Heavenly Bodies

by Rochelle Allison

  “I love it.”

  “Rigel will give you one to go home with,” he says. His light brown eyes, which already stand out against the smooth darkness of his face, seem mischievous—like his son’s. “Have fun, eh? I’d tell you two to behave but...” He shrugs, opening a bottle of beer with the back of a lighter. “I rarely do, myself.”

  My hair’s not as wild as I’d feared, but it’s getting there. Gazing at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I quickly re-do my braid with wet hands.

  It’s just past eight. Most of the guests are gone, and those who remain linger around the fire pit in the backyard, voices rising and falling on the breeze. I send my mother a text, making sure she’s okay with me staying a little longer.

  The hallway is filled with family photos, and I study them as I pass by. In one Rigel and Orion sit amongst a sprawling group of blonds; their coloring is darker, but their features are similar. I assume that’s Diana’s side of the family. In another, the silhouette of a boy leaps from the Frederiksted pier. There are Santa pictures and wedding pictures, proms and birthdays and portraits. Dozens of school photos, including a full set of Daniel, who I’ve never seen before. He couldn’t look more like Raymond if he tried, right down to the dreadlocks.

  Toward the front of the house, near the living room, there’s a large, open study. One wall is filled from top to bottom with books. There’s a laptop and a globe on the desk, and a stylized world map hung on the wall behind it. Upon closer inspection I see it’s one of those really old versions, with loopy, antiquated spelling and edges curled by time. Beside it is a map of just the Caribbean. I trace my way down the Leeward islands, finding St. Croix with ease. Here it’s of considerable size, even amongst larger islands, but on most maps it’s a tiny dot.

  On the wall opposite looms a colossal map of the night sky labeled Heavenly Bodies. Divided by the Southern Hemisphere and the Northern, the stars and constellations are vivid and clear, tempting me to go outside and see which ones I can identify. I’m familiar with a few names, like the Big and Little Dippers, but then I spy a star named Rigel. I lean closer, squinting.

  There’s a soft noise behind me. Before I can turn around, an arm snakes around my shoulder and Orion points to the constellation bearing his name. And then he reads it aloud, in case I can’t, I suppose. He’s a little close, which I suspect is intentional, so I squeeze out from between him and the wall and flash a polite smile. “Orion and Rigel. I didn’t realize...that’s cool.”

  “It is, isn’t it,” he agrees, giving me a little smile of his own as he half-sits on the desk. “How’ve you been, beautiful?”

  It’s such a generic line, and yet somehow, coming out of Orion’s mouth, it works. It’s a very nice mouth—I can understand Jasmine’s obsession with him. “I’ve been good. How about you?”

  “I’ve been great.” He jerks his chin at me. “So I’m guessing Rigel finally got his head out of his ass?”

  Folding my arms, I give him a blank stare.

  He eyes me slyly. “What?”

  “Do you say stuff like that just to get a reaction?”

  “I think it’s a fair question. Last time I saw you two in the same place you were about to cry.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. We figured it out.”

  He nods. “You’re a good girl. He needs someone like you to take care of him, you know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Keep him straight, make sure he keeps his hands clean and all that.”

  What the hell? I narrow my eyes.

  “Come on, Isla,” he says, grinning. “Figure it out. You’re a smart girl.”

  Rigel walks in just then, seemingly unsurprised to find us here. Giving no indication he heard Orion, though he must have, he takes my hand. “You ready?”

  “To go home?” I ask, not really wanting to just yet.

  “Do you...want to go home?” he asks, lowering his voice. “We don’t have to—”

  I squeeze his hand. “I don’t want to.”

  He squeezes back. “Let’s go upstairs. We have to be quiet, though; Rory’s already passed out.”

  “She had a wild day,” I say, but my heart’s pounding to be alone with him again.

  “You really gonna act like I’m not here?” Orion laughs. “No introductions, nothing? Mom didn’t raise you like that.”

  Rigel shrugs, barely turning around. “You’ve already met Isla.”

  “That’s true, I have.” He smirks, pointing to the constellations. “I was just showing her how Rigel’s a part of Orion.”

