The Gravity of Us (15 page)

My chest tightens as my mom speaks. Her voice is laced with excitement, worry, panic, and she can barely get the words out. Her words all mush together, and she’s not actually saying anything.

Kat’s much more articulate, apparently, because Leon pulls the phone away from my ear.

“Mom’s on the mission. Your dad’s her alternate.” He smiles weakly. “It’s really happening.”

CHAPTER 17

Streetlights fly by my car as we ease from the rural farms to suburban houses. The flat, straight roads start to bend and twist, and the space center fades away in my rearview mirror. I feel like I’m soaring, but a look at the speedometer explains that I’m actually driving under the speed limit. My body’s forcing me to go slower, but everything feels fast. Everything feels tight. My hands are numb.

Leon’s mom is going to Mars. My dad’s her alternate. We’re really, really in this together. Our families are tangled up in a fascinating, seemingly ancient tradition. A silent understanding of practicing the same job, both for the astronauts and for the families. In
Apollo 13
—the movie, and debatably in real life—Marilyn Lovell advised an overwhelmed Mary Haise to respond to the press with three words: Proud, Happy, Thrilled.

That’s my life now, and I
am
having all those feelings.

I’m proud of my dad. Just six weeks ago, things felt settled. The only constant in my family life was the yelling that my parents did. But that’s become rare in the past month. And he’s become … useful? Driven.

I’m happy too, but part of that is because of Leon. The way he makes me feel when he sits next to me and strokes my hand is too much. I’m falling so hard for him, and I wish there was some way I could stay grounded and think logically about this. My dreams of going back to New York and living with Deb are fading quickly. He’s my present. This is my present.

And that makes me thrilled.

But I’m also terrified. I’ve missed four calls from Deb this week to talk about the crash and what happened, but I can’t face her. I can’t explain my feelings to her on any of this, and if she’s watched any of the news stories lately, she’ll have seen me and Leon together. She’ll know I’m kind of
with
someone, and she must know how that could jeopardize our plans of living together.

“I haven’t told my parents about us,” Leon says as we pull up to my house, where cars line the driveway.

I shrug. “I think Mom figured it out the night of the crash. We haven’t talked about it, though.”

A smile is plastered on his face, and I know mine must look the same. I park the car on the street and meet Leon on the sidewalk. We survey my house, where everything has changed in the past twenty minutes. Our families’ fates dovetail at this moment in more ways than one, and I hope they stay on the same path for a while.

He takes my hand, and we walk into the house and hear the applause and cheering, and it’s nice to imagine that it’s for us.

Kat immediately finds us and nearly tackles us both with a hug. “Guys, oh my god I’m glad you’re here. Everyone else is already getting drunk, and it was starting to get really awkward.”

“Nice place,” Leon says. “Less retro stuff than ours.”

“Thankfully,” I say.

We make our rounds. Dad gives me a hug that’s too tight, but his eyes are still teary. Mom eyes the situation wearily, and I see anxiety setting in. But she still has a pleasant smile when I give her a kiss on the cheek.

“At least he’s not going up there yet,” she says. “I mean, he gets to be a part of everything, but he doesn’t get to go up there.”

I don’t reply, just squeeze her in a hug. She shakes her head, like she’s clearing out the bad thoughts. “Sorry, you know how I worry. It’s just happening so fast. And now we all have to fly to Florida in a couple days to see that satellite launch. It’s …”

I laugh. “Believe me, I get it. Let’s just celebrate today.”

I move around the room, dodging champagne glasses and drunk astronauts. There are about ten of them in my living room, and I find it fitting that they’re here right now.

Through the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo projects, the astronauts’ alternates would take care of everything the first line didn’t have time for—the parties, the press events. They’d
do it all while waiting in the wings for their chance to really shine.

After Dad got back from the hospital, he was forced to take some time off as the rest of NASA scrambled to manage the disaster. He spent that time unpacking the boxes from storage. Among the mess was his collection of
Life
magazines—pretty much every one that covered the space race. He pulled out a model of Apollo 8 and a signed portrait of Jim Lovell, the commander of the near disaster that was Apollo 13. Needless to say, I learned a lot about the history of spaceflight in Dad’s time off.

It was all here. A secret obsession, a secret dream.

