Page 8 of Starrily (Perks of Being #2)

Chapter 8

S tars are classified according to their mass and temperature, from the biggest and hottest ones to the smallest and…

“—Simon!”

Simon pulled out his earbuds and looked over his monitor. Everett stood at the door to his office and, if his impatient face was anything to go by, hadn’t called Simon for the first time.

“Yup?”

“What’s the email you sent me?”

Simon thought for a moment. “Oh, that one. I thought the subject line ‘future projects to fund’ was pretty clear.”

“Astronomy non-profits. Courses to teach science to less privileged kids. And—” Everett checked his phone. “A foundation to support efforts in space exploration and observation?”

Simon shrugged. “Anything wrong with those?”

“They’re not exactly profitable.”

“The ‘non-profit’ is right there in the name—”

“Don’t you sass me, boy.”

When Everett got to “boy,” Simon knew it was serious. So he put his earbuds down and stood. “You’re always looking for things to invest in. Since we’re supporting QueLabs and the Selene mission, I thought this would fit.”

“Yes, but why these?”

“Because they’re important.”

“To whom?”

Simon paused, getting a strange feeling of embarrassment from Everett’s look. “Me.”

Everett slowly approached, clearly calculating something behind his narrowed eyes. “Actually, it might work out in our favor. We could qualify for income tax exemptions, but we’ll have to work the numbers—” He leaned toward the computer screen.

“Uh—yeah, sure, you can do that.” Simon moved in front of it but didn’t conceal it in time.

“What is that?”

“An online astronomy course.” Simon folded his arms, then released them when he realized it made him look like a teenager trying to defend his transgressions to his parents.

“Ah. Now I see. Clever.”

Wait, what?

“You’re doing this to impress the doctor. Good.” Everett nodded.

Simon looked from him to the monitor. “Right,” he said slowly. If Everett came to that conclusion, he wasn’t going to oppose it, even if it was wrong. For once, he’d outwitted Everett. Inadvertently, but it still counted. “So, you’ll take care of the new projects?”

Everett sighed and headed for the door. “Yes,” he drew out and left the office.

***

“I strictly forbade ABBA while I’m coding.” Callie reached for Simon’s phone, but he was faster and grabbed it and swung away on his chair.

“You’re no fun.”

“We’ve established that. Now please, stop it with the funky music.”

“All right, all right.” He quieted the phone, got up, and walked to the window.

“ Many things help scientists focus during their hard work. For Dr. Guidry, disco music is not one of them ,” Jessica narrated to no one in particular, blinked a couple of times, then started typing into her phone.

“Correct that to any type of fun music,” Simon said.

“That would imply there’s such a thing as unfun music—” Callie objected.

“And if there is, you’d surely know.”

Jessica’s head bobbed back and forth during their exchange.

“If you had to code this, you’d prefer to work in silence, too,” Callie said, hoping to put the matter to rest.

“What is this for?” Jessica pointed to the table displayed on Callie’s screen.

“Star types. We want the ones deep red in color, as they’re the oldest.”

Simon walked over to the half-wall of her desk, leaned on it, and looked at Callie. “Oh, be a fine girl, kiss me.”

Jessica dropped her phone.

Callie stuttered, heat rushing to her cheeks. But when she locked eyes with him, all she saw behind the deep, twinkling blue was his typical amusement. He was teasing her. “It’s a mnemonic to remember star types,” she explained to Jessica, then broke eye contact with Simon.

“Oh. Can you repeat that? Gotta put it in the article.”

“The types are O, B, A, F, G, K, and M, going from the brightest and hottest to the dimmest and coldest ones. The namings aren’t very intuitive, hence the mnemonic, which all astronomers know.” But Simon wasn’t an astronomer. How did he know it?

“So the stars our dear doctor is looking for would be the kiss-me s,” Simon said to Jessica and winked at Callie.

“Definitely putting that quote in.”

Callie sighed. Why did she, when he’d said the mnemonic, think he was flirting with her? You idiot. The man threw out winks like they were on a Black Friday sale. She had no reason to believe she was anyone special to him.

