“How’s it going?” Kevin asks one of the guys.
“The show’s just starting,” he replies. “The hundred-inch is open tonight if you want to see it.”
“I’ve got a clear view of Jupiter over here,” someone calls out.
Kevin steers me over to a scope. I peer through the eyepiece at a gray-striped ball. “This is so cool. Isn’t Jupiter supposed to have a big spot on it?”
“Red spot’s not visible tonight,” someone says, “but if you look to the left, you can see two of the moons.”
The moons are shiny pinheads. Kevin guides me to another scope. “I can’t believe it,” I say, peering into the eyepiece. “Saturn really does have rings.”
Kevin beams at me, then scans the sky. “Come on. Let’s find a good place to watch for meteors.”
The night is washed with stars. We leave the party behind and veer off onto a quiet walkway. “We really lucked out,” Kevin says. “The night’s clear, and the moon’s not up.”
We come to a bench, and he sets down the blanket. He takes another look at the sky before he places his hands on my shoulders and gently turns me. Then he leans over my shoulder until our cheeks are side by side.
The heat radiating from his skin makes my pulse flutter. I don’t trust myself to look at him or move my head even a little. He points to Orion and swings his hand to the left. “See those two bright stars?” he says. “Those are Castor and Pollux in the Gemini constellation.”
I stare at the stars, which blaze like far-off candles. My skin sparks as Kevin’s curls tickle my cheek, and I can barely concentrate on what he’s saying.
Kevin circles his hand in the direction of the constellation. “The meteor shower will look as if it radiates from there, hence the name Geminids. But we’re the ones passing through the debris field of the extinct rock comet 320 Phaethon. Chunks of cast-off rock hit our atmosphere and ignite.”
I try to imagine the sky the way Kevin sees it. “So it’s like a cosmic dodgeball game.”
He laughs and moves around me so we’re standing shoulder to shoulder. He scans the sky above us and I take my hand out of my pocket, hoping he’ll reach for it.
Then a silver streak cuts across the sky. “I see one!” I cry.
Kevin looks to where I’m pointing. “Good eyes. I’m glad I brought you.”
I blush, but I’m sure he can’t tell, it’s so dark out. “Me too.”
A minute or two later, another star streaks by, then another. The meteors start coming faster until it’s like a fireworks show. I bounce on my toes counting one, two, three, four at once.
“This is amazing!” I grab Kevin’s arm. “We need to make wishes.”
“Okay.” Kevin closes his eyes like he’s thinking, and I jiggle his arm. “No. You have to keep your eyes open.”
He breaks into a grin. “I didn’t know there was a pro-tocol.”
I grin right back at him. “I can’t believe your sisters didn’t teach you it.”
He weaves his fingers into mine and we turn back to the sky. I pin a wish to each falling star. I wish for Kevin’s dad to be okay and my troubles with Krell to end. I wish for the faculty to applaud my vision in Seen/Not Seen. And I wish for Kevin and me to be more than friends.
Each meteor that streaks by, I tag it, silently repeating my wishes again and again.
Then the sky goes still, and Kev and I wait, our breaths making little clouds. Nearby people are clapping. “Do you think it’s over?” I say. “Did we pass out of the debris field?”
He moves around in front of me until we’re standing face-to-face. He gazes into my eyes, and I hold my breath as his arms circle me and slip down to my waist. “I don’t think it’s over,” he whispers. “I think it’s just beginning.”
I’m trembling as I reach behind his neck and draw him close and rest my lips on his.
Our kisses are sweet and star-blessed, and they feel so different and right, because now I’m kissing Kevin, the guy I should have been kissing all along.
Before Kevin said good night, he asked if I’d proofread his paper for Color & Theory. With Krell out of town and his class canceled, we meet in the student lounge before Newsom’s class and swap laptops. We’re stretched out on a couch, shoes off, our feet resting on a coffee table. Every so often Kev traces a circle on my jeans with his pinkie and we smile at each other.
His paper on how the chemistry of pigments has changed over the ages and revolutionized art is so engrossing, I can’t believe I’m reading history and liking it. When I get to the end, I’ve got a handful of comments, but Kevin is only halfway through mine.
I take out my phone and scroll through the news while I wait for him to finish. Art Basel Miami opened yesterday, and I’ve been holding my breath, praying Krell won’t notice Duncan’s a fake.
Today, Krell’s on everyone’s radar. Four interviews already this morning and they all feature photos of him and Barry Ankarian standing in front of Duncan. Every time I see the words “masterpiece” or “magnum opus,” I feel sick. People are calling Duncan a turning point in Krell’s artistic career.
I zoom in. The cameraman’s floodlights are trained on the painting, making the flaws so obvious, I don’t get why Krell doesn’t see them.
I twist a strand of hair around my finger until it hurts. The patch Adam painted on Duncan’s shoulder? It’s a big, messy blob. At some point in the next three days, Krell’s got to notice it.
Kevin looks up from my laptop. “What’s going on, Sabine?”
“What do you mean?” I say, pretending I didn’t catch the serious tone in his voice.
“You’ve been really tense the last couple weeks. Is it all the stuff that’s due or…that other thing we talked about?”
I peer at him, unsure what he means, but instead of explaining, he peels off his glasses and starts wiping them on his shirt. He’s so determined not to look at me that I realize he must be talking about Iona. I force out a smile. “Actually, I think I’ve come up with a way to fix the thing with Iona Taylor.”
“Oh yeah?” His expression brightens. Kev might be even more eager than I am to have this disaster behind me.
“Yeah. I offered to paint her portrait since I can’t replace the dress. Her assistant thinks it’s a good solution. I’m just waiting to hear back from her.”
Kevin leans over and gives me a quick kiss. “That’s great. I’m happy for you,” he says, then goes back to reading my paper.
I go back to my phone and pull up the last photo of Krell with Duncan. Can’t he see how the subject’s eye isn’t right? All those months he spent painting, he’s got to.
My head starts to throb. Maybe Krell has noticed the flaws but he’s in denial. He could be telling himself that those areas that look off, they’re his mistakes. Why think someone might have forged his painting when no one else had seen it until the reception at CALINVA two weeks ago?
I press my fingers to my temple. This could all be over by Friday. Krell will be back in LA. The art fair will be winding down and Duncan will be crated up, ready to go to its permanent home.