From the Stars, to the Stars

From the Stars, to the Stars: Chapter Four

Officially, Fall Break ends with the ring of a doorbell and a scowl so fierce I'm later glad I wasn't awake to take it personally. However, first I have drag my carcass out of bed.

The mellow of wood smoke from the neighbor's chimney wakes me, heralding the changing of the seasons. The mood swings of summer rains have fully traded over to the mood swings of autumn winds.

I inch on tip-toe across the sub-zero floorboards, envying the college girls up the hill on the Mary Baldwin campus, literally able to throw on a jacket over their jammies, tramp down a couple hundred steps, and still make class on time. They're probably still snuggled into their covers, while I make a mad, half-frozen dash across the hall, wishing all the way that the steam from my shower fills our tiny bathroom in record time. Turn-of-the-century houses have their charms, but central air isn't one of them.

Full consciousness looms on the horizon by the time I roll into Jules's driveway; vague screenshots of scrambled eggs on a fork heading for my face tumble around in my memory banks, and Mom switching out my coffee cup for a travel mug of cocoa.

Jules, ever horrified at my ability to sleep and drive at the same time, answers her back door insisting I get my butt inside because she isn't riding anywhere with me until she's personally seen me down at least half a mug of java. Poor Mom; outnumbered and out-gunned on the coffee issue.

"So, how was Aspen?" I ask, scooping sugar into the mug Jules has handed me. I note the disgust lines forming between her perfectly-plucked auburn brows, already picturing a pretty likely scenario in my head.

Jules folds herself onto a kitchen chair, like a fan collapsing just so. "Stupid ski instructor," she pouts, fingering a waxy leaf that's fallen from the centerpiece on the table. "He refused to believe 'not interested' was my final answer. Seriously, do all boys think sitting in the lobby with some cider and a Physics article is Girl for, 'Hit on me! Do it, take me now,'?

Let me guess," I drawled. "He was probably some rich kid who thought slumming it on the slopes would be a fun way to chase tail."

Poor girl. Academic brilliance, a heart two sizes too big, and plans to one day restructure the economic blueprints of third world nations, all poured into a pair of size five jeans with an extra-long inseam. That is Jules. But boys never looked past the jeans to see all the other stuff, and Jules had practically given up ever assuming people understood beauty and brains weren't mutually exclusive. On the other hand, bad. This calls for preventative measures, or she'll go on like this forever.

"Yes Jules. I know exactly what you mean. Just yesterday I had to fend off two Olympic gold medalist and a self-made millionaire from Jersey," I sigh dramatically, draping my arm across my eyes for that classic tragedy look.

"Okay, fine," she says, sounding exasperated. "Maybe being tormented by frost-addled skiers with too much of Daddy's money doesn't constitute a world-wide tragedy, but it still ruined my plans."

I down the last of my cup and rinse it out in the sink, letting the water run clean. "So break crashed and burned. Focus on the positives. Aren't mid-terms something like two weeks away?" I give her a goofy grin and two thumbs up.

Jules's scowl morphs into a glazed, slightly insane mask of anticipation. "You always know just what to say, don't you? So, how was your break?"

"Oh my gosh, don't even ask. Let's just say if you think a stupid ski instructor is the ultimate in Fall Break ruination you obviously haven't seen my mother's skills of late. She kind of reinstated the Draft. The majority of break . . . well, you'll see."

"Okaayyy. So we'll just table that for now. What'd you do during the minority of break, and dare I dream it somehow involved a cute local indie music buff?"