Page 92 of A Summer of Stars
“Maybe because you’re inheriting it without even realizing. She sounds a lot like you.” His voice was soft. Comforting. I wanted to rest my head on it.
A weak laugh came from my lungs to correct him. “She was the most unapologetic, beautiful human.”
“I don’t see any difference, then.”
I wish I hadn’t turned to see the sincerity on his face. It was so raw. Under dark lashes, his blue eyes explored me.
I gulped a heap of warm air and sat up in a rush. “Gosh, I’ve been talking all night. I’m banned from speaking for the rest of the boat ride. Your turn.”
He sat up with me, his shoulder just grazing mine. “What do you want to know?”
“What do you love about acting?”
He sighed. “Do you want the short answer or the long answer?”
“Whichever the honest one is.”
“Long one it is, then.” He nodded. “Have you seen the filmMoonstruck?” he started.
“I haven’t.” I shook my head.
“It’s aclassic. We’re going to watch it, pencil it into your schedule. But anyway, not to digress, it’s my abuela’s favorite film. Anytime it was on TV, she’d stop what she was doing—cooking, filling the bird feeder, spying on the neighbor having an affair across the street—it didn’t matter, ifMoonstruckcame on the TV, everythingelse stopped. That movie made her smile and laugh so much, no matter how many times she watched it. Some nights, a tear would even fall down her cheek. She’d tell me that she wasn’t crying because she was sad, but that she simply couldn’t contain her emotions, she was that happy.
“I wanted to make people feel that way. So I enrolled in the theater program at school and never stopped. Now it’s a second skin. An extension of myself.”
“And you turned out to be a beautiful actor,” I said honestly, so honestly that it felt like a hair over the line sketched between us. But he didn’t notice because his nose was scrunched up. I shook his shoulder. “Why are you so shy about this!”
The emotionless look on his face loosened to an open smile. “What I’m doing isn’t saving lives, and it doesn’t take skill or intelligence.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Says who?” I asked in disbelief.
“People!”
“Who cares about those people! Kieran, what you do means something. The world needs film and art just as much as it needs science and medicine. You’re providingjoyand empathy. You’re so talented that the amount of talent you have in one eyebrow alone is insane,” I argued.
Watching him laugh made my heart bloom into a sea of pastel peonies. If pink was a feeling, it wasthat. His face scrunched up with bliss.
“You’re a successful actor who takes his job seriously and is able to make a living doing it. You’re doing yourself a disservice by not acting like it.”
His lips were pressed together as if he was trying to hold back a smile. “Is this you admitting to watching my movies?”
He looked into my eyes. They sparkled like bubbly champagne under candlelight. I wanted to reach forward and run the pad of my thumb against the skin beneath his eyes. It made me sad to think that they were tunnels of sadness when he spoke about his career.
“What would you say if I said yes?” I asked, catching him off guard.
The joyful creases beside his eyes spread to the curves in his cheeks as he smirked. “I’d say I hope you didn’t see the one with the full-frontal nudity.”
A surprise yelp came from my mouth. Our foreheads knocked together as we laughed so hard our throats dried up and our stomachs ached.
“Luna Aldridge Beams like the Moon in Pearlescent Moonlit Dress”
—Nesh
WITH THE FIRSTweek of August coming to a close, the Madrid and US Opens were fast approaching. Two more major Grand Slams and then I returned to my regularly scheduled wallpapering, team dinners, neighborhood jogs, and Christmas pajamas covered in (overly) salted popcorn while watching romance movies.
No more fake relationship. No more preparing for the US Open.
Usually with the US Open closing in, anxiety became a nagging friend, pulling at me like a thorn snagged on my clothes.
