☆ Evan ☆

At the beginning of my grade ten year, and when my relationship with Claire was still fresh, she recruited me to help Jenny run for student council. It was nothing over-the-top, and most of the time all I had to do was passing out cupcakes with a paper topping that read, 'Vote for Durst: a candidate you can trust!' (She did not listen to me when I pointed out that didn't rhyme.)

Claire's task, although unofficial, was to bring her friend more votes. She was not very successful at this when she started, but once she focused on finding one person in a group who could continue championing for Jenny even after Claire was gone, the votes rolled in, and it became impossible to beat her.

I never thought I'd have to use that strategy, but given that I'm proposing myself as club Vice President, I need a plan of attack. Because, quite frankly, unless I get Peter and Nicole's vote of confidence, I'm not getting anywhere.

Perched over a blank sheet of paper and a collection of markers, I make my best attempt at a poster, scrawling the date underneath it and sighing. I've drawn a moon in the top left corner and a background filled with stars. Halfway through my highly important task, Elaine comes in to invade my room.

For fourteen years we have lived in this apartment, and for fourteen years my walls have remained unchanged. The bed, pushed against the wall, keeps me out of sight. Next to me is the dresser, stacked with schoolwork and a resin pendant trapping pine needles inside of its flat surface. It was included in one of Adrian's letters an eternity ago, a generic last-minute gift from the other side of the country.

Elaine picks up a stress ball from my floor and tosses it at me. It lands on the checkered bedsheets, clattering against the markers and sending them rolling away from me. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I point to the poster, and Elaine shrugs.

"Is this related to yesterday?" she asks, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Like, since when have you been a nerd? Astronomy Club? What the heck happened to you?"

I grab a black marker to trace over my pencil sketching, making it easier to read my handwriting. "It's better than soccer." My response comes out like a question, but Elaine doesn't seem to notice.

"Fair enough."

Earlier this morning, I cornered Randall before anyone else woke up. After I avoided the ask your mother tactic, he agreed to sign my permission slip as long as I play during next week's game. It isn't likely that the panthers will progress much further this season, so he's got a point.

I grab the stress ball and send it back towards Elaine. She fumbles to catch it, squeezing it between both hands. "Can I help?"

"Sure." I move aside to let her join me in colouring. Grabbing a pink marker, she carefully fills in the bubbly invitation.

Now all that's left to do is hand it out.

☆ ☽ ☆

"Good luck with practice, Cee. Remember: I was never here," I state as Claire leans over to kiss me on the cheek. She lingers for half a second, barely enough time to be notable. Rolling her eyes at me, she opens the door to her Mercedes and shoves me out of it.

"Get out. I don't want to catch the mystery sickness I'm going to tell Coach that you developed," she retorts.

"Tell him I've got the plague," I say flatly, and offer her a bright smile. "See you later."

Claire scoffs, shutting her car off. She hops out, brandishing her iced coffee, and darts off to the field. Her practice outfit shines against the dull green grass; she waves at me from afar before disappearing into the cluster of the team.

I sigh, heading in the opposite direction. I toss my empty plastic cup into the garbage can as I pass. Spotting a parked minivan in front of the entrance, I slow down.

It's Ms. Crozier. The trunk is open, and she's struggling to carry a large box with one hand.

"Can I help you?" I ask, stopping beside her.

Ms. Crozier turns to face me, swiping her hair back. "Oh, Evan! Thank goodness that you showed up. I'm trying to bring these—"she gestures to the three boxes in the car—"into the club room. They're telescopes... and they're heavier than I expected."

"Give it to me, I can carry it." I boost one of the boxes into my hands; it's not actually that bad, so I motion for her to give me another.

"Thank you. I'll take the last one in a moment. Oh, and I can't remember if my classroom is locked, so I'll give you my keys. It's the square one. You can let everyone inside." She places her keys in my outstretched hand and watches me walk off.

I dodge other students on my way up the stairs, reaching the second floor soon afterward. Voices carry through the hallway, and I recognize them as Nicole and Peter, mid-conversation.

"Okay, don't even go there," Nicole says, "I'm going through the list of the worst sci-fi movies with my dad, and they're, well, bad. You should come. Please, I can't do this without your commentary."

I round the corner and silently unlock the classroom door.

"The last time you invited me, we got into a fight about whether Interstellar made sense or not."

