides, the place where astronomy and astrology are secondary to the mysterious beauty of the sky. I look up and out at the night sky and imagine early explorers searching for the North Star to show them the way home.
They’d get lost, lose hope, and then, as Tyler said, look to the stars to show them the way through the ocean, across the forest, over the mountains. They didn’t need to know how many planets were in our solar system, or the chemical makeup of cosmic debris, they only needed to find one big twinkling bulb in the sky, mark down its position from where it was the night before, and bravely march onward into previously uncharted territory. The stars were a guide. The path, their own.
“You always seem so calm and collected,” I say, considering Tyler’s words. “When do you ever need a bump in courage?”
He laughs then says, “Oh, Sylvie, you’d be surprised.” His laughter fades away and Tyler slips over onto his back, looking up at the sky again. “Have you ever gone somewhere and done something completely out of character? Taken a huge risk with the hope that everything will turn out in your favor?”
I think about the past few hours. I went to a party at Gavin Masterson’s, wore a mini-miniskirt, and was entirely out of my element, all because I wanted Adam to ask me to the prom.
“Yes,” I say. “I did all that tonight.”
Tyler doesn’t reply. In fact, he’s quiet so long I’m convinced that this time, he’s really fallen asleep. In the quietude, I pack up my telescope. It’s time for me to go inside and get to bed.
I start to slip toward the apartment building door, moving slowly so as not to wake Tyler up. As I open the door, I hear Tyler’s whispered voice from behind me.
“Yeah. I did all that tonight, too.”