Of All The Stars

by Ally B

  “I hate this.” Kendall huffs, adjusting the gold chain straps on her shoulders.

  “Yeah, me too,” Violet says bluntly, “Next!”

  Trying on dresses is nowhere near as fun and glamorous as the movies make it seem.

  It’s all a series of trying to zip and getting your hair caught and not knowing how the weird ties in the back work and feeling like a sausage being stuffed in casing because companies can’t decide on standard measurements for a size ten.

  “This is it,” I say to Violet as I fling the thick white curtain away, showing her the final dress. It’s a light blue satin A-line with simple spaghetti straps and a small V-neckline.

  “Oh my God, Phoebe, you have to get that one.” Kendall comes out wearing a purple satin body-con dress with a droopy neck.

  “Only if you get that one. It looks amazing on you.” I tell her honestly.

  “Will Violet allow herself to be photographed with someone wearing purple?” She raises an eyebrow at the girl on the ottoman.

  “I’ll make an exception, but only because you look hot as hell.” She giggles. “So, do you love them?”

  “Absolutely,” Kendall says, turning to look at herself in the mirror.

  “Yeah.” I tell her, watching the skirt flutter in the air as I turn while trying to ignore how much bigger my arms are than Kendall’s.

  I’m grateful I chose this dress when I hear the cashier ring Kendall’s up for $250. She swipes her card through the reader without hesitation, not worried about the amount of money she spent on a dress she’s only going to wear once.

  I hand the woman the cash my mom had given me for my dress, quickly tucking the change into my wallet before following Violet and Kendall deeper into the mall.

  “I’m buying you an outfit for your birthday,” Violet says as she rummages through a rack of crop tops that look like they would fit a toddler.

  “Vi, you don’t have to do that.” I shake my head.

  “I didn’t say you get to pick the outfit.” She pops a hand on her hip. “This is more a gift for me than it is for you. I’m tired of planning your outfits with nothing to work with.”

  “Thank you, Vi.” I shake my head, knowing with her taste in clothes, the outfit will be too expensive for me.

  We wander around the mall, stepping into what feels like every store before Violet is satisfied.

  “I’m exhausted.” Violet huffs as she pulls out of the parking lot.

  “Do you want me to drive?” I offer instantly, feeling my stomach tie in knots.

  “Not that tired. We’ll all survive the drive home.”

  “Okay,” I say softly, feeling my stomach flip at the phrasing.

  “That’s not what I—” She corrects herself.

  “I know, Vi. You’re good.” I give her a brief reassuring smile.

  “Text, Vi.” Kendall grabs Violet’s phone out of the cupholder. “You’re supposed to leave for Vermont in a few hours?”

  “Oh fuck.” She groans, merging onto the highway. “Maple syrup festival.”

  “Why do you go to that?”

  “It’s the one thing a year they actually make me do. Fucking syrup everything.”

  “And you can’t just go to Wegmans and buy Mrs. Buttersworth like everyone else?” She asks.

  “My parents met at Dartmouth, so it’s like a thing for them.” She sighs. “Entire weekend. College visit to shove it down my throat that I’m disappointing them by not wanting to go to Dartmouth and sickening amounts of maple syrup.”

  “Then you better step on it,” Kendall says. I watch carefully as the speedometer climbs well above the speed limit, gripping the side of the door and trying to steady my shaking breath until she finally slows down and gets off of the highway.

  Ursa Minor

  The Little Bear

  “How was your shopping trip?” My father asks me as I slice an onion, blinking away tears.

  “Good,” I answer, throwing the onion into the pan on the stove along with the bell pepper I’d sliced before.

  “Just good?” He asks.

  “I don’t really like dress shopping. Vi and Kendall are fun, though.”

  “Kendall, I get, but I never thought you would be friends with Violet Nakamura,” he says, spooning tomato paste into the pan.

  “She’s not friends with Gabby and Ava anymore.”

  “Less princess-ey?” He asks.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Way to be blunt, Tom.

  “Big party tomorrow?” He asks. “You always loved your birthday.”

  “I don’t really love it anymore. Grew out of it, I guess.” I tell him not bringing up the incident with Amy the year he went away.

  “No party then?” He asks.

  “No. Star Wars and macarons with mom, maybe the planetarium.”

  “Don’t you get sick of that place, being there so often?” He stirs some heavy cream into the sauce.

  “Never.” I shake my head.

  “You always did love that.” He shakes his head. “Your grandfather took you all the time.”

  My mom’s dad.

  “I don’t remember.” I shrug.

  “You were little. He was really good friends with the owner there, Jeremy?”

  “Jerry.” I correct him.

  “Yeah. They were friends before…”

  “Yeah. Jerry’s mentioned it a few times.” The only reason Jerry hired me is because of his relationship with my grandfather. I know that, but I hardly remember going to the planetarium with my grandpa, let alone the two of them being friends. “How’s the job search?” I change the subject.

  “It’s all right. Returning to teach at a college doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen.” He shakes his head. “I might start looking at high school Latin positions.”

  “You really want to teach just Latin?” I ask him.

  “I’m not going to find a high school that has an open mythology position.” He chuckles.