Nicole shrugs. "And you didn't take my side. You betrayed me."

I set the boxes down on the desks as Peter replies, "Because you were wrong. It's—objectively—the best movie ever made. If you want me to come, I will. I'll bring a notebook and take notes."

She hits him over the head. "Oh, shut up." Moving towards me, she points at the boxes. "What are we doing?"

"A jigsaw puzzle," I reply with a flash of a smile. "What do you think?"

Nicole grins wickedly as I try to find an opening for the boxes. Halfway through attempting to rip it open, Peter hands me a pair of scissors. I had noticed before how utterly tall he is, but it becomes much more prominent when he's standing directly next to me. Wedged between Nicole, who's only a few inches shorter than Peter, I feel like I have to crane my head to look at them. So, really, he's not just handing the scissors to me—he's handing them down to me. "You might want these."

"Thanks," I grumble under my breath, slicing the boxes open. Ms. Crozier comes into the room with the last box, sighing. I toss her keys back to her as she takes her seat.

Reaching into the box, Nicole takes out a thick instruction manual and leafs through it, unamused. "This thing is eighty pages long?"

She opens it, and in a flat tone, reads the first page: "Never look directly at the sun. Who would do that?"

Peter swipes the manual from her and replies, "You would."

We take out the tripod, and the rest of the parts required. Peter scans the instructions and tells me what to do while Nicole tackles the second box. "You're not really going to follow those, right? Come on, we don't need instructions! How difficult can it be?"

"Suit yourself. We'll see who finishes first," says Peter, and continues helping me with it. Other than to tell me what to do, the silence remains between us.

It breaks only when Lexa enters the room, and Nicole bounds over to wrap them into a hug. Wrangling out of her grasp, Lexa's eyes scan the room, landing on the poster I hung in Ms. Crozier's room this morning. A starry sky coats the white page, joined by Elaine's hasty stick figures and my slogan, which is much better than Jenny's ever was: Let's Go to Space, Man: Vote for Evan.

"It seems I have competition," Lexa says to me. "Nice poster."

I smile. "It rhymes. Oh, and the drawings are my sister's. She helped."

Lexa nods, extending their hand to me like a lawyer accepting a deal. "Unluckily for you, I already have Jay's vote, which means I'm almost halfway to gaining the majority. You'd better hurry if you want to make this into a fight." Their tone is lighthearted, yet they seem serious enough that I can't help but take Lexa's hand, sealing the binding contract.

"I'm working on it," I reply. In my pocket, my phone buzzes, and I pull it free. Though I don't recognize the number, the area code corresponds to Alberta—and I glance back up at Lexa. "Shit, I have to take this."

I practically sprint from the room. If I were to miss the phone call, it would mean waiting weeks to get the chance to speak to Adrian again. The door slams behind me as I answer it with a quiet, "Hello?"

"Evan." My father's voice is soft, and he pronounces my name the same way he always has; Evan-nay. "I'm so sorry that I missed your call. I got a new phone, and I had to transfer my contacts and... it doesn't matter. How are you doing?"

So I tell him everything is perfectly copacetic, and he tells me he's moved again, changing jobs and apartments and postal codes. That's the way life is for him. He bounces around the province like staying in the same place for too long makes him physically sick, an allergy to commitment.

There's no sense in telling him the truth, in saying life sucks, because I stopped believing that he's going to come and save me a long time ago. My relationship with my father is connected through a telephone line. When we hang up, there is nothing there. "How is your mother doing? Does she have a job?"

"No, she's... she's the same as always," I answer. "Actually, I have a job now. It's nothing much, but it's not bad."

"Good for you. What about Claire?" This is the extent of what Adrian knows about me. Little tidbits here and there, little facts about my life that carry no substance. I wonder if he mentions me to his work colleagues, or to any of his three-week-long girlfriends.

I place my head against the wall, and I wonder if I have the same phobia of commitment. "We're doing fine." I clear my throat. "I was wondering if you have an extra room in your apartment? I've been thinking about where I'm going to live once I graduate, so maybe if I can find a job in Alberta..."

Adrian falls silent. The line crackles like a dial tone between us, as if predicting the future soon to come. "I'll have to think about it," he answers, which is really just code for 'Absolutely not.'

"Great," I say to the dead air. I switch subjects without lingering on it, and so I ask: "Do you know when you're coming back?"