  “And yet Rigel’s still the lucida,” Rigel says dryly. He tugs me out of the room but not before I see something like regret pass over his brother’s face.

  “What’s the lucida?” I ask, once Rigel’s closed the door to his bedroom. “La lucida?”

  “The brightest star in a constellation.” He points to himself.

  I grin, because that’s random. Really random.

  He grins, too. “I was just being a dick to Orion. He makes it easy.”

  “Maybe so,” I say. “But I have never met a family so into astronomy.”

  “It’s one hundred percent my mom’s thing,” he says, flopping back onto his unmade bed. It’s huge, and it takes up most of the small room. “The rest of us just deal with it.”

  I laugh softly. “I think it’s interesting.”

  “I guess.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think about it unless I’m explaining my name…”

  “Like now.”

  “Right.” He smirks. “But my mom...she’s always studied astronomy, Greek and Roman mythologies. All that stuff. She wanted to teach at the University of Vermont, but then she met my dad, and that was that.”

  I sit beside him, resting my bag on a chair. “Is that her alma mater?”

  He nods, moving a pillow so I can rest comfortably.

  “But you don’t want to go there?”

  “Not really. I mean, it’s nice up there. Really pretty.” He smiles, tracing the zipper on the back of my dress with his finger. “Lots of leaves in the fall. You’d like it.”

  Goosebumps prickle across my arms. “I probably would. I’ve never been that far north before.”

  “You should go.”

  “You should come to Atlanta.”

  “Yeah? What’s in Atlanta?” he teases.

  Me, I’d like to say. At least, me next year. “Everything. There’s a ton of stuff to do.”

  “Orion almost went to some college there because he’d heard so much about Swim Atlanta.”

  “Orion swims, too?” I twist around in surprise.

  Rigel drops his hand, nodding. “Used to.”

  “Why’d he stop?”

  He quiets, lying flat on his back now as he watches the blades of the fan spin in lazy circles. Easing down, I rest on my elbow so that I’m right beside him. “Are you ever going to tell me?” I ask, touching his hair.

  His eyes move to me. “I will...but not now. I’m sick of talking about my brother.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Sorry.”

  “I mean in general. He gets himself into trouble and then it’s all we talk about. All my parents talk about. Everybody knows Orion, and everybody talks about him, and I’m just over it.”

  I don’t know the specifics, but I get it. And if it’s too sore to talk about, I’ll just wait until he’s ready to tell me. I’m not here for juicy family gossip, anyway. I’m here because being close to Rigel Thomas is becoming my favorite place to be.

  A door slams downstairs, and outside there’s laughter, a lot of it. The tinny soundtrack of a videogame seeps from the room next door. “Is that Leo?” I ask, glancing at the wall.

  Rigel nods, touching the hem of my dress again.

  “What does he play?”

  “Right now, it’s Legend of Zelda.”

  Letting my gaze travel the room, I take in Rigel’s things: posters of musicians—mostly reggae, but some hip hop, and more medals than I can
count—all swimming, I’m sure. A new-looking desk littered with books and papers, a stack of folded towels teetering off the chair. Goggles dangling from the doorknob. His open closet is immaculate, everything hung neatly, a row of sneakers below.

  Rigel’s fingers trace down my arm. Heart skipping like a stone, I lie back beside him. Before I can wish he’d kiss me, he does, coaxing my mouth open with soft lips and a sweet tongue. He tastes like passion fruit, and I smile.

  He pulls back a little, biting my bottom lip. “What?” he whispers.

  I can’t talk with my lip between his teeth, and I start giggling. He grins, letting go.

  “You taste nice,” I say.

  Moving us up his bed, he eases me over rumpled sheets and past pillows. Sandals fall from dangling feet, delicate slaps against the wood floor, followed by the muted thump of sneakers.

  We’re wearing more than we usually are while kissing—our makeout sessions seem to always be at the beach—but being in Rigel’s room, on his bed, feels more intimate. We’re utterly alone, finally, and our kisses consume, each one tangling endlessly into the next. He tickles his fingers beneath the underside of my knee. I hook my leg over him, giving his hand a reason to chase the hem that’s been distracting him all day.

