Stardust

Between You and Me and the Satellites

Stardust: Between You and Me and the Satellites

Jake Gallagher

    It had been three weeks and six days since my parents scarred my psyche, turning my existence into a cesspool of perverse moralization and irritability towards anyone who'd stick around long enough to listen to one of my many long sessions of bitching. I'd also found myself being more melodramatic than usual, but I figured that I was within good reason.

    Dad had begun to visit more frequently, much to my dismay. He'd even gotten into the habit of sleeping on the couch when he normally would get a room at the hotel down the street. At first, I thought it was an attempt to make amends with me — what with him following me around the house, fruitlessly trying to coax me to talk to him before I'd slam my bedroom door in his face — until Owen and Levi burst into my room one night at half-past midnight tripping over each others' words with the excitement of finding Mom and Dad "sucking face" in the bathroom. I stormed the bathroom with a rage that rivaled all the wrathful in the fifth circle of hell and shoved them out into the hallway. Then I locked myself inside, sat in the bathtub and refused to come out, consequently ruining Owen and Levi's excitement when they had to piss outside.

    No matter how many times I locked myself in a room for hours or found other ways to display my disturbance — such as painting the floral vases Mom spent months making in a shade of fecal brown — my parents continued with their adultery without the slightest hindrance. Their transgressions began to drain the vivid colors from the house room by room. Maybe it was only me, but everything looked a lot more dull. However, the worst part about their trysts was the fact that they began to acknowledge us kids less and less. The other day, Owen caught a towel on fire in the kitchen, and I had to be the one to extinguish it because Mom and Dad couldn't hear the commotion over Mom's headboard banging against the wall. A sound had never made me more inclined to vomit than that sound.

    Every time I witnessed my parents together, I felt dirty. A sea of guilt flooded my chest and I felt the motion of its waves the most when Anessa called me three days ago. She asked how I was doing in school, and she asked me what I would like for Christmas — I couldn't bare taking a gift from her, so I told her I wanted nothing — and she said she loved me at the end of the call. After I got off the phone, I cried. I felt like a bad person. I knew I should've told her about Mom and Dad, but I didn't think I could handle hearing her cry, so I figured that I'd cry for her. Stupid plan, I know.

    After waking up a whole hour early for school, and after spending that entire hour throwing a fit at having to see my parents when I left my room, which had begun to resemble the dwelling of a loathful hermit, I emerged with a perpetual scowl and a deadly grip on my backpack that I intended to use as something like a flail if my father lurked outside of my door. But, much to my surprise, the hallway was empty. My stiff shoulders slouched as I dragged myself down the stairs.

    Everyone had convened in the kitchen for breakfast. Mom was hunched over the stove, her brows knit together and a bead of sweat threatening to fall into her eye — I hoped it would and it'd sting like hell. Besides the dry pie crusts for Thanksgiving, Mom hadn't cooked in nearly a year. Instead, she'd buy frozen pizzas or products able to be prepared in the microwave. I believed her neglect of the kitchen had something to do with Dad's absence, like everything else in this family did.

    Flanking either side of Mom, Owen and Levi ogled at the waterfall of batter Mom poured from her giant multicolored mixing bowl into the pan. Across the sea of Tinkerbell green linoleum, Cassie kicked and gargled from her high chair while Dad encouraged her to do so; he cooed and tickled her tiny feet. The scene vaguely reminded me of something I'd wake up to a year ago, only Cassie would be kicking from Mom's stomach and Dad would be reading the newspaper with a steaming cup of coffee within arm's reach. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it, but the disgust I had towards my parents was too absolute to be dispersed by a glimpse of a pretty picture of the family I used to know.

    I hadn't realized I sighed until everyone was staring at me, each of their faces thick and dripping with honied anticipation of what I'd say or do. For a moment, Mom looked pained.

    "Good morning, son," Dad smiled. The expression was strained.

    "No, it's not a good morning, John," I spat, electing on the spot that I'd no longer refer to him as Dad, but by his legal name, "it's a particularly bad morning for myself and it's because you're the male equivalent of a concubine."

    His expression became crestfallen. "Son," he began with a sigh, but I cut him off.

    "I'd appreciate it if you just went home!" I hollered, coercing a cry from Cassie. "Or have you forgotten that you no longer live here and have a new wife and stepdaughter?! 'Cause, from my perspective, you seem to be suffering from a case of amnesia!"

    His face swelled until it was as red as a cartoon character who was ready to spout steam from his orifices. "THAT'S ENOUGH FROM YOU!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

    My mouth fell unhinged. I was shocked. I'd never seen him that upset, and I'd be lying if I said a small part of me didn't want to burst into tears right there in the doorway of the kitchen.

    He stepped around the table until he was only about two feet away from me. I braced myself, thinking for a moment that he was going to hit me.