I look up at him and smile, because he gets to live it.

I’m not sure where all the champagne came from. This time, they don’t even have soda, or snacks, or anything else. This was a last-minute effort, and I imagine them clearing out the wine shop’s champagne stock just before they closed. Or, maybe NASA just has a secret, endless stock somewhere.

When I make eye contact with Kat, she nods in the direction of my room. I excuse myself and follow her, with Leon not far behind. Once I shut the door, I realize that I’ve brought a boy to my room for the first time ever. That thought makes me sweat a bit.

I sit on the bed with Leon as Kat tears through my cassette collection.

“You are a weird egg,” she says. “Who listens to Nirvana? Other than, like, Dad, if it accidentally comes on his alt nineties playlist.”

Regardless, she takes the cassette out of its case and studies it closely. After a few wrong buttons, she opens the holder in my deck and slips it in upside down before getting it right. She sighs in frustration as she finally gets the cassette in place. She presses play and waits.

“Why is nothing happening?”

“There’s a little bit of dead time before the cassette starts—hold on.” As I say it, music starts pumping through the speakers. “See?”

“I don’t get it,” she says. “Any of this cassette business. Hey, Leo, why so quiet?”

When she says it, I turn to him. He’s looking down at his shoes, which are pointed inward toward each other. He looks a little bothered, a little bummed, like he’s slipping away again. I put my hand on his back and stop myself from asking if he’s okay—he knows I’m here if he wants to talk.

“Honest question,” he says. “Do you ever feel like you don’t matter? I walked in that room, and I was actually happy because I was”—he pauses and shrinks away—“holding Cal’s hand. And I realized that today, like every other day from here on out, no one would care. I wanted Dad to be taken aback or Mom to give me a big smile or something. I’ve never had a … whatever we are. And I know it’s Mom’s big day, but aren’t all days Mom’s big day here?”

“Don’t you like that, though? No one gives a shit about us,” I say, and pull his mouth to mine in a kiss. “We’re kind of on our own.”

Kat laughs. “I think y’all are lucky, if you ask me. I guess
sixteen is still young enough to have them all up in my shit about books and the future and all that.”

“But they never really cared about my future. I mean, they kind of gave up when I quit gymnastics.”

Kat eyes me, then looks down. I wonder what she wants to say, but Leon cuts in, saying, “You can talk about it.”

“I think since we found out about your depression, they haven’t really wanted to pressure you.” Kat paces the room, but her voice doesn’t fade when she says the word. When Leon’s eyebrows rise, I get the feeling she’s the only one who doesn’t hesitate around him. “I mean, have you heard the word ‘gymnastics’ in the past few months in this house? They’re all afraid they pushed you too hard.”

“Wait. They actually thought my gymnastics career gave me depression?” Leon’s got this incredulous look on his face. “They can’t actually think that’s how it works.”

“Maybe they thought they were making it worse,” I say. My voice is quiet, because I don’t want to defend them, but I don’t want him to jump to conclusions.

“I think it was getting worse on its own. I couldn’t stop it. It was just more obvious in gymnastics. I kept cutting down my trainings; I’d show up unprepared. God, on my off days last summer I couldn’t even get out of bed, let alone make it to the gym.”

“You seemed to like it when we went to the open gym last month,” Kat says.

“I did,” he says. “But I was just goofing off. My form was
awful, and I fell off the pommel horse twice before I could even spin around once. It was a mess.”

“But you had fun,” I said. “Just like those somersaults from when you were a kid. Maybe you should do gymnastics, but for fun this time. Find a team that does smaller competitions. Don’t hire a trainer. Don’t let the reporters call you a future Olympian anymore. Just do what feels right to you.”

Kat takes a seat next to Leon, so he’s sandwiched between us. We’re both hesitant, but respectful of his boundaries. Our shoulders touch.

“The moment I step into the gym, the cameras are on me. StarWatch thinks that’s the only interesting thing about me to report on, and if I make it clear my sights aren’t set on national competitions … I’ll just be letting everyone down.”

Leon groans and stretches out on the bed,
my bed
, and there’s a rapidly growing piece of me that wonders if I could ask him to stay the night. Then I silently scold myself as this is one-hundred-percent not an appropriate thought to have at a time like this.

