Of All The Stars

by Ally B

  “I’d like to see you try.” I bury myself in my comforter.

  He sighs. “You make everything so difficult.”

  “I’ll kill you.”

  “Because you’re so vicious?”

  “You’re the one who let me drink.”

  “Blame cracker boy, not me,” he says with a twinge of amusement.

  “I genuinely don’t think she knows his name.” I pull the comforter off of my face.

  “I think I’m going to start calling him cracker boy, too. Has a better ring to it.” He grins.

  “Go eat a pancake.” I attempt to hit him in the face with a light blue throw pillow, but he easily dodges it.

  “Did Ava survive the night?”

  “Clara brought Vi and Ava home when she came to pick Kendall up. Haven’t talked to her since.” He answers shortly, flopping down next to me in my bed.

  “What happened to getting up and eating pancakes?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “We both know that’s not going to happen.” He sighs.

  I watch as the icy October wind pushes my curtains around and manages to blow a piece of paper off of my nightstand before Max reaches over me to shut the window.

  “Since when do you sleep with your window open?” He asks.

  “I don’t really remember what I did last night.” I sigh.

  “You need to clean this pig-sty,” he says, looking around at my bedroom floor.

  “There’s like two shirts on my floor.” I defend.

  He shakes his head disapprovingly. “Don’t you have work today?”

  “Not until three,” I say, staring out of my bedroom window. “No practice?”

  “In the gym at six.” He grimaces.

  “At least you won’t be cold?”

  “No, instead I get to sweat my ass off running on a treadmill for two hours.”

  “Just skip,” I suggest.

  “Oh, you’re going insane now too? Instead of just becoming an alcoholic?” He jokes.

  “I’m going to kill you.” I groan.

  “I don’t think you’re going to get the chance,” he says, looking at his phone screen. “Apparently, I have to go get my flu shot.”

  “Are you going to cry?” I ask, a small smile on my face.

  “Would that make you feel better?” He replies.

  I pinch my thumb and pointer finger close together. “A little bit.”

  “You’re a brat.” He flings his legs over the side of my bed. “Don’t take drinks from people.”

  “I told him I don’t drink.” I huff, staring at the stars on my ceiling.

  “I know.” He sighs. “Don’t take drinks from people.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Any time.” He squeezes my hand, muscles still aching from last night. “I’ve got to go. Go downstairs and see your mom?”

  “Mmmhm.” I pull the blanket over my shoulders. “She’s going to kill me.”

  “She’s not going to kill you.” He promises. “She’s pissed at Graham, though.”

  “Great,” I mutter, turning away from him and looking out of the window. “Your mom is in her car.”

  “Shit.” He stands. “Eat something.”

  “I will,” I promise.

  “See you later?”

  “See ya,” I say as he leaves my room.

  “Nice of you to finally join me.” My mom looks up from her laptop as I enter the kitchen. “You’re a big drinker now?”

  “I was an unwilling participant.” I groan, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove.

  “Have you ever listened to a single story I’ve told you about kids coming into the ER and needing their stomachs pumped?”

  “I didn’t even know I was drinking.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t like cracker boy.”

  “He didn’t really know.”

  “You told him you don’t drink. That should’ve been enough.” She shakes her head. “There’s some pancakes in the microwave. I let Max have most of them.”

  I heat up the pancakes, yawning as I lean against the counter.

  “Did you at least have fun?” She asks.

  “A bunch of McArthur kids showed up.”

  “Really?”

  “Their soccer team.” I clarify as I grab a mug from the cabinet.

  “Oh wow.” She pauses. “Was Max mad?”

  “Not really. Tommy and Gabby were, though.”

  She shakes her head, pressing her mug to her lips. “I’m surprised.”

  “I was too,” I say, pouring the hot water over a teabag.

  I pull the pancakes out of the microwave and grab a fork, sitting down at our little wooden table.

  “Jack is coming home for Thanksgiving this year,” she says as I cut into the pancakes.