    "I've had to listen to your crap all week, Jacoby!" he huffed, pointing an accusing finger at my chest. "You've been stomping around the house, slamming doors in people's faces and speaking to your parents like you've lost your goddamn sense! Maybe YOU seem to be suffering from amnesia because, the last time I checked, I was your father and you have NO RIGHT to treat me in the manner you have been since Thanksgiving! I'm sorry if my relationship with your mother is upsetting you and I'm sorry you've had to bear witness to it, but, in all honesty, my relationships with my wife and your mother are none of your goddamn business! So clean up your act this instant or, so help me God, the neighbors might have to call Child Protective Services! Have I made myself clear?!"

    I was outright appalled. Then I was upset at the fact that he would threaten me. But I was mostly outraged that my mother, Owen and Levi didn't come to my defense. After everything I've done for this family while John was out taking care of a women and another man's child, I couldn't believe that, as soon as John traipsed back through the door like everything was okay and he never left, my family would treat him as such. Was I the only one who had a clear understanding of morals and virtues in society? Or was I just blowing the whole thing out of proportion and I'm the one who's wrong for displaying such angry behaviors towards my parents?

    At that point, standing mug to mug with my father in the doorway of the kitchen, I decided I'd come too far to give up now. So, I screwed my face up, put on the best leer I could muster, and I seethed, "Fuck. You."

    John's mouth hung ajar, as did my mother's.

    I pivoted on my heel and strolled through the living room and out the front door with an overwhelming feeling of liberation on my shoulders. That was the first time in my life that I felt that way, and I was happy I did. The little man dwelling in my conscience — the one who would usually feel guilty about things like this — hooted, "You really stuck it to the man, Jake!"

    With a whistle on my lips and a bounce in my step as I walked down the driveway, I heard through the open window in the living room the unanimous holler of Owen and Levi: "THAT WAS AWESOME!"

☆   ☪   ☆

    The walk to school breezed by like the jocks in their swanky sports cars barreling down the street at least twenty over the speed limit. It was the first time I'd ever walked to school. Usually, I would ride shotgun with Mom, Owen, Levi and Cassie. But walking by myself made me feel independent, swelling the liberation I already felt into a sense of pride.

    When I got in the school, I was overwhelmed by every hall and classroom that had been festooned in garland and holly berries. There was a fake Christmas tree in the lunchroom that the janitor sprayed with "pine-scented" air freshener, which smelled more like earth worms after the rain with a slight smidgeon of manure. It was a stench that tarnished the appetites of those faint of stomach. A cheerleader puked in the trashcan beside my table, ruining my breakfast. If it weren't for my parents, I wouldn't have attempted to eat breakfast at school at all, but the lurch of my empty stomach still didn't displace my pride.

    Outside of the cafeteria, Matt was sitting on a bench beneath a shady oak tree in the courtyard with who I believed to be Rob Hastings — the tall, Asian senior that Brennyn said Matt had a crush on. Matt waved. I smiled. He focused his attention back to Rob who spoke adamantly with his hands about something seemingly interesting.

    It had been that way ever since Matt kissed me. We never talked to each other anymore. We only acknowledged each other. It made me sad that we lost the bond we had as friends, but I couldn't say I wasn't relieved that we never ran into any uncomfortable conversations beleaguered with awkward pauses after the incident in his living room. I was never very eloquent when it came to addressing sensitive situations, hence me locking myself in the bathroom and ruining my mother's vases before engaging in a cockfight with my father.

    I wandered my way across the courtyard, the puddles from last night's rain reflecting prisms of the morning sun beneath my feet. I thought that that was the closest I'd ever get to walking on sunshine before the puddles splashed around my shoes, stretching the reflection of the sun until it looked like a thin line of molten lava bleeding through a crack in the atmosphere.

    The shadow of a tall, curvaceous figure advancing on my side devoured the last reflections of the canary sun beneath my feet. I looked up to meet a pair of familiar toffee eyes laden heavily in mascara and gold eyeshadow.

    "G'morning, Jake," Leah smiled.

    Her long black locks and color-blocked dress trailed behind her in the breeze. She strutted in heels like a model on the runway at New York Fashion Week. When I first met her, I always paused to take in her attractiveness, like savoring an exceptional taste, until I realized that there were, in fact, an abundance of Leahs at Pyxis High School. Her radiating personality never failed to amaze me, but almost every female in our student body strived to be a carbon copy of her aesthetics. Now that I thought about it, I had already passed four girls wearing that exact style of dress, only they were woven in different colors. However — maybe it only seemed that way to me — she shone the brightest in the sea of doppelgangers aspiring for the slightest effigy of newness.

    We walked in-step. I asked her how she spent her weekend. She said she spent her days around town with Skylar, and she joked about being jealous that he spent his nights in the corner of my bedroom, which I had draped in Christmas lights last night after he told me they were his favorite decoration. Then she asked me how I was doing. I said I was great, which wasn't a total lie. After that, we walked in a silence that was ornamented by a mutual likeness for each other's company.

    Leah and I pressed through the double doors on the west end of the building. The sunlight followed us in, seeping across the basketball court. The gymnasium had been splashed with decorations of red and green and white so much that the original tan color of the walls only peaked out in inch-wide sections from beneath the holiday adornments. Tables and chairs were organized in the pattern of classroom desks on the middle of the basketball court. A few students from my homeroom weaved in and out of the tables.

