19: 384,400 Kilometres

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Evan

On Thursday, at precisely eight o'clock in the morning, I am officially free from soccer. The clock on my phone ticks away another minute when Coach takes my permission slip and dismisses me from practice forever, and I step through the doorway into the school. It seems to take me an awfully long time to get from the field to the entryway. My feet drag through the grass as if it's made of wet cement, and my steps are leaving footprints behind.

Except I'm not leaving a trace. I'm leaving an empty space, a place where my body used to occupy. And I wonder how long it'll take before that space is filled. I was a placeholder—the background noise that isn't quite a song. Existing only to bridge the gap between nothing and something.

Since I'm in a position where I have nothing to do for the rest of the morning, I mosey into the building, heading for the cafeteria. Willow and Jenny are in the foyer, touching up the paint on the windows.

"Evan!" Willow yells out to me. She pretends to cast out a fishing line and mocks like she's reeling me towards her, and Jenny rolls her eyes while she isn't looking. "Good morning. Do you mind giving us a hand? Someone was supposed to finish painting two days ago."

She rests her annoyed glare on Lucas and Sebastian, both sitting on the bench to her right, mixing the buckets of paint. "Hey, Evan, do you have any idea how to make yellow?" Sebastian asks.

"Is that a serious question?" I retort.

Lucas snorts and replies, "You don't actually think we're that stupid."

"That's... debatable." I rise onto the bench next to Jenny. She immediately shuffles away, like she thinks I'm contagious.

Willow places her paintbrush against the window and draws a line, filling in the letter S with a brassy red. Her eyes crinkle in deep concentration, and she moves to flick the platinum blonde hair away from her forehead. "Again, I remind you both that this is your fault. If you'd listened to me, you would have finished this, and then we could move on to planning over the exam break. And then—"

Sebastian groans to silence her. "I thought we agreed that we'd stop talking about exams. I don't want to hear about it. Anything that doesn't happen this week is a problem for later."

"I second that," Lucas pitches in.

With a sigh, Willow hands me a paintbrush. I start to outline the next letter she's assigned me to, and the distant chatter from the cafeteria overtakes us for a moment.

It sticks until Willow breaks it to say, "Really though, I need to know what you think about the prom theme, guys. Before the sun explodes would be nice."

"You got it." Lucas waves his brush at her. Drops of paint land on the tile around him haphazardly. "I'm going to be honest. I don't get the theme. What the absolute hell does 'fantasy day at the beach' mean?"

Willow raises her foot and attempts to kick him. Her spindly limbs don't quite reach the bench, so Lucas swats her away. "It's in the name, Azan. Use those neurons of yours and figure it out. It's a fantastical day by the sea, except there are no dragons," she says.

"What you're saying is I can wear sandals to prom," Sebastian says.

Sighing, Jenny replies, "Not in a million years."

"Then I don't get it. We live by the water. At least pick a different element. How about 'fantasy day at the active volcano?'"

Willow huffs. "I hate you both. Evan, what do you think?"

I stop painting and look at them. With my eyes turned towards the hallways, I spot a trail of people walking to their respective classes. Among them is Nicole and Lexa; the former's loud voice carrying through the distance, and even though I can't hear what she's saying, I can guess she's excited about it. Lexa, for their part, is listening intently as they head towards the far corner near the outer border of the cafeteria. Not too far behind them is Peter, a pair of noise-cancelling headphones over his ears, his hands tapping methodically at his sides. Nicole angles her head backward, as if to make sure he's still there.

I wonder what he'd do if I waved. We're interacting only in the confines of the club, and besides the fact that I spilled about my plans to quit soccer, I know more about the guy who sits next to me in Math class than I do about Peter.

"Evan?" Willow asks again.

I avert my gaze. "I think it sounds fine."

"Great, because that's what we're doing, whether you two"—she looks at Sebastian and Lucas—"like it or not." Hopping off the bench, she asks the group if we'd like anything from the cafeteria. Jenny requests a cookie ('but only one. I'm trying to start a diet, you know') and Lucas shrugs, whirling back to the window.

"I'll have a cookie," I say.

After Willow salutes us and skips off to the counter, Jenny says, "Aren't you tired of eating cookies by now? Surely, they're all you've been eating lately."

