Starry Eyes

by Jenn Bennett

  Like Lennon.

  I’m so eager about him coming back into town that I’m shifting into anxiety mode. It’s been a week since we’ve seen each other—the longest, weirdest week of my life—and so much has changed. What if all of that alters the way we feel about each other? What if that week we spent in isolation was an anomaly? Sure, we reconnected in the wilderness, but what if we can’t make it work in the real world? I worry that the delicate balance of our friendship and our more-than-friendship can’t withstand the weight of everyday life.

  My parents couldn’t make it, and they were married.

  How can the two of us fare any better?

  The longer I’m away from him, the more a particular thought niggles: What if we were just seduced by nature? The magic of twinkling stars. The scent of redwood. Majestic mountains.

  What if this is what influenced Lennon to kiss me that first time at the top of the granite staircase? If we were here at home without the alluring rush of waterfalls in the background, would he have still made that first move?

  Would I have been as receptive to it?

  Is there a nature-related equivalent to beer googles?

  Making out on a blanket under starry skies certainly is more romantic than groping each other on a park bench while Andromeda watches.

  The thing is, we had a chance to make this relationship work last year, but neither of us wanted it hard enough to try. I allowed my dad to talk me into shunning Lennon. Instead of wallowing in pain, I could have gotten off my ass and forced Lennon to tell me what happened at homecoming. And Lennon could have come told me what happened. If he was brave enough to confess stealing Mac’s credit card for the hotel room to both his moms, he could have faced me.

  But he wasn’t.

  And I wasn’t.

  And after all that time together in the woods, neither of us came up with a plan for what to do after we got back to civilization. No promises were made. No pacts. No I love yous were whispered in the dark. Does he still feel the same way about me, now that we’re home?

  Can we make it as real couple in the real world? Or are we better off staying friends?

  It’s easy to think you’re falling in love out in the wilderness, where everything is beautiful and a tent full of condoms is just steps away. Did we just have one weeklong one-night stand?

  How do I know for sure if what we shared together is fleeting or real?

  It probably doesn’t help that I haven’t heard much from him over the last couple of days—only a few brief texts to make plans for our date when he gets back. I try not to let uncertainty get the best of me and do my best to ignore random thoughts of him meeting someone hipper than me in the city and deciding I’m not worth the trouble. I know that’s just my monkey mind, chattering away, restless and distracted. But when he texts me that he needs to delay our date until after dinner, I have flashbacks about homecoming last year.

  What if I’m being ditched again?

  I know it’s not logical, and my mom tells me to relax before I’m covered from head to toe in massive welts. But I’m dressed and ready, wearing my most flattering red-and-black plaid dress, and the sun is setting, and still no Lennon.

  It’s eight o’clock.

  Eight thirty.

  Eight forty-five.

  The doorbell rings.

  I nearly fall on my face, racing to answer it. And then he’s there, standing in front of me. Black hair. Black jeans. Boyish smile.

  Lennon.

  My emotions go haywire, and I’m so happy to see him, my voice dries up and vanishes. We’re both standing here stupidly, and I need one of us to say something—anything!

  “You’re late,” I finally manage.

  He looks dazed. “I had to arrange some stuff. God, you look beautiful.”

  Fireworks go off in my chest. I think I might faint if he doesn’t touch me.

  Just when I can’t take it anymore, his arms are around me, and my arms are around him, and he’s warm and solid, and he smells good, like freshly laundered clothes hanging in the sun. I’m overwhelmed with relief. Gratitude. Joy.

  I know right at that moment that it wasn’t just the twinkling stars. I don’t want to be Just Friends. But what about him?

  “Hi,” he murmurs into my hair.

  “I missed you,” I say, tightening my arms around his back until I can hear his heart thudding inside his chest.

  I want to tell him, I missed you so much, it felt like I was dying.

  I want him to say that to me.

  But we’re both silent, and I feel his arms stiffen. He pulls back, looking over my shoulder. My mom is standing behind us, arms crossed.

