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Skye stood in the airport waiting area, arms crossed and squinting in the fluorescent lights.
She hated airports, she’d decided. Hated them. This was not an entirely new revelation—she had, over the past year, become painfully familiar with airports’ many unfortunate qualities. It was an unavoidable side effect of attending college in California while the rest of her family lived on the east coast.
She'd been waiting for half an hour already, and was quickly becoming bored with solving derivatives in her head to pass the time. She clenched her jaw and rubbed her arms, trying to stop shivering in the air conditioning. It was July in California, which meant loose t-shirts and running shorts. Next time, Skye swore, she would remember to bring a hoodie with her.
She was still glaring impatiently around the room when she felt a body slam heavily against her side, almost sending her tumbling to the ground. Her hat was knocked clear off her head as she stumbled backwards.
Furious, Skye was about two seconds from clocking this idiot straight in the nose. She’d never gotten into a fistfight in the middle of an airport before, but supposed there was a first time for everything. But then she recognized the mop of dark curls under her chin, and realized it was Jane who had taken a running leap out of the crowd and was currently squeezing the life out of her.
“Can’t—breathe—” Skye said, with slightly more dramatic effect than necessary.
Jane let go and pulled back. She looked almost exactly the same as she had a few months earlier, when Skye had seen her over winter break. The only difference was her hair, which was shorter than Skye had ever seen it, the cropped curls floating wildly around her head. It suited her, Skye supposed, if she was going for a “dreamy, yet slightly mad academic” look—which, of course, Jane always was.
Jane was smiling widely, eyes shining. “At long last, the weary traveler breaks free from the crowd and greets her long-lost kinsman. And now the pair departs for a much-awaited adventure in a foreign land!”
Skye grinned despite herself. “So, good flight, then?”
“Oh, it was lovely, I got so much writing done!” Jane dropped briefly to one knee, retrieved Skye’s fallen cap, and placed it ceremoniously back on her head.
“Come on then, let’s go. This place is freezing.” Skye held out a hand, wordlessly offering to carry one of Jane’s bags. Jane briefly considered, then handed over the smaller of the two.
Skye picked it up, felt the weight, and eyed Jane. “You really brought an entire carry-on worth of books?”
Jane lifted her chin, indignant. “Of course I did! An author must always be prepared, especially when travelling in a foreign land!"
"Jane, I live in California, not a different country."
"Yes, but you have palm trees in California! In the middle of the street! That practically counts as a tropical island."
Skye rolled her eyes and shouldered the bag. “Whatever. Come on, we need to catch the train back to campus.”
“Merci beaucoup, ma sœur forte ! Tu es très . . . rats, what’s French for ‘gentlemanly’?”
“Jane, hurry up!”
“Coming!”
After a brief stop at Skye’s dorm to drop off the bags, Skye dragged her sister back out for soccer practice.
"I can't believe you're making me run drills on my vacation," Jane said as they made their way down to the fields. "This is supposed to be my week of leisure and luxury!"
Skye snorted, shifting her gym bag more securely on her shoulder. "Well, you might be content to let your skills atrophy, but I'm not cancelling practice just because I have a lazy sister visiting town. Besides, when was the last time we actually played together? Maybe I'll throw in a scrimmage at the end."
Skye imagined Jane dribbling laps around her teammates and grinned. Nope: she was definitely throwing in a scrimmage. Although Skye had always worked harder to improve her skills, Jane had a natural talent for soccer that always made her the star of the field.
Maybe, Skye thought gleefully, her teammates would finally feel bad about their embarrassing lack of foot dexterity after watching Jane play. She could probably force another few rounds of drills out of them if she really set Jane loose.
Once they arrived at the field and Jane excitedly shook hands with everyone, the team ran quickly through their drills. Skye was pleased that enough people had turned up for a scrimmage—she had opted to start her own intramural club instead of trying out for her school’s competitive team, and they were still working to build up a consistent group. Before long, the game had begun.
Almost immediately, Jane had the ball swiped out from under her by Kat, who was Skye’s best forward by virtue of being both fast and sneaky. Skye watched as Jane gaped in disbelief, then feinted left and dove right for the ball, snatching it back in a trick of footwork that Skye, despite years of methodical practice, had never quite mastered.
And now Skye could see the look on Jane’s face—the look that meant angry war cries and shouted British curses, regardless of how many of her sister's friends were around to hear. Skye had a terrible vision of being forever known as the astrophysicist with a lunatic sister.
“Cool it, Mick,” she muttered.
Jane turned back to look at her, stuck out her tongue, and then smiled madly. She turned and dribbled up the field, leaving half the team in her wake.
Skye grinned, and raced to follow.
After a noisy dinner out with the soccer team—during which Jane had alternated between chatting avidly with the entire table and using them as research for her book, while Skye had tried not to be amused by the spectacle—the sisters headed for Skye’s favorite coffee shop.
“I’ll have a medium dark roast, no room for cream, plus whatever she wants,” Skye said, gesturing at Jane.
What Jane wanted, apparently, was a sugary iced monstrosity topped generously with whipped cream and caramel drizzle. The smell alone was so sweet it made Skye’s teeth ache.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try a sip?” Jane asked, pushing her drink under Skye’s nose.
“Jane, what has my answer been any time you’ve ever asked me that?”
Jane smirked and pulled her drink back. “You’ve said,” here she crossed her arms and glared, in a startlingly accurate recreation of Skye’s own body language. “Jane, why would I ever want to try your delicious macchiato when I could instead drink the most bitter coffee known to man?”