“But it’s not like I could ever pick it back up like I did before. Could you imagine what my life would be like? Training for national competitions seven days a week with the weight of the world on your back?”

Again, I feel the urge to hold him until it’s better. But I think of what he told me the first time I saw his lows. I can’t help this urge I have to try to make it better, to insert myself into this when it’s not my place.

I don’t know how to be with him in the way he needs. If he needs space, I’ll respect that. If he needs time, I’ll give it to him. The tug in my chest illustrates my struggle, my compulsion to fix things and make it better.

That’s what makes our relationship so different from any other I’ve had. That’s what makes it so special. I’m learning, not fixing. For once, I’m listening—or at least, I’m trying to.

“Why don’t you just tell your parents what you told us?” I ask. “That you just want to do it for fun.”

“Don’t see the point.” He looks to Kat. “I’m just the side attraction here. Mom’s going to Mars, and nothing’s going to be
about us
anymore.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, a smile comes over Kat’s face, and she almost shouts:

“Well, screw those guys. Let’s make this party about you, then. Here”—she motions us to sit even closer together, and she pulls out her phone—“do you have any pictures together yet? Let’s get some good ones to celebrate your relati— or … whatevership.”

Our eyes meet.

“Relationship?” I ask.

He smiles back. “Relationship.”

Between smiles and light kisses, we pose in a few pensive, straight-faced poses, then a few happy beaming ones.

“You can have one kissing picture. Because that’s all the cuteness I can handle right now. Make it count.”

We make it count.

CHAPTER 18

Over the course of the next few days, we made it count … a lot. Our families were so busy that slipping out was easy, not that we were even hiding anything. I woke up every day with the sting of his stubble on my lips and a vibrant buzz pulsing through my veins.

Fun fact: Did you know that astronaut families fly coach to Florida while the astronauts themselves fly via jet and sidestep the lines? I’m not looking for handouts here, but that does seem a bit unfair, seeing as my father is a
True American Hero
!

Yes, I know that’s a stretch. No, that didn’t stop me from using that line when I didn’t want to take my fashion boots off at the TSA check.

As I lie across three airport waiting area chairs, I review the emails I sent Leon last night. There were four, and they were all links to vaguely condescending quizzes like “What
should I be when I grow up?” Alongside some real resources for figuring out your career.

As for his school selection, I dug up four very promising universities that all have competing gymnastics teams. That said, from their Instagram accounts or from the YouTube videos I found, it was clear they all focused a little more on having fun than winning competitions.

I also slipped in a Hogwarts House quiz, because when I told him I was Slytherin, he said, and I quote, “That’s the bad one, right?”

In my mind, it’s pretty simple: He feels lost now, but that’s just because he doesn’t have any direction. Any career goals. I don’t expect anyone to be operating at my level of preparation, but there’s only so much I can do.

But he hasn’t responded yet, to any of them. How do you help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?

“Hey, kiddo.”

I smile when I see it’s Kiara. She’s in black tights and brown boots, with an infinity scarf and beanie. It’s like Brooklyn style transcends the oppressive early summer heat, even in Texas. Her bright pink phone sticks out of a chest pocket on her denim jacket, the only pop of color she apparently allows herself.

God, I miss Brooklyn hipster style so goddamn much here at Polo Shirt Headquarters.

Her piercing eyes look through me, and she tilts her head sweetly.

“Looks like someone’s having, let me guess … boy problems?”

I laugh. “Ten p.m. problems. I need my beauty sleep.”

She’s got her carry-on bag with her, which seems to be filled with only camera equipment for StarWatch.

“You know, the great Josh Farrow almost got
fired
because of your video? NASA almost terminated our contract, but we got off with a warning.” She flashes a quick smile. “I think we’re going a bit nicer now. It’s part of our new image.”

“I’m sure.” I roll my eyes. “Thanks for helping, though.”

“It was worth it to see Josh so flustered. I think all the—and I use this word very lightly—
fame
got to his head. Plus, it’s been nice not being on call. We haven’t had much access to the astronauts since your incident went viral. We’ve resorted to sharing some of your videos as part of our coverage.” She smirks. “Actually, anything we say about you gets us a ton of attention, so that was a fun discovery.”

