Nothing had changed since the kiss, of course. He had played typically hard to get ever since, and it didn’t
But now this, and
“Sorry, guys.” Libby’s voice was barely audible over the racket of the party. “I think I’m going to go home. My head is pounding, and I’m not really up to this now.”
Clair and her friends tried to talk Libby out of leaving, but she was adamant. Migraines were migraines, and the party bubble had popped, she said. It simply wasn’t fun now that Zep was here; he was stressing her out too much. Yes, Libby would confront him about it, but not now. Tomorrow, maybe.
Clair trailed with Libby back to the booth, just the two of them, as the night had started.
One of the doors was open, its mirrored interior empty and waiting.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” Clair asked.
Libby nodded, downcast. Clair impulsively took her hand and held her there for a moment. I love you, she wanted to say. I’ve known you nearly all my life, and you understand me better than anyone. You’ve fixed everything from grazed knees to panic attacks. I would never do anything to hurt you. When this stupid crush passes and you and Zep get married, I’ll be your maid of honor, and no one will remember but me.
But the words wouldn’t come. Clair could only hope that her eyes said everything she needed to express.
Libby let go and went into the booth.
“Stay beautiful,” she said.
“Yeah . . . you too.”
The door slid behind her, and the old booth whirred.
3
CLAIR SAGGED, EXHAUSTED suddenly by conflicted emotions. She told herself to concentrate on the party. It was going well. People were enjoying themselves, so why shouldn’t she? She would get herself another drink. She would find Tash and Ronnie and have another dance. She would—
“
Zep was standing right behind her.
“Hey,” she said, turning away from the door through which Libby had vanished. She couldn’t just ignore him, could she? “Are you having a good time?”
“Spot-on. These guys are the coolest. Was that Libby I saw a second ago?”
Clair nodded. “She left. A headache.”
“Her loss. A bunch of us cracked the lock on the old telescope hatch—whatever you call it. Come see. The view’s amazing!”
She hesitated. Reason told her that he was only inviting her because Libby wasn’t around and he wanted someone to show off to.
“All right,” she heard herself saying. “Just let me get a coat.”
They found a pile of parkas at the base of the ladder leading up to the walkway circling the base of the dome. The wide slit the telescope would once have peered through was indeed open, but the telescope itself was gone. Clair shrugged into a thick mountaineering jacket and zipped it up to her chin. The hood dampened some of the party’s incessant racket. She put on gloves and followed Zep up the ladder and onto a narrow maintenance platform that circled
the outside of the observatory. There was a rail, but it looked insubstantial against the black, mountainous space below. One misplaced step would lead to a sudden, stony death. Luckily, there were other things to think about.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” said Zep from behind her. His face was barely visible inside his own hood. He had to stand close so she could hear him. “Head that way. There’s another ladder around the bend that goes right to the top.”
Clair followed his directions deeper into the night, everything bombarding her in sharp-edged focus. She no longer felt cramped and crowded as without realizing it she had inside. On the roof of the Sphinx Observatory, the night seemed almost mythic in its intensity.
When she reached the ladder, Zep said, “Here, let me give you a hand.”
“No, I’ve got it.” She hoisted herself onto the first rung and climbed carefully but surely upward. The first few steps were perfectly vertical, but slowly the angle lessened as she came over the bulge of the dome. When she was halfway, the circular observation platform at the very top came into view. It was ringed with another low metal rail and was full of people, some of them standing on the rail and pretending to fly.
One boy shouted, “I’m going to jump! No, really, I am. . . .” Judging by the way people ignored him, he had been saying it for a while.
Five yards from the top, there was a ledge protruding from the dome where some kind of rusted antenna installation jutted out into the night. The ladder went right past it.
“Let’s stop at that ledge rather than go to the top.” Clair didn’t want to have to fight for a view, and the scenery was fantastic enough where she was.
“Sure. That’s cool.”
She climbed the rest of the way and stepped carefully onto the ledge. There was no rail, just the antenna to hang on to, and once they were off the ladder, the slope of the dome beneath them felt five times steeper. The metal looked slippery too, rimed with clear ice. She wondered if she’d done the right thing. Then she felt something pressing into her side and heard a distinct click. Zep had used a carabiner to attach her to a rope that looped around his waist. Another click and they were both safely attached to the antenna.
He grinned at her with something like relief, and she laughed at the nervous moment she’d unknowingly shared with him.
They squatted down, then sat so their legs dangled off the ledge. Clair could feel the cold seeping into her backside, but for the moment it wasn’t making her uncomfortable. The view seemed to go forever.
“It’ll be light soon,” Zep said.
She didn’t check the clock in her lenses. Global time wouldn’t tell her whether it was midnight or five minutes to sunrise in Switzerland, since it was the same time everywhere. Her eyes told her that the sky did look faintly lighter to the east. The highest peaks were dusted with faint haloes, like giant angels.
She pulled an oxygen bottle from her pocket and took a hit. The compressed gas actually felt warmer than the air biting at her cheeks.
“This is such an amazing place,” Zep said.
“I know. We really did get lucky.”
“Everyone’s saying Libby found it, but you should get at least half the credit, I reckon. I bet she didn’t like it at first, and you talked her into it.”
She tilted her head and stared at him through narrowed eyes. “How do you know that?”
“Because you’re Libby’s finisher.”
“Her what?”
“You finish what she starts, clean up her messes, right her wrongs, that kind of thing. You are, right?”
“I don’t do that,” she said, glancing out at the icy vista. “Not always.”
“Yes, always,” he said. “Sheesh. I know you two better than you know yourselves.”
“Ha! You wish.”
“Just try me.”
“All right. What’s my favorite kind of chocolate?”