Me: Someone's looking for you again.

Morgan: Is it Payton? I swear I apologized.

Me: No. It's Kassie.

Morgan: Tell her I'm not around.

Me: Out of state? Across the country?

Morgan: Please and thank you.

Me: What's up?

Morgan: What do you mean?

Me: You know what I mean.

Morgan: I'm sure you already know.

Me: That Kassie has a crush on you? Like Leah a few months ago? Yeah. I know.

Morgan: Then why are you asking?

Me: Why didn't you tell me?

Morgan: I don't need to tell you EVERYTHING. But since you asked, can you tell her no? For me? Please?

Me: You mean like I did with Leah? And she stopped talking to me for months?

Morgan: Please? I'll owe you forever.

Me: So now you'll owe me two times infinity? How does that work?

Morgan: I don't know. But I'll figure it out.

Me: Fine. But you really do owe me two times infinity now.

Morgan: I think the shadow's gone.

Me: Whatever. I'll tell you how it goes.

I put my phone away when Clara climbs out onto the roof, dumping new snacks into the basket. Instead of sitting back down, she looks at her watch and sighs.

"I gotta go." She glances at me. "Wanna come to work with me? It's been pretty bearable with you there."

I smile. "Sure. I don't mind."

Clara beams. "You are the absolute best."

My smile is caught somewhere between broadening and wavering. Clara's voice is dripping with sincerity, so I know she means it, but if anyone has ever said that to me before, it's been a pretty long time. Even if I heard it on a daily basis now, it doesn't feel true. Almost like hearing Hannah tell Mom and Dad that I've been "just perfect."

I push the feelings away and follow Clara back into the building. We make sure to shut the window and turn the security system back on before heading to Poems and Tales. Clara fills up most of the silence, but every now and then, she'll try to direct the conversation to me. I manage to keep my responses to a minimum of a sentence or two without making her too suspicious.

We're just passing by the park when someone calls Clara's name. We pause and turn as a little girl waves at her. A woman and two other boys follow the girl's gaze. They all have cinnamon-brown hair to match their cinnamon-brown eyes. The oldest boy is around Kate's age, and his siblings—I'm assuming—are a couple of years younger or so.

The little girl waves both hands above her head, jumping up and down. "Hi, Clara!"

Clara laughs, waving back. "Hey, Audrey."

It looks like Audrey is about to come running toward us, but the woman—probably her mom—stops her, giving me and Clara an apologetic look. It's hard to tell with the distance between us, but it looks like her eyes settle on Clara specifically. There's the slightest dip in the atmosphere as Clara looks back. But just as quickly, she's smiling and nodding at the woman before she turns away and keeps walking to Poems and Tales.

I spare one last glance at the woman. It looks like she's trying to talk her daughter down from a meltdown while her sons look after Clara. The oldest's eyes are narrowed while his brother seems a little more contemplative if little kids could be contemplative.

I run to catch up with Clara. "Do you know them?"

She shrugs, staring straight ahead. "Kind of. We've talked a few times, but I wouldn't say we're close. I always like seeing close siblings, though." Her eyebrows furrow for a second before she smiles at me. "Kind of like you and your sisters."

It's my turn to shrug. "We can be close sometimes. Not all the time, though."

We're not that close anymore. Not after Morgan died.

"But you are," Clara insists. "Maybe not all the time because—" she snorts "—what siblings are close all the time? But at least you and your sisters all like the same thing and can bond over it whenever you want. Like ice skating."

Only because Morgan was there. The back of my eyes starts to burn, and a lump forms in my throat. I can't think about this right now.

I swallow and clear my throat. When I'm sure my voice isn't going to break, I ask, "Do you have any siblings?"

Clara shakes her head. "No. I guess that's why I'm weirdly obsessed with them."

"I mean..." I shrug. "You kind of do have a sibling." She gives me a questioning look. "Nathan."

Clara makes a face. "I would not want to be related to someone as weird as him." We pause outside the café and peer into the window together. Nathan is sitting on one of the stools at the counter, scribbling away in a journal. Clara narrows her eyes. "Look at him. Being all poetic." She looks at me. "Do you see me as poetic?" Before I can respond, she holds up a hand. "I'm absolutely not. So I don't think I can be related to Nathan. Or even want to be related to him."

I nod slowly. A smile plays on my lips, but it also comes with a weight on my chest. Even if Clara's adamant that they can't be siblings, it just confirms to me that they might as well be siblings.

Clara must read the thought on my face because she narrows her eyes and turns away with a playful huff. She throws the door open and heads straight for the counter. Nathan glances up. His eyes slide right over Clara to me.

He sits up a little straighter. "Are you okay?"

