As Far as the Stars

I think back to the paper plane Christopher was making when we were waiting for the Buick to come back – and how that reporter stared at it, like it implicated Christopher in some way. The plane was amazing. A perfect replica of one of those Boeings that cross the Atlantic. But it was more than that. Its wings were alive, like those of a bird.

‘I’d get scraps of paper,’ he explains. ‘And fold them into an arrow and shoot them around the place.’ He goes quiet for a bit. ‘It annoyed him.’

‘Your dad?’

He nods.

‘He got annoyed by the paper airplanes?’

‘Yeah.’ He goes quiet again. ‘It still annoys him.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The paper folding. He thinks it’s a waste of time. That I should be reading books or revising for my exams or planning my future. You have to lead a Big Life, Christopher, he’s always saying.’ He pauses. ‘Whatever that means.’

I feel a thud in my chest. And it comes back to me, the reason we’re here, in this service station that smells of oil and grease, drinking bitter coffee from a machine. And that it’s way more serious than anything I’m worried about. A plane’s crashed. And though he seems to be in denial about it, Christopher’s dad was on that plane.

‘Well I think it’s cool, the things you make,’ I say. ‘That you’re artistic.’

His eyes go wide. ‘Artistic?’

‘I can’t even draw a stick-man.’ I can’t even sing, I think. But that, more likely than not, is what I’m going to have to do – in just over twenty-four hours. To cover Blake’s ass. To make sure Jude’s wedding goes to plan. ‘So, I think that it’s amazing – that you can make all that stuff, just out of paper. More than that – it’s not even special paper like from an art shop or something. You use scraps, right? Stuff you find around the place.’

He nods.

‘Well, it’s awesome.’ I smile. ‘Eco-Art – that’s trendy, right?’

‘Trendy?’

‘Yeah.’

He laughs. ‘Maybe.’

‘Well, I think your models are amazing.’

The tops of his cheeks blush. ‘Thanks.’

A guy comes into the store. He grabs a coffee from the machine beside us and a burger from the oven. Then, he bashes into the back of my chair and my telescope falls to the floor.

‘Watch out!’ I say.

But the guy keeps walking, without even apologising.

Christopher leans over and picks it up.

‘What’s this?’

‘My telescope.’

‘For the eclipse?’

‘Yeah – for the eclipse. But for other stuff too.’

‘Other stuff?’

‘I like looking at the night sky. I want to do it – professionally.’

‘Professionally?’

‘Yeah. Sort of.’

My cheeks get hot like they do every time I have to explain my thing about the stars and the universe and what I want to do with my life. Besides Dad, most people I tell don’t get it. That what’s up there is like the most important thing a human being could do. That it’s the only way we’re ever going to understand how we got here and why we’re here now and what’s going to happen next.

‘I want to be an astronaut,’ I say.

‘Really?’ He looks surprised but not a patronising only-ten-year-old-boys-want-to-be-astronauts look. It’s a kind of impressed look. Really impressed. Like he understands – how wanting to go into space is the most awesome thing anyone could ever want to do.

I feel a rush of pride.

I nod. ‘Yep, really.’

He looks up at me, his pale, grey eyes wide and shiny. ‘That’s meant to be really hard – isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, it’s really hard. Only a tiny percentage of those trained ever go up into space. I did an internship this summer, at the Smithsonian to help my chances of getting into MIT. NASA recruits from MIT,’ I explain.

‘So, you’re going to study engineering?’

‘Yep. One more year of school—’

‘One more year of school?’

‘What?’

‘You look – I don’t know – kind of—’ he stalls.

‘Young?’

He nods. His face goes red.

‘I skipped a grade. That’s why this internship was really important. I have to prove that I’m ready.’

‘Skipped a year? So you must be, what—’

‘Seventeen. Just. My birthday was last week.’

Mom usually makes a fuss about birthdays but this year, mine got kind of lost in all the wedding preparations and I was busy doing my internship and Blake was in London. I didn’t mind. I don’t like the fuss. Dad took me out for red velvet cake at my favourite bakery in town and then we talked for hours, until it was nearly dark and the owner of the bakery had to kick us out. It was probably the best birthday I’ve ever had.

Christopher shakes his head. ‘God, you must be really clever – skipping a grade. I can barely keep up with my own year.’