Caleb was eight and loved the stars. He could point you to Venus, then tell you how it was possible to know it wasn’t Mars. He could spot the Big Dipper, and then show you how it turned into the tail and hindquarters of the Great Bear
At Christmas, his older sister, Petra, the best sister in the whole world, bought him not one, but TWO packets of glow-in-the-dark stars for his bedroom ceiling.
They were amazing, and glowed when he looked at them under the bedcovers, even though they were still in the packet and hadn’t been out in the light for very long.
Christmas was at Granny and Grandpa’s in Wales, and they were going to be there for two weeks and only go home to Leeds on Sunday, so he’d have to go straight back to school on Monday, and only THEN, on Monday night, would he be able to start sticking the stars up above his bed.
He made plans, looked up the patterns and orientation of the constellations. Should he create a map of the stars over his head? Or create the ones from another part of the world. Maybe he could just do his favourites and try not to worry about the placements being inaccurate. Petra had her own presents to play with, but she lent him her new ruler so he could measure the lines between the stars in his notebook and get them the proper distance from each other.
Dad helped too, working through the maths with him, so he knew that a centimetre on the page meant thirty centimetres on the ceiling to get the design the size he wanted.
Mum smiled and ruffled his hair and promised to help when they got home.
The holiday dragged on, and then they were in the car forever, and then home and tired, but even so, Dad got the stepladder out of the garage that night. That way Caleb wouldn’t have to wait for him to get home from work to get it tomorrow. Best Dad ever.
And then it was school, and comparing presents and stories with his friends, and then, finally, home, and time to make his very own galaxy.
Except, when he got to the door of his bedroom, Mum was already in there. Up the ladder, sticking stars on the ceiling. She smiled as he came in. “Surprise! I’ve done it all for you. Made the loveliest design, in the shape of a fish.”
Caleb’s heart dropped into his stomach, then fell through the floor, it probably even went through the kitchen floor below. “You what?”
Mum frowned. “A fish, you know for your star sign.”
No. She hadn’t. She couldn’t have. But there they were, the empty packets on the floor beside the ladder, and a closely-packed mess of star stickers above it. He gulped down the horrible, blocking lump in his throat, then tried again, it didn’t work, the next breath was a heaving sob, and then he was crying and couldn’t stop.
Mum looked surprised, then cross. “I do all this work and this is the thanks I get?”
Caleb couldn’t answer, he couldn’t speak, she’d wrecked everything. She never listened, she never cared. And Petra’s star sign was the fishes, his was some dumb set of scales.
The downstairs door slammed open, then shut and Petra called out. “Caycay, you ready to get to work on your star chart?”
She thundered up the stairs, and stopped in the doorway of Caleb’s room. She looked around, then said. “What have you done?”
Caleb choked out. “She made a fish. She used up all my stars on a stupid fish.”
Petra slapped her hand on her forehead. It was her current favourite dramatic gesture. “Oh Mum, Caleb is into astronomy, not astrology, and Pisces is MY star sign. He’s a Libra.”
Mum humphed. “Even so, it was a lot of work, he should be grateful.”
“Right, so if I went downstairs and spent the whole day painting your craft room baby-poo brown, you’d be happy and give me a hug and say thanks?”
“That’s not the same at all.” Mum stomped out in a huff.
Petra came all the way into the room, pulling Caleb into a side-on shoulder hug as she looked up at the fish above them. “It’s pretty big isn’t it.”
Caleb sniffed. “Probably going to be really bright too.”
“Guess we’re going to have to change rooms then.” Petra grinned at Caleb’s expression. “It’s my star sign after all.”
Best big sister in the world.
The DNA of Stories 