Frustrated at the thought—what was next, actually wanting to be someone special?—she huffed and swiveled on her chair, only to come back eye-to-eye with Simon.

He smiled at her innocently and waved his phone. “ Take A Chance On Me? ”

***

“Do we have to do this?” Callie dragged her heels before the entrance to the clothing store.

Ava paused in between the opened automated doors. “You’re being invited to a very fancy dinner with your very fancy Astrological, Agricultural—”

“Astronomical Society.”

“It has a seven-course menu, so it’s fancy. And you have one appropriate dress, which is five years out of fashion.”

“It’s a perfectly fine dress. You think some astrophysicist will shun me for wearing the same dress twice? Even if they knew I’d worn that dress before—”

Ava pulled her into the store. “Girl, your cat has more clothes than you do.”

“She’s just so cute in tiny Christmas sweaters,” Callie weakly objected.

At least she didn’t have to do much. Ava led her from rack to rack, piling on the potential candidates. Occasionally, Callie would extend her hand toward a dress, and Ava would slap it away, like a mother trying to prevent her child from drinking a cleaning product.

“I think that’s all of them,” Ava said after three circles around the store.

Callie leaned past the pile of fabric in her arms. “You think ?”

But the worst wasn’t yet over; next, she had to try them all on. She knew Ava meant the best for her, and her old dress would probably be a bad choice for the dinner Callie had been invited to—an annual event attended by some of her coworkers, people she’d love to have as coworkers one day, and even very important names in the world of science. So she was glad Ava was here to help.

But when she criticized the clothes, Callie got second-hand embarrassment for the dresses. The color is unflattering. Makes your butt too big. Cut too low. Cut too high. Black, beige, burgundy, blue; sleeveless, strapless, with belt, pencil skirt, jumpsuit.

Finally, Callie paused in front of the mirror inside her dressing room, taking in her latest victim. This looks right. The color was on the daring side—a salmon pink—but the cut was simple enough to hold back the extravagance, and besides, Callie liked it. She maybe, maybe , looked just a little bit pretty.

Which wasn’t terribly important for the dinner, but if it was going to be her dress, she might as well feel good in it.

It would make a nice date dress.

Her mind flashed to the Japanese restaurant—only she imagined it in the evening, all warm and cozy in subdued candlelight. She closed her eyes and dreamed. Sit and relax, with no pressure from work. Order a glass of wine. There’d be soft music playing, and butterflies in her stomach, and a gentle buzzing permeating her being—as for her date, well …

“Everything okay in there?” Ava’s voice brought her back to reality.

She shook her head— stop it, you didn’t imagine Simon in your fantasy —and stepped out. “You can play the fashion police if you want, but I’m taking this one.”

Ava dropped her jaw. “I think you should. It’s stunning.”

“Great.” She rested her hands on her hips. “If only I didn’t have to try seventeen other dresses before this one.”

“The sacrifices we all have to make.”

Callie stuck out her tongue in mockery, then went back into the booth to get out of the dress. And even though she was determined to get any date daydreaming out of her head—especially when it kept circling back to one maddening man who thought himself way too charming—she still couldn’t help but wonder.

Would Simon like the dress?

***

Simon bent over, fully focused, as he tentatively touched the silk fabric with a paintbrush. To the left and right of him, spread in a half-circle, other students of the painting course for adults did the same; some straightened, inspecting their masterpieces from a distance, like critics at a gallery; others fully leaned in, the tips of their tongues showing their concentration. Only occasional light scratching and rustling broke the silence in the room, brightened up by the rays of the afternoon sun.

“Remember to relax. Feel the creativity flowing through you. Harness it,” the painting instructor said.

Simon made a great big splotch on the edge of his flower. Well, it used to be a flower once—when the instructor handed them the designs, and he picked one that seemed easy enough. Painting flowers was a basic thing, right?

Painting itself was not a basic thing, as it turned out.

He heard a badly concealed laugh from his left. A young, blonde woman seated next to him inspected his frame of silk with amusement. “It’s much harder than it looks, isn’t it?”

