is to happen. If you frame every situation in your life in terms of a probability, think about this: how many times did Curtis drive drunk and how many times did Mike get into that car before even though he knew Curtis was drunk?”
“A lot.”
“Exactly. Now, probability says that every time they drank and every time they were together, the same likelihood existed that they would get into the car. The same probability existed that they would get in an accident.”
“That’s not very uplifting. Wouldn’t the probability be higher because of the times we drank? We drink often.”
“No. The ratio is the same. There are more variables, I guess, and I would have to do some real math here to find an exact probability, but think about it this way. Forget equations. You are a human being with free will. I don’t believe our decisions were programmed into the universe during the Big Bang or that they’re written into the fabric of time. You didn’t push Mike into the car. You didn’t tie him down. He made a decision. Why do you need to make the events of that night your responsibility?” I have to catch my breath. “Wow,” I add quietly. “I might be a teensy overinvested in this.”
Andrew is quiet and I give him the moment to check on the laptop and Stargazer. It hums along nicely and Jolie is there in the sky above.
“You’re not mad? That I didn’t tell you?” he asks when I sit back down.
I am in no position to hold a grudge against him, especially with the intricate stories I’m weaving. Yet, my sense of injustice nibbles at me.
“I’m not mad. It just seems strange to give up what you want.”
We’re quiet for a while and Andrew finally says, “My family isn’t even on the Cape this year.”
“Why not?” I ask. I can’t fathom being here without Nancy, Mom, Scarlett, and Dad. I imagine the stores, the roads, and the house, empty with only me inside. It wouldn’t be the Cape, it would be some kind of weird hologram.
“My little brother is only twelve and my stepmom is having a baby. It just didn’t work out this summer.”
This is the perfect moment to tell him about my own lies; to tell him that I am Scarlett’s sister, and how old I really am. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I have to be Sarah, going to MIT. I can’t be that part of me. The part where I am in high school or where I’m Scarlett’s sister. He is getting to know the real me, I am getting to know the real Andrew. These minor logistical details aren’t what make us special. They aren’t what is keeping us together right now.
“She’s twenty-nine. My stepmom,” he says quietly. “She was my dad’s dental hygienist; he’s a dentist.”
My head whips to him.
“That would make her ten years older than you.”
“You got it, Star Girl. It’s creepy.”
I clear my throat. Age is not something I’d like to be discussing right now.
“You know the Stargazer is modeled after some of the deep-space telescopes they have in the middle of the desert? The ones that look for life way out in the universe?”
Andrew rubs my back a little as if to say it’s okay I changed the subject this time. I look through the viewfinder again and at the comet blazing through our solar system. “It’ll be strange for the night sky to be without the comet,” I say. “It’s almost like a friend to me now. I know that’s cheesy.”
“No, it’s not.”
On a night like tonight, I could jump up and touch the moon.
“When did you turn eighteen?” Andrew asks.
Or not.
“Oh, um. In May,” I say.
“Good thing I met you in June, eh, jailbait?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle but it’s sour. “Jailbait . . .”
“Have you ever . . . ?” he starts to ask, his eyes still on the stars.
“What?”
He leans on his hip.
“Have you ever . . . ,” he starts again.
The exhilaration of the comet still courses through me. He doesn’t finish the thought. In a flash, he sits up and his eyes focus ahead on the shore.
He looks up at the moon above and says, “It might work.”
“What might work?” I ask, sitting up too.
He stands up and holds out his hand to me. The waves swell and crash against the shore. The water slides up to meet the seaweed and shells scattered against the beach.
“I’ve got something to show you,” Andrew says.