Clara whirls around to see what Nathan means. All her indignation from earlier is gone, and now she's narrowing her eyes at me for an entirely different reason. They remain narrowed even as she addresses a customer who nervously keeps his eyes on the counter.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I dismiss, sitting on the stool next to Nathan. "Just tired."

He frowns. "You didn't get in trouble last night, did you?"

I shake my head. "No." Hannah just doesn't trust me now, and it feels like she never really trusted me the entire time I've been staying with her. "My sister's worried about me staying out so late, so I might not be able to be out as long as I was last night."

Nathan nods. "When do you have to be home now?"

Hannah never actually specified... "Not sure. I guess whenever someone texts or calls me."

Nathan smiles. "Well, it's barely afternoon. So what do you want to do?"

"Ice skate." Nathan stiffens, and I have to stop myself from laughing. "But we don't have to." He lets out a breath. "We can go to the park and hang out."

Clara straightens and looks at Nathan. She doesn't look away, waiting for him to turn to her. When he does, a silent conversation passes between them. Lots of widening eyes and meaningful looks. Whatever it's about, Nathan ends up suggesting, "Let's go upstairs instead. It's warmer."

Clara studies Nathan for a second, her eyes flickering between a lighter and darker shade of brown. In the end, she shakes her head like she's trying to clear her thoughts and smiles at Nathan. "Great. Let's go."

She starts to move towards the back door. She barely takes a step when Nathan adds, "We'll be reading poems."

She glares at him. "You're just saying that so I don't come with you guys."

Nathan gestures at the counter. "You have a job to do."

"And?"

"And you should do it."

Clara lets out a breath and rolls her eyes, settling back behind the counter. "I'm only listening because I want to get paid."

Nathan nods, shooting me an amused look. "Right."

He heads to the back door. I stay behind for a second, glancing at Clara. Despite her obvious annoyance, she smiles at me. "You go have... Well, not fun because it's poetry. But you go ahead."

I laugh, making her smile widen. I wave as I catch up with Nathan. He leads me up the spiraling staircase in the back room to an apartment above the café. The walls are baby blue, and it looks like there are framed poems all over the place. A coffee table with a lower shelf filled with stacks of journals sits in the middle of the room. Behind it is a gray couch pushed against the wall where a woman sits with a journal on her lap and a pencil in hand. She looks up when we reach the landing.

"Clara's downstairs," Nathan says before she can get a word out. "And everything's fine before you ask."

"And this is?" she asks, smiling at me.

Nathan gestures between me and the woman. "Mom, this is Mona. Mona, this is my mom."

She places her journal on top of the coffee table and gets to her feet. She holds her hand out to me. "It's nice to meet you, Mona."

I take her hand in mine. "It's nice to meet you, too, Mrs—"

She waves me off. "Call me Megan." She pulls her hand back and eyes Nathan. "So what brings you two up here and away from your job, Nathan?"

So much for telling Clara she has a job to do... But Nathan smiles at his mom like he's not being scolded. "You don't pay me, so it's not a job. And we wanted to read and write up here."

Megan arches an eyebrow, planting her hands on her hips. "Are you about to add 'if that's okay with you?'"

Nathan shrugs. "Is it?"

His mom narrows her eyes, but even then, she sighs, dropping her hands to her sides. "You're lucky I understand."

He nods. "Yeah. I know." She smiles, ruffling Nathan's hair as she passes us, disappearing downstairs. When it's just me and Nathan, I glance at him, and he shrugs at me. "Owner's son privileges."

I laugh. "Clearly."

He smiles and excuses himself before going down a hallway. I walk towards some of the framed poems and skim them. It's easy to tell which ones are Nathan's and which ones are—I'm guessing—his mom's. Sometimes by handwriting. Sometimes by the poem itself.

"Yeah, we're weird," Nathan says, coming back into the room. "Poems always seemed more important than pictures to us."

"Makes sense." I turn to face him. "I'm guessing you're not the type of person to think a picture is worth more than words?"

Nathan shuffles the two journals in his hands. "Well..." His eyes darken a little, and for a moment, they're not silver. They're the color of storm clouds. "Depends on the picture or the words, I guess..." There's a slight pause before he blinks and shakes his head. His eyes go back to that glimmering silver color, and he smiles at me. "Anyway..."

He gestures to the couch. I sit on one end, and I expect Nathan to sit on the other end, but he sits right next to me, leaving an inch of distance between us. He holds up both journals. One of them is the journal I wrote in yesterday, and the other one is a journal I haven't seen before.

"Do you want to read or write?" he asks.

I know I definitely don't want to write down more of my thoughts, but... "You're still okay with sharing your poems one-on-one with me?"

Nathan blinks, sitting up. "Uh... yeah?" He laughs. "I told you I'm fine with it."

