The Solar Festival, Part 2

The atmosphere is uncomfortable, and people are starting to stare. I’ve never seen a fight before, except on TV, and I’m not even sure people even do fight anymore. At least, not outside of VR.

“Nico, stop,” I whisper, but he keeps going.

“You didn’t even tell her you were coming?” I can feel the tension radiating off of him, and I grab his wrist to try to get his attention, but he ignores me completely. “Why not?”

My dad just smiles at him. “Well, that would ruin the surprise, now wouldn’t it?” He turns to me. “Is this your boyfriend, Petra?”

“What?!” I squeak. “No, no.” I can’t have my dad thinking I’m dating someone like Nico, who’s still dressed in all black despite it being a festival in the middle of the summer, who has black painted nails that are chipped and messy, who looks like he hasn’t run a comb through his hair in years. “He’s the student I’m tutoring.”

Nico scowls, but my dad just nods along. “Ah, I’m glad my little Petra has been able to help you out.”

Nico and I both stiffen at his words, at how blatantly condescending they sound, even if he seems clueless to it. I tug at Nico's wrist, and he glances at me. He’s annoyed, he’s raging—I can tell. For what feels like a long moment, he studies my expression, the desperation on my face, the anxiety that I’m sure is clear in my eyes, and then the tension leaves his body. He deflates, softens, purses his lips. With a small, reassuring smile, he slips my hand into his and squeezes it, then drops it and he turns back to my dad. “...It was nice to meet you,” he says flatly. I resist the urge to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Then he takes a step back and mutters, “I’ll see you later, Petra.”

“Wha—?” I barely catch the tired look on his face before he walks off, leaving me there with my dad. We both watch him go, and I feel my stuttering heartbeat slowly return to normal. Nico walks with his head down, looking even more out of place than usual in his all-black getup, like someone’s shadow come to life. Even after he disappears into the colorful crowd, I find myself still looking for a glimpse of him, still worrying about him.

“I hope that kid takes advantage of Universal therapy,” my dad says with an unbothered laugh.

My face reddens as I turn back to him and reply, “He does,” though I can’t say for certain if it’s true or not.

“Are you still playing piano?” he asks.

I nod.

“Good. And your grades?”

“I’m set to be valedictorian.”

“Good, good. I’m glad to hear that.” His gaze wanders to his family. All three of them are still playing with the bubbles floating out of the machine. Some are in the shape of clouds and stars, others in the shape of animals. My little siblings seem to love them.

“Why don’t you call me back?” I whisper.

He turns to me and smiles warmly, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Pets. It’s just been so busy, what with the new performance schedule and Melody and Aria’s afterschool activities...”

“You could text me.”

At that, he nods reluctantly. “I ought to get more into texting. I don’t spend much time on my Linx.” He pauses. “Well… I should probably catch up with Caro and the kids.” He pats my shoulder, then withdraws his hand. “Go spend some time with your friends. Tell your mom I say hey.”

That’s… it? That’s all I get?

I don’t think of anything to say fast enough, and he starts wandering away. I look after him, watching as he bends down to talk with his kids. They shout up to him excitedly, and he smiles back at them as if they’re the only things in the world that matter. His wife, Caroline, notices me and gives me a little wave and smile.

That’s it.

I bolt. I slip through the crowd, running past the lingering scents of candles and food for sale, fleeing past the crowd surrounding the band, and keep going until my feet can no longer handle the heels I’m wearing and I go crashing into some stranger, who rights me with an “are you okay?” and then blinks as I stumble past.

I feel the tears slipping down my cheeks before I even realize I’m crying. I need my mom. I need to go home. But then the public atmosphere sinks into darkness suddenly, stopping me in my tracks and making the crowd gasp, then ooh and aah as the daytime firework show begins in the darkened dome, the hologram explosions dotting the fake night sky above us.

Everything’s fake. Everything is so fake.

“Petra?”

Wiping my eyes, I turn to face him. Sol. He’s found me somehow. At the sight of my tears, he pulls me into a hug without a second thought.

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong? Did Nico do something?” He runs his fingers through my hair gently. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I murmur into his shoulder. I cry silently, the pop of the fireworks and the black of the artificial night making me feel safe to let it all out. “Nothing happened. I’m just… sad.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

I shake my head, hugging onto him tightly. “No one did anything wrong.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says softly. His hands in my hair are a comfort I can’t explain, his voice a balm. “I want you to be happy.”

I want that too.

I want something good to happen.

Please…

I look up at him finally and let him wipe away a few lingering tears. He smiles gently, his eyes traveling across my face, and I see it with certainty now—all of a sudden, I recognize the look he’s giving me. It’s affectionate, kind, loving.

He’s looking at me like he loves me.

He loves me. He might actually love me.

His voice comes out soft and gentle. “This past week,” he says, “all I could think about was how I messed everything up. How you deserve better. How badly I wanted to see you again and fix things.” He strokes my cheek with one hand. “I want to be better. I want to see where this goes. Will you let me?”

My heart stutters in my chest. Is he…?

He grins weakly. “I know, I know. My timing sucks, but, um… look.” His eyes flick toward the top of the dome, where the fireworks are still glittering across the sky.

While some are still normal fireworks, others are exploding into all kinds of different messages: happy birthday wishes, anniversary announcements, people’s names. They started doing this last year—letting people pay to share messages during the festival, but I’ve never gotten one before.

A red firework sizzles up into the sky and explodes into the words, “Petra, will you be my girlfriend?”

I stare at them until they fizzle out and disappear.

“Well?” he asks nervously. “Will you?”

I turn to him, my eyes brimming with brand new tears. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I will.”

Then he kisses me, and I feel a million things at once: relief, anxiety, hope, shame, love—

I want to give us a chance.