The Solar Festival, Part 1

Tori is thrilled that I said yes. After some awkward standing around with an overprotective Zach and Sol making uncomfortable small talk, Adrien finally arrives and we head off to Public Atmosphere 3, where everything has been set up.

I leave my flowers at Tori’s in a vase.

Zach leads the way down the sidewalk, yapping about who knows what, while Tori and Adrien hold hands, murmuring to each other, and Sol and I walk side by side in complete silence. I go to the Solar Festival every year, so I’m not surprised when I see the huge hologram of the solar system looping the dome of the public atmosphere and hear the cheers and music in the corner with the live band, but Sol’s eyes get huge.

“I love this band,” he says, his voice high with excitement. “I can’t believe they’re here.” Then he looks over at me, and I look over at him, and it feels like something has died. His smile falters for a moment, but he steels himself, reaching out to take my hand. “Let’s break off from the group for a bit,” he says quietly.

“Sure,” I reply just as quietly. I intertwine my fingers with his, but my heart just isn’t in it. There’s so much I want to say. So much I need to say before I can feel good about things again.

I wonder if I’ll ever feel good about “us” again.

Maybe this was a mistake. It might just be too late.

We tell the others we’re splitting off, then head to the left, where there’s a food stand selling raindrop cakes and sun-themed wagashi. My mom would love these. But she doesn’t go out much anymore, so I decide to buy her some. I lead Sol to the stand with me without a word and buy a few to-go.

As they print my order, I wonder how many people are VRing in right now. If they’re watching the band, or hovering beside me, noticing how awkward Sol and I are. I realize it’s a self-centered thought—why would some random person viewing the Solar Festival care what I’m doing? But then I think of Nico, and I wonder if he’s doing just that.

It makes me feel self-conscious, and I have to remind myself that being self-conscious isn’t productive. But it just feels so out of my control.

“What are you thinking about?” Sol asks.

I look up at him. Brown eyes meet hazel eyes. His face is etched with genuine concern, and still the guilt lingers. It empowers me—I don’t want to be the kind of person who forgives before I’m ready or who lets things fester. I want to be stronger than that; I want to stand up for myself. “You made me feel humiliated,” I whisper, before I can overthink it. You made me feel like my mom. I don’t want to end up like my mom. “I still feel embarrassed, even now, knowing that my friends know you rejected me and I’m still giving you a chance. Do you know what that feels like? I feel like a complete idiot.” I feel tears bubbling up inside of me, but I fight them back. Tori’s makeup scanner won’t fail me—my makeup won’t run even if I do cry. But it still feels bad to cry in public. To feel people looking at you with pity.

Sol shakes his head, a twinge of panic flashing in his wide eyes. “I didn’t reject you,” he says immediately, but the words come out hollow, and I realize for the first time, with certainty, that he was rejecting me that day. It wasn’t all in my head. He seems to realize it too, like he can hear the lie in his own voice as he says it. “Well, I mean… I guess… I may not have rejected you in words, but yes, I did reject you. I see that now.” He reaches up with shaky hands and cups my face. His touch is warm, welcoming, but we’re both still too tense for it to fix things. “I didn’t think I’d meet someone like you here, on this trip. Someone like me—no, someone better than me. I wasn’t ready to find you yet.” He runs his thumb over my cheek gently, his eyes softening. “Honestly, I thought I wouldn’t meet someone like you for another ten years, and it all just took me by surprise. How easily I fell for you. How easy it was to talk with you, spend time with you. How it felt like I’d known you for years even though we’d just met. I felt crazy—like it was too much too soon, all of it too fast, and I was so… unprepared. But I still wanted it. I was scared that I wasn’t thinking things through enough—that neither of us were thinking things through enough.”

“You’re rambling,” I whisper.

“I’m rambling,” he agrees.

“You fell for me?”

He nods. “Immediately. I know it doesn’t make sense. I don’t know why I didn’t say yes when you asked me out. I don’t know why…”

“Are you afraid of commitment?”

