Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(75)

Is this where Lena goes every week? If so, why is she coming to work in a bakery that doesn’t seem to be a working bakery? Is this why Lena didn’t want Jenny to come, because it’s where she and this other girl meet? Are they inside even now, doing what Lena and Jenny have done together? Jenny feels sick. She wants to knock. Wants to demand answers. But how would she explain following Lena? She’s truly stuck. Anke’s words come back to her: It’s you who will have the problems.



* * *



It takes Jenny a long time to fall asleep. She keeps seeing Lena and the blond girl. When she finally drifts off, her dreams are frantic. In them, she’s running after Lena in the foggy streets but she can never quite catch her. Every time she gets close, Lena turns around and it’s someone else entirely.

The next morning, Jenny runs into Frau Hermann on the stairs. Jenny is sure she looks tired after her bad night, but Frau Hermann is positively beaming. There’s a new light in her eyes.

“Jenny! How nice to see you! I have exciting news. Can you come for tea tomorrow?”

“I’m supposed to spend time with my friend Lena.” Unless she’s off in a fake bakery making out with some braided blond chick.

“Bring her along! I’ll make something special for all of us. The tree has borne fruit!” Frau Hermann says, and enters the apartment building singing.





BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.


HALLOWEEN 2019

The costume party is at a fancy brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. Some friend from Chloe’s private school. Miles always feels awkward around superrich kids like these who go skiing in Aspen and spend spring break in the Bahamas. Chloe is late, as usual, and Miles is standing on the periphery of the packed living room while a group of girls dressed as some kind of Coachella version of fairies twirls and vapes on the dance floor to Cardi B. Either the rich parents aren’t home or they’re upstairs on another floor, checked out. Mama D and Mom Lisa would have a fit.

Miles has come dressed as John Wayne Gacy, but no one gets it. A floppy-haired dude lifts his beer in salute and laughs. “Heyyy, sad clown! All right!”

“Okay, but why does everyone assume I’m a sad clown?” he says to Chloe later. They are sitting on the brownstone’s front stoop, a bowl of mini candies on the step between them as they watch a hallucinatory parade of trick-or-treaters pass by. Chloe has come dressed as a Twister game, complete with a spinner handbag she’s made out of cardboard. Miles has washed off most of his Pogo the Clown makeup except for the blue triangles around his eyes, which will take something stronger than soap and water and half a roll of toilet paper in a stranger’s bathroom to remove.

“All clowns are sad,” she says, half chewing a Swedish Fish. “Fact.”

“Disagree. Clowns have unlimited access to balloon animals. You cannot be sad at that.”

A pack of kids dressed as witches, ghosts, and various Marvel superheroes approaches, shouting, “Trick or treat!” Chloe drops a bite-sized candy bar into each of their plastic sacks with a cheery “Happy Halloween!” and they trot down the rain-slicked block in search of the next payday. “Man. Weird to think this is our last Halloween before we scatter. You know?”

Miles doesn’t like thinking about the future. Or a future without Chloe nearby. He feels braver when she’s around, like the best version of himself.

“Mama D says there’s a moment when you become present tense.”

Chloe looks confused.

“Like, there is a moment when you sort of wake up. When you can’t ignore who you really are or what’s happening around you,” he explains.

“I don’t know. Feels like our lives are too present tense now. One big scroll of homework and college prep and keeping up on social media with no time to really just … be and think and screw up.”

“I hear that’s what happens once you graduate,” Miles jokes.

“Oh my god—I just bought my graduation dress. Bonus: Joyce hates it.” Chloe does a little butt scoot dance on the step.

“A twofer.” Miles fishes in the bucket and comes up with a tiny packet of SweeTarts. “Is it a cone bra with tassels? You can tell me.”

“That would be amaaaazing,” Chloe says with a laugh. “It’s a vintage fifties prom dress. It’s poufy and aqua. Found it at the thrift store for eighteen bucks.” Chloe launches into an imitation of her mom: “Honey, why don’t you let me take you to Bloomie’s? We can get you something nice.”

Miles is glad he doesn’t have these issues with the Moms Squared.

“God. She is so Talbots,” Chloe says.

“What’s that mean?”

“Imagine if uptight were a clothing store.”

“I’m sure you’ll look awesome in it,” he says.

Chloe leans back and looks at Miles. She’s wearing an expression he can’t decipher.

“What?” he says. It feels weird, this scrutiny.

“Daria asked me who you were.”

“Who’s Daria?”

“Catwoman outfit?”

Miles noticed her, of course. The slinky bodysuit hugged every curve. “Oh. Right.”

“She said she thinks you’re hot. Actually, what she said was ‘He reminds me of that guy from that one show.’” Chloe snorts. “Yeah. She’s not exactly future valedictorian material.”