    Leah laughed. "I guess our homeroom teachers weren't kidding when they said they were going all-out for Secret Santa this year."

    Since 1983, Pyxis High School has traditionalized Secret Santa. But this year, principle Bermudez — after receiving a string of complaints from students who didn't want to participate — decided the event would be an elective from then on out. Whining that they were "too old" for Secret Santa, the senior and junior classes weren't taking part in the festivities. So, this year, it was just the sophomore and freshmen classes. The teachers of the sophomore homerooms — Mr. Oleander, and spouses Mr. and Mrs. Foster — wanted to combine their homerooms in the gymnasium for the gift receiving. I heard the freshmen were assigned to report to the lunchroom for the receiving — sucked for them; I saw the janitor hosing the Christmas tree with another dose of "pine scent" before I left.

    Across the basketball court, the back entrance of the gym creaked open to reveal a red-faced Mr. Oleander, my astronomy teacher, carrying a stack of pastry boxes in his frail arms, and dangling from his thin wrist was a gift bag with a portrait of Rudolph. Students on that end of the gym rushed to relieve his arthritic bones of the load, except for the gift bag. Mr. Oleander clutched Rudolph with a soft smile.

    Mr. and Mrs. Foster — the quirky forty-something couple who taught woodshop and home-economics, respectively — pranced into the gym in matching reindeer garb and pastry boxes the same brand as Mr. Oleander's. In startling unison, they chirped, "Merry almost-Christmas, kiddos!"

    "Place your gifts on the table at the front," said Mr. Foster.

    "And grab a seat while we wait for the rest of the Secret Santas," chimed Mrs. Foster.

    Leah and I walked together to the table with the sign that read PRESENTS HERE.

    "So," Leah whispered, pulling a pretty little box with a bow from her purse, "who's name did you grab out of the magic sorting hat?"

    "Brennyn."

    It should go without saying that the only person I hoped to be the Secret Santa for was Skylar. I was disappointed — to say the least — that I got anyone but him.

    Leah made a face. She looked nauseated.

    "Who'd you get?" I asked, pulling a skinny box out of my bookbag. I got Brennyn the sparkly chain belt she had her eye on the last time she dragged me to the mall with her. I bought it on sale for twenty bucks, so I wasn't that disconcerted over spending my hard-earned, lawn-mowing money on her.

    Leah made another face, though, it appeared slightly less pained than the last. "That girl."

    She pointed a manicured fingernail across the gym, where the goth pyromaniac I shared detention with sat in the corner on the bleachers.

    "Ashlee Giles," Leah snorted. "I got her a bottle of black nail polish. I considered getting her a Marilyn Manson poster. After all, she does look like Marilyn Manson and Insane Clown Posse's love child."

    I laughed so loudly that half of the students filing into the gym cast their eyes in my direction. I shrunk behind Leah. Then she laughed even louder than I did.

    Leah and I grabbed seats in the middle-most row of the tables. Ethan burst into the gym minutes later, and sat on the other side of me. He reeked of the lunchroom Christmas tree's "pine scent," and his right forearm was beat red. He itched at his skin like he had been pierced by two dozen mosquitoes.

    "Some asshole senior tripped me in the lunchroom," Ethan seethed, "and my arm hit the Christmas tree when I fell. I'm allergic to fiber optics."

    "Here," Leah chirped, and reached her long arm over my head. She dropped a small something, blurred by my peripheral vision, into Ethan's palm. "I keep Benadryl in my purse 'cause I like to wear flower-scented perfume, but I'm super allergic to bees."

    "Thank God for the birth of Leah Boone," Ethan muttered, tossing the pill into his mouth, to which my mind conjured the ping-ping sound of it rattling against the sides of his throat.

    "So," Leah began, leaning back in her chair to peer around me, "who'd you get, E?"

    "Margo Frasier."

    I remembered Margo as the quiet girl with coke-bottle glasses and a perpetually runny nose that sat exactly four seats in front of me in geometry. I'd only ever heard her say one thing and it was always to our teacher: "Can I have a tissue?"

    "You wanna know what I got her?" Ethan asked with a tinge of excitement in his voice. Neither Leah or I answered; we knew he'd tell us anyway.

    "A box of Kleenex!"

    After cackling for almost an entire minute, Ethan blabbered on about all of the gifts he got for his girlfriend, which included a cracked watch he found in the alley behind Moe's Pawn Shop and various dollarstore items.

    For the five minutes in which Ethan talked Leah's face off — not literally — I periodically glanced over my shoulder at the main entrance of the gym. Some vague constituent of myself was looking for Matt, but only out of curiosity of whether or not he would sit with us. Another cluster of sparks in my brain spared thoughts for the twins and if they would join me and Ethan despite Leah's presence. But mostly, and I'm sure it wasn't hard to tell, I was looking for Skylar. And as if I  had conjured a figment of him from my imagination, like a mirage to a drifter in the desert, Skylar threw open the doors of the gym.

