When it's almost six, every table is filled and people line the walls. Clara pulls me behind the counter with her and Nathan, so there's more room for others. She sneaks conversations with me in between tending to customers. And when she's not talking to me, I'm tempted to reach for my phone to read more of Morgan's Messages. I try to read at least one conversation a day. Otherwise, it leaves me with an empty feeling.

I'm about to pull my phone out when Nathan joins me, holding a loose fist in the palm of his hand. "Ready for your first open mic?"

Why is he asking me if I'm ready? I laugh. "Aren't you nervous?"

He shakes his head. "No. I'm used to reading my poems in front of crowds."

"How long have you been reading your poems?"

He looks up and off to the side, his eyes shining in the dim light. "I think I started when I was ten."

Wow... "And you do this every week?"

He nods. "My mom made me open every time because no one likes to go first, but even if she didn't make me, I would still go up on stage at some point. I find it fun seeing people's reactions, hearing what they think."

"And what do people think?"

He smiles at me, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I don't want to make you biased by telling you."

I arch an eyebrow. "I think it's too late for that."

He tilts his head to the side, his smile turning quizzical. "How so?"

I gesture vaguely. "You're just really..." He leans forward, raising his eyebrows. I swallow, dropping my hand to my side. "Nice. You're really nice to me."

He shrugs, settling back on his feet. "What can I say? It's easy talking to you."

I straighten. "It is?"

He nods, frowning. "Yeah. It is." He narrows his eyes. "Do people say it's not easy talking to you?" He has no idea. I try not to think about it, but the thoughts must flash across my face because Nathan's frown deepens. He takes a step toward me, holding a hand out. "Mona—"

"Hey," Clara interrupts. "You're up."

Nathan's eyes flicker to Clara and back to me. It looks like he's about to pass on his turn just to talk to me. I can definitely see him doing something like that, so I smile and gesture toward the stage. "Can't wait to hear your poem."

His eyebrows twitch together, but he nods, trying for a smile. "Wish me luck."

When he heads for the stage, Clara rolls her eyes, mimicking him in a mocking tone. But when he steps into the spotlight and takes the microphone in his hands, her expression softens. I don't blame her. When Nathan is up there, the spotlights completely illuminate him, making his hair more golden than brown and his eyes more silver than gray. Not to mention his smile is literally lighting up his entire face now. I'm surprised people don't immediately quiet and look in his direction. Maybe off the stage, Nathan could be unassuming, but I'm starting to think he actually has a pretty big presence no matter where he is but especially when he's on the stage.

"Hey, what's up?" Nathan says, his voice booming from the speakers. All conversations stop, and everyone turns to him. "It's great to see everyone again." His eyes flicker to me, and his smile widens. "And it's nice to see new faces in the crowd." There's a round of applause and some whistles. He waits for it to die down before he continues. "If you don't know the rules, it's simple." He gestures to a clipboard hung up on the wall by the stage. "Put your name on the sign-up sheet. We'll let you know when it's your turn to come up and share whatever writing you want. Poem. Short story. Comedic routine. A song. Whatever. The only rule is don't be rude." Nathan gives a pointed look at the crowd, and that's about as threatening as I've seen him since we met. But just as quickly, his smile is back. He studies the clipboard before putting it back. "It looks like no one's signed up for the first slot, so if no one else wants to go first..." He waits a moment, watching the crowd. When no one says anything, he smiles. "I can start."

He pulls out a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and flips through it to a bookmarked page. He smiles out at the crowd. "This poem is called Finite Pressure." He takes a deep breath before reading the poem in a low, steady voice:

"Shining stars in the sky
admired by all
always seem so steadfast,
so seamlessly radiant.

But shining stars feel
more than admirers will ever know.
Gravity pulling them inwards.
Light pushing them outwards.

Yet within 10,000 years,
stars don't collapse.
Within 10,000 years,
stars will finally become
shining stars.

For another few years,
shining stars will be
at their brightest
For another few years,
shining stars will dim.

And dim.
And dim.
And dim.

Until shining stars become
dull, lifeless, empty
bodies in the distant night sky.

Not shining.
Not admired.
Not anything.

Just distant figures
that seemed infinite
finally giving into
finite pressure."

Nathan shuts the notebook, smiling out at the crowd. "Thank you."

The audience snaps and claps, some of them giving Nathan a few whistles. He lets it go on for a few seconds before grabbing the clipboard and announcing who the next performer is. He steps away from the microphone and meets them right at the edge of the semicircle of spotlights. It looks like he gives them a small pep talk, guiding them through a few breaths before clapping them on the shoulder. It's really sweet of him. I have a feeling most people wouldn't bother to do even that much.

Clara nudges me, drawing my attention back to her. "What'd you think?"

I look back at Nathan. He's giving the next performer two thumbs up with a broad, genuine smile. "I'm not sure what to say."