"I'd have to check my calendar when I get home, but I think it's sometime in late November, maybe early in December? I have a long weekend. I'll be back in Northwood then."

The conversation fizzles out after that. I hang up before Adrian does, and my home screen reappears. It's a photo through the window stained with rain, one chosen mostly at random. My lock-screen used to be the generic picture that every phone comes with, the cycling shade of blue with no distinct pattern. At least, until Claire wanted me to switch it to something more personable.

I let out a frustrated groan as I collapse against the wall. My fists impact with the flecked paint; the impact stings my knuckles. I feel like I could keep hitting until the wall caves in. The classrooms around me have the doors sealed shut, and as far as I can tell, I'm totally alone in the hallway.

I stay in that position for a while before tugging the door open. I rake a hand through my hair, returning to the club. Nicole has finished assembling her telescope, although it looks a bit unsteady on top of the desks. She's chattering away to Lexa about something, giving me time to slip back in unnoticed.

Approaching the desks, I take the same position beside Peter. He's reading the instruction booklet like it's a novel, and for a moment I think I've managed to get back to normal, but then he says, "Are you okay?"

He says it like I don't have to answer, like it's not that important.

I shove my phone into my pocket. "Don't mind me."

Setting his booklet down, Peter lifts an eyebrow at me wordlessly. For some reason, I feel like I should elaborate, so I continue, "I'm thinking about quitting soccer."

There's a pause. It's not the same type of pause that happened when I drove him home—I get the sense that he's trying to think about the right words to say. "Ah... why?"

"Because I want to, and I think it's what I should have done a long time ago," I reply with a sort of sheepish grin. Remembering, I remove the invitation from my pocket and unfold it. Elaine's handwriting decorates it, and the top corner has a sun wearing glasses not all too different from Peter's. It reads, Astronomy Club Hiking Trip. Admit One. "Oh, and this is for you. I know you're not allowed to hold activities on school grounds, so I'm hosting one myself. You can come if you want. No pressure."

He takes it from me. "You made this?"

"Yeah. I had some help, obviously, but it was my idea. For my campaign."

"Huh." Returning to the telescope, Peter adjusts the focus and moves it so that it's pointing through the outside window. He looks at me sidelong, then says, "Hiking?"

"I did promise I wouldn't murder you. That's still in effect," I remind him.

His smile is faint. "I'll consider it."

"That's the spirit." I lean against the table, kicking my legs onto an adjacent chair. Peter glances into the telescope and continues to fiddle with it. "Can you see anything?" I ask, eventually.

"Not really. Go ahead." He moves aside to let me try it, so I humour him. It's pointed away from the sun, but the light is white and harsh, and the wind makes the clouds waver.

I back away from it, focusing on the wall. Ms. Crozier's classroom looks into the back of the school, a window that I've seen from outside on countless occasions. My phone buzzes; it's Claire, asking me how I'm doing. I don't know what to say to that, besides outright lying to keep up the impression that I'm back home for the hour.

"That's your girlfriend?" Peter guesses.

"How can you tell?"

He shrugs. "You looked panicked."

I am panicking. That much is obvious. "I haven't told her about the whole quitting-soccer thing yet. I just figure that she might be angry with me... I don't know. Soccer is Claire's world. It makes me think it should be mine." I realize it's the first time I've said that out loud. And I'm still talking. "I want it to be over with, I guess. So I can do whatever the hell I want."

I know when that will happen. When I can disappear completely, and calling my number results in nothing but a robotic voice that states, You have reached a number that has been disconnected...

I just wish it would come sooner.

"And the Astronomy Club is part of that?" Peter asks.

I nod. "Yeah, I was being honest when I said I didn't mind it."

"Just checking," he says in a low voice. "No pressure. It'll happen eventually."

"Two hundred and seventy-three days," I recite, without looking at my phone. I don't need to, anymore—I have the date ingrained in my head. Glancing at the clock above Ms. Crozier's desk, I do the quick math. "Two hours, thirty-five minutes, and about... nineteen seconds."

"Until?" Peter says.

"June thirtieth at three in the afternoon—the last day of school," I answer. "I'm counting down."

I hop off the desk and give Nicole her ticket. Her smile doubles as she throws her arms around me to pull me into a suffocating hug. Once the air has been crushed from my lungs, she releases me. "You'll see me there," she says with a wink.

Lexa glares at me. I smile back and say, "Looks like I have my first vote."