  “The Latin teacher at Emerson is retiring this year,” I tell him, sitting on a stool on the opposite side of the counter to the kitchen.

  “Really?” He asks. “Would you be okay with me working at your school?”

  “I won’t be around next year. It doesn’t matter to me.” I shrug, taking a sip of water.

  “I’ll look into it,” he says, stirring the tomato sauce.

  We cook and eat dinner with minimal conversation, which is perfect for me. I visited him once on my birthday, and it was the same way. He gets all weird about the passage of time, and I can tell he feels bad about not being more involved in my life.

  Little does he know he’s done a great job of consuming all of it.

  “I got you this. I know it’s not much, but I figured seventeen is a big one.” He slides a little white box across the counter.

  I open it, revealing a gold necklace with a charm in the shape of Ursa Minor.

  “Thank you,” I tell him. “Really, this is beautiful.”

  “It’s your favorite, right?”

  It was my favorite when I was twelve.

  “Yeah.” I lie. “Thank you.” The box snaps shut and I smile. “I love it.”

  I rinse the dishes before putting them into the dishwasher, then I stare at the clock on the stove, knowing I have to leave in five minutes if I want to be home by nine, and it seems like it takes forever for time to pass.

  As soon as it does, I hurry

  “I’ve got to go,” I tell him as I head toward the door. “Thank you.”

  “Happy birthday, kid,” he says as I open his front door.

  “Thanks,” I say as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me in for a hug.

  And I hate it.

  “How was it?” My mom asks me as I pull my shower-damp hair into a messy bun.

  “Good,” I tell her simply, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove.

  “Just good?” She asks.

  “Just good. Nothing happened.”

  “You’re allowed to be upset.” She
reassures me.

  “We visited him, Mom. It’s not like I haven’t seen him since the accident.”

  “Okay.” She holds her hands up in innocence. “Dropping it.”

  I grab the squealing kettle off of the stove and pour the water over a green tea bag and set the kettle down. Once it’s cooled a bit, I sip the tea from the bright red Christmas mug, a part of my mom’s odd collection.

  “When do you want me to bring you to the planetarium?” She asks.

  “I think we’re going to walk,” I explain.

  “It’s dark out.”

  “Streetlamps. A wonderful invention by a Russian guy named Yablochkov.”

  “You do know you won’t get thrown in jail if you drive after nine, right, smart-ass?” She asks me.

  “I don’t break rules.” I remind her as I wait for my tea to cool.

  “You need to cut loose a little.”

  “Cut loose?” I nearly laugh at the outdated slang.

  “Foot-loose.” She sings. I’m not saying she’s tone-deaf, but I’m not saying she’s any good, either. “I’m driving you if you won’t drive yourself.”

  “It’s a five-minute walk. Love you.” I say as I walk toward the door.

  “At least put that into something with a lid.” She demands.

  I return to the kitchen, and I pour the tea from the Christmas mug into a travel one, making eye contact with her the entire time.

  She rolls her eyes as I screw the lid on, putting the Christmas mug in the sink.

  Walking toward the door to make my escape, I yell over my shoulder, “I’ll do the dishes when I get home.”

  “Love you!”

  “Love you, too,” I say as I grab my keys, shoving them into the pocket of my grey sweatpants. I pull on my heaviest winter coat, knowing it’ll be even colder than it is now when we get home after midnight.

  Max is trudging through his yard when I close my door. “Can’t wet hair like freeze and break off?” he asks as we begin down the street.

  “It would be a fun change.” I shrug.

  He flips the hood over my head, the faux-fur trim making it nearly impossible to see anything. I pull the hood back, glaring at him as we walk under the light of the street lamps.

  “You’re going to freeze.” He scolds.

  “No, I’m not.” I hold up my travel mug for him to see.

  “Your tea is going to save you from hypothermia?”

  “It warms the soul.” I grin, tucking my hands in the sleeves of my jacket.

  “You have the keys?”

  I pull my lanyard out of my pocket, jangling them in his face before tucking them back into my jacket.

  “It’s cold, Pheebs.” He complains again as we continue down the road.

  “You’re the one who always complains about being too warm.” I scold.

  “I like a cool breeze, not pneumonia.” He huffs.

  “Good news, we’re here, and I’m alive,” I tell him as we cut through the grass in front of the planetarium, and he sighs exaggeratedly.

  I unlock one of the double doors, making sure it latches behind us before turning on the lights in the theater. I walk to the booth, and Max heads for the open area in the front of the room. He pulls the backpack off of his shoulder, followed by his coat.

  I turn on the equipment and turn off the main lights before sitting down next to Max.

  “You’re old now,” he says, staring up at the dome.

  “Not yet. Twenty-two more minutes.” I remind him, checking the time on my phone.

  “Still old.” He sighs.

  The silence isn’t uncomfortable; it never is.

  “I can’t believe you’re here every day.” He shakes his head. “Does it get old?”

  “Not really.” I focus in on Albireo. “It’s different every day. You just have to pay attention.”

  “Why are they your favorite? Really? Out of all of the stars in the sky, why did you choose those two?”