  “Hi, Lennon,” she says. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too.”

  She hands him a bag with something in it. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” he says, smiling.

  I glance back and forth between them. “What’s going on? Is this some sort of drug ring?”

  Lennon’s brows waggle. “You’ll see.”

  My mom and Lennon in cahoots? That’s definitely interesting.

  He gives her a shy look. “Are you . . . ? I mean, is it okay that we leave?”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine.” She makes a shooing gesture. “You guys go on out. I’m actually looking forward to some peace and quiet. Just come back at a semireasonable hour.”

  “We will,” he tells her, lifting the bag she gave him in thanks.

  As we head down the steps, she calls out, “And, Lennon? Keep her safe.”

  “Don’t worry,” he calls back. “I always do.”

  He leads me toward his car, which I haven’t been inside since he got it last summer. The heavy door creaks—loudly—and the inside of the car smells like old leather and engine oil. It’s not entirely unpleasant.

  “No dead bodies in the back, right?” I ask when he slides into driver’s seat next to me.

  “Not this week.” He smiles at me, and I feel like I’m melting into the seat.

  For the love of God, get ahold of yourself, Everhart.

  “Now, strap in,” he instructs me, “so I can make good on my responsibility for your safety.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “That’s a secret, Medusa.”

  A tiny, electric thrill shoots through me when he uses my nickname. “I don’t like secrets,” I remind him.

  “You’ll like this one. I think. I hope. Let’s find out.”

  He drives down Mission Street and won’t give me any hints as we speed across town. I try to figure it out—a movie? A restaurant? Coffee at the Jitterbug?—but he just says, “Nope,” after each guess. Honestly, I’m so happy just to be close enough to reach out and touch him that I genuinely don’t care where we go. But when we pass familiar landmarks and the car’s engine strains climbing a hill at the edge of town, I think I realize where we’re headed.

  The observatory.

  He pulls into the parking lot, and we’re the only car here. Not surprising, because it closed half an hour ago. But Lennon parks, and he pulls me across the parking lot toward a zigzagging cement pathway on the left side of the building, which heads to the public rooftop area. We head up inclines bordered with painted metal railings until we get to a locked gate. Lennon punches in a key code.

  “How did you know that?” I ask.

  “Guess I got lucky.”

  “Lennon,” I say, serious.

  “Zorie,” he says, not serious. “I did not come by the code illegally, nor did I promise to do anything illegal in exchange for it. Now, please, if you would, Miss Everhart . . .” He holds the gate open and gestures.

  I squint at him and step through.

  Red lights border the low wall around the dark viewing platform. Below us, at the base of the mountain, the city unfurls to the Bay, a grid of white and yellow lights, sparkling like fallen stars on black ground. San Francisco’s skyline glitters in the distance, and we can see both the Golden Gate and Bay bridges stretching over d
ark water. The wind blows, and I smell eucalyptus trees.

  It’s a beautiful view. A breathtaking view.

  And it’s our view; we are alone.

  When the observatory is operational, a connecting oxidized green dome opens up to allow a large, high-powered professional telescope to scan the skies. That’s closed right now, but the two smaller public telescopes that normally are rolled into a small metal shed every night are still sitting out.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “I’m not positive,” he says, scratching his chin, “but I think it’s an observatory.”

  I slant a hard look at him.

  He flashes me a smile. “Avani helped me arrange it with Dr. Viramontes. We talked a lot after you left the meteor shower. I thought he’d hate me after the big scene with your dad—”

  I groan. It’s still humiliating.

  “But Dr. Viramontes was surprisingly cool about everything.”

  “He’s a cool guy,” I say.

  “He likes you an awful lot,” Lennon says. “Which makes two of us. Here. You’ll need this.”

  I accept the bag that my mom gave him and look inside. It’s my good camera. “My mom’s in on this?”

  “I wanted to make sure she was okay about where we were going. Things were weird between us in the past, and I didn’t want her to hate me like your dad does.”

