The Chaos of Stars

“And do you know what that means?” Tyler prods.

“The crops will grow, the children will sing, and the land will rejoice?” I offer.

“Yes! Also, my skin will burn. Burn, burn, burn. And if I’m going to get a sunburn, I’m going to do it at the beach. Let’s go.”

I’d planned on hanging out in the park for a couple of hours before Sirus picks me up. I’m in a black faux-leather pencil skirt and a cerulean-blue tank blouse. And my gladiator sandals? Not exactly beachwear.

“I’ve got clothes in Scott’s car. You can borrow some of my stuff,” Tyler says, reading my mind.

“I don’t know; I was going to hang out here.” I wonder if Ry is going. And if he is, whether that makes me want to more, or less. Probably less. He still hasn’t looked up from his scribbling.

“Oh, come on!” Tyler throws her arm around me. “Have you even been to the beach yet?”

“I rode past it a couple of times, and—”

“Ha! No! You are still an ocean virgin, and today you lose your virginity!”

“I have the weirdest girlfriend alive,” Scott muses, staring up at the sky.

Tyler’s arm locks me into place. “No arguments. You’ve been here two weeks, and all you ever do is work and go home. Come to the beach with us! We’ll get pizza, and play Mock the Worst-Fitting Swimwear, and we can watch the sunset. The sunsets are amazing, and the stars over the ocean—”

“Stars?” I perk up. She’s right! If the clouds burned off this early, maybe the stars will be out tonight.

“Yes! Oh, good. I’m so glad you’re coming!” She steers me down the stairs and through a geometric garden, all shaped planters and yellow-and-blue-tiled fountains, to the parking lot. She takes a deep breath and spews out a series of sentences so fast it’s only after she’s in a car with the door locked that I realize she said, “There’s not enough room in Scotty’s car for all of us, so you’ll ride with Ry, okay? See you there!” Scott’s in, too, and they pull out like they’re fleeing the law.

I turn to see Ry standing right next to me, smiling. “Riding with me then? Great!”

Floods. Did Tyler just set me up?

If only his truck weren’t so beautiful. I lean my head back and close my eyes, letting the breeze from the open window play across my face. Amun-Re, I love this truck.

“So, how do you like San Diego?” he asks, more or less, since he says it in fluent Arabic, complete with Egyptian accent. He’s tapping on the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead on the road, but a dimple hints that he wants to smile that stupid smile and it’s all he can do not to.

I’m tempted to answer him in Urdu, but I opt for English instead. “It’s fine.” Other than creepy drug-addict prowlers who destroy my personal property. “Why do you keep trying to speak to me in Arabic?”

“I don’t know, I thought maybe you were homesick.”

“Trust me, not homesick. Sick of home. Which is why I’m here.” He’s a show-off, that’s what he is. I don’t give a mummified cat whether or not he can speak Arabic. I add show-off to my list of reasons why I will never like Ry in a way that would be dangerous. And then I’m mad that I even feel like I need to have a list, which is another thing to put on the list I wish I didn’t have to have.

“So, I’m not strange anymore?” he asks.

“What?”

“You’re riding in my car, which must mean I’m not a stranger anymore.”

“Actually, the more I’m around you, the stranger you get.”

Ry laughs, but his phone buzzes and he pulls it out. “Yeah? No parking at all? Sure, let’s meet there. Not a problem. Bye.”

He turns off of the main road. We weave down the hills, teasing glimpses of the ocean blinding me. It still shocks me every time I come over a hill and see it spreading out on the horizon. It feels wrong, that much water. My eyes keep trying to turn it into sand, heat shimmers, something that makes sense.

I don’t recognize this neighborhood—the homes are close together but big. Here they cram as much house onto as little land as they possibly can. Cars are parked all down the narrow street, and guys carrying surfboards walk barefoot on the asphalt.

There’s no space in this city. Anywhere. I want open land. I want desert. I want to be able to look in a single direction and see nothing.

Crap. I am not homesick. I’m not, I’m not.

Ry slows and I see Scott’s car (the color of puke mating with rust) pulling up into the driveway of a massive home, complete with huge Grecian pillars and a fountain. The whole thing is so ostentatious it borders on laughable. Okay, I do laugh a little bit.