“No one asked me for permission,” I say. “I mean, I would’ve given it—even to StarWatch—but why didn’t anyone ask? How am I a more responsible journo than you all? No offense.”

“None taken, and I wouldn’t call us real journalists. Our name is StarWatch. The TV show is called
Shooting Stars
. We’re not exactly an A-list cable news network.”

I laugh, trying to shrug off the annoyance. But it bites at me.
Do your job. Say you want to use my footage. Have some integrity, even if you are a glorified gossip show.

“Don’t get all caught up in the details,” she says. “I’m looking out for you.”

“Oh, yeah? How so?”

“I’ve been in talks with some big ad companies. Do you know how much they’d be willing to give you for a sponsored post on your feed?”

“I’ve been approached by a ton of ad companies. I mean, I could probably charge five thousand per sponsored video—these people are very loose with their money, and my followers are more active than ever, since I have an inside look at the Orpheus project.” My expression drops. “But I can’t do that to my followers. I’m sure some wouldn’t mind, but what about the ones who have been there all along? I’ve seen so many Flash accounts grow into ad machines, and I can’t become one of them.”

“So … what’s your end goal? I’m sure I can help either way. I’ve got contacts in New York, and they’re all fascinated by you and your big following. I went back last weekend, and my friends and I had a long conversation about your career over brunch.
New York
magazine,
Teen Vogue
, the
Today
show. Potential internships were discussed.”

“You could get me an internship at
Teen Vogue
?”

“If you wanted,” she says. “My friend at Cond
é
Nast has been following you for a while. They’re expanding their live video reporting. Unless you’re too cozy here to move back.”

“Of course I’m going back to Brooklyn,” I say. “But I’m seventeen, I can’t just … go. Believe me, I want out of here. As soon as I can.”

Preferably, out of here with Leon by my side. But I don’t say that, because she’s weirdly invested in my life as it is.

Kiara takes my contact details to forward along to her
Cond
é
Nast friend, before we finally board the plane. Once I’m settled in my window seat, I put on an audiobook. I have to rewind four or five times before we take off because I’m so distracted. When that doesn’t work, I close my eyes and fall asleep.

Okay, I know I complained about Texas humidity, and I apologize profusely, because Florida is a literal swamp. Even this late at night. I feel the nearby cape more than I see it or hear it.

After a short ride in a black car, we’re sent off to our hotel rooms to get whatever sleep we can before our early morning wake-up call. I wonder if all launches—for satellites or shuttles—are this early. I think about covering the launch tomorrow, but don’t feel the need. We’ll have the cameras all over us anyway, as the little, but important, antenna gets shot up into the sky.

“See, the antenna will make it to Mars a few months before we do, and enter the orbit. We’ll intercept it when we get up there, and it’ll help us triangulate our touchdown.”

Now that we’ve reunited with him, Dad is explaining this in great detail to Mom, and my attention is fading in and out. It’s interesting, so I make a note to track down the people who worked on the satellite and see if any of them want to have an interview with me.

The hotel on the premises has a kind of military feel that I can’t put my finger on. The rooms are suites, with a tiny working kitchen and two separated bedrooms with a living room
in between. Everything is brick. The exterior, the interior. I claim my room at random, my parents take the other, and I fall flat on the comfy bed.

I love the privacy of this suite. I have a door that locks, and I’m separated from my parents by an entire living room. I imagine sharing this king bed with Leon, feeling his body against mine all night. The idea thrills me but scares me too.

There’s a chance we could get away with it. Leon wouldn’t want to share with Kat anyway, and his parents are going to be too distracted in their own room to notice. My breaths fall short as the idea rushes through my head.

It’s too risky.

Or … is it? None of our parents seem to notice us even when we’re not sneaking around.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I leave the suite. Kat’s in the hall, holding a bucket of ice.

“Have a good flight?” I ask.

They took the earlier flight because NASA couldn’t fit all the families on one passenger plane. Most of the alternate families were on ours, while the lead crew families were on hers.

Kat’s hair is a damn mess, and I don’t need her to say a word to know she is ready for bed. The launch is obnoxiously early tomorrow, after all.

“It was okay. They’re all asleep already—I just went to the ice machine because I need my water cold. You probably don’t care about my ice needs, sorry, just not looking forward to tonight.”

