American Girl On Saturn (10 page)

Tate mumbles about his skin looking like a prune as he walks past my slightly-opened door. The guys have been in the pool since the Aralie vs. Jules showdown earlier. Benji says something about how he’s about to die from starvation. I never look up from my broken DVD player. I’ve learned their voices by now. So I know it’s Milo when someone asks if I need help.

He stands in my now open doorway in his dark blue swim trunks. Shirtless. Oh my Saturn, why must he be shirtless inside of my doorframe? A white towel hangs over his shoulders like a hero’s cape.

“It’s jammed,” I say, fiddling around with the DVD player as not to look at his body. “It does this sometimes.”

He welcomes himself into my bedroom. His
damp towel slides down his back when he reaches for the DVD player, but he catches it before it hits my floor. He glances around and wraps the towel around his waist, hiding his shorts. Then he shrugs.

“I didn’t want to throw my wet towel on your floor,” he says.

I’m probably foaming at the mouth like Jules would be if his piercing really did get infected and the infection spread throughout his brain. Milo Grayson is in my bedroom, with a towel wrapped around him over his swim trunks, looking like he just got out of a hot steamy shower. He’s shirtless, and he’s tinkering with my DVD player.
Be jealous, Saturnites! Be jealous!

Even though he smells like chlorine and sunscreen, I inhale as much of him as possible without being weird because no girl should ever outwardly sniff a guy, no matter how awesome he smells.

“What movie do you have in here anyway?” he asks.

He glances down at me, and I feel amazingly short. The sunset creeps through my window and hits his caramel eyes, and I swear they light up like a meteor shower.

“Rainwater,” I somehow manage to say.

“
Ahh, the werewolf movie,” he says. “The second one is out now, right?”

I nod. Yes, Bloodstream is out. That’s where I’d just left
from when Dad called with his ‘vanilla disaster’ that was actually a Moo-llennium Crunch type of disaster because I didn’t know I’d fall for Milo Grayson.

“I could probably get tickets to the premiere of the third one,” he says. “In fact, I’ll make that call as soon as this lockdown is over. You should go with me.”

I feel as pulse-less as Aralie’s favorite zombie band, even though they’re not really zombies but just sing about them. Did he seriously just ask me to a freaking movie premiere with him? Oh Chloe, shut up. He doesn’t even have tickets. He’s only bragging because he could get them just by dropping his name and batting those beautiful caramel eyes. He said I
should
go with him, not that he
wanted
me to go with him.

“Speechless?” he asks. “I’ve done that to quite a few Saturnites, but I didn’t expect it from you, Ms. Branson.”

He nudges me with his shirtless elbow, and I examine the music note tattoos that wrap around his forearm up to his bicep. My face burns the shade of that apple on Twilight’s book cover. Why did he have to bring up paranormal creatures?

The DVD player spits out the tray, along with Rainwater. Milo pulls the disk out and hands it to me. But he pulls his hand back before I can grab it.

“Not so fast,” he says. “If I can snag tickets to the trilogy finale, will you go with me? I mean, it looks good for promotion if I go, but I don’t want to get the reputation of loving werewolves or anything. I’d need you with me.”

This is crazy. This is so crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy!

“Yes,” I say. “I’d definitely go.”

He hands over the DVD.

“Good,” he says. “I’ll add that to the list of things to talk to my publicist about when I talk to her again. First I’ve gotta get her to convince the world that I’m not dead. Then we’ll talk tickets.”

I completely agree with Milo’s last tweet. I have the best life
everrrr! My mind swims with caramel eyes, movie premieres, and his perfectly-carved body standing in front of me.

Then it all comes crashing down in a second. Emery dances past my door. She runs back and does a double take at us. And then she screams. Her little footsteps bolt down the stairs, and before I have a chance to run after her and ask what’s wrong, she announces it to the entire house.

“Milo is naked in Chloe’s room!”

My vocal chords twist together like Medusa’s snakey hair.
Damn it, Emery. Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Milo curses under his breath. We both rush into the hallway just in time for Mom and Godfrey to run up here, nearly tripping over each other.

“This is a huge misunderstanding, Mrs. Branson,” Milo says immediately. “Her DVD player was jammed, and I stopped in to help her.”

“And he didn’t want to put a wet towel on my floor,” I say, jumping to his defense. “So he wrapped it over his swim trunks.”

“The door was open the entire time,” Milo says. “Nothing happened. I fixed her DVD player. That’s it. Nothing more.”

