"Not all of us can say, with any degree of certainty, that we have always been human, or that we are only that." (Goodley, D. et al., 2014)

Copper medallions sewn along the hem of a leather band wrapped around his waist tinkled as he dropped to one knee. "Moon of my life," he whispered, unsheathing the plastic sword slung at his side.

"Stop. Your character would never offer mine his sword. He might give her the still-warm heart of a sworn enemy, but he'd be the one to cut it out. Besides, it just hit me how creepy it is for a father and daughter to cosplay as a couple."

"Rory, how it might look to strangers doesn't matter to me when it comes to making my little girl happy. I'm just hoping to get a hug out of all of this."

Exchanges like this between most fathers and daughters might have seemed normal, but not with us. History would tell him that I'd find his words cheesy, and his hope for a hug imposing. In fact, a hug might literally be the last thing he'd get from me. I glanced around at the corset and crinoline crowd until I caught sight of a prop-sword hanging from someone's belt. Nudging my chin at it, I said, "Tell you what: I'll consider letting you hug me if I am on the brink of death because someone in there stabs me with their plastic sword."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he said with a little laugh.

We shuffled forward in unison with the line for a moment until the movement stalled. He gave his finger a twirl as we waited. "Turn around. I'm trying to figure out which of us is prettier." Sweat dripped from my palms onto the delicate blue fabric of my skirt as I held it away from my legs and turned in a slow circle. After an excruciatingly long pause, he said, "You look lovely."

"Nothing's out of place?" I asked, letting out an explosive breath I hadn't been aware of holding. Suddenly he grasped me by the shoulders and pushed me toward one of the glass doors, clearly intending to have me use it as a mirror to check for myself. I threw my hands over my eyes until a blast from the air conditioning told me we'd made it through the doors.

"Don't blame me if your eyebrows are crooked," he said.

"My eyebrows aren't drawn on, and I don't wear eyeliner or mascara."

"Or know what a brush is. Good thing you're wearing a wig."

"Funny," I jabbed my finger at his wig. "For the record, it's been fifteen years since you've had that much hair."

"Seventeen. My hair fell out the day you were born." I stuck my tongue out at him, knowing it was an exaggeration. His short salt-and-pepper hair would rival his character's flowing mane if he let it grow.

I could see the line ahead of us compressing as it reached the gate queues. Imagining all those bodies pressed against mine was enough to make me bounce on the balls of my feet. It made me feel better to see Dad's phone in his hand, ready to be scanned. We gathered our wristbands at the booth and headed toward the only uncongested section of the room in view.

Just as I was starting to relax, someone behind me said, "Excited?"

I turned to see Casper standing close enough to make the hair on my arms stand on end.

He was dressed in a gothic long-coat and combat boots, with an imitation leather bodysuit underneath. The best part of his outfit was the huge grin he wore. As I planted my feet flat on the floor and forced a smile onto my face, I couldn't help wondering if other people thought of their facial expressions as an accessory. I let the thought fade away as I noticed the tilt of Casper's head, knowing it must match the lopsidedness of my smile. It took a moment for me to find the imaginary factory reset button in my mind and flip it so I could try again. Flashing Casper my best fake smile, I said, "My Dad wanted to do something special for my birthday."

Dad's already monolithic size seemed to double as Casper's gaze fell upon him. It only made sense that Casper would shrink under Dad's scrutiny. "This boy is a friend?" Dad asked. It was hard to guess what was going through his mind as he scrutinized Casper.

"He's a classmate," I answered.

"Not during the summer," Casper said with a mischievous smile. I let out a huff, knowing he'd caught my mistake. At least now I knew he'd been paying enough attention to me to notice something like my bad habit of correcting people's language errors. I concluded from his tone that he wasn't trying to hurt me by alluding to it. After all, he couldn't know how many nights I'd spent staring at the ceiling, filled with regret for having made a fool of myself with our classmates.

"This is Casper Ramsden," I started my introduction from the beginning. "He's been my classmate since seventh grade, although he currently isn't one since we are on summer break."

Casper let out a burst of laughter that ended in silence a moment later when Dad took a step toward him, pushing his painted ribcage into the boy's line of vision. "I'm always happy to meet friends of my sun and stars," Dad rumbled at the twitching boy.

"Dad, I already told you that is one of my lines," I whispered.

