Polymath

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Our Milky Way galaxy is holding approximately one hundred billion stars, and we are merely a planet, which is like a speck of dust on the table of the universe.
I studied astronomy my first year of college, but the only place I could have furthered my education was at the actual National Aeronautics and Space Administration in Houston, Texas. I wasn't willing to move away, so I transferred to the field of forensic science. Astronomy crossed my mind often when I was home alone. Especially when I was up in the treehouse.
When I moved in, the people before me had twelve children. I was astonished however, the house was cleaner than I could imagine. The walls were handprint, dirt, and footprint free. The floors were mopped and all the windows shone. I never bothered to paint the walls over, so I have a lavender room, a turquoise bathroom, and a green laundry room. All the rooms downstairs were beige. They only left three things behind; a trampoline, a swing set complete with a slide and monkey bars, and a roofless treehouse.
I had sold the trampoline and the swing set to Jet, my oldest brother. I charged him almost a thousand dollars for it, but he surprised me with three thousand. Jet was full of surprises, I suppose.
The treehouse was my prized procession, however. My telescope I got for Christmas when I was twelve sat up there, positioned out of the good sized hole I made with my power drill. Oh, my, what? A girl has power tools!!?? Yes, get over it. I pinned a map of the constellations on one wall, and a map of horoscopes on the other.
Since the roof was never present, I attached a tarp to the corners that could easily be rolled back if I pleased. So, that's where I was. My back was on the smooth wood floor, and I stared up at the sky, my hands behind my head.
There are about eighty-eight constellations in the sky at any given moment, even during the day. They don't go anywhere. Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces were always there. I used to quiz myself when I was younger, trying to find as many as I could in under a minute. That was before I realized each individual horoscope constellation only appeared during their specific month.
Tonight, I searched for Scorpio, which was best viewed during July. I changed the game after I learned this, so I searched for the specific constellation in less than thirty seconds. And, there he was. Three lines, sideways, across, then sideways again. All his stars had specific names, and I rolled them off my tongue with ease.
Sigma, Theta, Tau, Epsilon, 18, Pi, Eta, Zeta1, Scorpius X-1. There were so many more, but I gave up after the names started to have numbers, like PSR B1620-26. There was no point in that.
I saw a shooting star, which was actually a dying meteoroid, and squeezed my eyes shut. The only problem was I never, ever knew what to wish for. Sometimes I imagined myself, sitting atop the burning hunk of rock, flying who-knows-where-doing-who-knows-what, catching all the wishes in my palm. Little me would ball them up, and blow the 'wishing dust' back down to Earth. Only, I never had my own dust in my hands.
It was surreal, lying here. I almost wished Hancock was with me, but pushed that thought back into the file cabinet.

Hancock and Jules joined me for breakfast for the first time since Killian broke up with me. I missed it. My Froot Loops, Hancock's bacon, and Jules eggs were quite inviting.
"Why haven't you invited us over in almost two weeks?" Jules asked his mouth full of eggs. "Sus huevos son muy buenos."
"No one understands Spanish, Jules," Hancock said, wiggling a piece of bacon across the table. I snatched it from him.
"He said 'your eggs are very good'," I replied, biting the bacon. "You should have taken a foreign language in high school."
He shrugged and took the bacon back from me. Everything was normal again, not that it had changed. I stared down at my Froot Loops, imagining myself as the little colored rings again, but this time with a positive outlook.
Jules stabbed his fork into his eggs and looked up at me. "How's work at the grocery store?"
"Bleh," I said to my cereal, pushing the rings around with my spoon. "How's the shoe store?"
Hancock tittered at his bacon. I continued my conversation though. "I'm thinking about quitting and joining the force."
"What like Star Wars?" Han asked. He pretended to wield his bacon like a light saber, and chopped my arm. "Pew pew."
"Light sabers don't even make that noise," I scolded him and swatted the bacon. It flew out of his hand and hit the floor. "But I'm talking about the police force."
Jules coughed and Hancock fell out of his chair. Well, not literally. He was already on the floor getting the bacon, so he just sat.
"Are you even certified?" Jules asked, his hand covering his mouth. Eggs were falling from behind it and I imagined what it would be like if it rained eggs. I guess I could just watch Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. We all know how that turned out. Good bye, Swallow Falls.
"Yes, I am. I took forensic science for three years, got my associates degree in criminology and I've already sent an application to the police department. I actually graduated two years ago."
"When'd you get that?" Hancock asked, pulling himself off the floor. The table heaved as he used it as support. "Your associate's degree?"
"When I was twenty."
"So you're really serious about this?" Jules questioned. "You could just go and get approved?"
"Yeah, they have all my records on file. I could go get my badge if I wanted to right now."
Hancock scoffed. "You know how to shoot a gun?"
I had learned to shoot four different types of guns before I was fifteen. A pistol, a revolver, a bolt action, and a semiautomatic. Honestly, I was a huge book of useless information about random things no one ever talks about. "Yep, I can shoot four different ones."
"Which ones?"
I told him and he nodded slowly. "But are you really sure?" He drew out the 'really' really long.
"Oh, Han, don't worry about me, okay? It'll be okay."
"But why?" Jules bit the end of his fork.
"I want a warrant to search Paisley's house. She seems suspicious, and I feel like she has a dynamite stick of mischief stuck up her butt."