Clara smiles. "So you liked it then."

I laugh softly, nodding, my eyes still on Nathan as he stands by the stage. "Definitely."

Nathan glances at me. When our eyes meet across the room, he arches an eyebrow, silently asking me the same thing Clara just did. I doubt he needs my approval, but I smile for him anyway. It probably doesn't mean that much, but his smile widens as he turns back to watch the person on stage. His expression sobers as he tunes into the reading, but I can still make out the subtle smile on his face like he's satisfied knowing I liked his poem.

I'm sure everyone else is just as good as Nathan, but I can't bring myself to focus. I keep reaching for my phone to read Morgan's Messages. I feel rude not paying attention to what's happening on stage whatsoever, but my mind always seems to drift to my brother, especially since I haven't read any of our text thread today. I need to do it sometime soon, or I'll be more fidgety than I already am.

I reach for my phone and stop myself for what feels like the hundredth time when Clara takes my hand and leads me through the back door. I have to squint at the change in lighting. When my eyes adjust, I take in the cream-colored walls with brown trim. In the corner of the room, a spiral staircase leads somewhere upstairs. A minifridge with a microwave on it stands in the corner of the room between two black leather couches on either side of it, forming an L-shape with a coffee table in front of the seats. On the far side of the room, there are dark brown bookshelves lined with fairy lights, every shelf filled with books.

"Am I allowed back here?" I ask.

Clara waves me off. "Nathan's mom isn't here today." That actually answers my question pretty well. "Besides, you seemed bored out there." I'm not sure what expression I make, but she sighs, reaches into my pocket, and plucks out my phone. "You've been reaching for this since Nathan finished his poem."

I take my phone back from her, clutching it to my chest like it might stop my heart from pumping blood to my cheeks. "I didn't mean to—"

Clara puts her hand on my arm. "Hey, it's fine. I get it: poetry can be boring sometimes." That's not where I was going, but I let her explain for me. "Anyway, I gotta get back out there before Nathan throws a tantrum. But stay back here for as long as you like. If anyone questions you, tell them I brought you back here."

Clara walks back into the main room, the door swinging shut behind her. I let out a breath and sit on one of the couches, making the leather groan beneath me. I immediately open up Morgan's Messages. Any embarrassment I feel about being so attached to my phone disappears as I start to read.

Me: I think Payton Mistgold's looking for you. Correction: he just told me he's DEFINITELY looking for you.

Morgan: Tell him I'm out of state. Across the country.

Me: What'd you do?

Morgan: May or may not have dented his car with my bike.

Me: You're gonna die. I'll say nice things about you and make sure your grave doesn't get robbed.

Morgan: Haha. Funny. I'd appreciate it if you actually did something. Please.

Me: Please? Wow. You must be desperate...

Morgan: Are you gonna help me or not?

Me: I just told him you'll be at the library, so if you're not stupid, you know where to avoid.

Morgan: You're a good sister. You know that, right?

Me: The light is too bright.

Morgan: You could be more modest about it.

Me: Yeah, yeah. Update you later.

"Are you reading a poem?" I inhale sharply, almost dropping my phone. Nathan's eyes widen, and he takes a step back. He's holding a mug in each hand, but he lifts a few fingers up to show he doesn't mean any harm. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You're fine." As long as he didn't see what I was reading, that is. I turn off my screen and slide my phone into my pocket. "Is the open mic over?"

"Almost." He walks around the coffee table to sit on the other end of the couch, holding one mug out to me. "We always have a fifteen-minute break after about an hour and then we go into the second half." I nod, taking the mug from him with a quiet thank you. He nods, smiling. "What'd you think so far?"

"Everyone was really good." At least I think they were. The few snippets I caught were interesting. "There were a lot of different stories in each performance."

Nathan's smile widens. "That's why I like these nights so much, especially when someone's sharing a poem. You can interpret it any way you like from a lot of different perspectives."

I laugh. "I think a lot of English teachers would disagree with you."

He rolls his eyes. "Well, I disagree with them. I know the poet's perspective is the 'right' one, but the reader should relate to the poem however they want to, you know?"

"Sure, but... not in English class."

He laughs, taking a sip from his mug. "Okay, Mona..." He sits back. "Which performance was your favorite?"

"I'd say yours." It's the only one I really listened to after all.

His eyes light up, but he tries to hide his smile with another sip. "You don't have to say that just to make me feel good about myself."

I shake my head, shifting to face him. "No. I mean it. I liked yours a lot."

Nathan lets himself smile this time. "Thanks. What did you think it was about?"

"From my point of view? I think it's about burning yourself out after trying to please everyone, including yourself."

He nods slowly. "Interesting take."

If the way his eyes dim a little is any indication, I don't think I interpreted it the way he meant to write it. But it doesn't feel like he's disappointed. If anything, it feels like he genuinely thinks my interpretation is interesting and something worth considering.