Her attempt looked even more abstract than his, so he didn’t feel too bad admitting, “I’ve no idea what I’m doing.”

“I suppose that’s why we’re taking the class.”

The instructor came by, checking Simon’s progress and giving him some pointers—should’ve applied more resist there, take a smaller brush for the details, don’t be afraid of mistakes; it’s art, not science.

The hour passed quickly, and as class was dismissed, Simon packed his stuff and checked his phone.

“Hey.” The blonde approached, tilting her head to the side. “Wanna go grab a coffee?”

She was pretty. And so was that smile.

“I—” Simon started, with an intonation that was fully meant to continue into “would love to,” when something stopped him—a memory of a smart-ass voice and a prettier smile. “I can’t today, sorry.”

“No worries,” she said and left him—not only company-less for the evening but also slightly confused as to what exactly was going on with him.

***

“You’re going to a fancy dinner? You ?” Simon used his elbow to push in the door to the coffee shop, then executed a needlessly complicated maneuver, doing a half-circle turn to end up inside the shop, holding the door open with his other hand.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Callie entered after him.

“Not the invite, no. But I didn’t peg you as someone interested in fancy dinners.”

Callie huffed. What did he know of her and the events she liked to attend?

Not much, because you refuse to let anyone into your life.

Simon eyed the two lines of customers waiting to get drinks, then cocked an eyebrow at her. “One line each, see who wins?”

One day, she’d discover what about Simon issuing challenges made her unable to back down. And also why she’d agreed to grab coffee for work here when they had perfectly good coffee machines at work . “Oh, it’s on.” It did present an interesting dilemma—everyone knew the line you were in always moved the slowest. But if that held true for both her and Simon, whose line would move slowest?

It was the type of thing scientists lost sleep over.

From his line, a few feet away, Simon leaned toward her. “You need any pointers?”

“Huh?”

“For the dinner.”

“I know how to eat, thanks.”

“You’ll have to converse, though.”

“I’ll be fine . Stick to your line.” She raised her chin and looked ahead, but not before she caught a teasing smile from Simon.

Callie won the line race, although she’d have to repeat the experiment many more times for it to gain any scientific validity. “First,” she proudly announced as Simon joined her, and raised her cup of coffee.

“Perhaps, but you lose a point for having your name spelled wrong.” He pointed to the sleeve of her coffee cup, where the name Kelly was written in a barely legible cursive.

“That wasn’t in the rules!”

“I’m not really a rules person, kind of prefer to go with the flow …”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You tell me that every day.”

As she glanced around her gaze stopped on two girls—mid-teens, probably—who were looking at them, giggling.

“Oh, no,” she murmured.

“Did they give you too much sugar?”

“No. I think you have fans.” She discreetly gestured toward the girls.

Simon strained to look out of the corner of his eye, trying not to move his head. “I hope not. They look a little young to waste their life fangirling over tech moguls. Surely there’s a boy band out there they could be obsessed with instead.”

One of the girls whispered to another, who nodded, then started to approach, clutching a notebook. But before she was about to reach Simon, she turned to Callie.

“You’re … you’re Dr. Guidry, aren’t you? From the articles?”

Callie was too stunned to respond.

“She is, indeed,” Simon said instead, flashing Callie a smile.

“I’ve read all of them. What you do is so cool! I’d like to study astrophysics one day, too, although I’m not sure if I want to go more into astronomy, or theory …” The girl’s eyes shone as she gushed, allowing Callie to come to her senses.

“Would you sign my notebook?” the girl said.

“M-me?”

“I think she’s been talking to you,” Simon whispered near her ear.

The girl handed her the worn-out, cloth-bound book. “I use it for my ideas. And, uh, doodling during the class,” she quickly added, as the book opened to a page with sketches of people and planets. “The name’s Brianna.”

“Sure.” In a slightly shaky hand, Callie signed the first page. She was still processing the event by the time Brianna thanked her and bounced off to her friend.

