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“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” He stands, walking over to me, and presses me against the door. I swallow, gazing into those gorgeous green eyes that devour me whenever we’re in a room together. It’s a secret, our thing, but shit like defending me in a public fight threatens to let that escape. I ought to tell him to go home, and to stop texting. “Just that I’d never let you fight alone.”
It can’t be more than hookups. Can’t be more than these moments, alone at night like we’re the only two people alive, my body burning for his. Chemical reactions in our bodies, a web of connections unfurling between us. I reach up, tracing over the bruise, and he hisses, dragging me closer.
Our lips are mere centimeters from each other, and into that space, we lean in. Together. Magnetic.
I bite his lip. He groans, making my stomach swoop. He smiles—then bites my lip back, not to be outdone. His hands grip my hips as easily as they do a baseball bat, and my nails scratch down his back, through the too-thin sweater he’s wearing. When we’re both gasping, we break apart, only to come even closer; his leg between mine, firm and casually dominant, my hands winding through his hair instead. The blond strands, so different from his adoptive family’s, are still cold from the March air outside.
I want to drag him into my bedroom. Penny won’t come back tonight, not when she has a boyfriend with stitches to care for. What I’m doing with Sebastian is dangerously close to the same thing, but there are enough differences that I can shove away the thought. Nearly. I ease back, even though I’m trapped between him and the door.
Perhaps steadied is a better word than trapped.
“Mia,” he begins.
I don’t give him a chance to finish the thought. It’s my room or the hallway for him, and the hallway would be safer, but I can’t push him out into the cold tonight. Not when he has a bruise on his face because of me. Not when he grabbed me around the waist and told me to stay put like I was breakable. Like I was the kind of girl who needed that knight in shining armor, sword on his shoulder, one of Penny’s fantasy heroes made real.
I’ve never needed it, but some part of me must want it, because I take him to my bedroom, shut the door, and tell him to make me scream.
5
MIA
As I walkacross campus the next day, a coffee in hand, Giana calls.
Usually, her calls take one of two forms: to complain about our family, or to interrogate me so she can take that information back to our family. Neither sound appealing right now, especially since I’m still standing tall from the conversation with Professor Santoro. My mind is full of ideas for how to contribute to her project. Her research is NASA-affiliated, part of the mission to uncover the billions of exoplanets hiding in the vast darkness of space. The goal is to find another Earth—but every exoplanet reveals something new about the universe.
Since we can’t see exoplanets directly with our current technology, we need to hunt for them via other means. Professor Santoro is working on a new way of measuring atmospheric properties to determine details about exoplanets, and if I can rework the code on the program she’s been using, we could get much more precise data about confirmed exoplanets.
The thought of all those planets out there, beautiful in alien ways… it’s enough to make me stop and stare at the sky, even though it’s morning. I school my face into a neutral expression before answering the video call.
At least campus has mostly emptied for the summer, so there’s no one around to overhear my conversation. Altocumulus clouds dot the sky, each one as fluffy as a piece of cotton candy. A couple of years ago, scientists discovered WASP-121b, an exoplanet covered in metal clouds that pours liquid gemstones. Rain, just like on Earth, but made completely strange—and 855 light-years away. When I told Penny about that one, she jokingly said it was me as a planet.
“Hey, Mi-Mi,” Giana says. Elementary school in New Jersey is still in session, so she must be on her lunch break; I can see the wall behind her, covered in bright posters. Her thick hair is in a ponytail, and little diamonds sparkle in her ears. “How’s it going?”
I fight a smile at the sound of my childhood nickname. She’s the only one who ever calls me that. In return, I’m the only one who calls her Gi-Gi. “Good.”
“It looks nice there.”
I keep walking. “It’s pretty hot out.”
“Right? The kids think it’s summer vacation already. They don’t want to do any work at all anymore.” She takes a sip of water and adds, “Did you start the assignment yet? Mom was asking.”
“Um, no.” I squint up at the trees. “It’s remedial science, so I have to wait for the semester to finish first. Their semester, I mean.”
“You should come down for a few days before you start. You didn’t even visit for Easter this year.”
I hadn’t wanted anything to do with Easter. Not the Catholic church service, not Nana’s rosemary lamb, or even Mom’s pastiera napoletana. Not the egg hunt in the backyard, my little cousins running around with their starched formal outfits and grubby fingers. I spent the day doing schoolwork instead, even though it fell over spring break. I haven’t liked holidays since Nonno died.
“I’m picking up extra shifts at the café before it closes.”
The Purple Kettle, the on-campus coffee shop that I work at during the semester, closed two days ago for the summer. Another lie to add to the pile. My family thinks I’m sticking around Moorbridge to help high school students who failed their science classes make up the credits, as part of my accelerated teaching degree—but I haven’t spent even a second in that department. If I ever teach, it’ll be like Professor Santoro. An extension of my research and part of my career, not the whole thing. And certainly not introducing the concept of cloud formation to middle schoolers or whatever the hell my family thinks is the most I can handle.
“Well, if you do get a break, everyone would love to see you. I don’t know for certain, but I think Michelle’s pregnant again.”
I send a prayer to the sky. My brother can be an ass sometimes, but his wife is wonderful. “That’s nice.”
“Right? I want us to be aunties to a little girl this time. Enough with the boys.”
“Anthony wouldn’t know what to do with a girl.” He has twin sons, and they’re both mini tornadoes of chaos. Giana and her husband won’t be far behind. I’ll bet if Michelle is pregnant, and if it’s a girl, Giana won’t last until Christmas before trying for a baby of her own.