    The sun cast a golden glow on Skylar's back, but he walked with a sluggishness and a slouch in his shoulders that I had only seen on him the day I found him and Mr. Rossi coming out of the boys' locker room. I watched him drag across the gym, looking as if his legs were stilts, and toss an envelope onto the growing pile of gifts on the PRESENTS HERE table. I couldn't make out whose name was dashed across the front in his characteristically chicken-scratch scrawl, but I had a feeling it wasn't mine.

    Leah caught Skylar's eye with her flailing arms. He wandered through the throngs of sophomores until he reached our table, where he fell into the seat beside Leah with a frown that he tried fruitlessly to lift into something that didn't appear so unbearably wistful.

    "What's wrong, babe?" Leah muttered, her lips curving downward as if she and Skylar were stigmatic twins.

    "My Mom's been actin' real weird, lately," Skylar whispered, and I'm sure I wasn't supposed to hear, but I listened anyway. "I've never seen her cry... until this morning. And she wouldn't tell me why, but I think it's got somethin' to do with this new guy she's been seeing. All I know about him is that he's always buyin' her stuff, but they fight all the time. Last week, I heard him screamin' at her, sayin' shit about her needing to pay him back for somethin'... The next day, she started tellin' me about us moving back to Michigan."

    "Is he, like, a loan shark?" Leah whispered with a bright shock of urgency in her tone.

    "I don't know," Skylar shrugged.

    After that, Skylar's jaw became set in a certain way that discouraged Leah from asking anymore questions.

    Ethan, who had persisted in his blabbering about his girlfriend in a dense haze of ignorance to the people around him, leaned across me and smiled as wide as a clown. "Who'd you get, Sky?"

    Skylar rolled his eyes. "Jenni Strauss."

    Ethan inhaled so sharply that I thought he depleted the air supply in the gym. "THE Jenni Strauss?! The hot, blonde co-captain on the cheer leading squad?"

    "That's the one," Skylar sighed.

    "You lucky bastard," Ethan huffed. "What'd you get her?"

    Skylar began to pull a cigarette from his jeans' pocket, but after realizing where he was, he tucked it back into the half-empty carton. Then, with a sigh, said, "Ten bucks and a stale stick of bubble gum."

    At the precise moment that I braved sneaking a glance at Skylar, who sat slouched in his chair with a lazy smile at the Fosters futile attempts at taping a Have a Wonderful Holiday poster to the freshly polished bleachers, the two chairs in front of us screeched like the melodramatic demise of a cartoon character amplified by the resonance of the open room. Every eye in the gym that day looked in our direction, and I felt the immense urge to melt into the cracks in the floor. Of course, in true Tetro fashion, it was the twins that caused the ruckus.

    "Ho-bag," Brennyn spat, straddling the back of her chair to stare Leah into nonexistence.

    "Sourpuss," Leah said, "and I mean that literally."

    Shannyn sat backwards in her chair as well. Tossing her hands in the air, she huffed, "Do you know who I had to be the Secret Santa for? MIKE!"

    Ethan raised a brow. "Mike?"

    "Yeah, MIKE! The guy I liked who pretty much dumped me for Andrea Slutvarez! I've only ever done one bad thing in my life, and that was when I accidentally squashed a butterfly in fourth grade, so I guess this is my punishment!"

    I suppressed a chuckle.

    Leah spoke so softly that I could hardly hear her, which said a lot considering I was sitting the closest to her. "It was a moth."

    "What?" Shannyn asked incredulously. Her eyes were wider than usual.

    Leah spoke louder. "I said it was a moth."

    In a instant as fleeting as a single breath, Shannyn's face softened with a look of fondness and I swore I saw the beginnings of a smile. But then she scrunched her nose and her eyes squinted as if she smelled something spoiled. "Whatever."

    Brennyn looked about ready to explode. "No one asked for your opinion, skank."

    "No one asked for you to be born," Leah smirked.

    There's was a boisterous laugh on the other side of Leah. When I leaned back, my vision was engulfed by Skylar's wide, lively smile that looked quite anfractuous when he spoke.

    "Shots fired," he snickered.

    Ethan laughed along with him. "And there's a possible bomb threat in the gymnasium of Pyxis High!"

    Skylar laughed so hard that he made no sound at all. Instead, he clapped his hands together like a seal at Seaworld. And I don't think I ever smiled as hard in my whole life.

    By that point, almost every table in the gym had been filled to capacity. Mr. Oleander and the Fosters were more than joyous at the sight, but grinned even wider when the last two stranglers wandered into the gym. One of them was Matt. He placed a black box on top of the PRESENTS HERE pile. When he glanced over the crowd, Shannyn tried to wave him over, but as soon as his eyes locked with mine, he rushed over to the opposite side of the gym and sat next to Margo Frasier with a smile as forced as someone with the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of their skull. I was slightly offended.

    "Alright," Mrs. Foster exclaimed as cheerily as a mocking bird, "now that everyone is here and settled in, we would—"

    "—like to congratulate you all on making it this far into the school year," Mr. Foster finished for his wife. I wondered if they had a habit of doing that. "We also brought cupcakes—"

    "—to further celebrate the occasion, so you may help yourselves after we hand out—"

    "—THE GIFTS!" they shouted in unison.

