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her star field, stroking Hopkins’s coat
absently. For a moment the stars didn’t look like stars at all. They looked like millions of snowflakes caught in the sky, unable to fall.
Glenn could barely remember all the steps that led to what
happened two nights before. It happened so fast. She and Kevin came out of the theater laughing, making fun of the painfully ancient play their teacher had made them see. Then they were waiting for the train on an empty platform, high from giggling. It was the cold, clear kind of night when everything seemed fresh and clean and moving in fast motion. They were sitting on a bench, and Kevin was making a big show of mocking one of the actor’s exaggerated gestures.
It started to snow. Just lightly. A thin curtain of white swirled around them, caught in the station lights. It dusted the bench and Kevin’s shoulders. Flakes gleamed in his violet hair. Their breath made plumes between them, tiny clouds that tumbled into one another.
Kevin was saying something and then his hand fell onto Glenn’s, covering it. It was nothing at first, an accident, but seconds passed and his hand was still there. Neither of them was wearing gloves, so all the contour and warmth of Kevin’s hand lay along the back of hers, his fingers curling slightly and dipping into the flesh of her palm. He had stopped talking, and there was just the windy sound of the snow. Glenn was sure she was about to say something, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Her forehead and cheeks grew hot despite the cold. Was she getting sick? Did she have a fev—And then Kevin was kissing her, just like that, as if they had leapt forward in time. His hand gripped hers tighter, and Glenn was surprised to feel the muscles in her arm flex, drawing him in, her own hand rising up between them and falling on Kevin’s shoulder. Time jumped
forward again. Now Glenn was standing up and backing away from the bench, a whirl of panic inside her. Before she knew it, she was fleeing down the platform and out into the night. She looked back over her shoulder once as she ran and the snow had surged, wiping the train platform and Kevin away in a haze of white.
Glenn ran all the way home and up to her room, where she found the application for skipping her fourth year. She had received it months earlier but had let it sit, overwhelmed by its enormity. She stood over it, dizzy from the run home, her cheeks burning despite the cold. She could still feel her hand on Kevin’s shoulder, pulling him to her.
Glenn barely remembered filling out the forms and sending them off, but when she was done there was a wave of relief. She had come so close to veering off track. So close to ruining everything.
Glenn took a last look up at the sea of stars and then shut off the light show. The whir of the projectors was replaced by the sounds of her father’s footsteps, soft and shuffling, as he moved into his basement computer lab. Glenn closed her eyes and saw 813, a brilliant afterimage of green and blue. Her hunger for that other world burned inside her.
Glenn touched the tablet’s screen and it came to life. Still nothing from her father. Glenn stared at the blank screen for a moment and then flicked through old mail until she found another form, this one for a class trip into the capital city of Colloquy. At the bottom sat her father’s scrawled signature. It was nothing to break the encryption on the DSS form and drop the signature into it. After all, she was her father’s daughter.
Once it was done, Glenn sat back on her bed and looked at it, amazed that something so small could change everything.
Glenn paused, her finger hovering over the glass of the screen.
Downstairs she heard her father close the basement door and then leave the house, heading out to the workshop.
The house went quiet. Glenn touched one fingertip to the glass and sent the form flying away.
Her new life had begun.
“Glenn! Glenny! Wake up!”
Glenn bolted upright,
absently. For a moment the stars didn’t look like stars at all. They looked like millions of snowflakes caught in the sky, unable to fall.
Glenn could barely remember all the steps that led to what
happened two nights before. It happened so fast. She and Kevin came out of the theater laughing, making fun of the painfully ancient play their teacher had made them see. Then they were waiting for the train on an empty platform, high from giggling. It was the cold, clear kind of night when everything seemed fresh and clean and moving in fast motion. They were sitting on a bench, and Kevin was making a big show of mocking one of the actor’s exaggerated gestures.
It started to snow. Just lightly. A thin curtain of white swirled around them, caught in the station lights. It dusted the bench and Kevin’s shoulders. Flakes gleamed in his violet hair. Their breath made plumes between them, tiny clouds that tumbled into one another.
Kevin was saying something and then his hand fell onto Glenn’s, covering it. It was nothing at first, an accident, but seconds passed and his hand was still there. Neither of them was wearing gloves, so all the contour and warmth of Kevin’s hand lay along the back of hers, his fingers curling slightly and dipping into the flesh of her palm. He had stopped talking, and there was just the windy sound of the snow. Glenn was sure she was about to say something, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Her forehead and cheeks grew hot despite the cold. Was she getting sick? Did she have a fev—And then Kevin was kissing her, just like that, as if they had leapt forward in time. His hand gripped hers tighter, and Glenn was surprised to feel the muscles in her arm flex, drawing him in, her own hand rising up between them and falling on Kevin’s shoulder. Time jumped
forward again. Now Glenn was standing up and backing away from the bench, a whirl of panic inside her. Before she knew it, she was fleeing down the platform and out into the night. She looked back over her shoulder once as she ran and the snow had surged, wiping the train platform and Kevin away in a haze of white.
Glenn ran all the way home and up to her room, where she found the application for skipping her fourth year. She had received it months earlier but had let it sit, overwhelmed by its enormity. She stood over it, dizzy from the run home, her cheeks burning despite the cold. She could still feel her hand on Kevin’s shoulder, pulling him to her.
Glenn barely remembered filling out the forms and sending them off, but when she was done there was a wave of relief. She had come so close to veering off track. So close to ruining everything.
Glenn took a last look up at the sea of stars and then shut off the light show. The whir of the projectors was replaced by the sounds of her father’s footsteps, soft and shuffling, as he moved into his basement computer lab. Glenn closed her eyes and saw 813, a brilliant afterimage of green and blue. Her hunger for that other world burned inside her.
Glenn touched the tablet’s screen and it came to life. Still nothing from her father. Glenn stared at the blank screen for a moment and then flicked through old mail until she found another form, this one for a class trip into the capital city of Colloquy. At the bottom sat her father’s scrawled signature. It was nothing to break the encryption on the DSS form and drop the signature into it. After all, she was her father’s daughter.
Once it was done, Glenn sat back on her bed and looked at it, amazed that something so small could change everything.
Glenn paused, her finger hovering over the glass of the screen.
Downstairs she heard her father close the basement door and then leave the house, heading out to the workshop.
The house went quiet. Glenn touched one fingertip to the glass and sent the form flying away.
Her new life had begun.
“Glenn! Glenny! Wake up!”
Glenn bolted upright,
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