  “My grandpa loved Cygnus. My mom loves the Northern Cross. I love Albireo.” I shrug. “I don’t know why. That’s just the way it is.”

  “I get that.” He sighs. “Still don’t know why that’s just the way it is.”

  “We won’t be able to do this next year,” I say, staring at the dome. “You’ll be busy in California hiding from quinoa.”

  “And you’ll be with your nerdy Princeton friends discovering aliens or something.”

  “Maybe I’ll escape to California for indigenous people’s day. Three-day weekend?”

  “You’re going to come to California for one day?”

  “I think it would be worth it. Traditions shouldn’t be broken.”

  “It’s not a tradition. It’s an annual event.” He corrects me. “Traditions are like peer pressure from old dead people.”

  “You can’t let me have one win? For my birthday?”

  “It’s not your birthday for another five minutes.” He shakes his head. “My twenty-four hours of required kindness have yet to begin.”

  “The best twenty-four hours of the year.” I yawn, resting my head on his shoulder.

  “Did you find a dress today?” He asks.

  “Mmhm.”

  “Do you actually like it, or did you just buy it to get it over with.”

  “No comment,” I mutter.

  “What color is it?” He asks.

  “You don’t have to pretend to care about a dress yet. You have three minutes.” I tell him. “But it’s blue.”

  “Dark blue or light blue?”

  “Light,” I answer, staring at Albireo.

  “How was your dad’s?”

  “Weird.”

  “Wanna talk about it?” He asks. I can tell he’s actually concerned, but I shake my head no.

  “Not now.”

  “I don’t have to actually listen to you for another two minutes. I could just call pink Starburst.”

  “But, you won’t.” I sigh.

  “Why’s that?” He asks.

  “Because you love me.” Weak excuse, but it’ll work because he feels bad.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re all right sometimes.” He huffs, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

  “One minute,” he says.

  “Seventeen isn’t a big one anyway.”

  “You have an entire year of being able to sing ‘Dancing Queen’ shamelessly.”

  “You sing ‘Dancing Queen’ shamelessly. I’ll just record it and use it for blackmail.”

  “You would never.” There’s a tired smile on his lips.

  “I plan on sending a great video to Ava in exactly thirty seconds when you aren’t allowed to be mad at me.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “You think I’m much nicer than I actually am.”

  “That’s true, but what can I say? You’re my kryptonite, Phoebe Mitchell.” He looks down slightly, his deep brown eyes meeting mine.

  We live in that moment for what feels like years. He smells of his favorite cinnamon chewing gum, and his stupid three-in-one body wash—of familiarity and safety. Shadows from the ceiling cast across his face, the light of a planet in his hair, stars in his eyes, and a comet on his rose-colored lips.

  His face gets closer to mine. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, and I feel like I could bask in it forever.

  And then the first few notes of ‘Dancing Queen’ blare from his phone.

  “Happy birthday, Phoebe Mitchell,” he says softly, tapping his phone to stop the music.

  I move away from him, turning my head to my phone on the carpeted floor. “Thanks.”

  Reticulum

  The Net

  “Happy birthday, honey!” My mom nearly shouts as she enters my room with a wooden breakfast tray, one blue balloon, and one yellow balloon tied to the handles on each side.

  “Thanks.” I groggily attempt to rub the sleep from my eyes.

  She sets the tray on my nightstand, unplugging my phone from the charger and throwing it at me. I don’t even a
ttempt to catch it, just letting it fall next to me in bed.

  “Your fan club has been blowing up your phone since you passed out.” She sits on the edge of my bed.

  Vi

  Happy Birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!! - Vi

  U suck for not letting us do something! - Vi

  Kendall

  Happy Bday! love you - Kendall

  Jackson

  Vi told me I had to say happy birthday - Jackson

  Ava

  Happy birthday girly! - Ava

  I ignore the rest of the notifications, dropping my phone on the bed next to me.

  “I have the entire day off. What do you want to do today? She asks.

  “You act like I’m ever going to pick anything but Star Wars and macarons.”

  “You and your routines.” She sighs. “Let’s go skydiving or something.”

  “You’re my fifty-year-old ER doctor mom, shouldn’t you be discouraging me from making reckless decisions?” I take an apple slice off of the tray.

  “You don’t need any discouraging.” She steals a slice of apple for herself. “Those are those weird pumpkin pancakes you like. I went to Trader Joe’s for you.”

  “Was it the worst experience of your life? Did you break out in hives when you walked through the gluten-free section?”

  “Still itchy.” She jokingly scratches her arm.

  My mom’s fascination with high fructose corn syrup started when she first moved here. She describes it like she was Dorothy leaving Kansas at the ripe old age of six. Max often refers to her as the anti-Camila, constantly keeping our pantry stocked with sugary cereals and unhealthy snacks while managing to stay stick-thin. I don’t remember it being like that before the accident. I don’t know if it was the fact that dad wasn’t around to yell at her for feeding us junk or her trying to make me less miserable, but our pantry looked like a five-year-old did the grocery shopping for a few months until Jack finally started grocery shopping for us. He thinks it was her mid-life crisis, but I think she was just letting herself live after divorcing her alcoholic husband.