I get into Andrew’s pickup and hold the Stargazer bag in my lap.
“I’m ready to see some comets,” he says, and we drive toward the beach. When we pull into the parking lot, Andrew takes the telescope bag from my lap and his hands graze my thigh.
“Wait,” I say as he moves to get out of the car.
“This is a very serious scientific experiment. I have to get everything right or there could be catastrophic consequences.”
Andrew is smiling, but he stops and furrows his eyebrows.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You are here as an assistant.”
He salutes me in his tuxedo and my heart nearly explodes he’s so cute.
“Let’s go,” I say.
I adjust the backpack, and we head to the steep stairs leading down to the beach.
“So why the comet?” he asks as we pass under a street lamp. Andrew has paired his tuxedo dress pants with flip-flops. “Why the obsession?”
I almost say it’s for school. For high school. I want to tell him every last detail about the scholarship. Instead, I gulp the truth away and choose my words very carefully.
“It’s good to have a specialization when you’re studying at MIT. You know, to come into school with a research project.”
I have no idea if this is true, but it sounds right.
“Nice,” Andrew says.
You’re a nice girl.
“Nice . . . ,” I say, lingering on the word as we step deeper onto the sand and closer to the shore. “I hate that word.”
The farther we walk down the beach and away from the parking lot, the darker it gets, which is exactly what I need. Some people fish at the shoreline. A couple watches the ocean and the waves crash lightly onto the sand.
I stop down the beach at approximately a thousand feet from the parking lot and I look up. Andrew carries the Stargazer and I’m able to get situated much faster. Expected conditions, low-grade light pollution. There’s the constellation I need, Orion. I place my backpack on the sand and take the telescope from Andrew.
“What’s wrong with nice?” Andrew asks.
“Nice is what you say when you get an A on a science exam,” I say as I set up. “It’s what I say to my mom when she asks what I think of her outfit. Nice.”
Andrew takes one end of a blanket and spreads it out. I unfold four smooth stones from Nancy’s backyard.
“You brought your own stones?”
I cock my head and let my expression tell Andrew to shut up.
“Okay . . . ma’am. What next?” he says.
I take out my red LED flashlight, which allows me to see my equipment without affecting the night vision. I grab my star chart, unzip the bag, and set up the Stargazer. I unfold the plastic base that comes with the telescope. It ensures that no matter where I am, I have a flat surface. I unearth my level. By the lamplight, I make sure everything is even.
I get ready to start the exposure on the telescope. I check my watch. Eleven thirty. Twelve minutes.
“If my calculations are correct,” I explain, “the coordinates of this comet will be directly to the left of that star up there. Tonight’s the first night you can see it with the naked eye.”
Andrew looks up to the sky. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
“I’ll show you.”
No, this eyepiece won’t do. I switch them out. Yes, that’s better.
I type the coordinates into my ancient Summerhill laptop, hit enter, and the coordinates locate the comet based on my previous calculations.
“Why do you have your old high school computer?” Andrew asks.
Oh hell.
The sticker across the top says: SUMMERHILLSCIENCELOANER2.
“I bought it from them,” I say quickly. “They sold it to us cheap senior year. I only use it to collect data. I need a newer one for the fall.”
I don’t want to lie, but I can’t focus on that right now. I have to make sure everything is lining up accurately.
“Wow. You look really professional,” Andrew says.
“Please be right,” I whisper as the Stargazer focuses on my right ascension and declination. “Please be right.”
Silence . . . silence.
Both Andrew and I stare at the laptop.
“I programmed it to beep if the coordinates are a match. So if it does, it means my calculations are exact.”
“We need that beep,” Andrew says. “It’s going to,” he adds. We both stare at the Stargazer. “Any second . . . it has to.”
“You have no idea how any of this works, but thank you for the support,” I whisper without moving my eyes from the damn telescope.
“Anytime, babe.”
BEEP.
“Yes!” I cry.
“Thank God,” Andrew says, and he, too, exhales heavily. Without the telescope, I point out the white, fuzzy ball creeping across the sky. It’s funny to see it up there while I stand down here with Andrew. It’s just been the Comet Jolie and me for eleven months.
I record the right ascension and declination. I know it’s accurate, but I keep checking my coordinates and the position of the telescope.
I did it. I’m radiating.
“Look at you, Star Girl. I haven’t seen you smile like this before.”
“I didn’t need those damn computerized predictions, Andrew. I worked it out myself. Month after month! My science teachers said it was silly. Because look at that!” I point at the telescope. “It’s perfect.”
Andrew cracks his knuckles and kicks off his flip-flops.
“All right, step aside, little lady. I gotta see this comet.”
I can’t help smiling even more.
Andrew leans forward, presses his eye to the lens, and squints the other. He doesn’t say anything, just puts his hands in his pockets and looks through my Stargazer up at my comet.