  I shake my head. “She always stood up for you.”

  “Are you okay? I mean, about your father moving out. I know it’s not easy—for you or you mom.”

  “It’s weird,” I admit. “I’m not sure it’s hit me fully yet.”

  “I wish things had been different. As much as I’ve fantasized about horrible things happening to him, I never wanted to see you or Joy hurting.”

  “I know,” I tell him, crinkling the paper bag that holds my camera. “At least something good came out of it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not banned from seeing you,” I say, feeling inexplicably shy.

  “Not yet,” Lennon says, eyes merry. “The night is young.”

  I set the bag with my camera on a stand next to one of the telescopes. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

  “Pfft. I just got a key code,” Lennon says. “Dr. Viramontes said you’d know how to use the camera mount or jig or tripod, or whatever the hell it is you use—it’s supposed to be in the shed. We just have to lock everything up before we leave. And if we break anything, we’re in huge trouble. I’m talking beheadings. Or lawsuits. I’m not sure which would be worse.”

  “Probably the lawsuit,” I say, looking around. “I’ve never been up here alone.”

  “There’s a lunar eclipse tonight,” he says.

  Huh. He’s right. There is. I remember now.

  He gives me a soft smile. “I know it’s not as good as a meteor shower and the view isn’t as good as Condor Peak, but I did promise you I’d take you to see the stars. I’m making good on that.”

  My breath hitches. I struggle for words, and after glancing around the rooftop dumbly, I blink up at Lennon. “I don’t know what to say. It’s one of the most thoughtful things anyone’s ever done for me.”

  “I don’t know . . . I’d argue that rescuing you from an angry bear should get me a few points.”

  I chuckle. “That’s true. But I let you win at poker and gave you most of my M&M’s stash. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

  I suddenly realize what I’ve said.

  He realizes it too.

  Still holding my hand, he slings his other arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

  “Are you?” I whisper.

  “Yes, I am. Because I love you too.”

  Goose bumps rush over my arms. “You do?”

  “I’ve always loved you,” he murmurs. “And I probably always will. You’re my best friend, and you’re my family. The year I waited for you was the worst of my life, but it was worth every second. If I had to do it all over again just to hold you in my arms, I would.”

  “Well, I would not,” I say, bleary-eyed. “Because I love you too, and I can’t stand to be apart from you for another minute. So stop jinxing it.”

  “You love me,” he says, grinning stupidly. He dips his head lower, until his nose brushes mine.

  “Of course I love you. You’re mine, and I can’t go back to being just friends. So if we have to sleep in the woods or fight with our families, then that’s just what we’re going to do. I don’t want to live a life that doesn’t have you in it.”

  “Tell me again,” he says as he kisses my neck right below my ear.

  Warmth rushes across my skin. “I can’t think straight when you do that.”

  “I’ll stop, then.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Tell me again,” he repeats, kissing my jaw.

  “You’re mine.”

  “The other thing.”

  “I love you.”

  He pulls back to look at me, pursing his lips as he blows out a hard breath. Then his smile is monumental. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. I’m going to need to hear it a lot. My ego is fragile.”

  I laugh, pushing away a tear. “Your ego has never been fragile.”

  “It is around you.”

  I kiss him under his chin, and he shivers with pleasure. “I can’t think straight when you do that either.”

  “Good. Let’s not think. It’s overrated.”

  “I know we promised your mom that you’d be home at a decent hour, but that eclipse won’t be happening until midnight—”

  “You did say there were no bodies in the back of your hearse.”

  “It’s sooo body-free back there,” he assures me. “And it’s no tent in the middle of the forest, but it’s pretty private. There may even be a blanket and a pillow. You know I follow the Boy Scout motto. Be prepared.”

  “It’s my favorite thing about you.”

  “When we were in the tent, you said it was something else,” he murmurs, grinning as he pulls me closer.