Holding Casper's gaze in silent conversation, he didn't respond to my comment. Casper was the one to speak first, shifting his eyes in my direction and saying, "Happy birthday, Rory."

I blinked, trying to fill in the long seconds it took for me to remember that I'd told him it was my birthday. Before I could think of a response, Casper was waving at a group of our classmates standing in line for a panel. I decided not to say anything that might draw attention to the fact that these kids didn't seem to notice me standing next to him, even though they'd been our mutual classmates since seventh grade. It was clear they wanted Casper to join them in a line for a panel. It was equally clear the invitation didn't extend to me. Truthfully, I was too relieved to be offended.

"Rory, I'll see you next week. I'm glad to have met you, Mr. Lyon," Casper said to my Dad. I watched him disappear into the crowd, trying to puzzle out why he thought we'd see each other in a week. I decided that for once in my life, the mistake was not my own.

~ ~ ~

My nostrils flared at the smell of the person standing behind me. It wasn't as bad as the boys at school who swapped bath water for cologne but still was pungent enough to make my back itch as if hundreds of hairy arachnid legs were skittering over my skin. I turned to see Casper, standing close enough to move one of my curls with each exhalation. The mild cat urine scent on his breath that I'd always associated with dark roast coffee made it hard to keep from retching.

"It doesn't surprise me to find you planted in front of a wall full of schedules," he said.

"Everything I do should be a surprise to you," I answered a little too quickly to realize how it might sound.

It occurred to me as I stepped away to a safe distance to watch him take pictures of the activities board that Casper must already have been imagining a moment like this when he'd said that he'd see me in a week. "How did you know?" I asked him quietly.

"That you'd be at Experience College Week? Maybe you think you're invisible?" He slid his phone into his pocket as he turned toward me.

"More like transparent," I muttered.

I'd admired Casper's chestnut brown eyes for as long as I'd known him. Their sharpness was something I'd overlooked. I shifted my gaze to keep their razor edge from cutting away the mask I donned in public. The girl who'd taken me on a campus tour when I'd arrived caught my attention with a wave. In a bright red shirt, Thirza Thatcher was easy to track as she moved through the crowded lobby.

She came to a bouncing stop in front of us, and I began to introduce her to Casper. The sight of her settling her chin on Casper's shoulder made me stop mid-sentence. It felt as if she'd burned the introductions from my tongue by dropping a lump of hot coal down my throat. I swallowed the heat blazing across my vocal cords, pretending it didn't bother me to see how easily the two of them seemed to find touching each other. Casper held out his phone for me to examine. The screen displayed an email that read:

Dorm Pod Five:

Rory Lyon, Casper Ramsden, Drake Martin.

Supervisor: Thirza Thatcher.

For years I'd been hoping to turn Casper into something more than a classmate. It was a mystery how I could miss his name next to mine on an email. Thirza rubbed my arm with a sympathetic simper. "Sweetie, you aren't going to be sharing a room with him. Each pod has four single-person bedrooms with a common area in the middle." It hadn't even occurred to me that she'd think my anxiety came from fear of having to share a room with Casper. I didn't bother telling her so.

I saw Casper's dark eyes filled with a joke that he didn't appear to be planning on letting me in on. "Have you seen anyone else from school?" I asked him.

"Maybe we're the only ones who want to run away from home when we graduate," Casper said.

"Maybe this place isn't far enough for the rest of them," I said. The two of them burst into giggles. I couldn't help thinking it was because I was the punchline of Casper's silent joke.

"What are we joining?" Thirza asked, setting her hand on my shoulder. I pushed my elbow out before I could stop myself, dropping my shoulder away from her touch. In that instant, I had a flash of an image of our newfound friendship dissolving into a sticky mess, like fluffy pink cotton-candy on a child's fingertips. I ducked my face into the crook of my arm and pretended to sneeze, hoping this would help Thirza believe there was another reason I'd recoil from her touch besides that I found her repellant.

Mentally eliminating a few of the activities right away was easy. I found myself regretting that Thirza hadn't asked me what I didn't want to do. Choosing an activity for another person to participate in automatically made you feel responsible for how much they enjoyed it, placing a lot of pressure on you to get it right. After careful consideration, I pointed at a poster for paintball. A wave of relief crashed over me at their smiles and nods of approval.

"Your turn," Thirza said to Casper.

