From the Stars, to the Stars

From the Stars, to the Stars: Chapter Eleven

I suck up a long gulp of soda to wash down the lingering taste of garlic left from eating Guidi's breadsticks and declare, "I have now done enough research on Stalin to determine he was a very, very bad guy."

Drew skewers the mushrooms from his slice of pizza and deposits them onto my plate. "Yes . . ." he agrees absentmindedly, focused on the elimination of all fungi from his dinner. "The academic community thanks you for putting to bed that uncertainty." He dimples, though, as he drops the last mushroom onto the small pile he's built.

"Fine, if you know so much, you let the world in on that little secret. What's next on the mid-term study agenda? Something I can help with?"

"Chemistry?" he suggests, eyes all too-wide sparkly innocence.

"Andrew Christian, hush yo' mouth. You know I'm the least chemistry-inclined person born. Honestly, why scientists had to take something as common, sensible biology and pollute it with dead boring math I will never understand. I mean, would you want to drink a root beer with slugs in it? That's what chemistry is; good ol' biological root beer tainted with number slugs."

"So says the girl who chooses to eat slimy-by-definition plant life on her perfectly good pizza. Besides, biology has math in it, too. They just hid it better so as not to scare away numeral snobs like you. Medicine dosages, for example. Dosage is based on weight because if you had too much your body reacts to it as a hostile invader or something and tries to kill it off with a fever or worse. That kind of thing."

"I'm the size of a twelve-year-old, Drew. Everything's too much for me. Mom usually makes me take the same stuff as Gracie."

"Such a pity, Oliviero, a girl of sixteen . . . wait,"—Drew glances down at his watch—"seventeen as of ten minutes ago . . . years having to submit to kiddie meds."

I crinkle up my nose in my fiercest scowl—difficult, considering the button-cuteness and freckles--at the mention of my birthday. Drew should know better, us having been friends long before we began dating and all. "Watch it, bub. You are perilously close to Le Danger Zone. Birthday: Banned. Why else would I have asked you to aid and abet me in avoiding my house on a school night?"

Just then a strange little tingle runs down my neck, all the way down my spine; I shiver, one of those weird, unexpected convulsions, like my bones are trying to right themselves after being thrown the tiniest bit off.

Then it happens again, but a bit stronger. Now it taps at my knees and ankles. I scoot up in my seat, and scoop up the mushroom tower left over from Drew's pizza, pretending the sizzle in my legs doesn't exist. Unfortunately, not three minutes later it comes on again, this time along the surface of my skin. I catch sight of the smallest blue spark snapping from one fingertip to another.

I probably overdo it, standing up fast and pushing back the chair with the backs of my calves, but phantom tingles darting around in her body tend to make a girl a bit hyperbolic. Drew gives me a funny look, obviously because I have just jetted out of my seat like a firecracker, but I smile awkwardly and excuse myself to the bathroom, grabbing my purse in the hope he'll jump to the wrong conclusion about my hastiness.

"No problem," he says, glancing heavily at the purse. Huzzah! "I'll get the check."

In the bathroom I turn on the faucet full blast, cold, intending to splash water onto my face, but first I stand straight, reaching up and stretching my muscles for all I'm worth.

The light flickers, but I ignore it, proceeding with the face-splashing plan.

Mistake.

"What in heaven's name took you so long? I was calling forever," Sebastien drawls from behind me.