The Chaos of Stars (9 page)

Isis has never apologized. More followers meant more worship, more tongues whispering her name, more hearts turned toward her in times of crisis. To a member of a constantly shifting pantheon of gods desperate for relevance, this was worth occasionally stepping in as the ceremonial wife of her favorite son.

Worship is everything.

But seriously, gross.

TUESDAY AFTER FRIDAY’S BREAK-IN IS THE FIRST
time I’ve been home alone since then. I wait on the curb in front of Sirus’s house. An unfamiliar car pulls up with an older woman in the driver’s seat. Tyler leans over and waves at me from the passenger seat, so I climb into the back.

“Thank you so much for the ride,” I say. “Sirus is stuck at the airport with a delayed flight. You saved me.” I’ve actually been out here waiting for an hour. The back door is replaced and a security system installed, but it still feels . . . creepy in there alone.

“No problem! You can thank my mother, Julie. Or as I like to call her while my clunker’s in the shop, my personal chauffeur.”

Julie’s just a bit smaller than Tyler, and I realize why all Tyler’s nice clothes look like they were made to fit someone else: they actually were. Her voice sounds almost the same as her daughter’s. “If you keep referring to me as your chauffeur, I’m going to start charging you.”

“Volunteering does make me the big bucks. It’s about time I started helping out around here. Do you prefer imaginary checks, or imaginary credit cards?”

“I take nonimaginary dish washing.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m afraid my dish-washing account got closed for overdrafting.”

They laugh, teasing each other back and forth, and it feels so easy and comfortable. Which for some reason makes me
un
comfortable.

“So, Isadora. Tyler tells me you’re from Egypt?”

“Born and raised.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Just the desert. And the quiet. There are a
lot
of people here.”

“That’s the downside to San Diego. Once you live here, you never want to live anywhere else. Unfortunately everyone else already lives here.” She smiles at me in the rearview mirror. “Would you like to come for dinner sometime?”

“I’d love to.” I want to know more about Tyler, see what made her as awesome as she is. She’s the best part about working at the museum, and I greedily want to have her in more parts of my life here.

Tyler holds back a closed fist and it only takes me a few seconds to remember I’m supposed to bump it with my own. “Sweet,” she says. “This means we’ll actually have to make dinner for once, though.”

“We’ll do something Middle Eastern to make you feel at home,” Tyler’s mom says. I smile, but what they have feels nothing like my home. And it makes me sad.

When she drops us off, Tyler and I have to practically shove our way into the lobby. It’s the third Tuesday of the month, so the museum is free to San Diego residents. Michelle had mentioned this before, but I had no idea just how seriously San Diegans take Free Museum Day. It’s packed. Tyler and I are working the front desks together, checking IDs. I’m grateful I’m not upstairs—at least I don’t have to worry about watching this many people in the exhibit, or, heaven forbid, the Children’s Discovery Room.

I haven’t slept well since the break-in. I can’t get the smell out of my room, and it’s giving me constant headaches. This press of people isn’t helping the pain.

My headache reminds me of last night’s new email from my mother, whom I always associate with pain in my temples. She informed me there is a fifty-dollar-a-day withdrawal limit on my debit card. I hadn’t even taken any money out yet. I’d only started plotting to do it when I had somewhere to go, somewhere she couldn’t find me.

How did she know?
How does she always know?

“Are you okay?” Tyler shouts from the other side of the lobby.

I wave a couple through after they show me their driver’s licenses. “I’m peachy,” I say over the crowd. “Why?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. You seem . . . tired.”

A tall guy, late teens, wearing aviator sunglasses and jeans that hang so low on his hips it’s a miracle of gravity they stay on, stands right in front of me. “Hey,” he says with a half grin that I assume is supposed to be sexy but really looks like he has poor facial-muscle control. “What’s your name?”

“San Diego County driver’s license or pay at the front desk,” I snap. Looking confused, he pulls out his wallet and drops it on the ground. He swears, picks it back up, and walks to a group of friends all snickering in the doorway.

Tyler laughs. “Okay, you don’t look tired. You look angry.”

“I look angry?”

“Only when guys try to hit on you. But you totally work it. You kind of rock angry. If I tried to be angry, I’d just look like I was constipated or something.”