He hesitated before nudging his chin at a poster decorated with images from various fandoms: Wonder Woman symbol, Hogwarts crest, the original Enterprise, one of many sonic screwdrivers and a dire-wolf. "We should give the scavenger hunt a try," he said.

Noticing it wouldn't start until close to midnight, I asked, "Why so late?" A sharp pain shot up my hand as I twisted my finger a little too hard.

"Relax, Rory. You're in college now. At least you are for the week," Thirza said.

"Are the hosts the same campus club who are running the costume contest? That might give me an edge over people who bought their costumes at a Halloween pop-up store," I said.

"Sounds like you packed a good one," Thirza said. Casper chuckled, casting his eyes quickly over my current outfit. The confused look on Thirza's face made me glad that for once it wasn't me missing the joke. "I brought a couple of good ones," I said.

Thirza extended one of her lithesome limbs. "All I have to say about that is that I hope my legs will look as hot in Star Trek mini as Lieutenant Uhura's."

"Thirza, you should choose an activity for us to do together. It's only fair since you're giving up a week of your summer vacation for us."

"How about jigging? The schedule says the Friendship Center is offering it at their new building along the edge of the river valley," she said, flashing Casper a shy smile.

Dots connected in my mind like the Big Dipper, filling me with shame that Thirza had guessed more about Casper's cultural heritage after a few hours of knowing him than I had in five years as his classmate. I wasn't sure what that said about me. Before I had time to give it much thought, Thirza said, "First safety rule of the week: Always let one of us know where you're going and how long you'll be there. I'm going for a run by the river for about an hour. Send a search party if I'm not back in two."

Casper watched for a moment as Thirza headed for the door, then turned his attention to me. An image popped into my mind of how Casper had looked the last time we'd met, geared up for demon hunting. With all his focus directed solidly on me, I couldn't help missing the division of his attention that I'd taken for granted the day of the Expo. "Were you at the Expo because you like that stuff? Or were you there to be social?" I asked, trying to get him to break his eye-contact.

"I wouldn't have a Sontaran cosplay outfit in my closet at home if all I were interested in was a group-hang. I haven't had a chance to wear that one in public yet. You'd be amazed how difficult it can be to find a reason to go out dressed as a potato."

"I doubt it's possible to be surprised by that. In any case, the secret is to sneak items of geeky stuff into your every day. That way, people don't notice when you show up in full potato-mode. Any ideas about what inspired this one?" I picked up the hem of my bubble-gum pink skirt.

Casper paused before answering, "Strawberry Shortcake?"

"Close. One of the clone sisters on Orphan Black."

"A homage to Alison Hendrix?"

"You've seen the show? Yeah, this is my version. Did you know the actress is from Regina?"

"Considering the company I keep, it would have taken me weeks to find a rock in Saskatchewan big enough to hide under to keep from hearing that fact."

"That's the problem with being a flatlander: No rocks to hide under," I said with a smile.

~ ~ ~

Always a sucker for a good cliché, discovering the fan group met in a club-room rather than a comic book store was disappointing. I couldn't help wondering if the source of the nervous energy in the room came from the fact that I wasn't the only person breaking their parent's rules by being out so late. Clutches of people stood together, chatting. There was one in particular that drew my interest: A pair of boys seated at a round table in the corner. One of the two wore steampunk style clothing—trousers and vest with pinstripes, leather boots coming up to the middle of his calves and a velvet top hat with signature steampunk goggles perched above the rim. The second had on a shirt with a funny slogan about dragons.

"Smart televisions and phones are being used to spy on us," Steam Punk said to Dragon.

"Why would anyone be interested in the garbage that spews from most of our mouths?" Dragon answered. "I keep telling you that your fan theories aren't as interesting as you believe, regardless of what people tell you online."

Steam Punk huffed. "I told you my theory about—"

"I can't waste another hour of my life hearing about it," Dragon cut off Steam Punk's chance to say more.

"Come talk with us, Anya," Dragon said, looking in my direction.

I glanced behind myself to make sure he wasn't speaking to someone else. "My name isn't Anya," I answered when certain.

Dragon snorted. "It would be a weird coincidence if it were." He gestured to the chair across from him. I sat and smiled as he continued, "I called you that because Travis told me you reminded him of Anya from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She tended to wear vintage-style outfits like that skirt and blouse combo you were wearing earlier. I might have gone with pink polka-dots for the top, but the roses were pretty. This outfit you have on looks—"

"Whovian?" I asked, rubbing my fingers over the fabric of my brown Capri pants. Dragon nodded.

