The lawn, once more, had been transfigured, this time into a cosmic theme done on a galactic level. The tablecloths were a stark white, a striking contrast to the heavy black plates glittering with star maps. The cards for the dishes were the night sky, embossed with gold print. There were iridescent, metallic details everywhere—in the decorations, in the food itself. Dark macarons with flakes of edible gold. Bouquets of blue and purple orchids interspersed with star-shaped ornaments. A dark and gleaming dance floor.
Around the lawn, metallic sculptures of each of the nine planets (the adults were very attached to Pluto) had been placed at estimated scale: the sun, Mercury, and Venus clustered close to the center, the rest scattered on rings further out.
In pride of place stood the telescope, waiting for nightfall. And beyond, a projection screen.
Yesterday, Ethan had knocked on my door, a dazed look on his face. “My parents—they asked me—” He’d plopped himselfdown on my bed, looking at me with a stunned expression.
“Yeah?” I asked. “Asked what?”
“If we want to share the video at the party. Like, they weren’t doing it as a favor. They weren’t giving me a pat on the back. Theylikeit.”
I didn’t mention how, as of my last check two hours ago, so did four million other people. “That’s great. Right?”
“Right. Yeah. I guess—I’m not used to them paying attention to me. Of being proud of me for more than, you know, existing.”
“Well, they are, and they should be. Tell them we’re in.”
He had, and now we nervously eyed the screen set up at the top of the dance floor, facing the guests and family. “Who knew so much public speaking and performance went into being a researcher?” Ethan said.
“At least this time we can sit here silently.”
“And hold hands.”
I gave him a gentle nudge with my shoulder, unable to keep from smiling. “You’re such a sap.”
Ethan’s grandmother swept by on her way to play MC. As she passed us, her gaze briefly dropped to our intertwined fingers. Her lips twitched, and she gave me an amused nod. I waved.
“Did I ever tell you,” I whispered to Ethan as Mrs. Barbanel gained the attention of the crowd, charming them into silence and laughter, “your grandma said I looked at you like a moonstruck calf?”
Ethan beamed at me. “You’re a sap, too!”
Guilty.
“And now,” Mrs. Barbanel said, “before we turn our eyes tothe heavens, let’s first turn our eyes to the screen.” She nodded to Iris, who clicked play. Everyone fell silent at their tables, more than a hundred pairs of eyes focused on the video.
Across the black screen, white letters typed:What Is Gibson’s Comet?
In quick succession, the screen cut to strangers we’d interviewed downtown: a guy in his thirties, an older couple, a twentysomething woman. They all gave different answers.
“It’s…a comet?”
“It’s the comet, right, coming this month.”
“Gibson’s comet is a naked-eye comet with an orbital period of thirty-eight years, next appearing in a few weeks.”
We’d been surprised but deeply appreciative of the twentysomething who gave us that exposition-filled explanation.
Next, across the black screen, the question:Who Was Frederick Gibson?
“Honestly, no clue, but given your last question I assume he’s the guy who discovered Gibson’s comet.”
“The man who named Gibson’s comet?”
“He was an early twentieth-century astronomer who discovered Gibson’s comet.”
Back to the screen:Frederick Gibson is known for having discovered a comet in 1911.And the next question:Who Was Andrea Darrel?
The same people were shown, their answers short and the same.