I shake my head but can’t hold back a smile. “Well, good to know that if I’m unpleasant, at least I look good doing it.”

“Exactly! The rest of us are forced to be nice by our inferior looks.”

“Oh, shut up.” But now I’m really grinning. Tyler has that effect on people.

I feel someone’s eyes on me, and I turn, catching a fleeting glimpse of a very tall, dark figure as he turns the corner and goes up the stairs. Not the sunglasses idiot from before, but some familiarity nags at me even though I didn’t really see him.

A woman’s already waiting with an ID in front of me. I don’t have time to run down someone who may or may not have been creeping around. We probably just forgot to check his ID. Understandable in this crush of people.

When will I stop being so nervous and edgy? Last night when I was coming out of the bathroom, Sirus surprised me and I nearly tackled him before I realized he wasn’t some shadowy attacker.

I shake it off as a short, barrel-chested guy wearing a graphic T-shirt and khaki shorts walks in and folds his arms, glaring as groups of people move in and out around him. His black hair is deliberately messy, and he has chunky glasses. “What does a guy have to do to get some service?”

Tyler sees him and scowls. “Look, kid, the Children’s Discovery Room closed five minutes ago. You’re just gonna have to go to the park.”

“The only parking I do is with my girlfriend.” His face breaks into a goofy smile and Tyler laughs her horsey laugh, smacking him in the shoulder as he envelops her in a hug. His nose hits at her chin, and they are such a painfully awkward couple, I think it might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

The brutality of being temporary hits me like a sandstorm, leaving me raw. They love each other right now, but right now is all they’ll have. We aren’t made for forever, and neither are our relationships.

Scott (at least I’m assuming this is the elusive Scott; otherwise Tyler has some explaining to do) pretends to bite her neck and then kisses her cheek. “Late lunch/early dinner?”

“We’re off soon.” Tyler turns him around and points at me. “That’s Isadora.”

“Ah, the mystical Isadora.” Scott grins and waves at me. “She
is
tall and scary pretty. You were right. Coming to eat with us?”

I shrug. “I—”

“Of course she is.” Tyler shoves him to the side. “Now go play. Some of us are working.”

“Scary?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Scary
pretty
.
Scary
is the modifier, not the descriptor.”

After twenty minutes our relief finally comes, and Tyler and I stumble out into the brilliant sunshine, done for the day. I take a deep breath, glad to be free of that madhouse. Being around huge groups of people is still weird for me. We took the occasional trip to Cairo and other cities around Egypt, but for the most part my childhood was practically sequestered. It’s like they were grooming me to be a shut-in or something.

I’m looking forward to when my mom’s shipment of stuff gets here. It was held up in customs, so I’ve been doing regular museum work. At least when all of her crap arrives, I’ll be able to organize and arrange it instead of checking IDs or standing in the Egyptian room and trying to look so aloof and intimidating that people won’t ask me questions and local college guys will quit trying to pick me up.

I rub my eyes, unused to the brightness after being inside for several hours. But then it hits me—the sunshine! The clouds burned off early today! I tip my head back and close my eyes, luxuriating in the sensation of the sun on my skin.

“There they are,” Tyler says, pulling my arm. I turn and see Scott, lounging on the steps to the side of the museum, talking animatedly with . . . Ry. Who is nodding and smiling but still scribbling in his notebook. I haven’t seen him since that ridiculous encounter at the smoothie place.

“You guys!” Tyler points one long arm straight up. “The
sun
!”

“Is that what the strange ball of brilliant light and heat in the place of my beloved clouds is?” Scott asks, scratching his head.

“And do you know what that means?” Tyler prods.

“The crops will grow, the children will sing, and the land will rejoice?” I offer.

“Yes! Also, my skin will burn. Burn, burn, burn. And if I’m going to get a sunburn, I’m going to do it at the beach. Let’s go.”

I’d planned on hanging out in the park for a couple of hours before Sirus picks me up. I’m in a black faux-leather pencil skirt and a cerulean-blue tank blouse. And my gladiator sandals? Not exactly beachwear.

“I’ve got clothes in Scott’s car. You can borrow some of my stuff,” Tyler says, reading my mind.

