Starry Eyes(89)

“We disconnected,” I tell Lennon.

“I know. Isn’t it great?”

It actually is. Maybe I wouldn’t want to do it forever, but I didn’t die, either.

We’ve waited as long as we can, leaving well after lunch. My pack feels heavier, somehow, even though there’s exactly the same amount of things inside. I think it’s as reluctant to leave as I am.

But it’s time to go.

We walk through a string of meadows all afternoon and have dinner near a lake that’s one of the largest alpine bodies of water in the state. We’re well above five thousand feet, so the water’s too cold for swimming, but it’s a calming view. Not as calming as sexlaxation, I point out. Lennon triple-checks: We’re definitely out of condoms.

When we’re back on the trail again, my mind starts wheeling. We haven’t discussed what we’re going to do about my father when we get back home. Or anything about the future. I don’t want to think about it. I want to stay here. This is impossible, and I know it, but when I start thinking about what awaits us—parents, school, the so-called friends who abandoned us, the looming threat of my dad’s affair . . . all of this creates doubt in my head. Doubt, worry, and a growing sense of dread.

The sun sets during the final stretch of the hike up the foothills. We’ve connected up to a major trail with official park signs informing distances to several nearby attractions. Condor Peak is outside King’s Forest in a state-maintained area. There are several scenic points on and around the mountain, but the one we’re headed to, the Northern Viewpoint, is right in front of us, point-five kilometers. The star party is gathered at a small campground below it, just across a road that borders the national park.

An actual road. With actual cars whizzing down it.

I never thought I’d be reluctant to return to civilization.

All my misgivings move to the back of my mind when we spy a big sign for the star party posted at the entrance to a parking lot connected to a small campground. The sign warns the public that they are approaching a protected Dark Sky area, and nothing but red lights are allowed past the campground, to avoid light pollution. The actual viewing area is a quarter mile up a short path that curves around the mountain. Even small amounts of white light are objectionable to astronomers, and many of the cars and RVs here have red tape adhered to their headlights. I’m prepared for this, and have brought along a small red penlight.

“Whoa,” Lennon says. “Lots of people. This is a big viewing party, huh?”

Bigger than I expected. “Maybe we should see if Avani is down here before we go up to the viewing area. The meteors won’t be fully visible for another half hour, at least, so we still have some time.”

We walk through the parking lot, and it’s jammed with cars. Overflow is parking on the side of the road. People are hauling telescope cases out of their cars—some professional, some not. Several families are here with small children. I try to spot anyone from my club, but it’s dark, and the lot is chaotic.

A cedar split-rail fence divides the parking lot and campground. It’s half the size of the one we stayed in three nights ago, and the individual campsites are all crammed together. It seems to be mostly RVs. A sign we pass as we enter says that it’s at capacity.

We walk along the main road circling through the campground, and get only halfway around when someone comes barreling toward us, arms waving.

“Zorie!” It’s Avani, and she slows just in time to throw her arms around my neck. “You’re alive.”

“Of course I’m alive,” I say. “Sorry we’re a day late.”

Avani pulls away to blink at Lennon with wide eyes. “Whoa. You’re really here. I mean, hey, Lennon. It’s just weird to see you together again. But good!”

“It’s good to see you too,” Lennon says, mouth quirking up. He gives her a quick hug, and I’m reminded that they’ve spent more time interacting at school over the last year than I have with either one of them.

Avani is breathless, glancing back and forth between us. When she catches her breath, her brow furrows. “Look, I’m so, so sorry.”

I squint at her. “About what?”

“I didn’t have a choice. I never would have said anything, but he insisted.”

What is she talking about?

“It’s bad,” she says, face twisting. “I feel like it’s all my fault.”

“Slow down and tell us what happened,” Lennon says.

Avani glances over her shoulder. “From what I’ve been told, Reagan’s mom called your mom, Zorie. And that’s how it all started.”

Oh, God. No, no, no . . .

“Reagan’s dad got sick,” she says, “and they couldn’t fly to Switzerland, and then apparently Reagan came home with Brett, and she was supposed to be at that glamping thing with you. But you guys got kicked out?”

My stomach is turning to stone.

“It was Brett’s fault,” Lennon says.

“Oh,” she says, distracted for a moment before shaking her head. “So, anyway, your dad called Dr. Viramontes yesterday, looking for you.”

“What?” I say, alarmed.

She nods. “Your dad was really upset, and he said he and your mom had tried to get in touch with you, but you weren’t answering texts—”