“My mom did it when she went here?” Her voice goes up at the end, like she’s unsure about sharing this, but then she laughs it off. “She loved it. And since there’s a new teacher taking over, I thought,why not?”
“Totally,” I say noncommittally. I don’t want to burst Sabine’s bubble, but I can’t see how it’ll be different from previous years. So I navigate back to our original conversation. “I thought I blew it last night.”
“No way,” she says. “Flops leave room for unexplored opportunities. Hyde House is winning this year. And we need your help.”
A surge of motivation lifts my spirits as I slide my tray onto the washing rack. “Really?”
“Really,” she tells me. “If we don’t keep trying, we’re letting them win.”
I sneak another glance at the crew table. Sumner’s still there.
That’s when it occurs to me. The reason he looks so out of place. Sumner was part of my brother’s circle of gamer friends. Jared was the ringleader because he’s like the moon: everyone looks up to him in this weirdly magnetic way. Paul and Carlos were also in his grade, but Sumner’s in my year. Which means his core friend group graduated and moved on without him.
A twinge of empathy stirs within me. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if Analiese graduated and left me alone during my final year at Ivernia.
But that sympathy comes to a record-scratching halt when he catches my eye. His lips sharpen into an amused grin, and I absolutely do not miss the way he mouths,You’re going down, Carmichael.
Hot annoyance spikes through me. Oh hell no. He’s not even a little bit sorry for what he did.
I turn back to Sabine. “I’m in.”
If he wants to play dirty, then game on.
4
“I’m afraid I’m goingto have to kick you out soon,” Mr.Kovacs is saying. “As much as I do enjoy your passion for after-hours study.”
My eyes tear away from the Galileoscope as the real world floods through my retinas. I tap the screen on my phone. Eight thirty. I’ve been here for over two hours. It’s not like me to lose track of time.
“Sorry,” I say, that nap-drunk feeling fading from the edges of my brain. The one that nestles into your soul when you’re immersed in something for too long. “I didn’t realize.”
The astronomy lab feels like a second home. Comfort is in the beige walls plastered in posters that reveal distant spiral and elliptical galaxies. Desks stretch long enough for two, with blue plastic chairs neatly tucked into them. Lifelike models of our planetary system drip down from the ceiling, suspended by invisible threads. There’s the sharp smell of Expo markers and a lingering lemongrass scent left over from the school’s weekly cleaning. Classrooms are sometimes painted as cold and uninviting, but not this one.
I’ve missed it.
This is the room my dad taught in twenty years ago. If I close my eyes, I can picture him here. His footsteps pacing across thelinoleum as the grandeur of his lesson spills from his lips. Warm eyes wide when he’d slow the speed of his words to allow the full impact to settle, unveiling the world’s splendor.
We lived in off-campus accommodations until I was seven and Jared was eight. Madelene was a toddler, but my parents soon realized they’d need more space for us all. So when my mother was offered a library director position near her hometown in Pennsylvania, my dad agreed it was time for a change. We came back to visit a lot, mostly in the summer but sometimes during winter break.
I often wonder if his invisible pull draws me here.
Mr.Kovacs continues flipping through the latest copy ofSpaceport Magazine. “Quite an exciting evening,” he says, “as we enter into the solar maximum.”
“Everything looks the same,” I say. “I don’t know what I expected.”
“Hmm, fascinating, isn’t it? The changes we detect, the ones we can’t. The cosmos never truly pauses, even if, as you say, everything appears the same. It happens whether we bear witness or not.”
The night sky is a poised canvas outside the arched window. My dad used to say if you looked out into the universe toward other galaxies, you’d observe them millions of years in the past. Trillions of galaxies. Billions of stars. Infinities of unknowns. It makes me wish I could relive my own past. Memories I hadn’t known we were making, time slipping away too soon.
I never asked him if he wished he’d done anything differently. It seemed too heavy of a question. But I wonder if the life he made for himself was enough.
He studied principles and concepts and ideas that felt too large and all-encompassing to process in one go, consumed by the unknowable. Before his cancer worsened, he read research articles and jotted down theories. Solar phenomena predictions were some of the many analyses found in his pocket journals. He suspected, like others, we would see an increase in solar activity throughout the end of this year. Maybe even geomagnetic storms large enough to generate auroras. It’s why I’d found myself signing into the lab tonight.
I slide my dad’s journal into the pocket of my cardigan and cap the end of the Galileoscope. “Thanks,” I say, then add, “for letting me overstay my welcome.”
“The classroom always welcomes you,” Mr.Kovacs says as he folds one sunspotted hand over the other. “But it does us no good to live without experiencing. Remember that, Miss Carmichael.”
With a grateful wave, I slip from the quiet and into the chaos. Booming baritones and excited screeches echo down the hall. The student lounge in the academics building is a popular choice when the commons are overcrowded, so it’s not surprising students are hanging around before wish night.