I hold my hands in front of my waist and grip them tight. I don’t know what Scarlett would say right now. I don’t know how to be her right now because she would never be in this position. She soars across a stage; people watch her; they clap. She was born for the stage. I wasn’t born for that kind of life. This, right now, sharing this with Andrew is the real me. Even though I am not eighteen and I’m not going to MIT, he’s really seeing me. I know it for sure now: I don’t have to be scared to show myself to Andrew. The Scarlett Experiment may have caught his attention, but he likes me.
Andrew pulls back from the telescope and points at my Stargazer.
“That,” he says, “is fucking cool.”
A warmth radiates down my chest to my stomach. “Cool isn’t exactly the most scientific word, but it is really extraordinary and rare,” I say. Andrew links his arm around my waist.
“What does the Perry Hation mean?”
I don’t correct him because the mispronunciation is really cute.
“When the comet is closest to our sun, it breaks up and melts away. The Comet Jolie is the brightest comet in a century. I’ve tracked it since the University of Hawaii discovered it eleven months ago. Back then it was seventy million miles away.”
“I won’t even ask how they found it,” he says and kisses the nape of my neck. I draw in a little breath from the softness of his lips. He pulls away, but I want him to do it again. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Andrew lies down on the sand and holds his hands behind his head. My summer dress barely falls to my knees, and I conclude this is not the most convenient ensemble to have worn. Andrew squints up at the constellations above and the comet streaking across the sky. I squat down to record other observations: the tail, the brightness, and environmental factors.
“Want to know how it works?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says, but it’s polite, distracted. The sudden detachment in his tone makes me nervous and of course, I start stuttering.
“The telescope will take a series of pictures of the comet. When I’m done, I’ll go home, upload them to my computer, analyze all the other nights I tracked its coordinat
es. If I was right—well, I don’t know,” I finish lamely. “It could help with grants, scholarships.”
I put down the pen, snap off the red light, and let the stars do the rest of the talking. I lie down on the cool sand next to Andrew.
“Are you okay?” I ask after a couple of silent moments. “You’re suddenly kind of quiet.”
Andrew’s eyes still look up to the sky. Soon his warm hand is on top of mine. “I’ve never seen a comet before,” he says.
“Cape Cod has some of the best viewing conditions on the East Coast.”
“I feel like I have to tell you something.”
He is on his side looking at me again just like on our first date.
“Does it involve tutoring a girl named Becky or any girl for that matter?”
“No . . . ?”
“Continue.”
He raises one eyebrow but shakes his head seemingly to refocus.
“I—” He hesitates and pinches some sand between his thumb and index finger. He lets it drizzle back to the ground. “I—took a leave from school.”
“From BC?”
He nods. “I’ve been living here all winter. I’m supposed to start back up in the fall. So I sort of . . . lied to you about being in school right now.”
“Why?”
“What I told you the other night at the Alvin. I need to work for Mike’s family. Lobstering. With him gone, they need someone.”
“But that’s not what you want. You said so.”
“I owe it to them.”
I shake my head. Like Andrew’s guilt about the accident, this decision also seems illogical to me.
“You’re frowning,” Andrew says.
“No. No, I’m not.” I shake my head quickly.
“You can’t see your face. Wow! Now look!” He laughs and I cover my face with my hands.
“Stop,” I cry, and despite the serious moment I laugh at my palms.
“Sorry. I know we haven’t known one another that long. But I thought I should be honest with you about the fall. I’ll be here on the Cape, it’s only an hour away.”
“Did they ask you to do that?” I ask. “Work for them?”
“Who? Mike’s family?”
“Yeah.”
“Not exactly.”
I sit back on my elbows. “Are you asking me my advice?” No one except Tucker has ever asked for my advice. “I’m probably not very good at giving it,” I add.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“I proceed at my own risk.”
I could be Scarlett. I could be aloof, throw my head back, and tell him not to worry. But that’s not what I want. He showed me tonight when he looked through that telescope that he gets me. The supreme, logical, hyper detailed me.
“Let’s talk about probability. Let’s pretend you were at the party, but you didn’t get in the car that night. Let’s also pretend that you told Curtis and Mike to go, but you didn’t want to drive with someone intoxicated.” He shifts. I know that changing positions or deflecting your gaze to an object instead of someone’s eyes are all signs of being uncomfortable. “Forget it.”
“No. Keep going.”
I exhale. “Look, I don’t need to get into a deep discussion of Bayesian probability or quantum mechanics.”
“Please don’t.”
I chuckle again and continue, “Probability is all about how likely something is to happen. If you frame every situation in your life in terms of a probability, think about this: how many times did Curtis drive drunk and how many times did Mike get into that car before even though he knew Curtis was drunk?”
“A lot.”
“Exactly. Now, probability says that every time they drank and every time they were together, the same likelihood existed that they would get into the car. The same probability existed that they would get in an accident.”
“That’s not very uplifting. Wouldn’t the probability be higher because of the times we drank? We drink often.”