"Honestly, though," he continues, "it wasn't my best poem." What? He has to be joking. He laughs at my expression. "I'm serious. I usually don't share the better ones on open mic nights because they're more personal. If it's one-on-one, then I'm fine with it."

His eyes widen a little as they meet mine. A smile plays on his lips, and he leans towards me. Okay, I guess I'll take the hint. "Do you mind sharing your better poems with me?"

His smile widens. "Not at all." He practically slams his mug down on the coffee table and bolts up the spiral staircase. I smile, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. I'm seeing a lot of sides to Nathan tonight, and they're all interesting. Plus, this gives me more time to read Morgan's Messages again. But I guess Nathan's a lot more excited to share his poems with me than I think because he comes back before I can even reach for my phone. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe reading too much in one day will stop me from feeling empty, but it'll make me too... guilt-ridden... and get rid of this warmth in my chest.

Nathan settles on the couch beside me again, leaving less space between us than last time. He flips through the pages. His eyes darken and lighten with certain poems, and he keeps flipping until he finds one he really likes. He hands the notebook to me, tapping the left side. I set my mug down before taking the notebook from him. The title is Eta Carinae.

"That's a star, right?" I ask.

Surprise flashes across his face. His expression settles into a mixture of amusement and approval. "Yeah. It is."

His eyes linger on me for a second longer, and I have to glance away, the warmth becoming a little too much for me. I shake my head and focus on the poem.

Nothing is supposed
to last forever.
Nothing is supposed
to stay for millions of years.

But you did.

You didn't dim.
You exploded.
You didn't give
in to pressure.
You were pressure.

From giving energy
to forcing it.
From providing warmth
to abusing it.
From being a shining star
to becoming a destructive mass.

You exploded.
You destroyed.
You're supposed to be gone.
You're supposed to disappear
with the mess you made.

But you choose to stay.
You choose to remain.
You choose to be
one of the brightest
lights in the darkening sky,
oblivious to the mess you made.

I blink, staring at the poem. That was... huh... I can see what Nathan means by better poem. When I glance at him, he looks at me with a little more apprehension than he did after reading Finite Pressure. I guess that must mean this really is a more personal poem.

Clara walks into the room before I can tell him my thoughts. "Hey, fifteen minutes is almost—Why are you making her read poems?"

Nathan rolls his eyes. "She asked to read them."

Clara makes a face. "Or you guilted her into reading them."

Nathan rolls his eyes again and he turns back to me with that apprehensive smile. "So what'd you think?"

I skim over the poem. "It's definitely better than the one you read aloud."

He sits back against the couch, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Does it make sense that I'm offended?"

Clara scoffs. "It really doesn't."

"I wish I could..." I begin, hoping to prevent an argument. Now that I know how they interact, I know there's definitely one coming. But in the middle of my sentence, I realize I don't know how to end it. I settle with, "write like you do."

Nathan gives me a quizzical smile. "You don't have to write like I do."

Clara bites her thumbnail. "Not that you would want to write exactly like him."

They share a look. It's not the usual teasing hatred. It's not even teasing, but I don't want to say it's pure hatred. Just... frustrated...

Nathan recovers first, smiling at me. "You just write how you feel and that's all that matters."

"I don't really have time to write," I say.

"You ice skate." Clara flashes me a smile. "Really well, too."

I shake my head. "It's been a while. I'm really rusty."

Clara gives me an incredulous look, leaning back like that'll help her get a clearer view of me. "I don't think someone that's rusty can do a triple axel."

"Double," I correct. "I can't do a triple."

I still remember Morgan laughing every time I've fallen attempting a triple axel. Not that he could do it either. Which meant I got to laugh at him when he tried, too. Kassie, Leah, and Jason always thought it was cruel of us, but it was just how we were. And it wasn't like we didn't help each other up afterward. But thinking back to it now, maybe I should've helped him up a little sooner every single time.

Clara makes a face. "Mona, that's still pretty amazing."

I shrug, playing with the edges of the notebook. "Thanks."

"Knowing how to ice skate, in general, is pretty amazing," Nathan adds. "Especially to someone that's never even tried it before."

My head whips in his direction. "Never?" Is that possible? I look at Clara and she nods, confirming it for me. I look back to Nathan. "Don't you want to try?"

His eyes light up. "I'll go ice skating if you try to write a poem afterward."

Clara laughs, clapping her hands together. "I have to see this."

They both look at me, and it feels like my heart stops. I try not to fold in on myself. It's not like I've never written a poem before, but it's not something that comes naturally to me. Especially if I have to put feelings behind it. But having Nathan skate...

"Sounds fair," I agree.

Nathan scoffs. "Define fair. You won't get hurt trying to write a poem."

I laugh, but I know deep down that's not entirely true.