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Authors: Cecil Castellucci
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my love is sized, my fear is so:
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there
.
—T HE P LAYER Q UEEN IN
H AMLET
When I come home and find her reading aloud, I know that she’s drunk. The kind of drunk that means there was an anniversary that I didn’t know about. Or that she’s gotten wind of some kind of news. Or perhaps she just had a bad day where everything, all the lies, all the broken promises, all the heartbreak, were too much for her to bear.
I should feel sorry for her. But when she’s in the living room reading out loud and gesticulating and spitting out her words and chasing them down with the heavier stuff, like bourbon, I don’t even say hello. Or ask her if she’s eaten anything.
I go straight down the hallway, turn on my computer, put on my earphones, and kick some troll ass with Sameer and Mark online.
The whole time I’m thinking of the symbol on the map Hooper gave me.
How we think. How we build. How we live.
How this defines us.
How we are stars that can explode.
41.
I probably shouldn’t have brought the star chart to school, and definitely shouldn’t have opened it during free period, but I like to look at it every chance I get.
“What is that?” Posey is leaning way over. Her chair is tipping off its legs and I fear for her safety, so instead of covering up Hooper’s papers, I open them up toward her.
Her eyes pop open. “Star charts!”
She scoots her chair closer to me.
I can smell her now. I always thought she would smell good up close, just from the way that she looks. She smells lemony. Her hair falls all over the place as she leans over the chart, oohing and ahhing.
I sneeze.
“These are beautiful,” she says. “The real deal. Where on earth did you get these?”
I don’t have to say anything, and she doesn’t seem to mind that I don’t. She keeps looking at the charts until the bell rings.
“Thanks for showing me those, Mal,” she says. “I really like space.”
“Me, too,” I tell her.
I don’t know. I’m blushing — not because of her, but because of how embarrassed I’d be if I told her I’d gotten the chart from an alien.
“I’m going to go one day for sure,” she says. “It’ll be cheap by the time we’re adults.”
“I’ve been,” I say. “Nothing to write home about.”
Posey looks at me and laughs. Not in a mean way. She thinks I’m being clever. Or maybe that I mean I’ve tripped on acid or something and imagined it, even though I don’t do drugs and never would.
She touches my arm when she laughs. That makes me feel good. I touch her back. Lightly, on the arm.
She laughs again. I am embarrassed by the tenderness of the moment. So I get out of there as fast as I can. As I leave, I hear Suki and Natalie. They are asking all kinds of questions, and laughing, too. But not in the nice way. They laugh daggers.
They say things like, “Watch out, you’d better not get too close or else you’ll be the first one he’ll look for to kill when he shoots up the school.”
Here’s the thing that they don’t know:
You never harm.
You just observe.
42.
Hooper and I are taking a hike up to the Mount Wilson Observatory. He has five bottles of water in his bag. He says that the gravity of the planet makes him extremely thirsty all the time. He says that water here tastes funny. He says that it smells weird, too. I think the water is fine.
We get to the top of the hill and in front of us are picnic tables. Behind them are some telescope arrays that are collecting data from space. Hooper looks pleased.
“Wonderful,” he says. “I love how you humans are always watching and listening. Even though you don’t actually watch or listen in the right way.”
I take a long sip of water. He always says things that almost make sense, but if you think about them, make no sense at all. Like he’s a fake Yoda. But the more I hang out with Hooper and the more I
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there
.
—T HE P LAYER Q UEEN IN
H AMLET
When I come home and find her reading aloud, I know that she’s drunk. The kind of drunk that means there was an anniversary that I didn’t know about. Or that she’s gotten wind of some kind of news. Or perhaps she just had a bad day where everything, all the lies, all the broken promises, all the heartbreak, were too much for her to bear.
I should feel sorry for her. But when she’s in the living room reading out loud and gesticulating and spitting out her words and chasing them down with the heavier stuff, like bourbon, I don’t even say hello. Or ask her if she’s eaten anything.
I go straight down the hallway, turn on my computer, put on my earphones, and kick some troll ass with Sameer and Mark online.
The whole time I’m thinking of the symbol on the map Hooper gave me.
How we think. How we build. How we live.
How this defines us.
How we are stars that can explode.
41.
I probably shouldn’t have brought the star chart to school, and definitely shouldn’t have opened it during free period, but I like to look at it every chance I get.
“What is that?” Posey is leaning way over. Her chair is tipping off its legs and I fear for her safety, so instead of covering up Hooper’s papers, I open them up toward her.
Her eyes pop open. “Star charts!”
She scoots her chair closer to me.
I can smell her now. I always thought she would smell good up close, just from the way that she looks. She smells lemony. Her hair falls all over the place as she leans over the chart, oohing and ahhing.
I sneeze.
“These are beautiful,” she says. “The real deal. Where on earth did you get these?”
I don’t have to say anything, and she doesn’t seem to mind that I don’t. She keeps looking at the charts until the bell rings.
“Thanks for showing me those, Mal,” she says. “I really like space.”
“Me, too,” I tell her.
I don’t know. I’m blushing — not because of her, but because of how embarrassed I’d be if I told her I’d gotten the chart from an alien.
“I’m going to go one day for sure,” she says. “It’ll be cheap by the time we’re adults.”
“I’ve been,” I say. “Nothing to write home about.”
Posey looks at me and laughs. Not in a mean way. She thinks I’m being clever. Or maybe that I mean I’ve tripped on acid or something and imagined it, even though I don’t do drugs and never would.
She touches my arm when she laughs. That makes me feel good. I touch her back. Lightly, on the arm.
She laughs again. I am embarrassed by the tenderness of the moment. So I get out of there as fast as I can. As I leave, I hear Suki and Natalie. They are asking all kinds of questions, and laughing, too. But not in the nice way. They laugh daggers.
They say things like, “Watch out, you’d better not get too close or else you’ll be the first one he’ll look for to kill when he shoots up the school.”
Here’s the thing that they don’t know:
You never harm.
You just observe.
42.
Hooper and I are taking a hike up to the Mount Wilson Observatory. He has five bottles of water in his bag. He says that the gravity of the planet makes him extremely thirsty all the time. He says that water here tastes funny. He says that it smells weird, too. I think the water is fine.
We get to the top of the hill and in front of us are picnic tables. Behind them are some telescope arrays that are collecting data from space. Hooper looks pleased.
“Wonderful,” he says. “I love how you humans are always watching and listening. Even though you don’t actually watch or listen in the right way.”
I take a long sip of water. He always says things that almost make sense, but if you think about them, make no sense at all. Like he’s a fake Yoda. But the more I hang out with Hooper and the more I
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