I offer him a smile. "I know you love sharing your poems, but I just want to make sure you're still okay with sharing them with me since they're personal and all."

He shrugs, flipping through a journal. "I don't mind sharing them with you." He smiles at me. "You're insightful, so it's fun talking about poems with you even if they're personal to me."

I can't tell if this means he trusts me or not. Maybe he just wants a good conversation and a new perspective since he's so adamant about readers being entitled to their own views. The latter would make more sense, but something about Nathan trusting me despite only knowing me for a few days... It's nice knowing that someone can trust me at all. That I'm trustworthy in general...

"Mona?" Nathan asks, his eyebrows furrowing. "Are you okay?"

I nod, shifting. I look away and tuck my hair behind my ear. "Yeah. I'm okay." I take a deep breath and turn back to him with a smile. "So are you gonna read to me?"

He studies me a second longer before nodding. He shifts a little closer to me and starts reading aloud. Reading it to myself would have been one thing, but hearing Nathan read aloud is another. His voice makes the poems feel more real with his changing tones and emphasis on certain words. It's like the open mic all over again. After a while, I shut my eyes to fully take in the sound of his voice.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

I open my eyes, pausing for a second when I realize he's looking right at me. I swallow and look down at my hands. "Just that you're a good reader."

He smiles. "Thanks. For a second, I thought you were bored."

"Why?"'

"You seem distracted." He shuts the journal. "We can stop the poems altogether if you want to." He hesitates before adding, "We can even go ice skating."

He cringes as he says it. I guess I shouldn't make him do something he doesn't want to do... right away... "Maybe one more poem before we go. I want Clara to come with us, too."

Nathan lets out a breath. "It might take a while for Clara to get off her shift, but whatever you want."

More like whatever he wants.

He starts reading again. I peek at the page. This one is called More Than One.

"Sol.
Helios.
The Sun.

One thing.
More than one name.
More than one purpose.

Sol.
Helios.
The Sun.

Keeps the planets in place.
Warms the earth.
Provides oxygen from a distance.

Sol.
Helios.
The Sun.

Has more than one purpose,
more than one name,
but it is one thing.

One thing that helps.
One thing that is admired.
One thing to keep everything in check.

But Sol,
Helios,
The Sun
won't be around forever.

Sol,
Helios,
The Sun
has more than one name
and eventually will have only
one purpose:

To explode."

"Why do all your poems have stars in them? Or involve astronomy?" I ask.

Nathan closes the journal. "You noticed?"

I shrug, crossing my legs and leaning against the armrest of the couch. "It's hard to miss."

His expression tells me most people do miss it. It's quickly replaced with something more contemplative and... impressed. Like he really does think I'm being insightful just for noticing.

He sits back against the couch and looks towards the ceiling. "I guess to me, stars just seem so... distant but close. They can represent so much. Mean different things. In English class—" he rolls his eyes "—it'll probably represent hope or whatever. But I think stars can mean so much more than that. Yeah, hope is one of them, but—again—it's up to the reader to decide."

I gesture to him. "What about the writer?"

He audibly takes in a breath like he wasn't prepared for someone to directly ask him for his perspective. The question must really catch him off guard because he speaks slowly like he's thinking of the answer as he goes. "For me, stars can mean hope. They can mean other things, too, like something I want. Something to strive for." His eyebrows furrow and his voice becomes a little softer as he finishes with, "Something I can't have."

I sit up, shifting to face Nathan more. "And stars are everywhere for you?"

He nods. "Yeah. They're... falling so to speak."

"Like you're losing hope?"

"No." Nathan sits up and shifts to face me, too. "Not exactly. It's like..." He gestures with both hands, rotating them in a circle like it'll help him find the right description. "It's like... they're getting closer to me. I always follow them, but they could follow me, too."

"So they're not falling..." I look up and off to the side, nodding to myself as the thought solidifies. "They're... trailing." Yeah. I think that sounds right. I look back at Nathan. "They're trailing. Until you can reach them."

A smile plays at his lips, and there's a gleam in his eyes. "Yeah. Trailing. Until I can reach them." He pauses. "Or they're just taunting me. For what I can't have, I mean."

Me too. "Like what?"

A series of expressions flashes across Nathan's face. They go by too quickly for me to identify any of them, and Nathan's usual calm look comes back a moment later. "Like how to ice skate. Speaking of which, we should change that and see if I can talk my mom into letting Clara off her shift early."

That's not the truth, and no matter how bad it feels knowing Nathan really only wanted a good conversation and doesn't really trust me, who am I to make him tell me the truth when I'm not willing to tell him the truth? But at the same time, the weight that always seems to be on my chest doubles down. When Nathan stands to leave, I can't help but follow him and accept his answer. No matter how guilty I feel for it.