The Starriest Summer (The Cycle of the Six Moons, #1)

Chapter One: The Machine

Part One: The Starriest World

My parents must've always had an inkling that my brother was a genius. Too bad they can't see the "evil" tacked onto the "genius" because they're now laughing their way down Tahitian docks.

"Now that Aaron's home from college," my mom told me, "your dad and I are going off on a trip!"

Yeah, because they're too cheap to take their kids with them. If I had a camera, I would've captured evidence of my brother hauling the electronics into the garage, then I would have proof that geek college turned my brother into a schizoid. If he paid attention to normal people's needs, I wouldn't have to survive off scraps.

My stomach rumbles like the center of an earthquake. I drag my feet downstairs and gaze at the dusty TV stand, where spotless shapes indicate the former resting places of the large flat screen and game consoles. My brother even swiped the DVD player, speakers, and all the lamps. Anything with a plug or battery, small enough to carry or push, he's abducted. Summer vacation is miserable without my video games.

I saved the world twice last week. Then my brother had to pull this crap.

I wobble into the kitchen, then the air conditioning clicks off and the house falls silent. For the thousandth time, I open the fridge door, hoping that it has magically refilled itself, or is growing some edible fungus. Mmm, mushrooms.

The smell of wet cardboard rolls out. Inventory of what might save me from keeling over: a damp, empty carton of eggs, red-tinged slimy lettuce, and enough condiments to stock a sandwich shop. Too bad it's not enough for an actual sandwich.

I look past the counter where the microwave should be, and glare at the door leading to the garage. Crookedly taped there is my brother's handwritten note, bold in red Sharpie: Hey Michelle, I'm working DON'T BOTHER ME!!! K? Love you!

My stomach growls again—the only sound in the house. For the first time in two weeks, I can't hear Aaron hammering away on his mad scientist experiment.

Not once has he even offered to drive me downtown in his car that he so affectionately calls Padmé, which now sits idly on the driveway to make room for his mystery science project in the garage. I'm a few months from the legal driving age, and have never put keys into an ignition, so unless I want to kill Padmé and myself, I'll have to disturb my brother's work.

I put my ear to the garage door. The silence chills me. I tap softly with my knuckles. He doesn't answer. Finally, I knock louder.

"Aaron? I know you said not to bother you, but I'm really hungry, so could you take me grocery shopping?"

No answer. I bang on the door so hard that it rattles, but still nothing. Is he even in there? I reach for the doorknob—

"Ow!" I scream, stumbling back and swinging my hand far from the zapping doorknob. My fingers continue to burn from the buzz, and I kick at the bottom of the door in frustration. What's he trying to hide from me, anyway? It's not as if moving the electronics was much of a secret.

"Fine! I'm stealing your car!" I wait for him to open the door, but even this threat does nothing.

I take a deep breath and back away to the window-side table, then snatch his keys from an open textbook with equations and insane diagrams that might as well be a recipe for wormholes. I grin at the LEGO Darth Vader keychain dangling from my fingertips. You and I are gonna be buddies, Mr. Skywalker.

My steps feel light as I realize I'm actually going to steal his car. I slip on my sandals, ready for the stifling heat and the oven that is his car. I'll bear the heat, because I'll finally get food!