    Mr. Oleander shook his head with a pained expression. I tried not to laugh.

    The Fosters each held a clipboard, and as they called each name that person was expected to get the gift with their name on the tag from the PRESENTS HERE pile. The twins nearly bounced out of their skins with excitement, but since the list was alphabetical, they had to put a lid on it. Well, at least until the Fosters got to the P's.

    Leah was the first of our group to be called. She scurried over to the table with an urgency equipped for sneakers, not the five-inch heels she was sporting. She nearly face-planted into the basketball court... twice.

    When she got back to our table, she immediately started ripping the reindeer wrapping paper off of the little box with a grin on her face to rival the Grinch's. But as soon as the paper was sprawled across the table in little pieces that resembled shattered stained glass and she held the gift in her hands, her expression plummeted. It was a box of birth control, and the girlishly handwritten note taped to the box read Creatures like you shouldn't reproduce.

    "Guess who your Secret Santa is," Brennyn smirked.

    Leah's face went as red as a police siren. Before I could even blink, Leah threw the box at Brennyn with the ferocity of a heckled baseball pitcher. It bounced off of Brennyn's forehead.

    "Maybe you should've used this," Leah growled.  "You look like you've put on a few pounds. You're probably carrying the anti-Christ!"

    There was a split second of silence at our table that seemed to spread across the gym like a vicious contagion, although I was sure no one else noticed over the ripping of gift wrap and the Oohs and Ahhs at the unveiled presents. Skylar and Ethan shared a glance over my head, and burst the quiet like a piñata with laughter as loud and jeering as the football field on a Friday night.

    Brennyn sunk into her chair with a look of defeat, but I knew by the scrunch of her features and the bead of sweat on her brow that she was planning her next scheme to embarrass Leah in front of our class, if not the entire school.

    My name was the next to be called from our group. I rushed to the gifts table, digging into the pile without an ounce of knowledge as to what I was supposed to be looking for. There were so many presents; big ones, small ones, colorful ones, dull ones, and there were some shaped in ways that I had never even seen before. Not even in geometry.

    I found my gift on the corner of the table near the back. It fit into the palm of my hand. It wasn't wrapped. It was just a black box with my name scrawled across the tag in a handwriting that I recognized as belonging to someone I knew, but I just couldn't think of who. It was like having a name on the tip of my tongue that I couldn't spit out.

    I stared at it all the while that I walked back to our table. Consequently, I nearly tripped over the chair of one of Ethan's punky friends, Mason. My elbow grazed Mason's green mohawk, and he nearly pissed his pants trying to fix the one, little strand that I knocked out of place. I forced out an apology before scampering to my seat.

    I opened the box, and the face of an expensive-looking watch stared up at me. It was made of real silver, and the band was black leather. The numbers on its face gleamed like they were powered with crushed diamonds, but I was sure they weren't. Leah ogled at it as well before helping me put it on.

    I glanced around the gym, searching for any familiar face that looked interested in my expression. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood, and I whipped around to catch half of a second of Matt staring at me. His eyes snapped away like rubber bands that had been stretched to their limits, and I knew that it was him. As awkward as it would be, I made a mental note to profusely thank him for the watch. I thought of the gift as Matt extending an olive branch. If not, I couldn't understand why he would go through the trouble of buying me something so nice. I smiled even though he wasn't looking.

    The Fosters cycled through the G's, but none of the G's were Glass. I looked at Skylar who seemed as if he couldn't care less that he hadn't been called to receive a gift. He might not have cared, but I did. A lot. And I thought that, if he didn't get anything for Secret Santa, then I would make up for that. I had already bought him a gift, but I would take whatever money I had left and buy him as much as I could. He deserved it, and I couldn't believe that no one else in our class thought enough of him to be his Secret Santa. That made me unbearably sad.

    As soon as the Fosters got to the M's, before even calling Ethan's name, Ethan bumrushed the table, tossing presents left and right to find his name. He ran back to our table at full speed with a flat box the width of his head and an expression that I had never seen on his face before. The look was caught between happiness and disbelief. Actually, it looked as if he had to sneeze but his nose was plugged.

    "This is the handwriting of Jenni Strauss!" he hollered.

    Leah shook her head. She had known Jenni for years and said that Jenni made her lowercase a's with a distinctive swirl on the tail, which the a in Ethan's name on the box lacked, but Ethan insisted. He ripped open the box, accidentally tossing its lid on Skylar's head, and nearly shit himself when he pulled out a black beanie with the grin of Jack Skellington on its front. His eyes went as wide as television screens, and he sighed, "Oh, my God, I'm in love with Jenni Strauss."

    Leah's lips pulled back in disgust. "Weren't you just talking about your girlfriend?"

    "Oh," Ethan deadpanned, "I forgot about her."