He hesitates, his thumb stilling. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” His hands fall from my face, and we both just look at each other for a moment. “Can you forgive me?”

Can I? Or will I? “Yes,” I say slowly, “though I don’t know if I should.”

“Because I hurt you?”

“Because you hurt me.”

We’re interrupted by the wagashi stand employee calling out my order number. I start, then stiffly accept the paper to-go box. When I look back at Sol, I see his brows low in a glare—but it’s not directed at me.

From over my shoulder, I hear Nico say, “Keep making that face, and it could get stuck like that,” in a flat, uninterested voice.

My body stiffens. I turn and look at him. He’s got an easy smile plastered onto his face, one I know is fake. His eyes flick to mine, and his grin falters.

“Hey, Petra.”

“Nico.”

He glances at Sol. “Mind if I steal her for a second? We need to talk about tutoring.” The way he says it makes it sound like we’re about to go makeout in the bushes.

My face flushes, but before I can snap back, Sol says, “Sure. Fine. If she wants to. She can do whatever she wants.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “Obviously.” Then he puts his hand on my shoulder. “C’mon, nerd.”

I spare Sol one last glance, and it’s clear he’s fuming, but before I can do anything else, Nico turns me around with him and walks me down the sidewalk.

The lane is lined with more food and crafts stands, booths featuring freebies like physical books and hand-stitched clothing from Earth, and interactive VR zones where speakers spew facts about the solar system. With the crowds of Earthlings, Moonies, Stationers, and Martians bustling back and forth, it’s all just so loud and colorful, everyone dressed in their best and brightest outfits. There are smiling couples, parents carrying shouting kids, and… me and Nico.

“Looks like things are working out for you and Sol,” he says in a carefully neutral voice.

“Maybe. I’m still a bit mad.”

“Hm.”

We pass a booth with antique Earthen artifacts—functioning old cell phones, glasses with real lenses, even a typewriter. I make a mental note to mention it to Sol before I realize how whipped that makes me seem.

Then I feel Nico’s hand in my hair, ruffling it messily. “Don’t stress,” he says. “This is supposed to be fun.”

I huff and bat his hand away, then try to fix my hair as best I can. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well—”

But I don’t hear his answer. Because ten feet in front of me, I see them.

My dad. His wife. My two blonde half-siblings, just six and seven, holding rainbow balloon swords with rainbow balloon crowns on their heads.

He’s here.

I freeze in place, and Nico stops as well, following my gaze.

My dad is here. And he didn’t tell me.

“Is that him?” Nico asks, though I barely hear him.

I can’t find the words to speak. He didn’t say he’d be here… He didn’t say anything.

Then Nico is stomping up to my dad, and I return to reality in a flash.

“No, wait—”

But Nico is already standing in front of him, arms crossed. “You must be Petra’s dad,” he says. I scramble to catch up to him and grab his arm.

“Nico, no—”

My dad blinks at Nico in surprise then, finally, finally, looks at me. He smiles. “Hi, Petra. We were looking for your school’s booth. We thought we would surprise you.” The school’s booth? He’s still operating on old news. Who told him about that? Mom?

She still talks to him?

That can’t be good for her.

His wife has already been dragged away to a stand with a bubble machine by their two kids, so it’s just him, me, and Nico now.

“Surprise me?” I whisper.

He looks the same as I remember him, with just a bit more gray in his hair. I have his nose, a bit of his height, the same smile. He’s in classic Earthling clothes, the kind of fashion Martians can’t 3D-print quite right, as much as they try. He looks put together and… happy.

“Yes—”

But Nico interrupts him. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he snaps, leaning in toward my dad with a glare. He’s getting way too close, and the way he’s looking at him makes my heart drop.

If you’d have asked me yesterday if Nico would be above fighting my dad, I would’ve said, “Obviously,” or maybe, “Why are you asking me that?”

Now? I’m not so sure.

Because he looks like he just might.

He looks like he wants to.