Remembering (The Starlight Chronicles Book 4)

by C. S. Johnson

  “You only got a B?” I asked, surprised. “You’re smarter than that.”

  “Wow, did I just get a compliment from Hamilton Dinger?” Raiya asked, her eyebrows up in typical sarcastic fashion.

  “Half-compliment,” I assured her, and she surprisingly laughed.

  “I guess I don’t like math enough to worry about being perfect at it.”

  “Why not? I would’ve thought you would. You’re either right or you’re wrong.”

  “That’s probably the reason you like it,” Raiya smirked, and I conceded; she was probably right. I liked to be right.

  I usually would’ve ignored her and let the conversation slide. After all, Gwen was waiting for me only a few yards away at our booth. But I was genuinely curious now. “So why do you hate math?” I asked.

  She peeked up at me, and I thought there was some hesitation in her hidden eyes. “Well,” she started, “I don’t like how numbers ascribe value to things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s too easy to say that this number represents how much worth this object has. And that’s okay for objects. But if we use that on people, it’s not right. What makes a person valuable is not a number. We use a lot of mathematics and economics to describe the worth of people when we shouldn’t.”

  “And that’s why you hate math?” I asked. “Don’t you think you’re overreaching a bit?” What a philosophical snob.

  She shrugged as she looked back down at her homework. “Since what we value affects others, I don’t think so.”

  Yep. A true snob.

  There were not a lot of times in my life when I respected Raiya. But as I watched her drink her tea, semi-helpless when it came to her homework, I felt a small bit of admiration despite myself. “Do you want some help?” I asked her. I glanced over to see Gwen was deeply involved in her reading or whatever. Looking at Mikey’s blog.

  It would be alright to help Raiya out for a few moments, I decided. I sat down next to Raiya and looked over her worksheet.

  Raiya hesitated.

  Irritation sparked. Why do people always hesitate when I’m trying to do something nice for them? I wondered. That was a large part of the reason I didn’t do it very often.

  “Yeah, okay. I could use some help,” she acquiesced.

  “See? Was it really so hard to admit?” I teased her.

  She rolled her eyes. “Goodness knows you’d have done the same. You don’t like asking for help.”

  It was both scary and interesting to me that she knew me so well. “True enough,” I agreed. “But people change. I never thought I would care to help.”

  “For which I can only be grateful.” Raiya smirked.

  “I like playing the hero.” I grinned.

  “I wasn’t talking about you helping me. I am grateful that people can change.”

  I sighed playfully. “Can’t you be grateful for both? Gosh, I’m trying to be nice. Can’t you ever just work with me?”

  We laughed, and then Raiya playfully scoffed, “I couldn’t just let your ego swell now, could I?”

  We were both laughing again, and it hit me that everything was very nice. Comfortable, yet exciting even. I glanced desperately down at her homework to avoid thinking about it.

  Somehow we spent the next hour talking and laughing some more as I worked her through the sine and cosine bits of Trig. It was a good hour, or maybe more, before I looked up to see Gwen had left.

  Immediately, I felt bad. But even as I knew I would pay for it later, I wasn’t terribly certain it was a waste of an evening.

  ☼

  8 ☼

  Comeuppance

  Some people talk about the concept of karma like it is carved into some kind of eternal stone or written in the sequence of human DNA.

  I don’t buy into it.

  By the time I was thirteen, I knew karma didn’t really exist; I mean, if it did, my parents, given their career-obsessed lifestyles, would never have been allowed to have Adam.

  It was in high school that I learned of the concept of “poetic justice,” and that was it. I’d decided “karma” was the wuss version of poetic justice.

  This belief of mine was never more true than on the following Monday afternoon, when Gwen finally delivered her judgment on my abysmal failure to cater to her and give her enough attention: I was going to attend her play.

  “Come on, Gwen,” I whined. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to see Othello, because I’ll be watching Adam while you’re performing in it.”