My heart hurts just a little when he says it. Nothing more? You offered to get tickets to the premiere of the biggest movie trilogy out right now, and then you basically begged me to be your date. How is that nothing?

“His swim trunks are under the towel,” I say instead, just to re-emphasize that Milo was
not
naked in my bedroom.

A crowd has gathered behind us. I don’t look over my shoulder at the other Saturn guys, but Noah snickers, and Tate mumbles something about ‘getting it on.’ Aralie laughs afterward. What a traitor! Then again, I didn’t help her with Jules. The real traitor is Emery. What happened to secret Saturnite sisters? I’m keeping Harry Styles a secret. How would she feel if I said she liked a 1D guy more than a Saturn guy? If she wasn’t
a five-year-old, I’d blast it over a loudspeaker.

“I can show you,” Milo says. “They’re blue.”

Mom opens her mouth, but Emery screams again. I never realized she was hiding behind Godfrey.

“
Nooooo!” Emery’s footsteps hurry back down the stairs. “I don’t want to see his butt!”

Dear creatures of Saturn, please inject me with the infection that destroyed
Jules’s face. Don’t give me cosmetic surgery. Just let me die and carry my shame and embarrassment to my grave with me. Sincerely, Chloe Branson

Mom steps forward. “I’m sorry, you guys. This was just a huge misunderstanding. Emery’s little, and she just…I’m sorry.”

She waves the crowd behind us to go on. There are a few footsteps and shuffles. I assume everyone is gone since Mom waits a moment to speak.

“I’m really sorry, Milo. Chloe’s used to Emery’s mouth by now,” she says. She’s using that tone. The Deacon break
up tone. “I really hope she didn’t embarrass you too much. I know nothing happened, so please don’t worry about that.”

Um, infection, now please. Straight to my brain. Kill me on impact. Please!

Milo shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Next time, I’ll change before I attempt any handiwork around the house. I’m
gonna go get dressed now.”

He quickly excuses himself and disappears around the corner down the hallway. Mom mouths “Sorry” to me, but the damage is done. The humiliation and embarrassment and defamation are all done deals. She hurries back downstairs, probably to lecture Emery, and I turn back to my bedroom door.

And there he is. Tate’s freaking head plastered back on my door. Emery probably ran to Aralie’s room as soon as our Darby session was over. What a little Saturnite traitor. I debate ripping Tate’s face apart because he’s smiling so goofily at me. In the depths of my mind, I literally hear his laughter. Instead, I look directly at the picture, say, “Shut up,” out loud, and slam my door.

Two days.

Two long, boring, heart-wrenching days.

Two days of silence and distance and avoidance of eye contact.

This must be what it feels like to stand outside of a venue watching your favorite person in the world sign autographs for hundreds of other girls then having security guards pull him away just before he writes that first letter on your CD cover or band photo. I can’t even get an M from Milo. I feel like those hopeless girls with giant posters hoping to stand out in the packed auditoriums. Or the girls who camp out in the hotel parking lots and never get close enough to snap a picture. Ugh. I feel like the cougar who wanted to date and mate with Tate, minus the Tate part, obviously.

Noah has given me sympathy eyes over his strawberry milk each morning. I want to ask him what he knows, what Milo has said behind the scenes, but Noah isn’t going to tell me because I don’t tell him anything. Nothing has been the same since Emery ran downstairs screaming that Milo was naked in my bedroom.

I don’t get why he won’t talk to me, though. I was there too. I was humiliated and embarrassed and slandered just like he was. All eyes were on us, not just him. I’m part of this too, Milo! You can’t be “naked in Chloe’s room” without the whole Chloe part.

Thunder rattles the window pane in my bedroom. That looming storm will be here soon, and I promised Mom I’d run to the store for her to get more batteries for her flashlights. I suggested that Godfrey go, but Mom says she gave him the day off after all the recent drama in the household. I guess that’s her way of referring to the mistaken nudity and my sister’s almost boxing match with Jules.

I cross my bedroom, pull back my door, and Tate’s freaking face is still plastered to the surface. I bet the guys have wondered for
the last two days why in the hell I have Tate Kingsley’s face on my door. I wish I had an answer. I peel him off and return him to Aralie’s door. I don’t know what she gets out of this, but I’ll humor her.

The guys are playing Xbox in Dad’s
game room when I go downstairs. Benji and Jules debate with Noah about how to beat this level. Tito remains quiet. I wonder if they’re even in there. Mom looks up from the dining room table when I walk through. She’s alone. I was hoping maybe the i/o of Tito was in here as well.

