She wished he would look at her the way he looked at the sky. As if she too were full of mystery; a world entirely different. As if she too brimmed with stars. But as they lay there, side by side on the car roof, disappointment breathed against her skin. He had eyes only for the darkness.

He studied the upward hollowness like it was a silent drama film, unfolding itself just for him. An ancient story of love, and lust, and universal explosions. Speckled by the flaws of early cinematography, but entirely familiar, as if it were a tarnished memory. Enchanting. He was so still that everything else swirled around him. Like the center of the galaxy, she thought.

She tipped her neck forward to look down at their feet. The edges of her mud-speckled sneakers tapped lightly together. Fluttering like the wings of a ghostly moth, back and forth. His dark boots were motionless, sprawled apart, relaxed. Their shoes were characters in a parallel story. A girl lost in herself and a boy wandering through the sky. She wanted to whisper down at her shoes, telling them to be brave, but his would overhear. White sneakers tapped faster.

She dropped back again, begging gravity to pull her head against his shoulder. It didn’t comply. If she looked over, would he look back? She looked up instead. Up, up, up. She hadn’t noticed the depth of the sky before now. It was like looking into a glass tower from the ground floor. The transparent stories were peppered with silver dust, creating layers of constellations.

She longed to take an elevator all the way up. She’d stand on top of the glass tower and taste the night air. She’d hear the stars scraping against the sky. And looking back down through all the glassy floors, she’d see Him watching her from Earth. An actress in his silent film.

White sneakers tapped faster.