The Brightest Stars

I was mid eye-roll when I caught something out of the corner of my peripheral vision. It was Kael, dressed in his tan camouflage ACU uniform, striding down the grass and onto the sidewalk.

I rolled my window down and called to him. “Hey!”

He walked toward my car, ducking a little so he could see me.

“Where are you going?” I asked, before I realized how nosy that sounded.

“On post.” That soft voice again.

“Right now? You’re walking?” Like it was any of my damn business.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah. My car’s there.” He looked down at his uniform. “And my clothes.”

“But it’s so far.”

He shrugged again.

Was he really going to walk three miles?

I looked at the little digital clock on my dash: seven o’clock. I should be knocking on my dad’s door right now, but here I was, sitting in my driveway, debating with myself whether or not to offer him a ride. We were both going to the same place after all …

Well, maybe we were. Ft. Benning wasn’t as big as say, Ft. Hood, but it was big enough.

Kael stood up straight, his upper body disappearing from view as he walked away. I called out for him again, almost by instinct.

“Do you want a ride? I’m going through the West Gate—where’s your company?”

He leaned down again. “Near Patton, same gate.”

“That’s right by me—I mean my dad’s. Get in.”

I noticed the way he was fiddling with his fingers. It reminded me of how Austin used to get so antsy when we had to go to our mom’s. He would sit in the backseat with me, picking at the skin around his nails until they bled.

I repeated my offer. It was going to be the last one.

Kael nodded, no words, just walked to the passenger door—actually he went for the back seat.

“This isn’t an Uber,” I told him, only half joking.

He sat down next to me. This was different. Usually my only passenger was pint-sized Elodie, but here was this big guy sitting next to me with his knees touching the dashboard, smelling like my coconut body wash.

“You can adjust the seat,” I told him.

I put the car in reverse and my gear shift stuck for a second. It had been doing that lately. My reliable 1990 Lumina had been my one constant since I bought it for five hundred dollars—almost entirely in singles from tips I made at La Rosa’s pizza, where I had worked after school and on the weekends.

I was the only one of my friends to have a job in high school. My small group of friends would complain, trying to pull me away from work to go to parties, to the lake, to smoke weed in the parking lot of the elementary school we hung out at. Yes, elementary school. We were mildly delinquent, but at least I could pay for my own delinquency.

“Ugh,” I groaned and jiggled the gear.

Kael stayed silent in the seat next to me but I swear I saw his hand lift from his lap like he was going to reach over and help me if I didn’t get it. But I did. My tires crunched down the gravel driveway and we were on our way.

I didn’t text my dad that I was going to be late. Why would I, when I knew he’d lecture me by text and then again in person, just so he could be sure I got the point. He was that kind of guy.

Yay for Tuesdays.

THE ALLEYWAY LOOKED DESERTED. It was like everyone had cleared out in the last hour, which I supposed they had. Kael buckled his seatbelt across his chest. I ignored the little ding my car gave, the one that reminded me to put my seatbelt on, like I always did. Luckily it was an old car so it would only ding once, sometimes twice.

I thought about starting a conversation, but from what little I knew about this guy, it wasn’t really his thing. I glanced over at him and quickly turned on the radio. I had never been around anyone who made me feel this prickly awkwardness before. I couldn’t explain what it was like—couldn’t even be sure that I disliked it—but I just felt like I should talk. What was that, the urge to pierce the air, the need to fill the space with words? Maybe Kael had it right and the rest of us had it wrong.

The radio was playing a song I hadn’t heard before, but I recognized Shawn Mendes’ voice. I turned the music up a little and we drove in silence until we got closer to the post.

I hoped his company was as close as I thought it was. I tried not to come on post unless I had to, or to go to the doctor. Which was often one and the same.

My gas indicator light was on, a bright reminder of how irresponsible I was. When the Shawn Mendes song finished, it was time for a commercial break. I listened to the ads: a testimonial for a weight loss clinic, an offer for low interest car loans. “Huge Military discounts!” the voice promised with a borderline shout.

“You can change the station if you want,” I told him, ever the cordial host. “What kind of music do you like?”

“This is fine.”

“Okay.”

I exited the highway and was glad to see there wasn’t a line to enter the base. I loved living on my side of town, close enough to the post, but far enough from my dad that I could breathe.

“Here we are,” I said, as if he couldn’t see the bright lights ahead of us.

He shifted his hips and pulled out a dog-eared wallet from the pocket of his ACU pants. He dropped his military ID into my open hand. The tips of his warm fingers grazed my skin and I jerked my hand away. His ID fell between the seats.

“Damn it.” I shoved my fingers into the slim slot and managed to grab the card just as it was my turn to approach the guards.

“Welcome to The Great Place,” the soldier working the gate said.

“Really?” I couldn’t help but tease him.

Ever since the soldiers were required to recite that ridiculous motto, I gave them shit about it. I couldn’t help it.

“Yes, really,” he said, his tone neutral. He inspected our ID cards and the standard decal stuck to my windshield.

“Have a good night,” the soldier told us, though I knew he didn’t care about our night.

He probably thought we were together, that I was some barracks whore driving us to this guy’s small room where we’d have sex while his roommate slept in the other bed.

“I do

n’t know where I’m going,” I told Kael.

He switched off the radio. “Turn right,” he mumbled, just as I was passing a street on the right.

“Right now?” I jerked the wheel to make the turn in time.

He nodded.

“Next light. Turn left there. There!”

As if it wasn’t bad enough that I would get to my dad’s late as hell and that the car was running on empty, I could feel my palms getting clammy on the steering wheel. Kael looked over just in time to see me wipe them on my jeans.

“They’re up here on the right. It’s a big brown building,” he told me.

The buildings were all nearly identical. The only thing differentiating one from the other was the number painted on the side.

“Yeah, they’re all big brown buildings here at The Great Place.”

I swear I heard the tiniest hint of a laugh, just a small puff of smoke, enough to show that he was at least mildly amused by my comment. Sure enough, when I looked over, there it was—a sliver of a smile spread across his lips.

“Just here.” He pointed to a massive parking lot. Kael kept his finger pointed at a navy blue truck parked in the back of the mostly empty lot. I pulled up next to the truck, about a car’s length away.

“Thanks …” He looked at me like he was searching for something.

“Karina,” I told him and he nodded.

“Thanks, Karina.”

My stomach flipped a little and I told myself it was just nerves, that it didn’t have anything to do with the way he said my name. I tried to calm the swarm of bees in my stomach as he climbed out of my car without another word.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT I expected him to drive, but this beast of a truck wasn’t it. Despite his size, I figured he’d drive something small and sleek, not this old blue thing with rust circling the wheel well. That’s the problem with pretending—people’s real lives are never like you imagine. He had typical Georgia plates, with peaches and the cheesy slogan, and Clayton County printed across the bottom. I had no idea where that was. I wondered if he was pissed that he joined the army and somehow ended up in his home state.