Parallel

was a mortal like Cygnus, but his father, Apollo, was the god of the sun. Somehow, Phaethon convinced his dad to let him drive the sun chariot. Phaethon, a typical teenager, drove recklessly, nearly destroying Earth, so Zeus, angry in a typical Zeus way, hurled a thunderbolt at him, and Phaethon fell from the sky into the Eridanus River. Cygnus was devastated. So, determined to give his friend a proper burial, he dove into the water to retrieve Phaethon’s body. But he couldn’t find it. So Cygnus kept diving and diving, refusing to give up. Eventually, the gods took pity on Cygnus and changed him into an immortal swan.”
    “How sad,” I say. “And beautiful.”
    Josh drops his eyes to my face and smiles. Neither of us says anything then. As we stand there, inches apart, neither of us moving, it crosses my mind that this would be a perfect first kiss moment. He just needs to lean in ever so slightly . . .
    A car taps its horn. I look over, prepared to be annoyed at the interruption, then realize that we’re standing in the middle of the street. We quickly move to one side to let the car pass.
    “So how’d you get into astronomy?” I ask when we start walking again. “Through your stepdad?”
    “Nah, I was into it before Martin. I think it started with a really bad episode of Futurama when I was nine. And an old cosmology textbook my dad gave me for my tenth birthday.”
    “Is he a scientist, too?”
    Josh shakes his head. “He was an English teacher,” he says. The “was” hangs heavy in the air.
    “And what about you?” I ask. “What do you want to be?”
    “I’m not sure yet,” he says thoughtfully. “I’ve got time to figure it out.” But what about picking a college and choosing a major and getting ahead? I can’t ask these questions, of course, so I just nod in assent. “What about you?” he asks then. “Do you know what you want to be?”
    “A journalist,” I say. “Newspaper.”
    “You sound very sure,” he observes.
    I shrug. “I am. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to be.”
    “My older brother’s like that,” Josh says. He looks back up at the sky. “I don’t have that clarity of vision. Not yet, anyway.”
    We’ve reached the end of Ilana’s street. Josh points at the unfinished house on the cul-de-sac. “What’s your guess about Ilana’s future neighbors?” he asks, stepping up to what will eventually be their driveway. “An aging entrepreneur and his trophy wife? Two lesbian doctors? No, wait—an ex-NFL player and his three pit bulls.” I examine the house, which is essentially just foundation and studs at this point. Tyler and I used to play this game in elementary school, guessing who his future neighbors would be when his subdivision kept expanding and expanding.
    I examine the house. “Easy,” I say. “A rapper and his baby mama. He bought her the house to convince her to keep the baby. Unfortunately, it’s not his, but he doesn’t know that yet. He’ll find out the day they move in.”
    “Poor guy,” Josh says, playing along.
    “Oh, don’t feel too bad,” I tell him. “After they break up, he’ll write a song about the experience. And a couple of years from now, he’ll win a Grammy for it.”
    Josh laughs. “Are you sure you want to be a journalist? Maybe you should write fiction instead.”
    We step to the side as an SUV pulls into the driveway where we’re standing. The driver, Eleanor, is the photo editor of the Oracle . She rolls down her window and waves. Led Zeppelin’s “What Is and What Should Never Be” is blaring from her speakers, a song I only know because my dad sings it in the shower.
    “Hey! Which house is it?” Eleanor asks.
    I point. “Just follow the horrible hip-hop,” I tell her.
    Eleanor turns down her music to hear it. “You weren’t kidding,” she says with a grimace. “See you guys in there?”
    “Yep!” I reply, eager for her to leave.
    Eleanor backs out of the driveway and parks on the street just a few yards away. The line of parked cars is nearly four houses long now, in both directions. Either Ilana is more popular than I thought or tonight is a particularly lame Friday night.
    The mood of our moment now broken, Josh and I just stand there, watching Eleanor make her way toward the party, which is beginning to spill out onto Ilana’s front lawn. “So should we head back?” Josh asks me. Back to the overcrowded house, too-loud music, and disproportionate number of annoying people? Why