Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(7)

Jenny snorted. “So glad you approve.”

Lena smirked appreciatively. “Okay. You have a little punk in you, maybe. That’s good.”

Lena’s acceptance made Jenny happy, though she didn’t know why.

One of the punks called out, “Hey, Lena! Stop flirting. Wir gehen D?ner essen!”

Lena kept her eyes on Jenny while she flipped him the bird. “So. Have you seen much of Berlin?”

Jenny liked the way she said the name of the city, with the accent on the first syllable—BEARlin—and not the last, the way Americans would say it.

“No. We just moved here.”

Lena’s eyebrows shot up. One side of her mouth quirked into a half smile. “Ja? You should let me show you around. Be your tour guide!”

“I don’t have any money.”

Lena grunted. “Not for money. I’m not a capitalist pig.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“You can make it up to me by buying me cigarettes?” Lena grinned full-out. She had the widest smile Jenny had ever seen. It seemed to take up half of her face. “Come on. Let’s go to the kiosk and then, I show you the city.”

“Now? But we just met. I don’t even know you.” This girl was so pushy. Jenny was both intrigued and put off.

“This is how you’ll get to know me.” Lena looked up at Jenny through her eyelashes and pursed her lips playfully for a second. “Do you want to see the real Berlin like a true photographer or no?”

The real Berlin. For a moment, the phrase made Jenny think she could have a life that wasn’t arranged and controlled by her parents. She’d have stories to tell when she got back to Dallas. “Yes. I do. But not today. I have to go to German class.”

“Wo ist die Toilette?” Lena said with exaggerated formality. “Psssht. German class? Worthless. I’ll teach you the real German, too. Okay?”

“Lena! Lass uns gehen!!” the boxer punk pleaded.

“Warte eine minute!” Lena turned back to Jenny. “You have a pen, Dallas?”

This is absurd, Jenny thought. She and this girl had nothing in common, but maybe that was just what Jenny needed. From her bag, she took out a pen and a tiny notebook and handed them over.

“Turn around,” Lena instructed. “I need something to write on.”

Jenny bent forward. Lena leaned into her back to steady the piece of paper. Jenny’s skin tickled with the motion. When she’d finished, Lena curled Jenny’s fingers around the paper and her stomach did a strange, buzzy flip. “That’s where I live. Come tomorrow and I will start your Berlin education.”

“What time?”

Lena shrugged. “As long as it’s after noon, nobody cares. Next corner is ein Briefkasten, uh, what do you Americans call it? Postbox? For your letter. There must be some truth to that legend about the tree, Dallas. Today, it brought us together, ja?”

“My name isn’t Dallas.”

“It is now.” Lena grinned.

Jenny had only been tipsy once in her life, but the feeling she had now was like that sensation of floating warmth. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

Lena grinned. “Unless there’s a revolution first!”





BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.


SPRING 2020

On their respective laptops, Miles and Danny watch their favorite livestream gamer lay waste to a village of medieval zombie peasants. Since the shutdown, this has been their routine two nights a week.

Danny laughs into Miles’s headset. “Dude! That was inSAAANNNEEE! How does he do that?”

“He’s Roller20, man. He is not of mortal stock.”

Miles’s phone lights up with several rapid-fire texts.

ChloeintheDark: Hey.

ChloeintheDark: How are you?

ChloeintheDark: So bored I’m watching Grade D serial killer docs on Netflix.

“We should have our own gamer channel, dude,” Danny says, stretching his arms overhead. “We could be millionaires before we can legally drink.”

ChloeintheDark: Seriously, though. You okay?

ChloeintheDark: Wanna FaceTime?

Miles’s thumbs hover above his phone’s keyboard like they’ve forgotten their evolutionary purpose. His heart gets the message, though; it’s kicked into fight-or-flight mode.

“Sorry, DanMan. Just remembered an essay that’s due tomorrow. Later.”

Seconds later, Miles opens his phone camera. His face stares back at him: shaggy pandemic hair poking out in cowlicked arcs. T-shirt stained with Dorito-orange dust from where he used it as a napkin earlier. Nothing to do about that now.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

His thumbs remember what to do.

Miles2Go: Sure.

Within seconds, she calls. He takes three deep breaths, hits accept. Chloe’s face comes to life on his phone screen. She’s wearing an open hoodie over a boygenius tee. A new streak of turquoise coats her bangs, which have grown long during lockdown.

She half smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey!” Miles says with more enthusiasm than he’d meant to allow. “Hair looks cool.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Chloe strokes the colorful fringe self-consciously. “I don’t know. It was something to do.”