  Everything dominoes after that: he squeezes my thigh, I tighten my grip around him, which brings him closer, letting me feel what this is doing to him, which steals my breath. He moves intentionally now, pushing against me in ways that whisper he wishes he was inside.

  A sharp knock on the door startles me out of my lusty haze, and I jerk, knocking my chin against Rigel’s forehead. He leaves my neck slowly, eyes closed, panting. “Shit.”

  “Rigel.” It’s his mother, and she’s still knocking. “You’d better not have Isla in there with the door closed.”

  “I’m taking her home now, Mom,” he says, rolling off of me. I smooth my dress down, hormones barely in submission to my mortification.

  “All right. Come back soon, Isla…” Her voice fades as she walks away.

  “Sorry,” he whispers, his smile saying he’s anything but.

  “No, you’re not.” Grinning, I lean over and kiss his cheek before sliding off the bed. “But neither am I.”

  With the new school quarter comes a slightly new schedule. The first half of my day remains the same, and I keep yearbook, but I trade art for a course on news through photojournalism with Mr. Miller. The fact he offers this class at all feels serendipitous, solidifying my desire to go into this direction in college next year.

  As for Phys Ed, Camille and I sign up for volleyball. The class is made up of mostly girls, and it’s loads of fun, but I miss swimming. I miss it because of Rigel, of course, but also because a little part of me wants to get better at it.

  “We can swim anytime,” he says, at lunch.

  “Not really.” I frown at my carrot sticks. “I don’t have access to the pool like you do.”

  “So we’ll go to the beach.” Rigel shrugs, brushing his hands off on his pants. “I have a meet Saturday. How about Sunday?”

  Because I still cover sports for yearbook, I’m at most of Rigel’s meets. It’s inspiring to watch someone like him do what he loves. Like the more serious kids on the team, Rigel’s dream is the Olympics. I see it when he races, in the the way he focuses when it’s time—and even later on, looking over the photos I’ve taken.

  It’s hard not to obsess over the future, where we’ll end up at college. I know I’ll be in Atlanta, but Rigel can swim anywhere. He’s said he likes the Southeast, but that does little to narrow things down, especially when common sense says he’ll go with whomever gives him the best scholarships and financial aid packages.

  “So talk to him about it,” Sage says one night, over Facetime.

  “We’ve been together for a month.” I pause, mentally counting on my fingers. “I think.”

  “You mean like officially? That doesn’t matter...it’s obviously on your mind,” she argues, wrestling her hair into a ponytail. It’s a lot shorter than it used to be.

  “Discussing college feels like jumping the gun.”

  “How is that jumping the gun? Don’t you guys have guidance counselors talking to you about college already?”

  “That’s different.”

  “You’re avoiding.”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re being dumb.” She yawns, flopping back into her blankets.

  I stick my tongue out at her, but she’s right. Maybe I am being kind of dumb.

  Rigel grabs the last cookie, eyes closed as he pops the whole thing into his mouth. “Amaaa-fing,” he mumbles.

  It’s Friday night and we’re in my kitchen, eating the cookies I made earlier. My mother’s usually the one doing the baking, but I took initiative tonight, wanting to introduce Rigel to the wonders of cookie butter. Dad, realizing how much I missed the stuff, priority mailed a jar so I wouldn’t have to wait until Thanksgiving. I nearly cried, partly because I miss him and this was so sweet, but also because cookie butter is so damn divine. Rigel was a little confused as to why one would make cookies out of butter that had once been cookies, but he’s a believer now.

  “I’ll keep in mind you like these,” I say, eating a spoonful of the stuff straight from the jar. It’s pretty much gone.

  “I love them,” Rigel corrects, patting his belly. “Feel free to make them, or any cookies, again. I’m an equal-opportunity cookie lover.”

  Alex shuffles in, rubbing his eyes. Unlike the last time these two met, he’s clothed—in Star Wars Lego jammies. He pauses when he sees Rigel, eyes sliding to the crumbs on the empty cookie plate.