    The twins were next from our group. I couldn't contain my tell-tale smile when Brennyn squealed at the belt like a little girl at a Jonas Brothers concert. She knew it was me, and nearly jumped into my lap when she hugged me. Shannyn didn't even have a guess as to who her Secret Santa was, but she was more than happy to get the rhinestone compact her Santa sprung for.

    I spared a glance at Matt when he returned to his seat with a little, red envelope. He pulled out a Christmas card that sung Jingle Bell Rock when opened and two tickets to see the school's Christmas eve production of Miracle on 34th Street. I had a feeling he would use his second ticket on Rob Hastings. I was happy for him.

    When the Fosters reached the ends of their lists, Mr. Oleander rose from his chair for the first time since he sat down before the gift receivings. The gym got quiet when he stood, like commoners preparing for a king's speech.

    "Now," Mr. Oleander croaked with his old, feeble voice, "there's one student here that did not receive a gift."

    Everyone looked around the gym. I looked at Skylar.

     Mr. Oleander cleared his throat to regain the gymnasium's attention. "It is not because of delinquency or exemption from Secret Santa. It is due too our having of an odd number of students this year. We were one Santa short."

    Mr. Oleander began to weave through the tables. He looked so old and slow that I imagined cobwebs forming in the air between his movements.

    "I decided that I would be the not-so-secret Santa for this student. He is one of my brightest young scholars, and is currently receiving the highest mark out of all of my astronomy classes," Mr. Oleander smiled as wide as his wrinkled face would allow, and stopped in front of our table. "The gift is well-deserved."

    The Rudolph gift bag Mr. Oleander held close to his chest when he arrived was now extended to Skylar, who simply blinked. Other than that, his expression was blank, but I was sure that was how he looked when he was astounded.

    "Go on, son," whispered Mr. Oleander, pushing the bag further at Skylar.

    Skylar reached out his hand with caution, as if the bag was wired with a bomb ready to explode. Every eye in the gym was on Skylar, and he looked at everyone as if we had all sprouted multiple heads. The way he was acting suggested that he had never gotten a gift before. Or that he had never gotten a gift from a teacher before. The only class he actually bothered to attend regularly was astronomy, and even then he made it seem as if he wasn't paying any attention to the subject no matter how much his grade in the class begged to differ.

    After Skylar overcame his initial shock, he shoved his arm into the bag with a rush of excitement. When his hand emerged from the depths of Rudolph's innards, clutched between his fingers was a thick book of a deep blue-black cover dotted with the stars of the night sky. The title, Constellations: The Stars and Their Stories, was dashed across the cover in gold, convolutedly fancy letters.

    A slow grin spread across Skylar's face like a new stargazer connecting a constellation. He stood from his seat, leaned his tall body over the table, and embraced the fairly small, crooked body of Mr. Oleander.

    "Thank you," Skylar muttered.

    I could have swore I saw a sentimental wetness brewing in Mr. Oleander's eyes before he nodded and hobbled back to the front of the gym were the Fosters began to dole out Christmas cupcakes.

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    Once the last bell rung, I caught up to Matt at his locker just before he could rush out of school like he always did. It was awkward, but I thanked him for the gift and I told him it was the most thoughtful one I ever got, which was the truth. All my parents ever got me were toys as a kid, then after my twelfth birthday they just gave me money and took me shopping for whatever I wanted. They would still wrap the gifts, which gave me the impression that I had to act surprised when I opened them on Christmas day.

    Matt smiled at me. Then we stood there in front of his locker for what felt like an hour. He scratched the back of his neck, and I played with my hands. In real time, it was only two minutes. I guessed that Rob and Matt had a date because Rob yelled down the hallway for him to hurry up. I was thankful that Rob did because I didn't know how much longer I could take standing there like that. Matt laughed, bumped my shoulder, and said that he'd see me later. I didn't know if we would see each other later — whenever that was — but it was nice to feel like we were real friends again, if only for a second.

    After Matt, I walked home to the fast-paced beat of a song I heard in a passing car. I was prepared to take Skylar's route to my room to evade my family, but I chickened out after having horrifying flashbacks of me falling out of a tree as a child. Instead, I snuck in the backdoor, ending up in the kitchen.

     The house was quiet. I didn't even hear the sounds of Owen and Levi's video game, which was the most shocking. For a brief moment, I felt a wave of panic. I had seen this in a horror movie once. The protagonist found her family dead and their blood and organs splayed in various rooms of the house. I was angry with my family, but that didn't mean I wanted to dance on their graves.

    Jolly abruptly jumped on the counter, scaring me half to death. I let out an inhumane wail before tripping over the trash can and catching myself on the refrigerator handle. I looked up to find myself face-to-face with the colorful alphabet magnets on the fridge spelled out in a message starting with my name. It was from Mom, and it said that she and "Dad" — John — took the kids to Chuck E. Cheese for the day. Me not going was my punishment for mouthing off to John that morning. But it's not like I would lose any sleep over it. I was happy to get away from them for the day.