“I’m sorry you have to go alone,” she says. “But Emery isn’t safe for the public and after Aralie’s grocery store episode, I don’t think she is either.”

“It’s fine,” I say. I grab her credit card off the table. “Just flashlight batteries?”

She nods. “I’ll text you the exact sizes.”

I nod and rush back upstairs to grab my keys, phone, and purse. Footsteps follow me, but I’m too far ahead to see who it is. I push my door nearly shut behind me, just so I can bask in the moment when Milo pushes it open. There’s a soft knock. I smile to myself and tell him it’s open.

I spin around, excited to see his caramel eyes again in a moment other than asking me to pass the salt, but there’s no caramel or chocolate or any kind of candy for that matter. There’s an eyebrow piercing.

“Hey,” Jules says, almost uneasy. “Um, can I ask you something?”

He hesitates but pushes the door shut behind him. Great. Now I’m behind closed doors with Jules. After Milo was “naked” in my room. Emery is going to make me out to be a Saturnite slut before this lockdown is over.

“I, uh, sorta need, like, the biggest favor ever,” he stammers. “You’re eighteen, right?”

Is he about to ask me to buy porn for him? Oh God, please don’t let this be about something X-rated.

“That depends on what kind of favor you need,” I say.

He laughs, and his face softens. He doesn’t laugh enough. Or smile enough. I wish this lockdown didn’t suck so much for him.

“I’m down to my last two cigarettes,” he says. “I’ve been using them sparingly, but I won’t last the rest of the time here without them. I can’t ask Godfrey to get some for me. I’d feel like a loser.”

Yet he isn’t concerned with what I’d think about him. Or if I’d judge him. For some very odd reason, this makes me feel awkwardly comfortable. Is there such a thing as awkwardly comfortable?

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never bought cigarettes, and I really don’t want to be seen buying them. People talk.”

“
Pleeeeease, Chloe,” he begs. “Isn’t there some small family-owned place you could go? Or a random gas station you usually don’t go to?”

He almost reminds me of Emery with those sad eyes.

There’s a small service station about three blocks from here, out toward the park. I could go there. No one frequents that place, and not many people will be out in stormy weather. The few times I’ve been there, the owner’s stoner grandson was working the register. He’ll be too high to even realize I came in and bought cigarettes.

“Okay, fine,” I say. “But if you breathe a word to anyone–”

He holds his hand up.

“I gotcha,” he says.

He hands me a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and tells me what he needs.

I doubt one pack will last him the rest of lockdown, but maybe it’ll help him cut back. Maybe he’ll decide to quit smoking. Then he can get vocal lessons. Stop, Chloe. That’s mean.

“Thank you so, so much. You’re my lifesaver,” he says.

I just nod like a
bobblehead and watch him slip out of my bedroom. I’m getting in too deep with this Saturnite stuff.

I pull in at the service station. There’s an old beat up truck outside. It looks like the only form of human existence. I grab my keys, Jules’s money, and toss my purse onto the backseat. I lock the doors, glance around, and hurry inside. If anyone saw me, it’d be secret service agents watching my every move. I think I’m clear, though.

The door creaks open, and a bell dings above my head. The stoner kid turns around and smiles a goofy smile.

“What’s up?” he asks.

How professional. Isn’t “How may I help you?” a standard business greeting?

I stammer through asking for one pack of crushed ladybugs in a cancer stick. He digs around in the rack above the register and rings up my purchase. It’s quicker and less painful than ripping off a bandage.

Once I’m back in the car, I grab my purse, shove his cancer sticks and change inside, and head back to the house for more segregation from Milo. I just wish I knew what he was thinking. Is he avoiding me because he’s embarrassed about the towel incident? Is he afraid someone will get the wrong idea and it’ll get leaked and ruin his nice boy image?

Oh God. It clicks in my brain, and I want to jump in my own spaceship and fly away to Saturn. He’s afraid
I’m
getting the wrong idea. That has to be it! He knows I’m slowly falling for him (okay, slowly is the biggest lie ever), and he doesn’t want to lead me on. He doesn’t want to be the guy who broke my heart because he didn’t feel the same way. He doesn’t want to fall into the same category as Deacon and be some jerkoff who ends up on my hate list forever.

