Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(92)
Chloe writes the names on the whiteboard along with question marks.
“Who’s barn owl?” Chloe says.
“I don’t know but it doesn’t sound like it went well for them,” Miles says.
“God. This is so heartbreaking. They saved all of these people and they’ve just been lost to history.”
“Not if we figure it all out,” Miles says.
“Yeah. You’re right. Ugh. I need sustenance!” Chloe stops to eat some hummus. A little of it sticks to the side of her mouth but Miles doesn’t tell her. He finds it endearing. “Speaking of sustenance, remember that cool thing I read about forests?”
This is one of the things Miles loves about Chloe, the way she ping-pongs from subject to subject and everybody else just has to catch up.
“So there’s, like, fungi underground in the forest soil. And it’s like this network that can stretch for miles. It’s actually a phenomenon called mycorrhizal networks.”
“Now that is a good band name. We’d never be able to spell it on the T-shirts, but whatever.”
She smiles and chomps down on more pita. “If a tree isn’t doing well, other stronger trees will use that mycorrhizal network underground to nourish and support it. They will look after that tree that needs help. The stronger trees chow down on sunlight, and through photosynthesis, they produce sugar, which they share with the fungi at their roots. Then the fungi use that energy to scavenge for nutrients in the soil, which they feed back to the trees. But also, they don’t compete for resources. They share. If a young tree can’t get enough sun or isn’t doing so well, the other trees and the fungi literally feed these trees their own sugar so that they’ll survive.”
“No egos in trees. No one-percenters.”
“Total team players. Even trees from different species. Like, an oak will help a pine tree who will help a beech tree. They know they need to help each other to survive and thrive. For the good of the forest. And then one day, those trees will grow up and return the favor to the next generation of saplings.”
It’s such a Chloe thing to say. Science-y and optimistic. The hope of it pushes away Miles’s fear. “I think I’ve revised what I want to be when I grow up. I now want to be a tree.”
“Yeah. Same.”
They go quiet in their respective rooms. It’s not an awkward quiet, just a pause. Like they’re both on the ghost train in Spirited Away, calmly staring out at the endless sea. At last, Chloe says, “Do you think we can change things?”
Miles freezes. Does she mean between them? “I changed my underwear today,” he says, stalling for time.
“I meant effect change, smart-ass. Our generation. I look around at everything—climate change, all the shootings, everybody screaming at each other on the internet—and … it just feels daunting. Hopeless.”
“Yeah, it does. But things were life-and-death bleak for Sophie and Hanna and still they fought back. They made a difference,” Miles says.
Chloe nods. “Yeah. They did.”
WEST BERLIN.
SUMMER 1980
Jenny is down to her last bribe. It’s a Hardy Boys iron-on T-shirt transfer of feathered-haired Shaun Cassidy and Parker Stevenson looking movie-star handsome. Richard had given it to her as a joke for her birthday last year: “There’s a Hardy Boy for each boob—the Hardy Boobs!”
“You’re sure your parents won’t ask questions?” Martina asks. She’s wearing the Bonne Bell. Jenny can smell the artificial bubblegum sweetness.
“They’re hosting another dinner party. As long as I’m home by nine tomorrow morning to take Alison swimming so they can get to their tennis lesson, they don’t care,” Jenny promises. She’ll have to get up by eight to get back across town in time but it’s worth it to have a night with Lena.
Martina takes the shirt. “Okay. But also, you have to take pictures of me for my modeling portfolio.”
It’s after ten when Jenny arrives at the squat. This party is much wilder than the last. A-Blitz has brought in some skinheads he smoked with outside a U-Bahn station. They’re a rougher breed of punk than Jenny has met. One of them says something nasty about “those Turks” and gives Zehra a hard stare, and Anke tells them to cut it out or leave. Anke’s worried that the police will be called if the party gets too loud. They’ve been breaking up parties lately and using it as an excuse to clear buildings and reclaim them. Two days ago, they forced their way into a squat with a battering ram. Ten uniformed officers armed with bully sticks swarmed inside. In the resulting protest, a student was killed. It’s the last days of summer; there’s something ugly sneaking in the door.
But Lena is her usual peacock self. She struts through the party, beer bottle in one hand, lit cigarette dangling from the Sharpie-tattooed fingers of the other, mouth moving like she’s setting a land-speed record for telling outrageous stories of the Berlin streets. Jenny’s heart squeezes in her chest, trying to contain her outsized feelings. When Lena sees her and yells, “Dallas! You made it!” Jenny’s heart gives up its battle with the rational. She is completely, hopelessly in love and every feeling she’s tried to hold back races through her at once in a great warm spill.
They dance. They sing. They drink. At one point, the whole band is on the roof howling at the moon. “We should do a song that is just wolf howling,” Lena says, possessed by the idea.