    Secret Santa day was the last day before Christmas break — and the sixth day before Christmas — so not having any homework to do left me wandering aimlessly around the house for hours. I watched Jerry Springer for awhile, but sitting on the couch — the scene of one of Mom and John's affairs — made me want to throw the television and the couch out on the front lawn, so I shut off the TV just when Jerry's security guards were breaking up a fight between Jerome and the transvestite he had been sleeping with. Then Jolly and I chased a fly around the house until he squashed it in the upstairs bathroom. To say I was bored was an understatement.

    It started to get dark outside around eight, and I was worried that my parents and siblings were still gone. I considered calling Mom, but I had too much pride. Thankfully, she called me. I didn't answer because I knew she would leave a voice mail like she always did. She said that Levi sprained his wrist when he got a little too excited playing an arcade game, and Owen got into a fight with another kid and was punched in the lip so hard that he needed stitches. So, they were stuck in the waiting room of the hospital on one of the busiest nights. The hospital was always flooded with people around the holidays due too drunken accidents, and injuries from cutting down Christmas trees and putting up decorations. When I was eleven, I watched my neighbor fall off of his roof after getting electrocuted by a faulty string of lights. He was okay, though. He landed in the shrubs.

    After wandering around for awhile longer with Jolly not too far behind, I ended up in the basement. Half of the basement was designated for the washing machine, dryer and laundry, whereas the other half was the holiday decorations and my, Owen and Levi's old baby stuff. I found myself rooting around through the dusty cardboard boxes of baby clothes. It was there that I came across a onesie — presumably mine — that read Dad's #1 Fan. I got the overwhelming urge to burn it, but before I could search for a lighter I heard footsteps above me. I was showered in dust from the rafters.

    I made a mad-dash for the stairs, hoping to get to my room before my family saw me. They were probably expecting me to be upset about them not taking me to Chuck E. Cheese, so I figured I'd give them what they wanted. I decided an hour earlier that I would lock myself in my bedroom for the entirety of Christmas vacation only to emerge for bathroom breaks and to sneak food from the kitchen at night. It may have seemed immature, but I didn't care. If I wanted to — and I did — I could hold a grudge like nobody's business.

    When I got to the landing in the kitchen, I spun around the wall to dart up to the second floor, but Skylar was already gliding down the stairs. It occurred to me that it was Skylar's foot steps I heard, not my family. I sighed in relief.

    "Where were you?" Skylar inquired, raising a brow. "You're always in your room when I come over."

    "Basement," I panted, out of breath from the speed in which I ran up the stairs.

    Jolly wound his tail around Skylar's leg, purring as he went.

    "Hiding a body down there?" Skylar smirked.

    I chuckled, shaking my head.

    "Anyway," he said, kneeling down to scratch Jolly's ears, "you wanna go see a movie or somethin'? I'm bored."

    I was sure my eyes light up like Christmas trees on fire, and I spoke more enthusiastically than I should have. "Yeah!"

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    Halfway on our walk to the movie theater, Skylar cursed, saying he needed cigarettes. Smoking wasn't allowed in the theater, but Skylar never gave a care towards what was and wasn't allowed, and so we had to turn around and walk all the way back across the city to Skylar's trailer park for him to get a pack of cigarettes from his mom. It's not like I was complaining, though. The more time I got to spend with Skylar, the happier I was. It was pathetic that I invested all of my life's worth of happiness into one person, but those fleeting moments in which I got to be with him were all that seemed to matter to me.

    However, being in Skylar's trailer park and seeing what he had to go through on a daily basis made me unbelievably heartsick. As I followed him through the rundown park, I thought of how bewildering it was that nothing made more happy, and nothing made me more sad, than Skylar. But the thought was taken away on the trash-drunken breeze as we reached further into the park. I heard a man and a woman screaming at each other a few trailers away. There was a police siren blaring from somewhere down the street, and the red lights cut through the park like a knife, glistening off of the broken glass littering the narrow streets. I remembered what Skylar said about Hepatitis C, so I tip-toed over the glass as if the shards were hot coals.

    We stopped before the small beige and white trailer of cracked windows and a dented door in the corner of the park. The street lamp shone brightly on the new white porch sitting regally beneath the door. I remembered that there was no porch last time. There was just a bare patch of dirt. I half expected for Jackie to come tumbling down the steps in her undergarments, but the trailer was quiet and the lights were off.

    "Where'd the porch come from?" I asked. "Your mom buy it?"

    "No," he said. His tone was pointed.  "It's one of the many gifts her new boyfriend bought for her."

    "I'd take it that you don't like him?"

    "You'd be correct," he muttered.

    I planned on waiting outside for him to get his cigarettes until he made it halfway up the steps, stopped, then threw a scrunched glance over his shoulder. I rushed up the steps behind him.

    The door creaked horrendously when he opened it, and I thought it liable to fall off its hinges right then and there. The trailer was darker than I expected, and there was a certain odor in the air that I had never smelled before. I believed it was a mixture of sweat and must with an underlying scent that I couldn't describe.

    "What's that smell?"

    Skylar shrugged. "Sex."