“You sharing a bed with Leon?”

She groans. “He takes up the entire bed. And it’s a king. I’m about to just sleep on the couch.”

“What if I told you I had an … alternate solution?”

Her eyes widen, and a smirk comes over her face. Her gaze darts between me and the door of her hotel room. I see her mind work through it. Will
she
get in trouble?

“Right now I’d do anything to have that bed to myself. I’ll make it work. You clear the path to sneak into your room.”

My spirits lift, but I don’t get ahead of myself. I don’t know if this is what he even wants. If he wants to wait to share a bed, or if he doesn’t think it’s worth the risk. And in the anticipation, it’s clear to me:

It’s what
I
want, so freaking badly. I grab her arm before she goes back to her hotel room.

“Just, let him know he doesn’t have to. And don’t pressure him. Okay?”

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” She winks.

Now that I’m alone, I pace between our two doors. My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel the ache spread across my shoulders and down my arms and legs. I’m panicked. He could say no. Or worse, what if he says yes out of obligation? Or what if I sneak him in there and we get caught and the StarWatch cameras come in and he leaves me forever and—

The door opens.

I forget how to breathe.

Until his smile lights up the damn hall.

“Hi.” I pull him into a firm kiss. “You okay with this?”

“Are you kidding? I’d do this every night if I could.”

My heart plummets to my feet, and I dizzily walk to my door. I slip the keycard into the slot and hold a finger out to Leon to wait. No one’s in the main room, and all is quiet, save for my panting breaths. I creep in and see my door open and room empty. I signal Leon to go in there, and he dashes past me. My blood pressure spikes as I shut the door and pray for no one to enter.

He makes it.

I walk over to my parents’ room and hear them chatting on the other side. It’s a level, quiet conversation. I haven’t heard them fight since the accident, now that I think about it. Between the boy in my bed and the peace in the house, maybe this astronaut thing was exactly what our family needed.

I knock on the door and tell them good night. I hear them call back a good night, love you, and all the other obligatory parent stuff, and I cross the floor to my room.

“Hey,” I say.

He’s sitting on my bed, a little awkwardly with his inward-pointed feet and slouched shoulders. I sit next to him and lean in for a kiss. He tastes like mint—he must have brushed his teeth before he came out. I turn the lights off, and we slip under the covers.

“I’ve been thinking about what you told Kat. And how you don’t feel like you matter. Around your parents, I mean.” I can’t form the words right, because all I’m thinking is,
I’m in
bed with Leon
, but we haven’t had any alone time since and I have to get this out.

“Yeah?” he says, and his intense gaze pushes into me.

“Okay, so I’ll just say it. Have you been with a person who made you feel worse? More alone? I just don’t want to be that guy, and I want to learn, but I’m inherently bad at doing the right thing when it comes to you and—”

He puts a finger to my lips, and I melt.

“There’s been no one else. I kind of dated someone in sixth grade, but that doesn’t really count. I’ve kissed a few people, some girls, some guys. But nothing real. Nothing like this.”

“Oh.”

It’s all I can say.

The news surprises me. I could write a novel about how attractive he is, how good he smells, how fucking sweet he is when you really get to know him. But I’m the first person he’s found datable.

“It’s funny,” he says. “Well, maybe not, but in Indiana, Katherine always had a boyfriend. Like, always. Dad would have to run her around on dates, it was wild. She’s had two boyfriends since we moved here. But I haven’t had any, until now.”

“But you’re so …” I try to think of the right word, and fail miserably. “Hot.”

His smile is perfect. “Am I, now?”

On that cue, we pull off our shirts, and I press his body into mine. His breath hits my neck as our legs hook around each
other. We’re a mash of tongue and teeth and warmth, and when I pull away to look into his eyes in the dim light, my heart stops. I’m all in with this guy. I never want to stop kissing him.

There’s nothing that can prepare you for something like this. The fire and heat pulsing off another body in your bed. How no matter how close you are, how much you squeeze each other tightly, it’s never enough. It’s been a month since we first kissed, and already, my relationship morphed into a need that can’t be satiated.

“I think I might love you,” he says.

I press my lips onto his and don’t let go.