I wince. Elaine was crestfallen when I had to break the news about the doomed fate of Claire's baking. Carolyn, on her usual spiel, had already stomped off to the dumpster by the time I tried to reason with her. Not that she can be reasoned with when she gets into that mood, where no matter how I react, or how correct I may be, she's already decided.

"I'm craving them," I explain. "I should have put one in my lunchbox. I doubt there will be any left when I get home."

Jenny makes a grunt of approval, but like the times before it, I can tell she's planning to tattle to Claire later for my mistake. Not that I need to give her one. I'm sure Jenny and Sebastian talk about us, just like Claire and I talk about them.

"I should get going. I have my drama class first thing," Sebastian says, getting to his feet. Blowing a kiss to Jenny, he turns on his heel and leaves, grabbing his sandwich from Willow before he disappears into the adjacent hall.

The view of the school's front parking lot is crammed with cars and the single school bus that operates to North High. Claire weaves through the commotion, her head down as she completes her laps.

Jenny waves frantically, but it has no use, as Claire doesn't notice it. "You know, I was thinking about going dress shopping soon," she says as she paints in another letter. The words, 'Spirit Week' have almost taken shape; Jenny's brush hovers over the E, a single task that seems to take her ages. "We could invite Claire. I'm sure she'd want to come with us. Isn't that right?"

She tilts her head, blinking at me like it's Morse code. Jenny is shorter than Claire, but only by about two inches. Her hair is a darker shade of brown that looks black under dim light. She picks at her nail polish while she waits for a reaction, shedding pieces of glittery pink onto her clothes.

"I'm sure she would." I haven't thought about it at all. My mind keeps reeling away, focusing on the other aspects of graduation. Today has been ridiculously slow that I'm starting to think time is mocking me, holding the promise of leaving over my head to see how long it takes before I relent. I want nothing more than to fade into the misty air like the stories of ghost ships that are common in Northwood.

"I'll have to figure it out with our schedule. I mean, these weeks are happening so quickly that I can barely handle it," Willow says.

Lucas tosses his bag over his shoulder and replies, "So, you agree that thinking about things that won't happen for months is overdoing it?"

Brushing him off, Willow cements, "This is different. Are you done?"

He gestures to the window he was working on. The lettering is slightly askew, but it isn't completely botched. "Yeah. I'll see you at the student council meeting."

I finish shortly afterward, backing up to see how it looks from afar. It does look like a couple of pencil lines, hastily bunched to form the themes of spirit week. But it's art. And a smile forms on my lips at the thought.

☆ ☽ ☆

"All rise to the honourable Evan McKenna," Nicole says and kicks both legs into midair. One of her shoes flies off and hits the desk in front of her, and Lexa stifles their laughter.

We're sitting in Ms. Crozier's room, assembled into a vaguely oval shape. I'm at the front, next to Nicole, who keeps trying to hug me. Jay has made his appearance, for once. And although he's wearing his headphones, I figured it out ten minutes ago that he's not listening to music, but eavesdropping on us, since his eyebrow shoots up in questioning every time Nicole speaks.

I amble into standing up, and Lexa follows suit. They've chosen to wear their Vice President-Elect button, placed next to an assortment of similar pins. One of them is a flag that I don't recognize—yellow, white, purple, and black—and the other is a peace sign. "I'll go first," Lexa says, squinting at Nicole. "Nikki?"

"Sorry!" Holding her hands up pleadingly, Nicole adjusts her star-shaped glasses and looks at me. "I was bribed. Please don't hold it against me."

"What did you give her that was better than cupcakes?" Lexa asks skeptically. "I mean, seriously. Did you give her alcohol, or what?"

"Maybe." My voice sounds strained. The smile that I'm trying to upkeep slides off my face.

Looking up from his homework, Peter interjects, "Let's move on. How many votes do we have?"

My posture relaxes. Lexa pokes Jay with their mechanical pencil, prodding him until he takes out an earbud to lift his hand and cast a vote. Then it's my turn. Nicole's hands fly into the air, nearly smacking my face in the process. Belatedly, Peter does the same.

"It's settled, then. First order of business: what are we doing this week?" I say. "It's spirit week. We can spend it trying to find our elusive sixth person."

Nicole smiles. "What's funny is that you think we're taking part in spirit week."

"Come on, it won't be that—"

The door flings open and Ms. Crozier enters, her face a bit flushed. "I'm sorry I'm late, kiddos. But we're in luck! We have permission to take the club to the roof. Who's coming?"