  I argued with her about it for a bit, because I liked to argue. And because I’d done something that made her even more upset with me, and her price of atonement was worse than anything I could have imagined.

  She did it in a relatively nice way though. I’ll give props where props are due.

  “It’s Hamlet!” she corrected me angrily. Her arms were folded across her chest. “Dinger, face it. You owe me, big time, and not just for ignoring me on Friday at Rachel’s, in front of everyone, no less. You owe, especially after this morning.”

  “I’d forgotten you—”

  “You’d forgotten I was in the same class as you?” Gwen glared down at me.

  “I was . . . trying to be nice,” I said, deciding her way of seeing the predicament would not work in my favor.

  “Nice? How does asking Raiya to be your partner for the AP Gov assignment instead of me, your girlfriend, make you nice!?”

  Mrs. Smithe had assigned us a project, and we had to partner up in class. Because I happened to be arguing (nicely) with Raiya over the founding fathers and the Constitution anyway, we more or less agreed it would be shocking and scandalous to Mrs. Smithe to partner up on it.

  Mrs. Smithe applauded us on our maturity, before dryly remarking how it would be interesting to see whether we would end up killing each other over the project or not. I assured her in my most adult voice that we had all semester to battle it out before we had to present it.

  “Come on, Gwen, Brittany Taylor doesn’t have any other friends besides you in that class. I thought it would be nice to let her have you this time, so she wouldn’t feel badly about not having any friends.”

  “She has plenty of friends.”

  “Not in that class,” I argued.

  “Yes, she does.”

  “Oh.” I sighed. “Well, my mistake.”

  Gwen crossed her arms. “And I guess it’s too late to correct it, isn’t it?”

  “It’s better if we just leave it as is,” I insisted. “Brittany’s working backstage at the play, just like you, and Raiya lives above Rachel’s Café. I’m there all the time anyway.”

  “Sometimes you are just so dense,” Gwen weakly replied.

  Her shoulders were hunched over, and her hair draped over her face just enough to make me feel uneasy. I hoped she wasn’t going to start crying. I didn’t need any more attention focused on me at that particular moment.

  What was wrong with her? I wondered. I mean, she confessed that she was more or less in love with me, and that she knew I wasn’t “in love” with her. She also said it was okay. But lately, it was getting irritating. If it was really okay that I didn’t love her, why did it matter if I made her happy or not?

  I was beginning to half-wish she would just break up with me.

  Gritting my teeth, I hurried after her. “Okay,” I said, reaching out and taking hold of her shoulder. “I’ll go see your play.”

  “Really?” Her honey-brown eyes were wide and hopeful, even though her voice was devoid of warmth. “You really want to see me perform?”

  Guilt knifed through me. “Yes, of course. Anything for you.” I sighed. “I was even thinking of asking you to come to dinner with my family. Maybe even tonight, after you pick up Adam after play practice?”

  Using my supernatural power, I saw her mood transform from angry to resolved, and gradually fade into relief as she finally replied, “Okay. Thank you.” She even smiled. “That sounds nice. It would be nice to meet wi
th your parents again. Are you sure they’ll be home?”

  Talk about perfect timing, I thought. While I tended to miss breakfast, Cheryl still talked to me if she came to see me at City Hall when she wanted to meet with Stefano. I knew for a fact she was having a big dinner tonight to celebrate one of her latest cases (though not the “Flying Angels” one, of course).

  “Definitely,” I said. “My mother had her new cook, Maurice, draw up a special menu tonight.”

  What was wrong with her? More like, what was wrong with me?

  “I’m sorry about the AP Gov project,” I said, further signaling to my inner self to check my mind’s stability. “I’m just worried about my grade.”

  Gwen sighed. “Okay. I can see that. I guess I really only took the class because Mrs. Smithe thought it would be good for me, anyway.”

  “Kind of like how I took drama last year?” I smirked.

  “Yes, exactly!” She giggled, happy once more.

  “At least we’re in the same class period.”

