The Chaos of Stars by [email protected] Read Free Book Online

doesn’t appear to be much sense to the buildings, but a broad, pedestrian-only street leads the opposite direction of my museum. I’ll have to explore later. I like how this place is sheltered from the crush of cars and the endless rows of houses and buildings.
    Though there are still crowds wandering around. I feel claustrophobic. Who knew that living in the real world included so many people ?
    I walk down the covered sidewalk, past some bizarre modern sculptures in a garden, craning my neck when the roof opens up to see the domed tower atop the museum, accented with blue and yellow tile. A bell chimes the time. Almost late.
    I walk slower.
    But not slow enough, and even dragging my feet up the stairs brings me to the door just as it opens. A tiny, energetic brunette flashes me a brilliant smile. Her eyes are about even with my chest. My relative height here keeps surprising me, too. Even after my painful growth spurt, I was always the shortest, other than stooped Thoth.
    Here I am tall. Really tall. Of course, my spike heels propelling me well past my 1.8 meters probably help. I enjoy it, though. I feel like I can breathe better.
    “You must be Isadora!”
    I hold my hands out in a silent ta-da motion.
    “I’m Michelle! We’re so excited that you’ll be with us this summer. Museum traffic swings up so much—especially once schools go on break in the next couple of weeks. It’s always nice to have extra hands, and with your background, well! It’s going to be great. And I can’t even begin to tell you how thrilled we are about your parents’ incredible donation of their traveling exhibit.” She’s practically bouncing up and down. I see why my mother picked her—she’s even wearing an ankh necklace under her nice white button-down blouse.
    I’m dressed in a black pencil skirt and a cherry-red top, my hair down, stick straight, my thick bangs so long they almost cover my eyes. I debated this morning whether or not to show up in jeans and a tee, torn between rebelliously refusing to adhere to the dress code and being nice. But it isn’t the museum’s fault my mother’s a control freak.
    I’m entertained by the way Michelle chops her hands through the air as she’s explaining the plan for a separate wing when the exhibit arrives, and how she prefaces many of her sentences with, “I mean, look .” Unfortunately, if I cave and like anything about this (including Michelle), my mother wins.
    Conundrums.
    We walk past a circular lobby with double desks and into a massive main room, the ceiling open to the top of the building. The second-floor balcony wraps all the way around and lets in natural light from huge, round-top windows, and the middle of the floor down here showcases massive carved stone pillars. Michelle cheerily tells me about this exhibit on ancient Mesoamericans, its history, how long it’ll stay up. I’ve never heard anyone talk so fast in my entire life. She packs more words into a single breath than most people do in five.
    We head up the stairs, past some exhibit on the origins of humankind, and over to the Egyptian room. The entrance is deep purple and green, with gold lettering. The colors are all wrong, really. I appreciate the effort to make it look regal, but I’d have done it differently.
    The actual exhibit is shockingly small—a single room, with cases on the sides and in the middle. I’m greeted by a cartoon version of my creepy, lecherous half brother Anubis, which makes me giggle.
    Michelle turns to me midsentence. “What?”
    I shake my head. “Oh, nothing. Sorry. Go on.” Cartoon Anubis is pointing to the centerpiece of the room—a headless mummy. We have better in our tombs at home. But it’s a decent collection for such a small museum. And there’s a whole case of things from Abydos, one of which is allegedly from the tomb of Osiris. It’s kind of adorable they think someone could find the tomb of a god.
    “The Children’s Discovery Room is through those