You’d think someone who wanted to study the stars would know better than to wish on them. There was no logical reason for me to put so much hope in exploding balls of hydrogen and helium, especially since they were millions of light-years away. But it didn’t matter. Every single night, I turned my head toward the sky, closed my eyes, and dreamed.

Like right now, sitting on the beach during the summer solstice, watching Arcturus rise. The red giant, twenty-five times bigger than the sun, burning brighter than every star in the northern hemisphere, both awed and terrified me. But it also somehow comforted me. Made me feel safe. So I gave him one simple wish: that I’d have the best summer ever.

My cousin Stephanie and her family lived at the beach year-round. Her parents owned one of the souvenir shops and a restaurant here. It was just a few hours’ drive north from my hometown, so I visited every year while my parents did non-church-affiliated (they really wanted everyone to know that part) missionary work in Honduras. If they knew the things Stephanie and I got up to (boys! parties! kissing!), they probably wouldn’t have been so quick to let me go every summer.

I loved these quiet nights before the tourists took over. The tide rolling in, the cool Atlantic waves splashing over my ankles and making me shiver. Pretty soon, they’d be splashing over my knees, then my thighs. I buried my toes in the sand. I liked the way it tickled when the surf carried the grains from under my feet. And I loved the stars scattering all over the sky like diamonds against blue velvet.

This was the dream life.