  “I know, right?” Gwen began chatting again, happy to have confirmation I was interested in her life and all its various, multi-faceted aspects. I gallantly took her arm and walked with her through the hallways, heading to her next class.

  As she talked about the play or something else (I wasn’t listening), my thoughts turned to Starry Knight. It had been over a week since I’d seen her.

  It had been a busy week, I reminded myself, trying not to feel like I should miss her more, or maybe that I should miss her less. I’d been practicing my supernatural talents in most of the mornings, and I stayed late at work to do some more research. And then there was regular school in between.

  I love you, Almeisan. I’m in love with you.

  The memory of Starry Knight’s words hit me all over again, like a bullet through the chest.

  Almeisan. The name—my Star name, I guess—still felt weird. It was almost like an old shirt—one that was either too big or too small for me. I didn’t know if it was for who I had been or who I would be.

  And what did Starry Knight mean, telling me she loved me? What did that mean? What did it really mean to love someone?

  I always thought it was about just making the relationship work—keeping people happy, remembering the right dates, and giving the right gifts. But that was nowhere near how I would describe my relationship with Starry Knight.

  Starry Knight was confusing and irritating, strong and tenacious, and determined to do the right thing above all else. She was willing to make me unhappy to protect me, and she was willing to sacrifice her own happiness to keep me safe.

  “Hamilton?” Gwen’s voice was soft and surprised. “Are you okay?”

  “Huh?” I felt my mind fall back into my reality as Gwen tugged on my arm. I’d stopped, mid-stride, in the middle of the hall.

  “What’s wrong?” Gwen asked. “You look weird.”

  “Uh . . . ” I couldn’t answer as I looked at her. Gwen was the perfect girlfriend. Gwen was beautiful and had a good heart. She’d said she loved me, and she tried to make me happy a lot. I knew because she wasn’t happy, and I wasn’t even trying a lot of the time to make her happy.

  Gwen wanted things like going to plays and going to prom. Starry Knight wanted to keep me alive and destroy evil.

  Gwen was malleable to my wishes; Starry Knight was stubborn and argumentative, never really giving me the upper hand unless a miracle happened somehow.

  “Gwen, do you think I’m a good person?” I suddenly asked, curious at her response. “Even though I messed up this morning?”

  “What?” She looked at me quizzically. “Of course I think you’re a good person. You’re great. Most of the time.” She started assuring me that my grades were high, my athletic performance was still heralded as legendary, and I was attractive and a real catch by the Social Elite’s standards.

  Starry Knight would think I was a terrible person, I thought, recalling our encounter in SWORD’s prison, and remembering her words as she challenged me to think about eternity as though it was an important matter (which, in all fairness, I guess it is).

  But Starry Knight had also risked everything for me on more than one occasion. She knew I was a terrible person, but she still believed I was worth protecting.

  My heart ached, but in a good way. It was as though my heart, bleeding freely and slowly all these months, was suddenly drenched in decontaminant, like alcohol poured over a wound.

  Finally, I thought. Finally, after months of sleepless nights, restless days, nonsensical tirades, and rational treatises, I realized I needed Starry Knight more than I needed to be mad at her.

  I was still angry. But I wanted to work on our relationship again.

  “I, uh, got to go,” I told Gwen. “I . . . just have to go. I’ll text you about dinner, okay?”

  “Okay.” Her small smile wavered, and her hand shook as she raised it in farewell. “Bye.”

  It would have taken an extraordinary amount of ignorance to dismiss the disappointment on her face. I hurried back to her, guilty, and pressed a quick kiss onto her cheek. “Thanks,” I said, before heading down the hall.

  I turned around and waved. Seeing Gwen’s responding smile, I inwardly wretched.

  It probably wasn’t a good sign that the shallow nature of my relationship with Gwen prompted me to see how deeply my affection and desire for another women ran.

  “Well, that was somewhat painful to watch.”

  I nearly tripped. “Elysian!” I hissed angrily. “What are you doing here?”