“No. The ratio is the same. There are more variables, I guess, and I would have to do some real math here to find an exact probability, but think about it this way. Forget equations. You are a human being with free will. I don’t believe our decisions were programmed into the universe during the Big Bang or that they’re written into the fabric of time. You didn’t push Mike into the car. You didn’t tie him down. He made a decision. Why do you need to make the events of that night your responsibility?” I have to catch my breath. “Wow,” I add quietly. “I might be a teensy overinvested in this.”
Andrew is quiet and I give him the moment to check on the laptop and Stargazer. It hums along nicely and Jolie is there in the sky above.
“You’re not mad? That I didn’t tell you?” he asks when I sit back down.
I am in no position to hold a grudge against him, especially with the intricate stories I’m weaving. Yet, my sense of injustice nibbles at me.
“I’m not mad. It just seems strange to give up what you want.”
We’re quiet for a while and Andrew finally says, “My family isn’t even on the Cape this year.”
“Why not?” I ask. I can’t fathom being here without Nancy, Mom, Scarlett, and Dad. I imagine the stores, the roads, and the house, empty with only me inside. It wouldn’t be the Cape, it would be some kind of weird hologram.
“My little brother is only twelve and my stepmom is having a baby. It just didn’t work out this summer.”
This is the perfect moment to tell him about my own lies; to tell him that I am Scarlett’s sister, and how old I really am. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I have to be Sarah, going to MIT. I can’t be that part of me. The part where I am in high school or where I’m Scarlett’s sister. He is getting to know the real me, I am getting to know the real Andrew. These minor logistical details aren’t what make us special. They aren’t what is keeping us together right now.
“She’s twenty-nine. My stepmom,” he says quietly. “She was my dad’s dental hygienist; he’s a dentist.”
My head whips to him.
“That would make her ten years older than you.”
“You got it, Star Girl. It’s creepy.”
I clear my throat. Age is not something I’d like to be discussing right now.
“You know the Stargazer is modeled after some of the deep-space telescopes they have in the middle of the desert? The ones that look for life way out in the universe?”
Andrew rubs my back a little as if to say it’s okay I changed the subject this time. I look through the viewfinder again and at the comet blazing through our solar system. “It’ll be strange for the night sky to be without the comet,” I say. “It’s almost like a friend to me now. I know that’s cheesy.”
“No, it’s not.”
On a night like tonight, I could jump up and touch the moon.
“When did you turn eighteen?” Andrew asks.
Or not.
“Oh, um. In May,” I say.
“Good thing I met you in June, eh, jailbait?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle but it’s sour. “Jailbait . . .”
“Have you ever . . . ?” he starts to ask, his eyes still on the stars.
“What?”
He leans on his hip.
“Have you ever . . . ,” he starts again.
The exhilaration of the comet still courses through me. He doesn’t finish the thought. In a flash, he sits up and his eyes focus ahead on the shore.
He looks up at the moon above and says, “It might work.”
“What might work?” I ask, sitting up too.
He stands up and holds out his hand to me. The waves swell and crash against the shore. The water slides up to meet the seaweed and shells scattered against the beach.
“I’ve got something to show you,” Andrew says. He pulls me toward the shore.
“But the Stargazer!”
“That comet isn’t going anywhere,” he says.
“That’s not true. It’s actually going approximately three hundred m
iles a second!”
In between laughs he says, “We’re only going down to the shore.”
I try to keep up, but my flip-flops slide off.
“My sandals!”
“Keep running!” he says.
So I do, I keep running and running after this gorgeous boy and my bra strap keeps falling off my shoulder and I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Andrew grabs me around my waist and spins me around. When he places me down, my feet touch the top of something crunchy—seaweed.
His hands are strong behind the small of my back. Andrew pulls me toward him, my mouth meets his and I again pretend that I know what I am doing when he kisses me with his mouth open. He switches the position of his head and I do too. He grips me even tighter.
When he pulls away, he smiles like he has a secret lodged deep inside.
Far up the beach, the beam of the lighthouse revolves around and around, sending rhythmic swirls of light up the distant sand. Where we are is dark except for the moon shining down.
“You have to stand where I am for it to work,” he says.
“For what to work?”
“Wow, do I know something my genius astronomer does not?”
My genius astronomer.
He bends over and moves the seaweed aside. The moon’s rays make the sand beneath bright white.
With his index finger, he draws an S shape in the sand, an A, and so on. Soon, my name is spelled out on the beach and it . . . I gasp . . . it is glowing. I look from the moon to the sand, to Andrew’s smiling face.
“It’s the phosphorescence that makes it glow in the dark,” he says.
“It’s—” I throw my arms around him. “It’s wonderful!”
When he kisses me, his hands run up and down my sides and a tingle shoots through my whole body. He tastes sweet, like peppermint.
“Thank you!” I say and hug him again. His hand remains around my waist as we walk back to the telescope and our little spot on the beach. Once I make sure everything is still recording accurately, I lie back down next to Andrew.
“What were you going to ask before?” I say.
He runs a hand through his hair and looks up at the sky.
“Have you ever . . . ?” he leads but stops again.
“Have I what? Just say it!”
“Had sex with a guy before?”