Between Us and the Moon - Rebecca Maizel Page 0,58

telescope from Andrew.

“What’s wrong with nice?” Andrew asks.

“Nice is what you say when you get an A on a science exam,” I say as I set up. “It’s what I say to my mom when she asks what I think of her outfit. Nice.”

Andrew takes one end of a blanket and spreads it out. I unfold four smooth stones from Nancy’s backyard.

“You brought your own stones?”

I cock my head and let my expression tell Andrew to shut up.

“Okay . . . ma’am. What next?” he says.

I take out my red LED flashlight, which allows me to see my equipment without affecting the night vision. I grab my star chart, unzip the bag, and set up the Stargazer. I unfold the plastic base that comes with the telescope. It ensures that no matter where I am, I have a flat surface. I unearth my level. By the lamplight, I make sure everything is even.

I get ready to start the exposure on the telescope. I check my watch. Eleven thirty. Twelve minutes.

“If my calculations are correct,” I explain, “the coordinates of this comet will be directly to the left of that star up there. Tonight’s the first night you can see it with the naked eye.”

Andrew looks up to the sky. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“I’ll show you.”

No, this eyepiece won’t do. I switch them out. Yes, that’s better.

I type the coordinates into my ancient Summerhill laptop, hit enter, and the coordinates locate the comet based on my previous calculations.

“Why do you have your old high school computer?” Andrew asks.

Oh hell.

The sticker across the top says: SUMMERHILLSCIENCELOANER2.

“I bought it from them,” I say quickly. “They sold it to us cheap senior year. I only use it to collect data. I need a newer one for the fall.”

I don’t want to lie, but I can’t focus on that right now. I have to make sure everything is lining up accurately.

“Wow. You look really professional,” Andrew says.

“Please be right,” I whisper as the Stargazer focuses on my right ascension and declination. “Please be right.”

Silence . . . silence.

Both Andrew and I stare at the laptop.

“I programmed it to beep if the coordinates are a match. So if it does, it means my calculations are exact.”

“We need that beep,” Andrew says. “It’s going to,” he adds. We both stare at the Stargazer. “Any second . . . it has to.”

“You have no idea how any of this works, but thank you for the support,” I whisper without moving my eyes from the damn telescope.

“Anytime, babe.”

BEEP.

“Yes!” I cry.

“Thank God,” Andrew says, and he, too, exhales heavily. Without the telescope, I point out the white, fuzzy ball creeping across the sky. It’s funny to see it up there while I stand down here with Andrew. It’s just been the Comet Jolie and me for eleven months.

I record the right ascension and declination. I know it’s accurate, but I keep checking my coordinates and the position of the telescope.

I did it. I’m radiating.

“Look at you, Star Girl. I haven’t seen you smile like this before.”

“I didn’t need those damn computerized predictions, Andrew. I worked it out myself. Month after month! My science teachers said it was silly. Because look at that!” I point at the telescope. “It’s perfect.”

Andrew cracks his knuckles and kicks off his flip-flops.

“All right, step aside, little lady. I gotta see this comet.”

I can’t help smiling even more.

Andrew leans forward, presses his eye to the lens, and squints the other. He doesn’t say anything, just puts his hands in his pockets and looks through my Stargazer up at my comet.

I hold my hands in front of my waist and grip them tight. I don’t know what Scarlett would say right now. I don’t know how to be her right now because she would never be in this position. She soars across a stage; people watch her; they clap. She was born for the stage. I wasn’t born for that kind of life. This, right now, sharing this with Andrew is the real me. Even though I am not eighteen and I’m not going to MIT, he’s really seeing me. I know it for sure now: I don’t have to be scared to show myself to Andrew. The Scarlett Experiment may have caught his attention, but he likes me.

Andrew pulls back from the telescope and points at my Stargazer.

“That,” he says, “is fucking cool.”

A warmth radiates down my chest to my stomach. “Cool isn’t exactly the most scientific word, but it is really extraordinary