In this layered and poignant story, a girl who keeps her heart protected meets a boy with his head in the stars. The award-winning author of A Heart in a Body in the World beautifully captures the kind of love-and loss-that changes you forever.
When Margaret sees Mars for the first time, it doesn't feel like love at first sight so much as future at first sight--she just knows right away that he will loom large in her life.
When her job delivering pizzas brings Margaret right to Mars's doorstep, soon they're giving in to fate and spending every free moment together. Their romance deepens over stargazing and moments under the night sky, where Mars shares his passionate interest in the Voyager record in space, captivating her with the power of what can last over time.
Even as she continues to fall harder and faster for him, Margaret struggles against the voice of anxiety in her head warning her that danger is always waiting around corners. But even for someone who anticipates the worst, when it actually happens, Margaret is devastated. In the wake of a tragedy, somehow she has to find a way forward. Despite her grief, she has to continue to look up to the stars and let the whole of universe in-all the beauty and all the pain. Deb Caletti is the award-winning and critically acclaimed author of over twenty books for adults and young adults, including Honey, Baby, Sweetheart, a finalist for the National Book Award; A Heart in a Body in the World, a Michael L. Printz Honor Book; Girl, Unframed; and One Great Lie. Her books have also won the Josette Frank Award for Fiction, the Washington State Book Award, and numerous other state awards and honors, and she was a finalist for the PEN USA Award. She lives with her family in Seattle. Chapter One
"Hello from the children of planet Earth."
-Greeting from Nick Sagan, age six
People don't usually talk in there, or even make eye contact, so right away I knew you were special. You were sort of slouched down in the chair when I came in. Wearing your old classic Levi's and your bright yellow sweatshirt, the shade a kid would pick for drawing the sun. It really set off your hair, your black curls springing in every direction. You could pat those curls and they'd bounce right back up, but of course I didn't know that yet.
I slipped my backpack off my shoulder and took my usual place by the table of magazines. You looked up and gave me a half grin. "You celebrating?" you asked.
It was a strange question, given where we were. Not a lot of celebrating happened in there, I was pretty certain.
I squinched one eye. I worried I'd find myself on the bad end of a joke. The end where someone's making fun of you. At times, I was prickly and on guard, which was partly why I was there, probably. When people looked at me-quiet, smiling-they thought they were getting a flower. Something you could approach or even pick to bring home and stick in a vase. I was supposed to be a flower-then, surprise, a cactus. Don't come close.
"National Depression and Anxiety Week," you said.
"I thought that was every day," I replied.
You smiled all the way then. A big smile that went all the way to your eyes. Why that's so rare, I'll never know. Those things are supposed to go together, but sometimes there's no twinkle.
It got a little embarrassing for a second. Awkward. We both were awkward in general. Me more than you, okay, for sure. I looked at the clock on my phone. I was early. I was always early. Being only on time made me nervous, since it wasn't early enough. On time was practically late. But mostly I looked at my phone because your cuteness was filling up the whole room, and so was my embarrassment. Everything cringeworthy about myself had sort of busted my seams and was rising, like those films about the Titanic, the ocean surging into the rooms.
You got up, went to the watercooler. You pulled one cup from the stack, and, like,