  “Hey, Alex,” Rigel says, taking a swallow of milk. I tried to give him sweet tea, one of my favorites from home, but he wasn’t too into that.

  “Hi.” Alex yawns, leaning against me. “Isla, you have cookies?”

  “I saved you some, buddy. For tomorrow, okay?”

  He nods, pushing his face into my thigh. Bending, I pick him up and give him a good snuggle. He’s always most compliant right before bed, all warm and sleepy. “Sweet dreams, little man.”

  Allowing himself to be kissed just for a moment, he wiggles promptly back to the ground. “Can I have water?”

  “Magic word.”

  “Please.”

  “Sure.” I pour him a small cup of water, which he sips carefully before disappearing again.

  “You about ready to go?” Rigel asks, distracted by his phone.

  “Yeah. I’ll let my mama know.”

  I find her in Alex’s room, helping him choose a book for bedtime. They look up when I peek in. “We’re leaving now, okay?”

  “You’re going to see a movie, right?” She tucks Alex, settling beside him.

  I nod. “And maybe Jump Up, afterward.”

  “Jump Up is always a good time.” She beckons me closer and I go, hugging her. “Be careful downtown, okay baby?”

  “I will.” Biting my lip, I take a couple of steps backward. “Can I stay out a little later tonight?”

  “How late?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “I want this one, Mamamamama,” Alex butts in, squirming restlessly with his book.

  “I...I’m not sure. But I just want to hang out with him.” Cheeks warm, I almost whisper the last part. “I feel like there’s never enough time.”

  Her face softens, and she smiles, scooping my brother into her lap to settle him. She always did that with me, too. “One thirty,” she says. “Text me if you’re running late, though.”

  It’s a brisk evening, the coolest I’ve felt on St. Croix so far. It’s no Georgia in November, but I bring a hoodie just in case. Rigel’s got the windows in the truck rolled down and the music set low.

  Hands resting on the wheel, he watches me mess around with my seatbelt and then my bag, searching for gum. “So what do you want to do tonight?”

  “I thought we were going to the movies.”

  “I thought that was code for something,” he sa
ys, features lit up by the electric blue of his dashboard.

  “Yeah, code for there’s a movie I want to see.” I poke his thigh. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to, though.”

  “We can go. I haven’t been to the movies in a while,” he says, tapping the wheel. “Let me see what my brother Leo’s up to. He’s always hanging out in Sunny Isles...he might want a ride.”

  “What grade is he in, again?”

  “Eigth.”

  “Yeah. I remember doing stuff like that in junior high.” I smile, remembering. “We’d tell our mothers we were going to see a movie, but then we’d hang out instead.”

  “We did, too.” He smirks before straightening suddenly, phone to his ear. “Leo! Hey, want a ride to Sunny Isles?”

  Back home, cinemas were a dime a dozen. Mainstream, artsy, independent, discount— from the Plaza Theater in our neighborhood to the AMC in Buckhead where you could eat a meal while watching your movie. Moviegoing was a thing for my friends, and we went all the time—even when we got old enough to do other stuff.

  This is my first time going on St. Croix, and while the theater is smaller than what I’m used to, it’s no less crowded. After loading up on popcorn, candy and soda, we squeeze into theater seven to watch the creepy slasher flick I’ve wanted to see.

  “Now this surprises me.” Rigel chuckles as the previews start. “I never would’ve guessed you were into movies like this.”

  “Oh, really? Well. Looks can be deceiving.” I grab a handful of the excessively buttery popcorn we’re sharing. “I like scary books, too.”

  Sitting back in his seat, he grins smugly. “That’s...interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “You know,” he says, reaching into the tub of popcorn. “The link between horror and sex?”

  “Really, Rigel?” Our fingers slide together on their mutual quest for more popcorn. “Why do guys always have to go there?”

  He smiles real slow, popping a kernel into his mouth. “I don’t know.”

  Ugh, he’s cute. Snatching the bucket, I turn my eyes to the screen. “While we’re on topic, don’t think I’m naive as to why we’re sitting in the back row.”