“I don’t know; I was going to hang out here.” I wonder if Ry is going. And if he is, whether that makes me want to more, or less. Probably less. He still hasn’t looked up from his scribbling.

“Oh, come on!” Tyler throws her arm around me. “Have you even been to the beach yet?”

“I rode past it a couple of times, and—”

“Ha! No! You are still an ocean virgin, and today you lose your virginity!”

“I have the weirdest girlfriend alive,” Scott muses, staring up at the sky.

Tyler’s arm locks me into place. “No arguments. You’ve been here two weeks, and all you ever do is work and go home. Come to the beach with us! We’ll get pizza, and play Mock the Worst-Fitting Swimwear, and we can watch the sunset. The sunsets are amazing, and the stars over the ocean—”

“Stars?” I perk up. She’s right! If the clouds burned off this early, maybe the stars will be out tonight.

“Yes! Oh, good. I’m so glad you’re coming!” She steers me down the stairs and through a geometric garden, all shaped planters and yellow-and-blue-tiled fountains, to the parking lot. She takes a deep breath and spews out a series of sentences so fast it’s only after she’s in a car with the door locked that I realize she said, “There’s not enough room in Scotty’s car for all of us, so you’ll ride with Ry, okay? See you there!” Scott’s in, too, and they pull out like they’re fleeing the law.

I turn to see Ry standing right next to me, smiling. “Riding with me then? Great!”

Floods.
Did Tyler just set me up
?

If only his truck weren’t so beautiful. I lean my head back and close my eyes, letting the breeze from the open window play across my face. Amun-Re, I love this truck.

“So, how do you like San Diego?” he asks, more or less, since he says it in fluent Arabic, complete with Egyptian accent. He’s tapping on the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead on the road, but a dimple hints that he wants to smile that stupid smile and it’s all he can do not to.

I’m tempted to answer him in Urdu, but I opt for English instead. “It’s fine.” Other than creepy drug-addict prowlers who destroy my personal property. “Why do you keep trying to speak to me in Arabic?”

“I don’t know, I thought maybe you were homesick.”

“Trust me, not homesick. Sick of home. Which is why I’m here.” He’s a show-off, that’s what he is. I don’t give a mummified cat whether or not he can speak Arabic. I add
show-off
to my list of reasons why I will never like Ry in a way that would be dangerous. And then I’m mad that I even feel like I need to have a list, which is another thing to put on the list I wish I didn’t have to have.

“So, I’m not strange anymore?” he asks.

“What?”

“You’re riding in my car, which must mean I’m not a stranger anymore.”

“Actually, the more I’m around you, the stranger you get.”

Ry laughs, but his phone buzzes and he pulls it out. “Yeah? No parking at all? Sure, let’s meet there. Not a problem. Bye.”

He turns off of the main road. We weave down the hills, teasing glimpses of the ocean blinding me. It still shocks me every time I come over a hill and see it spreading out on the horizon. It feels wrong, that much water. My eyes keep trying to turn it into sand, heat shimmers, something that makes sense.

I don’t recognize this neighborhood—the homes are close together but big. Here they cram as much house onto as little land as they possibly can. Cars are parked all down the narrow street, and guys carrying surfboards walk barefoot on the asphalt.

There’s no space in this city. Anywhere. I want open land. I want desert. I want to be able to look in a single direction and see
nothing
.

Crap. I am not homesick. I’m not, I’m not.

Ry slows and I see Scott’s car (the color of puke mating with rust) pulling up into the driveway of a massive home, complete with huge Grecian pillars and a fountain. The whole thing is so ostentatious it borders on laughable. Okay, I do laugh a little bit.

“Can we park here?” I ask.

“It’s okay, we know the owners.”

I shake my head at the monstrosity of a house. “Do you know the architects? Because they should be shot.”

“You know, I kinda agree.” His mouth twists into that smile again, and it sets my teeth on edge. He always seems to be in his own little world, his blue eyes never quite focused on this one except for that brief time with the smoothies. Not that I want them focused on me, but still.

Ry pulls in behind Scott. Tyler’s already out of the car, grabbing towels and a big canvas bag out of the trunk. “You boys get the pizza and meet us there. Okay, Isadora, you want the daisy bikini, or the pink one?”