And then the show started and the stars came out, thousands of them, more than you ever saw in real life, even in places like Wyoming, where Gael had once been. It was like they were in a giant, turned-over pasta strainer, with countless tiny openings letting in spots of light just for them.
Gael could hear Anika breathing, but he couldn’t see her. When he turned his head to try, there was only blackness.
And then the most amazing thing happened, something he never could have planned, the kind of thing Gregory Peck might execute flawlessly, but not him, not Gael Brennan. (I have to say that I love that about my job: watching ordinary guys become romantic heroes, just for a moment or two.) Gael set his hand on the armrest between them, but Anika’s was already there. His first instinct was to pull back, but before he could, Anika flipped her hand over, and her long, graceful fingers wove between his and squeezed.
The stars disappeared and there was a seductive glow as the ceiling displayed an image of a mammoth red supergiant.
Gael turned to Anika. He could see her now, her face cast with red, and she was looking right at him.
By the time their lips touched, it was black again.
When the show ended and they stepped outside, into the blinding light of the late afternoon, Gael assumed the whole thing would be forgotten. Making out with your crush in the dark was part of a separate universe, a fluke—perhaps it was something Anika wanted to check off her bucket list. (Which wasn’t that crazy of a thought. Anika was an Adventurer2 when it came to romance.)
But she turned to him, her lip gloss smeared, her cheeks flushed. “Want to go to Cosmic?” she asked. Besides Spanky’s, Cosmic was Gael’s favorite restaurant on Franklin, if you could call it a proper restaurant. The full name was Cosmic Cantina, but when your food was served in a Styrofoam box, it seemed a little silly to use the full name. “The super burrito is calling me,” Anika added.
“Sounds great,” Gael said, and he held her hand again as they walked back onto Franklin Street, toward the lure of greasy burritos and nachos. In the course of one planetarium show, they’d gone from band hangout buddies to so much more.
Anika always got what she wanted, whether it was free guacamole on her Cosmic burrito or extra credit on her math test.
Now, suddenly, she wanted him.
It made Gael feel both amazing and totally out of control.
(Worth noting: Everyone gets scared by that out-of-control feeling. And I do mean everyone.)
Anika’s hand in his felt natural, and the energy between them felt big and important, straight-up literary, like Tristan and Isolde. Cathy and Heathcliff. Romeo and Juliet.
But the thing that Gael forgot to remember was that, whether the author is Shakespeare, Emily Bront?, or whoever the hell wrote Tristan and Isolde, all of those stories have one thing in common:
They end badly.
* * *
2. Adventurer: One who primarily seeks out a partner for life’s adventures (and misadventures), and who doesn’t feel the need for overly romantic gestures, saccharine phrases, or deep discussions about the future. May result in downplaying more serious emotions or situations in favor of “just seeing where it goes.” May also result in a fun, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants relationship that keeps both partners excited and fulfilled.
la vie en woes
“You’re home early again.” Sammy, Piper’s incredibly annoying babysitter, adjusted her thick, rectangular glasses. “I thought you had all kinds of extracurriculars and stuff?”
It was Monday, almost a week since the breakup, and Sammy and his little sister were perched in the dining room, as was their habit. Piper didn’t even look up from her Elementary French book. “He’s supposed to be in marching band, but he’s skipped cinq fois, counting today.” She didn’t wait for Gael to ask. “That means five times.”
Sammy smirked. “Suddenly don’t like playing ‘YMCA’ in formation anymore?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gael said.
“Why not?” Sammy leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand.
“Forgive me if I don’t want to tell all my life problems to my little sister and her babysitter,” Gael snapped.
“Hey,” Piper protested, her short light brown hair swinging back and forth as she shook her head. “She’s not my babysitter.” Indignation was written plainly across her eight-and-three-quarters-year-old face. “I told you she’s my French tutor.”
Gael couldn’t help but laugh. Sammy had been babysitting Piper after school since Gael started marching band his sophomore year, but last August, when his parents found out that Sammy would be majoring in French when she started at UNC, they offered to pay her more if French lessons were involved. Now Pipes absolutely abhorred the word babysitter.