Parallel

damage.
    “Josh and I are going out,” I announce when my feet hit the linoleum. “We’ll be back later.” Before my mom can comment on my wardrobe selection, I grab Josh’s hand and pull him out the back door.
    “So where are we going?” I ask as Josh opens the passenger door of his Jeep. The interior smells like fresh-cut grass and Ivory soap. There’s a beach towel in the backseat.
    “To visit Cygnus,” is all he says.
    A few minutes later, we pull up beside the pond in his neighborhood and park. “The streetlight is burned out,” he says, and points. I press my face to the window, peering out into the darkness. My breath fogs the cool glass. “Come on,” he says, pushing open his door. “It’s a near-perfect moon.”
    I follow him down the little dirt path to a wooden swing by the water’s edge. The ground is still soft from today’s storm. As many times as I’ve driven past this pond on my way to Tyler’s, I’ve never noticed the swing.
    “I figured Cygnus could commiserate,” Josh says as we sit. “He knows what it’s like to be separated from his best friend.” The wooden seat is cold beneath my sweats, but not wet. Someone must’ve dried it after the rain. We tilt our heads back and look up. Dozens of pine trees form a horseshoe around the water, blocking the light from nearby houses, the closest of which is at least a hundred yards away. The moon, low in the sky, is barely a sliver. With so little light pollution, the sky is thick with stars.
    “Did he ever get him back?” I ask, slipping out of my muddy shoes and pulling my bare feet up under me. “I know he went looking for Phaethon, but were they ever reunited?”
    “Absolutely.”
    I look over at him. He’s staring intently at the sky. “You’re totally lying to me right now, aren’t you?”
    “Absolutely,” he says without missing a beat. We both laugh, and an ease settles over the moment. Even after the day I’ve had, I feel oddly at peace right now. The world seems bigger, the universe infinitely more vast. As if there’s room for everything that happened today. Enough space. I inhale, letting the crisp night air fill my lungs, feeling my rib cage expand. When I exhale, the only sound I hear is my breath. The static is gone.
    “So, I keep thinking about something you said today,” Josh says then. “It’s been bothering me since you said it.” He’s looking at me now with the same intensity he’d previously directed at the sky. “You asked me if you were too much work. Why would you ask that?”
    “It’s something Caitlin said,” I tell him. “Today, during our fight. She said it was the reason you weren’t interested in me.” I look down at the still-wet grass, barely visible in the darkness. “I’m more work than I’m worth.”
    “Who says I’m not interested?”
    I nearly swallow my gum.
    “As I remember it,” he says, “you informed me that I should date another girl, which I—quite reasonably, I think—took to mean that you weren’t interested.”
    “You never asked me out,” I say defensively. “You had, like, a zillion opportunities.”
    “A zillion, huh? Like the night you told me you already had plans with friends? Or how about the night you said you had to go to your mom’s museum opening? You’re a very busy girl, Abby Barnes.”
    “Yes, but you could’ve suggested another night,” I point out. “Either of those times. But you didn’t.”
    “I wasn’t aware that I was being timed,” he teases.
    “You weren’t being timed ,” I reply, heat creeping up my neck. “But if you were so interested, then why’d you say ‘thanks’ when I told you about Megan?” I demand. As I’m asking, I realize I don’t care about his answer. I just want him to kiss me.
    “How’s a guy supposed to respond when the girl he’s crazy about tells him he should date another girl?” Josh keeps talking, not even pausing to gauge my reaction. Who is this person and what has he done with the dorky guy in spandex and boat shoes? “Wait, don’t answer that,” he says. “I think I know now. I’m supposed to say, ‘ Don’t be silly, Abby. I want to date you. Are you free tomorrow night? ’”
    “You weren’t supposed to say anything,” I tell him. “You could’ve just been honest.”
    “I can do honest,” he replies. “ Don’t be silly, Abby. I want to date you. Are you free tomorrow night? ”
    It takes me a few seconds to realize that he’s waiting for a