    He slapped the switch beside the door. After a spark from somewhere above us, the ceiling light flickered. I had to admit that I was more than shocked at the state of the living room. The paneled walls were littered with fist-sized holes. Baby pictures of who I assumed to be Skylar — who was very chubby, wide-eyed, bald and absolutely adorable — hung hazardously crooked from their nails. I felt as if I breathed too hard, the frames would come crashing down from the walls. But the carpet was worse. What once was off-white carpeting was now molested with dark stains the shade of coffee at various stages of adding creamer. The seams of the dark, pin-striped couch were coming undone and the stuffing was beginning to seep out. On the lop-sided coffee table were multiple ash trays full of cigarette butts, unfinished joints and a powdery white substance dashed across the glass top. Empty bottles of cheap alcohol had been thrown carelessly beneath the table.

    "I'm just as shocked as you are," Skylar said, and his expression genuinely conveyed the same surprise I felt. "I haven't been here in about a month 'cause I've been living between you, Leah and the twins. I guess Jackie turned this place into a frat house while I was gone."

    "I think it's really weird that you don't live at home, Skylar."

    "I don't need a home," he scoffed. He seemed shifty, like he was avoiding eye contact with me. "I've only ever needed a place to sleep."

    For some reason, that made me even more sad for him. I felt my eyes prickle, so I changed the subject. "Is Jackie here?"

    Before he could answer, there was slow panting beneath eye level.  We cast our attention across the living room. Sitting in the mouth of the dark hallway was a chubby Basset Hound staring at us with droopy eyes.

    "If Copper's here, then Jackie must be." Skylar whistled, and the Basset Hound — Copper — came waddling over to him. "She's probably just asleep. Otherwise, when she isn't here, she leaves Copper with the old lady next door."

    Copper stared up at me with those cartoonish eyes, and I couldn't not scratch his belly when he rolled over. As I did — cooing at him all the while — Skylar walked over to the coffee table. He seemed to stare at the white powder for a moment. Then he shook his head, and snatched the pack of Marlboros from the couch. I was tempted to ask him what the powder was, but I thought it best not to. It may have had something to do with his mother, and I felt that it wasn't my place to ask.

    I checked my watch. It was 10:37. The last theater showings of the night started just over a half an hour ago.

    "We missed the movies," I said, though, it didn't make a difference to me.

    Skylar glanced at me over the cherry of the Marlboro between his lips. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. The smoke reached over his eyes like rain clouds.

    "It's okay. The theater is always too cold anyway."

    He nodded. Then he chuckled, and walked around Copper and me until he plopped down on the top step of the new porch. I followed him, closing the door and shutting the light off behind me. Copper whined from the other side.

    I sat beside him, watching from the corner of my eye as he toked on his cigarette.

    "You see that?" he asked, pointing just over our heads.

    Through the haze of street lights was an asterism of seven stars that I recognized from Mr. Oleander's astronomy text book as the Big Dipper.

    "Yeah, it's the giant spoon," I grinned.

    He tucked his cigarette between his fingers, and smiled really wide.

    I stared at him for a while. His smile stayed, and I couldn't help but to think that there were stars between his teeth when the street lights glistened on them. And in his eyes were the reflections of every constellation he could find. He was beautiful.

    I was overwhelmed by how strongly my feelings for Skylar were. I felt the watch Matt bought me rub against my wrist, and it was in that moment that I found the courage Matt had three weeks ago. When Skylar glanced at me, I leaned in and I kissed him. At first, I couldn't believe that I did it, but I did. It only lasted for a moment. It was as fleeting as the peck Matt gave to me, but it was enough for me because in those short seconds I felt the very essence of Skylar. He tasted like sugar and brilliance and the stars and the moon, and it felt like rain and wearing an oversized sweater when it's cold and finding a ten-dollar bill in the old pair of jeans you haven't wore in months. It was amazing. In all actuality, he probably tasted like cigarettes and his lips probably felt rough from how much he bit them, but my head was too clouded and my heart was too full of him to concentrate on the actual things.

    Skylar hadn't kissed me back, but he hadn't pushed me off either. He looked at me for awhile afterward. He didn't have an expression. Then his frozen face cracked, and he looked so crestfallen, but I was too drunk from the courage I had and the fact that I kissed him to realized how he looked.

    The silence snuck up on us like the breeze. I listened closely for the babble of a neighbor's television, the hiss of stray cats, or a siren, but all I heard was nothing, save for the rhythm of my heartbeats. The quiet was odd, but it fit the occasion. I remembered thinking that it would be a perfect time for rain, and then, as if I had the power to conjure a tidal wave or part the seas, I felt a drizzle on my head. The rain fell in perfect droplets that beaded on Skylar's arms like they were meant for him.

    I had to speak to convince myself that it was actually happening. "It's raining."

    Skylar took a ragged breath. He ran a hand through his hair, his elbow brushing against my shoulder. I could have swore he looked over at me, but I was too enraptured in the rain to know for sure.

    When he spoke, I didn't recognize his voice. "Our old porch wasn't stolen. I burned it," he whispered. "When I was nine years old, one of my Mom's boyfriends raped me on that porch."

    I remembered looking at the sky and feeling like the stars were all exploding...

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