Trailing Stars (Trailing Stars #1)

Chapter 4

He pulls out a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and flips through it to a bookmarked page. He smiles out at the crowd. "This poem is called Finite Pressure." He takes a deep breath before reading the poem in a low, steady voice:

"Shining stars in the sky
admired by all
always seem so steadfast,
so seamlessly radiant.

But shining stars feel
more than admirers will ever know.
Gravity pulling them inwards.
Light pushing them outwards.

Yet within 10,000 years,
stars don't collapse.
Within 10,000 years,
stars will finally become
shining stars.

For another few years,
shining stars will be
at their brightest
For another few years,
shining stars will dim.

And dim.
And dim.
And dim.

Until shining stars become
dull, lifeless, empty
bodies in the distant night sky.

Not shining.
Not admired.
Not anything.

Just distant figures
that seemed infinite
finally giving into
finite pressure."

Nathan shuts the notebook, smiling out at the crowd. "Thank you."

The audience snaps and claps, some of them giving Nathan a few whistles. He lets it go on for a few seconds before grabbing the clipboard and announcing who the next performer is. He steps away from the microphone and meets them right at the edge of the semicircle of spotlights. It looks like he gives them a small pep talk, guiding them through a few breaths before clapping them on the shoulder. It's really sweet of him. I have a feeling most people wouldn't bother to do even that much.

Clara nudges me, drawing my attention back to her. "What'd you think?"

I look back at Nathan. He's giving the next performer two thumbs up with a broad, genuine smile. "I'm not sure what to say."

Clara smiles. "So you liked it then."

I laugh softly, nodding, my eyes still on Nathan as he stands by the stage. "Definitely."

Nathan glances at me. When our eyes meet across the room, he arches an eyebrow, silently asking me the same thing Clara just did. I doubt he needs my approval, but I smile for him anyway. It probably doesn't mean that much, but his smile widens as he turns back to watch the person on stage. His expression sobers as he tunes into the reading, but I can still make out the subtle smile on his face like he's satisfied knowing I liked his poem.

I'm sure everyone else is just as good as Nathan, but I can't bring myself to focus. I keep reaching for my phone to read Morgan's Messages. I feel rude not paying attention to what's happening on stage whatsoever, but my mind always seems to drift to my brother, especially since I haven't read any of our text thread today. I need to do it sometime soon, or I'll be more fidgety than I already am.

I reach for my phone and stop myself for what feels like the hundredth time when Clara takes my hand and leads me through the back door. I have to squint at the change in lighting. When my eyes adjust, I take in the cream-colored walls with brown trim. In the corner of the room, a spiral staircase leads somewhere upstairs. A minifridge with a microwave on it stands in the corner of the room between two black leather couches on either side of it, forming an L-shape with a coffee table in front of the seats. On the far side of the room, there are dark brown bookshelves lined with fairy lights, every shelf filled with books.

"Am I allowed back here?" I ask.

Clara waves me off. "Nathan's mom isn't here today." That actually answers my question pretty well. "Besides, you seemed bored out there." I'm not sure what expression I make, but she sighs, reaches into my pocket, and plucks out my phone. "You've been reaching for this since Nathan finished his poem."