“Would you look at that.” Simon sounded pleased. “Our Dr. Guidry is becoming famous.”

“I—no. I don’t … I don’t understand. It’s not like I’m Stephen Hawking.”

“The fact that you’re still alive and slightly more attainable might help,” Simon said with an amused look. “You’ll have to face it, Phoenix. Some people, not that I would understand, might just start thinking you’re cool.”

***

With the dessert course over, the invitees of the annual AAS dinner mingled, twirling their champagne glasses and conversing in small groups.

“Dr. Guidry in person.” A middle-aged woman in an elegant black dress approached Callie. “Pleasure to meet you outside of the articles.”

“You—uh—you’ve read them?”

“We can’t read research papers and grants all day long, right? Everyone needs a bit of light reading from time to time.” The woman’s light tone was supported by a cheeky beginning of a smile.

“I … yes.”

“If you have time in the near future, I’d love to tickle your brain regarding some theories. Stars becoming black holes without the supernova phase—”

“Oh, absolutely!” Callie curbed her smile, clenching the champagne glass tighter. Don’t act like a deranged fan. Be cool.

“We’ll talk,” the woman said, winked, and moved on to a colleague waving at her.

Callie stayed rooted to the spot until Watzmann came by.

“Quite the successful dinner, wouldn’t you say?” Even for this event, he was still wearing a knitted vest under his jacket, and his wild hair was only slightly tamed.

“That was Lisa Mills-Faraday,” Callie breathed. “Director of Astrophysics Department at NASA.” She looked at Watzmann. “The Director of Astrophysics at NASA just spoke to me.”

Watzmann chuckled and patted her shoulder. “When you’re in league with the big ones, remember us, yes?”

“Oh, I’d never. Change work, not forget you, I mean.”

“You say that now, but eventually, you’ll have to spread your wings and fly.” He wandered off. Callie stayed where she was, enjoying a reprieve after two hours of talking.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Simon. If you are what you eat, and you only eat desserts, do you become a sweeter person?

What on Earth? I think you might become diabetic , she texted back.

I don’t know what I expected.

She shook her head, smiling. I’m at the AAS dinner party. I don’t have time for philosophy.

Pictures, or it didn’t happen.

She took a sneaky photo of the room and sent it to him.

He soon texted back, I see your party, and I raise you mine. Attached was a somewhat blurry photo with diagonally smudged lights. It had to be taken from the upper deck of a yacht, showing people crowding below and the darkness of the ocean beyond.

Show-off , she wrote back. For a minute, no reply came; he probably moved on and went to play beer pong or sing karaoke or whatever it was people did at boat parties. Then her phone buzzed again.

I’d invite you if it weren’t too low-brow for you, Phoenix.

***

Everett plopped a folder onto Simon’s desk. “Your charities, non-profits, and the like. Only requiring your signature.”

Simon opened the folder and quickly ran over the contracts. “See. Wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“It’s not the easiest thing to make the numbers work in our favor, as you should know.” Everett leaned his leg on the desk. “Tell me how you’re progressing with Dr. Guidry.”

Right. The “softening.”

“She’s working on the software. These projects go slowly. There probably won’t be much progress until she gets data from her observation time on the telescope.” As soon as he finished, Simon felt bad for telling Everett that. It wasn’t a secret, but it felt like his meetings with Calliope were one world, and this was another. Which was absurd, considering Everett and Aries Tech were the reason he was even working with Calliope.

“Then be on it when progress is made.” Everett stood, then, as if he sensed Simon’s hesitation, turned back to him, his mouth a straight, firm line. “You are on it, right?”

Simon could make an excuse—it was her fault, not his; she was the one who seemingly didn’t want to have a friend in this world—but again, it felt wrong.

“Time’s ticking,” Everett said. “You’d better get your head in the game.”

“But—”

“And I’ll remain charitable ,” Everett concluded, inclining his head toward the folder with the contracts. Then, his face suddenly cleared up, even hinting at a smile. “You’ve got this, Simon.” He clapped him on the back and left.

Did he have it, though?