Inspired by the eleventh Doctor, the outfit was one of a few that I wore like a suit of armour in the halls of my high school. My rationale behind it was that if I couldn't muster real bravery, I'd have to settle for imitating strong characters. Mom told me that she should have seen it coming when I'd insisted on dressing as Superman for an entire month in Kindergarten. She was less than impressed when I responded to her comment by buying a bright blue shirt and red pants.

"Where's that boy you were chatting with earlier?" Dragon asked.

I glanced around the room in search of Casper, but couldn't catch sight of him. "He's probably hanging around with our dorm-monitor and the other guy who shares our pod," I said.

"The other guy?" Dragon said.

I blushed. It wasn't often that I met someone who so quickly picked up on the fact that people weren't always my priority. "I'm bad with names," I stammered.

"Hopefully, you will remember my name a little better. I'm Devon." Dragon pointed to the picture on his shirt. "D for a dragon, D for Devon. Easy."

"I'm Rory Lyon." I grimaced as Devon covered his smile.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude," Devon said, catching my expression.

"I'm used to it. I once asked my dad why he named me as if I were a character in a Harry Potter novel. The only answer he gave me was to play the Johnny Cash song called A Boy Named Sue."

"That doesn't seem like an answer," Devon said.

"It's a song about a man who knows he won't be around to raise his son. He gives him a girl's name, thinking it'll force him to be tough."

Steampunk—Travis—fiddled nervously with a silver buckle the size of a dessert plate. After a moment, he quietly asked, "Did your dad abandon you?"

"There was a period when I was paranoid he might disappear in the night. Sometimes he'd get this look in his eyes like he was on another world. I guess he must have had other reasons for wanting me to be tough."

"Back to the point," Travis broke in. "Rory hasn't told us what she thinks about technology being used to spy on us."

"If you're asking whether I believe there are rooms full of people with nothing better to do than listen to our conversations...."

Travis nodded as if he believed the question to be worthy of an answer. I did my best not to laugh. It wouldn't be fair, considering how many nights I'd woken in a flop-sweat, sure there was a silently watching silhouette in the shadows of my room. Except for the idea that real people were listening, Travis's theory wasn't that far from the truth. It would be a perfect description of the current technology if you replaced the rooms of people eavesdropping on conversations through headphones with algorithms designed to pick up on keywords and phrases.

"Profit and destabilizing democracy are probably the only uses that would make people in power see it as worth their time," I finally volunteered.

"Told you so!" The boys shouted simultaneously. They burst into laughter, which carried on until they caught sight of a girl dressed in black who was standing at the front of the room, waving for quiet.

"Good evening! My name is Agatha," the girl said. Her name seemed like a contradiction. It came off as too vanilla for a girl dressed all in black. She carried on saying, "There will be two groups, both with a mentor to help move things forward if the group members get stuck on a clue. We're giving you a basic map of the buildings and streets. Since it's finally dark—"

Someone at the back of the room let out a shrill whistle that set people off cheering. Agatha waved her hands again and waited for the noise to die down before she continued. "The clues will be tied to glow-in-the-dark balloons. After the first one, it will be up to you to find the rest. We've arranged for the groups to have different starting points and order of clues so they won't follow each other around all night."

She went on to announce the group members: Devon, Travis, and Casper were the only ones I knew in my group. I was relieved when we were handed name tags, knowing it would spare me the awkwardness of pretending I remembered the other twelve people's names after being told only one time. I made a point of looking at my other roommate's name tag while everyone was putting them on, whispering to myself as he left with the other group, "Drake like the rapper. Drake from Degrassi."

My group found our first clue tied to the string of a phosphorescent balloon that emitted just enough of a glow to illuminate the shapes of prehistoric life imprinted on the stone behind it. Travis yanked on the string to pull it down, retrieved the clue and began to read the note in a pretentious English accent: "A Lannister always pays his debts."

"A Game of Thrones reference?" A girl named Jessalyn asked.

"The ice-rink. It's always winter there," Casper said. I shook my head skeptically at this stretch of logic.

"What about a bank machine?" A boy named John suggested.

"There are too many on campus to check. We need something more specific," Travis said.