It’s the only thing that makes sense. I can’t even hate him for it. At least he spared me, right? He didn’t lie and drag my name through the mud. He didn’t call me an Ice Queen. He was perfectly nice about it, and that makes me feel even worse. Milo knows that once this lockdown ends, he’ll go back to touring, I’ll go on to college, and he’ll be nice to me on Twitter every now and then. I’ll get a follow back out of all of this lockdown stuff. My life sucks. I’m going to make a T-shirt when this is all over that says
“I Hid Spaceships Around Saturn and All I Got Was a Lousy Twitter Follow.”

I reach for the CD player to blast Sebastian’s Shadow for the rest of the drive home. Maybe it’ll drown out my insecurities and false hopes and any thoughts of Canadian boys. I feel for the CD button, punch it, and turn up the volume. But I didn’t punch the CD button. I hit FM. Milo’s voice pours through my speakers.

This is the summer of hell.

Jules meets me in the garage the moment I pull in. He’s either incredibly impatient or Aralie blew up at him while I was gone, which might’ve resulted in smoking his last two cigarettes. He rushes around to my car door and jerks it open.

“Did you get them?” he asks.

“Have you been standing there watching for me?” I ask him.

“I’m nicotine-dependent, okay?” he says. “I’m craving here. I’m being discreet. No one knows I’m out here.”

I dig through my purse, grab the pack of cigarettes, and attempt to fish out the loose change. Then he tells me to keep it, like I’m a freaking waitress or something, and darts back inside. I gather Mom’s batteries and trail inside behind Jules.

When I get upstairs, my door is free of Tate’s head – for once. I take it as a sign that maybe my luck is changing. Everyone else was downstairs when I got home, so it wouldn’t be obvious that I’m stalking Milo if I go down there.

After running a brush through my hair, just for good measure, I venture down to Dad’s game room, which seems to be the hangout these days in our house. Benji and Noah stretch out on a pallet of blankets in the floor with Emery. Aralie sits in between Jules and Tate. I guess Mom’s “please get along or avoid each other” resulted in getting along…for now. And then there’s Milo – with his godforsaken acoustic guitar.

Milo’s eyes meet mine for half a second then he looks to Noah. Noah glances over his shoulder and bolts up into a sitting position.

“Chloe!” Noah exclaims all too happily. “Are you going to join us?”

Everything in me wants to say ‘no’ because his BFF Milo is ignoring me and shattering my pathetic little heart. Now they expect me to join them in their own acoustic set…listening to Milo sing…and play guitar…and be perfect.

I hesitate a second too long, and Noah leaps up and pulls me toward the sectional.

“Sit with me,” he says.

He knows something. Milo has said something. He probably told Noah to keep me away from him, to always fill the gap between us, to hold me back if I come too close for comfort. Noah follows orders well. He strategically places himself between Milo and me – closer to me, just in case I make any rash moves toward his boy.

Benji sits up next to Emery and asks for a song request. He lets her have first pick since she’s the ultimate Saturnite.

“‘Too Close to the Edge.’” She’s all smiles after her request. “Chloe really likes that one.”

She’s so proud of herself, selflessly choosing a song she knows that I love. Maybe it’s her way of thanking me for keeping her Harry Styles secret or for introducing her to Darby. Or maybe it’s for helping her make that friendship bracelet that’s
still wrapped around Benji’s wrist. Or for the humiliation I suffered buying poster A7 of Benji Bock-Bock-Baccarini.

She probably chose it because Mom gave her an extremely lengthy ‘Mom talk’ about accusations and loud announcements to the entire household. Yeah, it’s a guilt thing.

Milo glances at me but looks away the moment he makes eye contact. He strums the first few chords, and I die. I literally just die right here on the sectional, next to Noah Winters, in front of SAS and my sisters and the storm clouds.

There’s no way I can listen to them play “Too Close to the Edge” with an acoustic guitar in my freaking house. I really liked it because it was the one song that really captured how I felt when everyone turned on me, and I was the laughing stock of the senior class. I was standing
waaaay too close to the edge then, and I’m standing even closer to the edge now.

I swap glances with Noah, and I think I’m getting the hang of this cosmic connection thing because he totally understands.

“Hey, wait,” he says. “Let’s save that one for last, since it’s her favorite. Let’s do something a little more upbeat.”

I quickly agree, and Emery doesn’t object. She dances around stupidly and does her best fist pumping for a few songs. I don’t move a muscle. Neither does Noah. At least someone in this room is aware that I’m breaking down.

It may be summer, but I’m thankful for that sliver of winter.