  “Checking in. Trying not to cringe at your attempts at teenage romance.” Elysian chortled. “And here I thought I would miss out on some of the daytime soap operas.”

  I grabbed his lizard-shaped body, sorely tempted to squeeze him until he choked on his own smoke.

  “It’s not my fault you’re poorly trained in the dating arts,” Elysian said, no doubt noting my angry silence.

  I gave in to temptation. He shifted around, twisting out of my grasp as I ducked into an empty classroom.

  “You’d better watch it,” I snarled. “You know I don’t want you around here.”

  “I didn’t come just to check in,” Elysian muttered, massaging his neck. He flicked his tail at me in irritation. “I just got distracted by your incompetence.”

  “Don’t call me incompetent!”

  He shrugged. “I thought we had already established that denial was not the best method of dealing with the truth.”

  “That’s enough. Just tell me what you’re here for then.”

  “Maia’s been spotted.”

  “Maia?” I snorted. “Doing what? Taking a nap out by City Hall or breaking into a mattress store?”

  “She’s angry,” Elysian told me. “More angry than I’ve ever seen her.”

  “Well, she’s down three sisters, and Orpheus is gone. Or at least, he’s been rendered useless. I imagine she’s getting worried that she’ll be next.”

  “That’s not it. Or, not all of it, anyway.” Elysian jumped down and began pacing on the floor in front of me. “Something’s up.”

  “Could she be afraid of the person that Orpheus was or was not talking to before he had that run-in with my power?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Let’s head over to see him and see what we can find out. Aleia should be there, too.”

  “I have one more class for today,” I said. “Please don’t make me late like you did last time.”

  “You didn’t get in trouble over it,” Elysian said dismissively.

  “So? I did for being late last week; remember that detention? The school’s watching me now.”

  “Well, if you’re worried about being late, maybe you should just skip it.” Elysian shook his head. “Maia’s hanging out near the meteorite’s landing sight.”

  “You mean where it hit the ground?” I asked.

  “Yes. It’s near that school that you hate. Rosemount or something.”

  “Rosemont.”


  “Whatever. Close enough. Let’s go see if we can catch her.”

  “Why now?” I asked. “Can’t you wait?”

  “We know where she is; why wait?” Elysian sighed. “She could move or cause more trouble. And there’s something strange about that meteorite.”

  “It is under surveillance, thanks to the Mayor,” I said. Recalling Dante’s presence at City Hall the other night, I added, “Probably at SWORD’s insistence.”

  “We need to go and investigate.”

  Starry Knight could be there.

  It took more than a moment to think through it all, but in the end, I decided to go. “Alright. I suppose gym is overrated, anyway, and Coach Shinal hasn’t quite forgiven me for cutting out on the football team this year. This is more important. I’ll head over now.”

  The door behind me swung open. “Going somewhere, Dinger?” Mrs. Smithe’s eyes narrowed at me from over her black-framed glasses.

  I stuffed Elysian in my pocket, grateful he was small enough to hide within seconds. “Mrs. Smithe.”

  “That’s my name,” she agreed. “Now, where are you going?”

  “Uh, just—”

  “If you’re going somewhere, you’ll need a pass,” she reminded me. “Let me go ahead and write you one.”

  “Well, thank you—”

  “You’re going to see the Coach, right?” Mrs. Smithe marched on.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll go ahead and call him,” she said.

  “Oh, that’s not necessary—”

  “Nonsense. I’ll let him know I’m taking care of you.” Her darkened brown eyes met mine again; there was a reluctant wariness in them, but a resignation I was eerily familiar with. “Just make sure you hurry, Hamilton.” She glanced at the clock pointedly.

  Mrs. Smithe rarely called me by my first name. As I took the pass from her, I felt she somehow knew what I was actually going to do. Was it possible . . . ?

  My suspicions were confirmed a moment later as she spoke into the phone.

  “Hey, Coach, it’s Martha,” she was saying, as I headed out the door. “Hamilton Dinger has a special assignment this period. Just letting you know he won’t be in class.”