But you would pirate Interstellar. You would stay up late watching it on your mom’s old iPod Touch, sound off, mouthing captions like you were studying for an exam. You told her it was also your new favorite movie, and you would cheat Christopher Nolan, but you would never tell a lie. Tomorrow, you would turn to her during physics and joke that this class was like the water planet where you aged seven years every hour. She would laugh, her blue eyes wide, emptying into yours. After school, you would let her drive you down to a part of the beach where there was no one else around. You would lie in the sand. You would nod when she asks if she can take off your shirt, touch your wind-chilled breasts. You have watched many videos on the iPod Touch, so you would be prepared for what comes next. You would learn anything. The constellations. What to do with your fingers. How to take nudes using flash to lighten your body in the mirror. As the meadows come alive, you would wreathe her in daisy crowns. You would kiss her freckled nose, call her your gorgeous sun goddess, telegraph your forbidden yearning in public by brushing your pinky against hers. Months later, when she ends things with you over the phone, you would go into the bathroom and swallow half a cup of Tide. Just enough to get sick and vomit bubbles all night, enough to make sure she’ll hear what happened the next day. Before she hung up, you said you loved her, and you would scoop out your own foaming guts, but you would never have her think you didn’t mean it.