"The school mascot is a lion, which also happens to be the sigil of House Lannister from Game of Thrones. They love to remind people about how they always pay their debts." My stomach squirmed at the feeling of eyes zeroing in on me.

"There's a lion painted on the side of the gymnasium!" Casper shouted excitedly. Suddenly he was pressed against my side to look at the map. As he pointed at the pictograph of the gym drawn on Diefenbaker Drive, I couldn't think of anything other than my nerves prickling against his side.

Casper took the lead as we set out toward it. Weeping willows lined the path where Travis and I ran next to each other. The chain of his pocket watch rattled against his leg with every step. When covered with frost in the winter, the lamp posts staggered between the looming trees might look like something you'd find in a magical land at the back of a wardrobe. At this time of the year, acting as beacons for moths and mosquitoes, their ability to ignite a person's heart with the glow of nostalgia was somewhat dimmed. I could hear bugs tapping the metal lampshades as we passed under them. As a requiem for the heat of the day, residual sunlight forced the artificial light to settle in useless puddles, which rippled as our footsteps disturbed them.

We cheered as Casper pulled down the balloon from the tail of the lion painted on the side of the yellow, rectangular gymnasium the locals dubbed the Butter Dish. "Some Heroes fly or regenerate. Real heroes train here," he read out loud.

Devon grumbled, "That's a subjective statement. What makes a hero?"

A tall boy said, "Doctors are heroic. Maybe we should check the medical school."

We were wheezing by the time we reached the building. Gargoyles perched along the edge of the roof of the College of Medicine glared down as if judging of the sweaty clump of kids below. Chipped arches and stones stained black from the days when coal was used to heat the school made the structure appear old, but the truth was that there was no such thing as an old building in Saskatchewan.

We searched the area for a couple of minutes before concluding it was a dead-end. Trying to come up with another place to hunt, I said, "During the first scenes of a show I used to watch about people with powers, a character who could regenerate saved a person trapped in a fire. The firefighters couldn't reach them. Thinking about that show and the clues, I wonder if we should check the firefighter training area at the far end of campus."

Casper cozied himself against my side once again, paying close attention to where I pointed on the map. The distance to the spot forced us to slow our pace. We still were puffing by the time we reached the grass in front of the statue of three fire-fighters holding onto a hose. Agatha took away the pressure we felt to keep moving by taking a seat on the grass, giving us an unspoken signal that we were free to do the same. Casper settled next to me on the lawn. After a minute, he quietly asked, "What superpower would you choose?"

I reclined on my back, imagining the options. "I think I'd be Chameleon," I finally said.

Although it wasn't a question I'd spent much time thinking about in the past, I wasn't surprised by the answer that popped into my head. My parents had resisted the advice that most professionals in the field of child development tried to give—doctors and therapists who recommended to parents of children on the autism spectrum that they allow their children to be taught to blend. My parents knew that given half a chance, these professionals would relentlessly condition me to believe I was the cause of every social interaction that went sideways. They'd teach me that it was the natural order of things for the comfort of others to come at my expense. I'd be programmed to make myself invisible to spare others the effort of making room for me in their minds. Sometimes I wondered if my parents had made the right call. I couldn't help wondering if I'd have been better off being taught to blend. I could have been the Incredible Blendable Chameleon.

Casper's eyebrows lifted. "You'd want the superpower of being able to change the colour of your skin? You already have that power with your eyes." Something twisted inside of me. I glanced down at my fingers, pumping against my palm, and wondered if Casper had also noticed that the colour of my eyes changed according to my mood. Did Casper somehow understand the colour code of my emotions?

"I guess what I'd want is the ability to blend. What power would you choose?" I asked him quietly.

"To be able to find lost things," Casper said, plucking a handful of grass and sifting the soil through his fingers.

"You could choose flying, regeneration, immortality, telepathy or pyrokinesis—"

"So why would I choose to find lost things? Some things are hard to get back once you lose them." He blew on the blades of grass in his palm and watched as they fluttered away.

The tall boy from our group stood and walked to the balloon that bounced against the statue. He removed the clue and read, "Leia stands out from other Disney Princesses in her most revealing outfit. She'd be less likely to stick out in this location."

"I forgot that Leia is technically a Disney Princess now. What's her most revealing outfit?" Jessalyn asked.