  “Did he call?” I ask, taking a bite.

  “Last night, right after you left. He says happy birthday, by the way.”

  “What does he have against texting?” I ask her, stabbing my fork into another piece of pumpkin pancake.

  “He’s having fun with his bajillion dollars in accumulated student loans—no time for texting.” She laughs.

  Jack has an entirely separate life at NYU, as proven by his social media posts at trendy cafes in Brooklyn and not much else. He keeps us separate from his new life, and never really talks about it, at least not with us.

  “I have work tonight,” I tell her, taking a sip of the tea.

  “I have to go in at one,” she says blankly, scrolling through something on her laptop.

  “Weird.”

  “I know.” She shakes her head. “I forgot about the party. Couldn’t give you this last night.” She holds up an envelope with my name on it.

  “I didn’t expect to be out so late,” I say, taking the pink envelope from her hand.

  There’s no card in the envelope, just a plane ticket.

  “What’s this about?”

  “You can use it any time to go anywhere. I’m getting Max one for his birthday, too,” she says. “Stanford and Princeton are far away.”

  “Thank you so much.” I shake my head, wrapping my arms around her.

  The idea of Max and I not being right next door to each other has been one I’ve blocked out for the past few months. It didn’t really feel real until we turned in our applications. Her generous gift makes it even more difficult.

  “I’ve got to go to work. See you later?” She asks, closing her computer.

  “See you,” I say softly, feeling tears well in my eyes.

  Draco

  The Dragon

  “There are eighty-eight recognized constellations in our sky. The oldest description of those constellations comes from a poem, titled Phaenomena, which was written around 270 B.C. by a Greek poet named Aratus, but we know they’ve been up there since before then. We also get the naming of individual stars from the Greeks.” I continue the scripted speech and answer a few questions before retiring to the booth.

  I manage to ignore the notifications on my phone for a while, but finally get bored enough to answer Violet.

  Vi

  R u alive????????? - Vi

  I tried to kick graham’s ass but Jackson stopped me - Vi

  He’s kinda cute sometimes - Vi

  Did you die of alcohol poisoning? - Vi

  This is why we drink White Claws - Vi

  Only a teensy bit super drunk instead of REALLY super drunk - Vi

  Teaching moment - Vi

  Are u dead? - Vi

  I’m going to assume ur dead - Vi

  What pic do you want to be on ur obituary??? - Vi

  Instagram profile pics of the ones we took last night????? - Vi

  Bc u look hot in those - Vi

  U might want to go for a more ‘cute girl-next-door’ thing in ur obituary tho - Vi

  Better for ur image - Vi

  So ig profile pic - Vi

  We took pics last night? - Phoebe

  It’s alive!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! - Vi

  Check u
r Instagram - Vi

  I quickly exit the conversation and open Instagram. Thankfully, no one is holding red cups, cans, or bottles in any of the pictures. They’re blurry, the lighting is terrible, and they don’t match anything else on my feed, but they are kind of cute. I look a lot less tense than I do in the rest of my pictures, which makes sense, I guess. There are four pictures in the one post. I make a mental note to get them printed before college.

  Vi

  Not terrible, I guess. - Phoebe

  They’re cute! - Vi

  The one of u and max makes my heart happy - Vi

  And plz quit texting like ur writing a term paper it makes me uncomfy - Vi

  I can’t help but roll my eyes at Vi’s comment before opening the new notifications from my mom.

  Mom

  There’s been an accident. - Mom

  Ask Jerry if you can leave. - Mom

  I have Camila with me. Another doctor has Max. - Mom

  Come to the hospital now. - Mom

  Get Mia on your way. She’s home alone. - Mom

  Bill is here. - Mom

  “Jerry?” I approach the back of the theater, feeling like I’m dragging myself through water.

  “What’s wrong?” He asks, his eyes full of concern.

  “Max got into an accident,” I tell him softly, my vision growing blurry.

