a moment but of course, I can’t help the logical part of my mind. Curtis was driving the Jeep.
“How does Curtis drive?” I ask. “If you kill someone don’t they confiscate your license forever?”
“He was in jail for nine months. When he got out he had court-ordered outpatient rehab. He literally got his license back four days ago. It’s considered a restricted license.”
Curtis was in jail? Why is Scarlett hanging out with him?
“It’s not only Curtis,” Andrew continues. “I should have been there that night. I could have stopped that accident from happening. I go over and over it in my head. Every night I have a new scenario. A new way I could have prevented that accident.”
It’s not his fault. He didn’t make Curtis drink and drive.
“It’s a logical fact,” I say and sit up straight.
“What is?”
Andrew follows my lead and sits up too.
“You can’t control anyone. Experiments, sure. You can change the variables, establish the controls, and record endless results. But humans? Even humans used in experiments are, at best, unreliable. And . . . I’m rambling,” I add quickly.
I play with the frays on my jean shorts.
“No, you’re not. Keep going.”
“I’m just saying. You can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do.” I shrug. “People aren’t puppets. You could have done a variety of things differently, but you couldn’t have controlled the outcome.”
“I know,” Andrew says, but it’s defeated, like he doesn’t believe me or doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. “Mike’s mom tells me all the time that I shouldn’t blame myself. She’s just being nice. I’m sorry but I know that if I had been there that night, it never would have happened.”
“Well, that’s insane.”
I lean back on my hands, but they’re slippery from the water that’s still dripping from my hair. I slip and bang my elbow. “Ow,” I say.
Andrew doubles over, holding his belly.
“Oh my God, Star Girl. You make me laugh.”
My cheeks are so warm. That was not a Scarlett thing to do. Her gazelle-like leaps across the studio at Aunt Nancy’s run through my mind.
“Hey!” Andrew nudges me. “Tell me about that Cassie lady.”
“Cassiopeia?” It takes me a second to catch up with the change of subject.
I tell Andrew all about Queen Cassiopeia, her vanity and her toppled throne. I show him Polaris, the North Star, too.
“How do you know so much about this? I wouldn’t be able to remember it all,” he says.
“It’s my whole life. The moon was full at the beginning of the month,” I explain. “So it’ll be a New Moon in about week. That’s pretty much the best ‘seeing’ conditions I could ask for. You know, when I track the comet next week.”
Comet.
Waterman Scholarship.
Registration.
Birthday.
My stomach drops out. I can’t scramble fast enough.
Registration is June 26th. Today is June 26th. I hop off the car.
“Holy crap, Andrew!” I cry.
“What? What?” He slides off the truck.
“I gotta go. I gotta go! I have to register for my scholarship. That’s what I forgot to do tonight!”
“What scholarship?” Andrew’s tone matches my panic.
Oh crap. I snatch up our towels and plates. Andrew follows suit and fishes his keys out from his pockets.
“I don’t have time to explain. I have to send in a registration tonight and it needs to be in exactly by eleven. What time is it?”
“Damn! I said I’d get you home by ten. It’s ten-thirty.”
“Screw the curfew. It’s due in thirty minutes!” I screech.
“Well, then let’s get the fuck out of here,” Andrew says. He gets everything in the truck in about ten seconds. I hesitate at the passenger door, stopping for one second.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Don’t just stand there,” he demands in a joking way. “Get in the car!”
“Affirmative!” I cry and then hate myself. I say this to the Pi Naries, not to hot guys like Andrew. With the grill packed and our stuff in the back, we peel out of the camp. We race down the sandy road. Ahead of us is a big dune. Andrew revs the engine.
“Um, Andrew . . .”
He goes even faster. Up and up we go. This is not twenty miles an hour on Overlook Drive in Tucker’s ancient Volvo.
“Big hill . . . big hill!” I cry.
Andrew guns the engine and we’re airborne for a second. With a slam we’re on the ground.
Andrew cries out, “Woo-hoo! You should forget a deadline all the time, Star Girl.”
“I’ve never missed a deadline before,” I cry. I have to yell over the wind rushing through the windows.
10:34.
I knew