The Evolution of the Stars

II

     As you may or may not have gathered, I'm interested in the stars. I'm not 'Greek Goddess' interested, but I'm interested, nonetheless. Mainly in Asteria. Asteria the goddess, not Asteria the, well, me.

     See, Asteria was beautiful. You'd have to be, I suppose, to be a goddess. Especially the goddess of something so important. She was tall with beautiful brown waves sitting perfectly atop her head. She was said to be able to blow the stars right out of the palm of her perfect, petite, pale hand. Compared to my pale brown and straight hair, dull grey eyes, she is, well, a goddess.

Not to mention, of course she was the daughter of Titan Coeus; the god of intelligence.

     Most of my time is spent at the library, a few miles away. The good side of town. Or, at home reading up on Gods, Goddesses, and All American Travel Guide: a book for Dummies. Lately I've been looking at Indiana. You can see the stars practically every night. I've also been looking at largely wooded areas. Somewhere like Kentucky.

     But as Tallulah and I walk back to the apartments I keep my mouth shut. She hates hearing me talk about leaving. Mostly because she can't do it. She got a full scholarship for Maddenhall's College of West California.

     I, however, never cared a lot about school. I didn't care until it was too late. I either didn't show up, or when I did it was to wander the halls and wait for some teacher to halfheartedly chew me out.

     Anyways, I never was that interested in school. It never intrigued me. I never thought good grades would be necessary, even though people told me all the time. I was on top of the world. I knew everything. I was invincible. I wasn't aware that when adults told me school was important they knew what they were talking about. To me, they knew nothing. I just didn't know the right things. There were no classes on mythology or ancient beliefs. Yeah, there was history and science, but history didn't go that far back. It only covers wars, revolutions, and slavery.

And I've always hated science. It exists only to prove me wrong.

     But today, I've decided this will be my last day at Millsworth High School. It will be the last time I walk into the smell of B.O. and cherry lip gloss. The last time I have to apologize to the teachers. The last day of my life I waste.

     "Aster," the math teacher scolds, her sagging double chin wobbling like a turkey's. "How about I add another hour of detention to your tab?" Her grey bun bobs with her head and her enlarged stomach.

I ignore her high-pitched and stuffy voice.

    "Aster!" She raises her voice. I pause, the  slowly turn my head to her. "Do you want more detention?" She repeats.

I cock my eyebrow at her. "Yes ma'am." But she doesn't know that today is my last.

     As you've probably seen, nobody calls me Asteria. Everybody just calls me Aster. Asteria was something my non-existant father would have called me when I misbehaved, or something my mother would have called me — if she had been there — when I worried her sick, or when she saw I was failing every class except Study Hall. Only because I could read up on Greek Mythology during those short 53 minutes per class.

     After school, I skip my detention, which probably would have earned me another hour, and I start to walk.

     I walk down back roads with a backpack hanging from my shoulders, some water and the few dollars I had stuffed inside.  I keep walking anywhere from five to seven miles, I walk until I hear a second set of footsteps coming from behind me. Running behind me.

     I spin around on the ball of my foot, staring at the cause of the noise.

A boy. A small, curly haired boy. His eyes shine blue against his tan and dirty skin. He was wearing a pair of stained and dirty khaki shorts witha red and brown striped polo t-shirt. It was as dirty, if not dirtier than his shorts. He stopped dead in his tracks, looking up at me with big, scared eyes.

     I crouch down to his eye level, even though he is probably twenty yards away. Still, I extend my hand and wave it towards me, telling him it was okay to come closer. He moves, but only two or three feet.

     "It's okay," I call softly to him. "Come here. I think I have some water somewhere." I pull my backpack from my shoulders and he comes skittering towards me. I hand him a water bottle and he cracks the top, taking the tiniest sip he could have gotten, then handing it back.

     I take a drink, the pass it to him. "You can have more. I have plenty." I whisper as he takes a large gulp, letting it sink to the bottom of his stomach.

     He sighs after his long drink and expresses his gratitude. "Thank you very much," his eyes are still big as he looks at me.

I give him a small smile. "Of course. My name is Aster. What's yours?" I press my fingers to the ground on one side of me to help me keep my balance as I squatted.

     He stares at the water in his hand, then takes another drink. "Macx." He says, and that's when I notice his heavy Spanish accent.

     I reach out to rub his shoulders. "Where's your mother, Macx?"

He shrugs, taking another drink of water. "With God."

My eyes widen at the monotonous voice of this small boy. "Well then, who takes care of you?" He shrugs again. "Me, mostly. Sometimes my Tìa."

     I have to search my mind for the meaning of 'Tìa'. I make an 'o' shape with my mouth. Aunt. "Why only sometimes?"

He plops down on the dirt. "Because she doesn't like Marco," he picks at a bandage on his ankle. "Marcos is my hermano. My brother."

     "Sí, I know some Spanish." I laugh and he does, too, so I sit down on the ground beside him. "Where is your brother?"

He shrugs. "With Nani, probably."

     I give him a questioning look. "Nani?"

He looks at me his eyes wide, then manages to stutter "W-why are you glowing?" And I feel a hand on my shoulder.