  “Let’s go.” He grabs my hand, opening one of the double doors. The light from the lobby is blinding compared to the dark theater, and I can barely make anything out as Jerry leads me through the front doors.

  “Kat, call Grandma and tell her she needs to come in” Jerry shouts to the concession booth.

  “Everything okay?” I can hear Kat ask.

  But there’s no response as the front door slams behind us.

  Jerry leads me to his passenger door, opening it and buckling me into the seat like a child. He closes the door behind him before speeding out of the parking lot.

  “Which hospital?” He asks, but his voice is muffled. Everything is.

  “Mia.” I blurt out. “She’s at home. She took the bus and Bill was supposed to be there when she g-got—”

  “Okay. We’re going to pick her up. Right next door to your house, right?”

  I nod in response, my breathing shaky.

  I feel my stomach churn as we turn onto my street.

  This isn’t happening.

  No. Not to Max. Anyone but Max.

  “He’s going to be okay,” Jerry says quietly.

  It seems like hours have passed before Jerry speaks.

  “This one?” He asks, slowing as we reach Max’s house.

  I nod.

  Jerry stops the car in front of Max’s house, putting it in park. “Do you want me to go in and get her?” He asks.

  I wordlessly shake my head no, struggling to unbuckle my seatbelt, struggling to push open the door and struggling to get my shit together, and I need to. Mia needs me to.

  Realization kicks me in the ass, and I walk as quickly as I can to the door, knowing it’s still not fast enough.

  I reach for the spare key, hidden on the bottom of the window planter next to the door. I pull the tape off and twist it in the door, but it’s already unlocked.

  “Mia?” I call out as I walk into the house.

  She jumps up from the couch and wraps her arms around my waist. “Are they okay?”

  “We’re going to go now,” I tell her. I have no idea. I can’t even convince myself to lie to her.

  She runs to Jerry’s car as I lock the door shakily. I have to guide her trembling shoulders into the unfamiliar SUV.

  “Mama.” Tears well in her little brown eyes.

  The drive to the hospital has never felt longer. My vision grows blurry, but I blink away tears, focusing on the highway in front of me as we approach the exit for the hospital. I feel useless as Jerry fights traffic in an attempt to pull over to the curb.

  “They’re at Mama’s work?” Mia finally speaks up.

  “Yeah, they’re at Mama’s work,” I tell her, not even having thought about the fact that the hospital’s lead thoracic surgeon is under the care of my mom right now, clearly unable to operate on herself or Max if need be.

  “I’m going to park, and then I’ll meet you, okay?” Jerry asks.

  I nod, staring at the street in front of me.

  “You’ve got to go, Phoebe,” he says patiently.

  I nod again, forcing the muscles in my shaky hand to unclench and unbuckle the stupid seatbelt. “Come on, Mi.”

  She grips my hand as we walk through the automatic doors, and part of me is relieved when she squeezes my hand.

  “Max and Camila Sanchez?” I ask the woman at the desk.

  “Who are you in relation to the patients?” She asks me, not even looking up from her computer.

  “This is Camila’s daughter and Max’s sister,” I tell her, referring to Mia, whose little head is barely taller than the huge desk.

  “They’re in the emergency room,” she says after typing something into her computer. “Tests are being run.”

  “I’m aware. Can we go in?” I ask her.

  “You can wait,” she says.

  I take a deep breath, making sure my words won’t be shaky before lying. “My mother is Doctor Novák. She told me we were good to enter upon arrival.”

  “And your name is?” She raises an eyebrow.

  “Phoebe Mitchell.”

  She beckons a familiar security guard, and the two whisper for a moment before he waves us in. The woman behind the desk rattles off Camila’s room number, and I open one of the double doors, Mia’s hand still in my shaky one.

  “Are they okay?” She asks me as we nearly run down the hall.

  “They’re going to be all right, Mimi. Don’t worry.” I use the familiar nickname, Max’s nickname for her.

