Starry Eyes(103)

While Mom is busy rebuilding her business, my focus is on school. At first, I was hyperconcerned with college applications, but now Lennon and I are starting to think about taking a year off between high school and college—a so-called gap year. It would allow me to build my astrophotography portfolio and take a Korean language class at the local community college so I can communicate better with Grandpa Sam. Lennon wants to work full-time and save up some money. He wants us to go backpacking in Europe. I’m definitely amenable to this idea.

We’re also talking seriously about trying to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. It’s more than twenty-five hundred miles long, running through California, Oregon, and Washington—all the way from Mexico to Canada. It takes six months to hike the entire thing. I’m not sure if I’m up for that just yet—or ever, actually—but if we start next June, we can do part of the trail from the High Sierras up through the Cascade Mountains and stop at the Canadian border.

We’ll see. Right now, we’ve been camping every other weekend. Just short two-night trips—nothing majorly off trail. This weekend, we’re going up the coast to Redwood National Park in Humboldt County. I won’t lie: Half the fun of camping is the potential for sexlaxation. But I’m actually enjoying being outside, away from the city. Lennon is using his mapping skills to get me to nearby areas with clear night skies; I finally started using my portable telescope to take photos, instead of hauling it around for no good reason.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’ll have to get your own cupcakes,” Lennon tells his moms. “I have a hot date with an astrophysicist at the Jitterbug.”

“That’s me,” I say, waving my hand. “I’m the hot date.”

“Isn’t it too late for caffeine?” my mom warns.

“Is it ever?” I ask.

“Herbal tea, please,” she says.

“I’ll think about it.”

“We’re actually going there to do homework,” Lennon admits. “Decent Wi-Fi and an employee discount are a potent combination.”

I started working there part-time after school a couple weeks ago. I practically live there now, but that’s okay because (1) I’ve always loved their coffee, and (2) now I get paid to drink it. I also need all the money I can get, because camping is expensive when you’re broke.

“Back by ten,” my mom says. “It’s a school night.”

Lennon salutes her as I tug Andromeda’s leash. We tell everyone good night and head out of the shop into night air that’s starting to get a little chilly. It feels pretty good, actually, and it’s not so brisk that Andromeda minds. We’ve been walking her several nights a week, and she’s perked up considerably, as if she has a new lease on life. And maybe she does. I think she missed walking with Lennon over the last year. My mom says pets can get depressed when their owners do. Or maybe it’s just that we see a lot more of Grandma Esther’s perky dogs, and Andromeda’s had to learn to keep up.

Lennon takes her leash and she trots ahead of us, tail swinging as she scouts our trail. He slings an arm around my shoulder as we saunter to the corner and wait for the streetlight to turn green.

“Okay, milady,” Lennon says. “We both know we’re not doing homework at the coffee shop.”

“I finished mine during fifth period,” I confirm.

“Finished mine at work earlier while I cleaned out gecko cages. Multitasking to the rescue.”

“We are so good,” I say, holding up my hand for a fist bump.

“The best.” He knocks knuckles with me, his arm still resting on my shoulder.

Juggling school and work and us hasn’t been easy. It helps that we get to eat lunch together every day in the school courtyard. We sit with Avani and her boyfriend, and sometimes Brett, unfortunately. Once he begged Lennon for forgiveness in his part of what’s now known as the Battle of Mackenzie Falls, we haven’t been able to get rid of him. Reagan, on the other hand, transferred to private school. The official word is that she’s no longer focused on the Olympics, so she doesn’t need the support of our athletic department. Unofficially, Reagan’s parents forced her to transfer after she was busted over the glamping incident.

I wish I could say we made up, but that hasn’t happened yet. I’m ready to forgive her, but she has to meet me halfway. The days of me kowtowing are over.

“So where are we headed tonight?” Lennon says. “Mission and Western Avenue, or Mission and Euclid Street?”

We now have four different routes we walk. One is our old path, from when we were kids, and one goes through the farmers’ market, which is so deserted at night, it’s practically romantic—you’d be surprised what two people with dirty minds can do on bales of hay. Two of the routes go in different directions around the edge of the Bay, but my favorite one snakes through a park, where we can climb a hill and look at the city while sitting under a big old oak tree. It’s not dark enough for ideal stargazing, but it’s private enough for making out.

Oh, the make-out spots we’ve discovered. They’re on all our routes.

“It’s too brisk for the Bay routes,” I say. “Andromeda will get fussy.”

“We could take Wick Boulevard up through the edge of the warehouse district and cut through to the train tracks up on the hill.”