The group ends up agreeing, and I take the obligatory role of carrying the telescopes to the top floor. Peter takes one, but only because we determine that I don't have enough hands for the task alone. "They're not that heavy," I assure him.

"To you," he replies, "as I'm sure you can bench press."

Ms. Crozier leads the club through the stairway all the way to the emergency exit. Twisting a blocky key into the lock, the alarm disengages and allows her passage.

The flat roof swallows the ground whole, blocking out my view of the parking lot and allowing me to see the roads further out. The trees are bunched together like a drawing coloured in the same shade. My footsteps echo underneath me. The sound is hollow, as if I could be a ghost travelling across the floorboards from above.

I set the telescopes down, brushing the hair from my face. This had better be worth it.

Peter takes out his star chart. I watch him; I can't quite seem to get a sense of how to spark a conversation. It's more like a question-and-answer period, really. So I ask, "What's your favourite star?"

"What?" He balks, lifting an eyebrow at me.

"I mean, like, is that a thing? Do people have a favourite star? I don't think I do. But maybe... you have one."

"I did when I was a kid. Spica. It's a binary star, which means that it's actually a pair of stars that orbit around a barycenter—as in, a common centre of gravity. Almost one-half of the stars in the Milky Way are part of complex systems like that. They look close when viewed from Earth, but in actuality, they're quite far away."

I smile. "That sounds like what a Club President would say."

"Are you calling me a nerd?" There's an edge to the way he says it. One part teasing, one part annoyed.

I brush my hands against the roof's surface. The dust from the flat tile glues itself to my palms. Peter is kneeling over it, perched with his hands against his side. "Not in an insulting way, obviously, because if you're a nerd, then so am I. I just don't know how you knew that off the top of your head."

"I have it memorized," he replies. "I used to know what your favourite planet and stuff like that meant about your personality. Pick one, and I'll tell you what I can recall."

I humour him. "Jupiter. Now tell me my future."

He chuckles, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then says, "How's this? It takes Jupiter four thousand and three hundred days to orbit the sun, so I think it's safe to say that you're pretty lazy. However, its rotation is the fastest at almost ten hours, so maybe you work quickly—when you get around to it, that is. Plus, it has sixteen moons, so... you get stuck in the middle a lot. Oh, and scientists don't think we'll ever land on it, because of the gaseous surface and all, so I'll say that you dream of the impossible." He lets out a breath. "That's a lot harder than it sounded when I first thought about it."

"I'm surprised that you know that. When I have facts memorized, I tend to mix them up... you know, like I get the numbers wrong, and turn them into a Franken-fact." I grin. Peter gives me the quietest chuckle in response.

He fiddles with his hands, steadying himself against the telescopes. "I guess it's just automatic. It's easier when I like what I'm talking about. Someone mentions it in passing, and before I know it I'm telling you about how a day on Venus is longer than a year, or how the moon is, on average, 384,400 kilometres away. And it's the only thing I can think of, so I say it."

I stretch my hands, cracking my knuckles. The soft pop of the air between my bones accompanies it. Elaine had told me about that. "I think I had a bunch of almanacs when I was a kid, but I'm not sure I could remember any of what I read right now."

I shift my weight so that my arm acts as a pillow for my head. Resting it there, I feel like I could sleep in this position. Like if I stayed here long after the club is gone, I really would be a phantom. Stuck in Northwood forever.

"I didn't know anyone else did that," Peter says and nods.

I shut my eyes against the sunlight. Sparks of yellow invade the darkness of my swimming vision. "I think I need a nap."

Eventually, between keeping my eyes shut and the sound of movement around me, a distant nudge hits my back. The edge of a shoe drives into me before subsiding, and I roll backward to catch myself. Nicole stands there, hobbling away to stop me from kicking her in retaliation. I realize where I am—on the roof—not at home.

"I'm adding everyone to a group chat," Nicole says and clicks her tongue at me. She gestures at my phone and hands it back when she's done.

Her contact names are a bit strange. She's added herself as 'Your Number One Fan.' Lexa and Jay's contact names are equally nonsensical, but at least I can tell who's who. Sort of.

"Nicole, seriously?" I ask.

She whirls around and extends both hands outward like an unsteady pirouette. "Seriously."


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