“It’s so cold,” a voice came in his ear, so soft it might have been his own thought. A small, very cold hand plopped on top of his. Not moving, not curling its fingers around his, just lying there as though it had fallen from the sky. He could feel her ring, the slender band of gold like a chip of ice against his knuckle. Glancing sideways he saw the girl gazing at the dome, her mouth slightly open. She turned and looked at him, not saying anything, not moving her hand. Just staring at him with those strange shadowed eyes, and smiling.
Afterward Trip recalled that moment and knew it for the one in which his life was cleaved in two. Sitting there in the make-believe night, with make-believe peepers crying and make-believe stars, and the warm sweet dusty scent of the girl beside him with her face upturned. The Zeiss whirred and spun. Stars washed across her cheeks as the astronomer spoke their names. Algol in Perseus, Regulus in Leo, the winter sky tumbling into spring and Corona Borealis rising to shine upon her brow with such brilliance that he had to look away. When he glanced up again she was staring at him. The pixie light gave a strange luster to her skin, as though it were made of some brittle nacreous material that would splinter into dust if he were to touch it. But all he wanted to do was touch it. His lips were parted, and he was breathing hard, his heart pounding, hands unsteady, until suddenly he leaned over, crushing her arm into the seat rest as he kissed her. Her mouth so small and hot it was like some warm liquid spilling into his, her fine hair like pollen filling his nostrils until he had to draw back, sneezing. Before he could catch his breath she was tugging at his hands, pulling him gently but irresistibly toward her. He kissed her everywhere, not just her mouth but the fine soft flesh of her cheeks and chin and jaw, her throat, with its pulse beating like a trapped bird, and the rough, gnawed tips of her fingers. He could hear her gasp and feel her heart knocking in her chest; smelled her, a hot pungent scent like the inside of a winter barn. But for all that she did not stir, not once she had pulled him to her. He closed his arms about her—he almost felt they could have circled her twice, she was so small and thin—but she did not embrace him. When he kissed her, her mouth parted, he could taste her fluid sweetness like melted chocolate. But her lips and tongue did not move. Her hand did not stir where it lay upon her thigh, with the golden ring winking softly in the darkness. Trip had never kissed a girl before. In a horrified rush of embarrassment, he realized he must be doing it wrong. Abruptly he pulled away from her.
“… the star Fomalhaut. Above it you can see Aquarius, perhaps the most ancient of all the constellations, with its alpha star Sadalmelik resting almost exactly on the ecliptic, the celestial equator. Sadalmelik means ‘beloved of the king’ in Arabic, and Aquarius shows up in all kinds of ancient myths, including several deluge myths that predate the Biblical story of the flood. As an astrological sign, it is associated with air, and danger. Now if you follow my pointer to the north…”
The blond girl’s eyes were wide but without expression. Her arm still lay upon the velvet seat rest. As the projected stars crept across the dome her eyes would hold their light and for an instant seem to candle with passion or curiosity. Gazing at her Trip felt gooseflesh break out on his arms and the back of his neck.
“Who are you really?” he whispered. But then the dome grew pale, the lights came up, and he was blinking painfully. “Oh,” he said, neither disappointed nor relieved, just confused. “I guess it’s over.”
“I want to see it again.”
Trip laughed, thinking she was joking, and started to reach for her raincoat.
“Really,” the girl said. “I want to see it again. Can we stay?”
Trip looked around, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, yeah, we can see it again. If you really want to. But we’ll have to get tickets…”
He waited for her to say Jeez no, once is enough, it was so boring! Instead she slid down in her seat, the front of the chair folding up so that her legs hung over it like a child’s. “I like these seats. Let’s just wait here, okay?”
He stared at her. “Okay.” His throat was so dry it hurt to speak. “If you want.”
“I do,” she murmured, smiling; and he knew he was doomed.
No one cleared the room after the first show. Marz remained half-hidden in her folding seat, but Trip sat bolt upright beside her—that way, he thought, if anyone confronted them it wouldn’t look like they were trying to sneak in without paying. Trip’s amazement at his own obliquity had faded to a sort of stunned bewilderment. He still had a hard-on, but he did none of the things he’d been taught to do in such a terrible circumstance: think of his mother, recite some bit of Scripture, get up and leave the room and wait until he was married to her to touch the girl again. Instead he found himself staring at the white skin above the cleft of her lavender sweater, the way her legs hung over the edge of her seat and her pants bunched up at her crotch. A flush had spread across her cheeks, the skin so fine he could see the cellular array of crimson dots, as though she had been spattered with red ink. Her eyes were closed, her mouth barely parted; she looked as though she were asleep. He thought he would go mad, watching her. He was certain he would come in his pants if he stayed there looking at her, but he no longer cared. Dimly he was aware of the soft drone of music, doors opening, and people entering, another school group from the sound of it. Still he couldn’t wrench his eyes from the girl.
The school group took their seats on the other side of the room. The music paused, then swelled. Overhead the dome grew dark. A panpipe wailed as sheets of green and gold swept across the sky. Without a word Trip grabbed the girl by the shoulders and pulled her toward him.
She was as passive as before, but he didn’t care. He thrust his hands under her loose sweater, kneading roughly at her flesh until he found her breasts, so small he could cup each in a palm, her nipples burning his hands. He kissed her; her mouth moved slightly beneath his, and she moaned. He drew back, gasping, but before he could touch her again she slid from her seat to kneel on the floor in front of him.
“What?” Trip whispered hoarsely, shaking his head. “What? ”
Of course he knew what she was doing—he may have been a virgin, but he wasn’t an idiot—but this was so far beyond anything he had experienced that for one awful moment he was certain that he had gone insane. Then he heard the sound of his fly being unzipped. He felt the girl’s fingers fumbling with the loose fabric, and then the exquisite softness of her hair brushing across his cock as she withdrew it from his shorts. He couldn’t breathe. He sat absolutely rigid, every atom of his body keeping time with his heart, as he stared straight ahead and felt the girl’s small hot mouth close upon him. His hands clenched his knees as her tongue fluttered up and down the length of his cock. He moved his head imperceptibly, gazing down upon the silvery corona of her hair, another star blooming between his legs. For an instant he caught the violet flicker of her eyes as she stared up at him. Then he came, exploding into her mouth as she lowered her head, and her fingers pressed against his groin. He felt as though his heart had burst; he must have cried aloud because suddenly she was back in the seat beside him, making soft shushing noises as she stroked his cheeks and kissed his mouth, silencing him. He pushed her away, gasping for breath, then quickly pulled her back.
“You,” he whispered. Her hair was like water in his hands as he kissed her, the soured sweetness of her tongue and her small teeth clicking against his. He kept his eyes open, because he had never seen anything like this before, could never in his life have imagined this strange girl with the white hair and amethyst eyes, curling into his lap with her delicate fingers flexed against his chest, moving the heavy gold cross aside to feel his heart beat. “You…”