  “I was starving and scared and not in my right mind. I probably said a lot of things. You may have to remind me.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m in the mood to solve a mystery. What do you say? Want to do some detectiving with the boy you love?”

  I do. I absolutely do.

  29

  * * *

  “I’m telling you, the members of KISS mixed their own blood into the red ink used to print the first KISS comic book,” Sunny says. “Bet you a cupcake I’m right.”

  It’s nearly dark outside, and I’m standing in Toys in the Attic next to Sunny, who is lording over a stack of boxes near the front window display. Her face is animated as she talks to us. “It was in the seventies, and one of the big publishers, Marvel or DC Comics, put out a KISS comic—you know, Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley in makeup, being superheroes, or whatever. And they used the band’s blood in the ink. I swear it’s true.”

  Mac rolls her eyes. “Who starts these demented rumors?” she says in her Scottish lilt. “That is so not true. And it’s disgusting.”

  My mom crosses her arms, nodding at Mac. “Can you imagine how many STDs those guys had? Who would want their tainted blood in a comic book?”

  “Plenty of people, apparently, because it’s a fact,” Sunny insists. “Ask Lennon.”

  I tug a belt loop on the back of his black jeans. He’s bent over, half of his body inside the back of the shop’s window display—a group of carved Halloween pumpkins and a black cauldron overflowing with condoms and bottles of massage gel instead of witch’s brew. Halloween was last night, so we’re swapping out the jack-o’-lanterns for a Thanksgiving cornucopia.

  “Did you hear all that?” I ask.

  He emerges from the window display, standing up to full height. “Sunny’s right. A nurse drew their blood, and they flew to New York and had pictures taken at Marvel’s printing plant, where they dumped vials of their blood into a vat of
ink. A notary public witnessed and certified it.”

  “Eww,” we all say in chorus.

  Lennon shrugs. “KISS was always doing silly, shocking gimmicks like that to sell their merchandise. They were more interested in making money than music.”

  “And that’s why you owe me a cupcake,” Sunny tells Mac, her face lifting into a delighted grin.

  Mac shakes her fists at the ceiling. “Curse you, Rock Star Urban Legend Game.”

  I’m not sure why she bothers siding against Sunny. She always loses. Or maybe that’s the point. All I know is that a cupcake sounds pretty freaking good about right now, and I’m wishing this window display were filled with actual candy instead of condoms. I think I’ve been eating too much junk food lately, which is something I didn’t know could happen. But Mom and I have been too busy to go to the grocery store for real food. Our only home-cooked sustenance has been Sunday dinners at the Mackenzies’.

  It’s been a couple of months since my dad left. He’s still in San Francisco, and he’s already in full-on Diamond Dan pivot mode, doing something impulsive. He enrolled in a certification course for—I kid you not—equine massage therapy. That’s right, he wants to move to Sonoma and give horses back rubs. Hey, it’s his life, I suppose. I’ve talked to him on the phone a couple of times, but I haven’t seen him. A good thing, probably. I’m not as angry as I once was, but I don’t need any more disruptions in my life.

  And Mom doesn’t either. She’s been busy too. Everhart Wellness Clinic is now Moon Wellness Spa. Yes, she’s the one who decided to christen the spa with her maiden name, but I’m the one who suggested she use an actual moon in her new logo. Sunny and Mac found her a new masseuse—a friend of a friend who was moving out here to the East Bay, because she couldn’t afford the rent in the city anymore. San Francisco got Dad and exchanged him for Anna, a young Latina who has purple hair and likes dogs. Win-win.

  While Mom is busy rebuilding her business, my focus is on school. At first, I was hyperconcerned with college applications, but now Lennon and I are starting to think about taking a year off between high school and college—a so-called gap year. It would allow me to build my astrophotography portfolio and take a Korean language class at the local community college so I can communicate better with Grandpa Sam. Lennon wants to work full-time and save up some money. He wants us to go backpacking in Europe. I’m definitely amenable to this idea.