  I stop in front of ER room 124, where I can see my mother and a few other nurses bent over Camila through the glass.

  “Is that Mama?” Mia asks me.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “My Mama’s helping her right now. See?” I point to my mom’s hunched back, thankfully, the scrub and lab coat clad people are blocking Camila from Mia’s view.

  And mine.

  “Can I see her?” She asks me.

  “We have to wait for someone to tell us we can go in,” I tell her, leading her to a chair against the wall. She sits in it, her feet dangling.

  “Daddy was supposed to be home,” her lower lip quivers.

  “Your daddy is here now. He was on the way home when he heard.”

  “And then he called me?”

  “And then he called you,” I tell her. I hear frantic beeping from a room down the hall, and try to push the thought out of my mind that it could be Max.

  “Do you want a snack?” I ask her.

  “I’m not hungry.” She shakes her head, kicking her feet and staring into her lap.

  “How about some water?” I suggest, crouching down next to her chair.

  “Not thirsty either.”

  “I’m going to call your dad, okay?” I ask her.

  She nods her little head before returning her gaze to her lap.

  I open my phone, quickly searching my contacts to find Mr. Sanchez. I press dial and put the phone to my ear. The ringing seems like it’ll go on forever until Bill finally answers.

  “Phoebe?”

  “I’m in front of Camila’s room with Mia,” I tell him.

  “Shit… can you get her out of there?” He asks.

  “Yeah. Of course.” I tell him.

  “I’m with Max in 233. Come down this way,” he says, ending the phone call.

  “Mimi?” I speak up, putting my phone into my pocket.

  “Yeah?” She asks.

  “We’re going to go down to Max’s room, okay?” I tell her, grabbing her hand and leading her down the hallway.

  “But who’s gonna stay with Mama?” A tear trickles down her cheek.

  A silent sob nearly escapes me
as I grab her up, hugging her tight so she can’t look in the room, and tell her all I can, “my Mama is with her Mi.”

  233 feels like it’s forever away, but when we reach the room, it’s nowhere near as hectic as Camila’s room. The only people in the room are Bill and a nurse checking Max’s vitals.

  “Hi, baby,” Mr. Sanchez stands from his chair, picking Mia up.

  “What happened?” She asks him.

  “A car accident. Mama and Max are okay.” He tells me.

  “Are you sure?” She asks him.

  “Of course, honey. Do you want to talk to Max?” He asks her.

  I step into the doorway, desperate to talk to him. Even to see him. Just to make sure he’s okay.

  “Maxi?” Mia says softly, Mr. Sanchez leaning her over the side of the bed toward her brother.

  And that’s when I actually see him.

  I feel like I’m going to throw up when I see all of the wires and needles poking into him. His broad shoulders and bulging arms look tiny surrounded by all of the machines.

  Outside of Max’s room, beeps and frantic voices fill the hallway, and I see Bill turn toward the door, panic in his eyes.

  “How about I stay with them, and you go,” I suggest to him. “Max is all right.”

  “Thanks, Phoebe,” he says, turning and almost taking Mimi with him out of the door. “I’ll be back soon. Call me if anything—”

  “I’ve got them,” I tell him as I take Mimi, and he exits, almost running down the hall toward Camila’s room.

  Mia looks over to Max, deep concern etches her features.

  “Why is he like this?” She asks, shimmying out of my hold.

  “He got into a car accident, honey,” I tell her, pulling two chairs to his bedside.

  “But he’s a good driver. Really good.” She climbs into one of the chairs, staring at the machines.

  “Accidents happen to everyone. It might not have even been his fault.” I tell her, silently praying it wasn’t.

  “What about his soccer game on Friday?” She asks. “Mama and I were supposed to go.”

  Soccer.

  Fuck.

  “Max might not be able to play soccer for a while.” My voice breaks.

  He can’t not play soccer. It’s not an option. Not for him.