Skye threw the napkins at her.
They settled back in their chairs, sipping their drinks and watching the room. They both enjoyed people-watching, though for different reasons. Skye found the bustle of strangers calming to observe, something about the organized chaos satisfying her brain's ever-present need for movement. It helped clear her head in much the same way that her early-morning runs did.
Jane, on the other hand, was fascinated by the mundanities of other people’s lives. She loved to watch people’s interactions as inspiration for her writing, and could sit for hours in a bustling shop or on a crowded street corner, imagining the stories of strangers who passed her by.
Sure enough, when Skye looked back across the table, Jane had pulled out one of her seemingly endless blue notebooks and was scribbling absently, a small smile on her face as her eyes flickered around the room.
Skye waited until Jane had put down her pen before asking, "So, how is everyone?"
Jane paused, considering. "Dad and Iantha are good. Still complaining endlessly about their students, who despite being in college are apparently ‘entirely lacking in common sense and good judgement.’"
Skye snorted. "Well, having been a tutor for college students, I can attest to the fact that ninety percent of them are idiots. Last week I had to explain the order of operations to a new freshman. The order of operations! Eighteen years on this earth, and he was still trying to disregard parentheses in his equations."
"Yes, well, the non-scientist Penderwicks find your academic rants incredibly dull. Anyway, Ben said to tell you,” Jane scrunched up her face, “Mike, India, Sierra, Sierra, Uniform.”
Skye nodded solemnly. “Remind me before you leave, and I’ll write him a letter to decode. Is Lydia still in her princess phase?”
“Yes, unfortunately for everyone. I don’t think I’ll ever get the glitter out of my copy of Pride and Prejudice,” Jane said mournfully.
"I'll convert her to the ways of astrophysics eventually," Skye said. She viewed Lydia as something of a blank slate; with Iantha's astrophysicist genes and her father’s near-encyclopedic memory, Lydia had every opportunity to become a top-tier scientist. Her current princess obsession was simply a bump in the road, and Skye would correct it in time.
"Jeffrey’s visited a few times, mostly to help Batty with her music. She's getting really good, you know—and it's been amazing for her confidence. She smiles so much more now, like she used to."
Skye thought about the last time she had visited Gardam Street and listened to Batty play the piano. Her sister had been smiling softly, with the same faraway look on her face that Skye got when she studied the stars through her telescope on the roof, or when she finally solved a particularly challenging math problem. It was that same sense of being settled, at peace—the satisfaction that came when the jumbled ideas inside her brain so perfectly manifested themselves in the real world.
Then Jane completely shattered her musings by saying, "And Jeffrey hasn't really mentioned . . . well, you know what again."
She was clearly referring to Jeffrey's I think I'm in love with you freak-out from the previous year, which Skye would have preferred to never discuss again. At least he’d finally stopped sending her love odes, she thought in disgust.
But Skye, who was helping a professor edit an article for submission into a physics journal, was quickly becoming an expert at picking apart imprecise language. She replayed Jane's last sentence in her head, then narrowed her eyes.
"He hasn't really mentioned it? Do I even want to know what that means?"
Jane winced. "He asked me if you liked girls instead, and that was why you didn't want to date him."
Skye groaned and ran her hands through her hair, making it stand completely on end. "Oh god, not this again."
"I know. I thought he had finally settled down, and then he came up with that out of nowhere! He's quickly surpassing 'tortured, lonely soul' and heading straight for 'obsessive git.'"
At Skye's impatient glare, Jane continued, "Don't worry, I told him he was an idiot and he needs to get over himself."
"Well, maybe he'll listen to you, because he clearly didn't listen to me. I told him, in very simple words, that I don't want to date anyone. Then I punched him," she admitted.
"Didn't you punch Pearson after you kissed him that one time? And then he was still into you for like, an entire year afterwards? Maybe boys are just attracted to your punches."
"Jane, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
Jane shrugged. "Well, anyway, Jeffrey hasn't mentioned it again in months. And he seemed much more like his old self the last time he visited." She grinned. "I think there's hope for our poor, tortured friend yet."
Skye rolled her eyes and aimed a kick at Jane's feet under the table, which Jane deftly dodged.
They talked a while longer, about anything and nothing at all: Skye's amazing professors in the physics lab, Jane's new girlfriend back in Massachusetts, whether they should get pizza or Thai food for lunch the next day. Skye complained about the stupidity of needing reading glasses at the age of nineteen, and Jane insisted it was completely unfair that Skye got glasses while she herself had perfect vision—"When by all rights, I, the future author, should be wearing quirky wire-rimmed spectacles!"
Eventually Skye noticed that the light was fading outside the coffee shop windows, and they got up to leave. Skye held the door open for Jane as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, the bell jingling softly in the evening breeze.
She looked at Jane and was struck with an odd sense of nostalgia, as if she had never left Cameron and they were walking back home from a late-night study session. She suddenly felt, bizarrely, that she could blink and they would be walking through the door to their bustling house on Gardam Street, her father's soft voice asking about their night and her siblings all clamoring loudly for attention.
Skye shook her head and then elbowed her sister. "I'll race you back to the dorm," she said.
"What are we, ten?" Jane asked. But Skye could see that the challenge had brought a spark to her eyes.
Skye raised an eyebrow. "Spoken like someone who’s more mouse than man," she said, and sped off down the sidewalk. She listened to Jane's muffled "Skye!" as she hastily tucked her notebook in her bag and scrambled to follow.
Skye heard Jane's sneakers pounding the pavement behind her, felt the wind in her hair, and ran harder.