One of the boys shouted, "The bikini! The clue must mean the pool."

I handed the map to Jessalyn so she could lead up to our next destination. When we got to the next balloon, she took it down and read in an excited shout, "A sense of serenity comes over me as I watch fireflies dance in the evening sky."

"We went on the campus tour, but it's not like we're experts," Devon said, rubbing the back of his neck. Agatha smiled knowingly, but she didn't give us a hint.

"We passed a butterfly house called Serenity on our way to the fire-fighting training area," I said, feeling a flutter in my stomach.

The rest of the group nodded. We sprinted in the direction of the butterfly house and found a balloon tied to a glass firefly on the side of the pyramid-shaped building.

A girl named Molly read, "A member of Erudite would feel at home in this location." After a couple of seconds, she shouted, "The library! Erudite would feel at home in a library."

I'd learned during the campus tour that each section of the school had a library, but there was a central library referred to as the stacks. We descended into one of the tunnels that connected all the buildings, a necessary precaution against frostbite in the winter, and headed toward this central library. Written across a balloon tied at the front of the library were the words "Last One."

Tied to the string was the final note. "Boldly go where no one has gone before," I read as loudly as I felt was appropriate, considering we were standing in front of a library.

"Space!" Several people shouted. It seemed that the excitement of the moment made my fellow group members forget any thoughts of restraint they may have had.

"The observatory," I said. The old stone structure at the center of the quad had given me gooseflesh every time I'd passed it since arriving on campus. The light went out as we ran toward the stairs. I stopped in my tracks. Casper ran into me an instant later, and we fell together in a heap on the ground. He was quick to get up and offer me a hand. Getting to my feet, I found myself pressed against his body. My stomach vibrated against his abdomen. Part of me wanted to stay pressed against him, even though my gut told me I should push him away to avoid the embarrassment of splashing him if I ended up vomiting. Thirza ran up behind Casper and threw her arms over his shoulders before I had a chance to make up my mind, forcing me to push down my frustration at how easily they touched each other, knowing they'd misinterpret the cause.

I quickly walked away from them and joined the other kids going inside the building. Focusing on Agatha's speech proved impossible with the sound of blood pounding in my ears. The booming noise got louder every time I glanced at Thirza and Casper, standing together with linked arms. The darkness of the staircase leading to the second floor beckoned to me. Giving in to the call, I backed away from the rest of the students and crept up the stairs.

The sensation of not being alone overwhelmed me right away. Something moved in my peripheral vision. My heart leapt into my throat as a shape solidified out of the shadows. It stood still as if watching me, maybe deciding whether to speak. A male voice finally said, "I'm sorry." It wasn't clear what he was apologizing for, but I found his voice reassuringly familiar.

"Sorry," I mumbled. I wasn't sure why I was apologizing. It was a Canadian compulsion.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said.

Although my mind screamed at me to feel threatened, something about him made me comfortable. Maybe it was how he looked like a student. Then again, it might have been the white glow of the northern lights dancing across his face, a sight that made him too beautiful to be scary. His face was too young to be a professor, but his frame was too filled-out to be one of the high school students on campus. The logical conclusion was that he worked for the university.

"Were you here the whole time?" I asked him.

"I was watching..." He paused as if rethinking something he'd been about to say, before pointing to a path of light that streaked across the heavenly expanse visible through the slightly open dome of the observatory. "I was waiting for the meteor shower," he added in a hushed voice.

Before I had the chance to say anything, Thirza shouted up the stairs, "Rory, are you up there?"

"I should go back to my friends," I said, rubbing my index finger awkwardly. "By the way, I'm Rory. What's your name? Are you here often?"

"My name is Gem. We've met thousands of times, and we'll meet thousands more... But you'll never remember."

"Is that from a poem?" I asked. It reminded me of a line from a sitcom theme song.

In a way," Gem said quietly.

"Gem... As in a precious stone?" I said.

"As in Gemini."

"The twins," I said.

"One of two... Good night, Rory." He turned his attention to the night sky, watching trails of light streak across the firmament. Turning toward the stairs, I couldn't help glancing back. I found myself mesmerized by the way the light seemed to emanate from Gemini as if he belonged up there with the stars.

Turning once again to head down the stairs, the sensation that Gem's little poem might be true was overpowering. Maybe we'd met before. Maybe we weren't done with each other yet.