The Star Chaser Girl

The Star Chaser Girl

Lena was sixteen, all knees and nerves, the sort of kid who’d shimmy up onto her roof just to pretend she was somewhere else—anywhere but this dead-end place. She’d perch up there, sneakers dangling over the edge, neck craned so long at the stars she’d end up with a crick for days. Those weren’t just pinpricks of light to her, nah—they were escape routes, secret doors, possibilities. Her old man used to say she had a head jammed with wild ideas, but he’d been gone a while now, and her mom—well, she was busting her butt at the diner, barely keeping the fridge humming. Stuff like space camp? College? That was rich-kid territory. Not in the cards for a girl like Lena.

Didn’t stop her from dreaming, though. She’d scrawl rockets and planets in the margins of whatever homework she couldn’t finish, muttering constellation names under her breath—Ursa Major, Andromeda, Draco—like they were old neighbors. She sucked at most things—math, running laps, you name it—but she could pick out every star in the sky and spin a story for each one. That had to count for something, right?

Anyway, it was one of those muggy July nights, cicadas screaming so loud you’d think the world was ending, when everything went sideways. Lena was doing her usual star-gazing when BAM—a streak of white-hot light ripped through the sky. Not your garden-variety meteor. This thing was violent, loud as a car crash, and it plowed into the field behind her house so hard it rattled the windows. Heart pounding like a jackhammer, Lena scrambled off the roof (nailed her knee on the gutter, of course) and bolted toward the weird glow lighting up the field.

Total mess. Grass flattened, dirt smoking, the whole nine yards. And there, right in the middle, was something straight out of a sci-fi flick—a ship, all sleek curves and humming metal, pulsing like it had a heartbeat. Lena just stood there, gaping, because what else do you do when a spaceship parks itself in your backyard? Then she noticed him.

Definitely not human. Skin all dusky and shimmer-y, eyes huge and silver, curled up on the ground like he’d just lost a bar fight with gravity. He looked pretty wrecked, arm all bent funny. When he spotted her, he flinched. Lena’s body wanted to run, or at least scream, but honestly? He looked more freaked out than she was. She knew that look. She’d worn it enough times.

“Hey,” she croaked out, voice wobbling all over the place. “You, uh… you okay?”

No answer at first. Just more staring. Then he poked some gadget on his chest and out came this voice—kind of glitched, kind of soft. “I… crash. Need help.”

Her brain flatlined. An actual alien. Like, not a movie, not a dream, but real-deal ET in her backyard. She blurted out, “I’m Lena.” Because, sure, introductions, why not? “And you?”

“Kael,” he managed, gritting his teeth as he tried to sit up. “I am… running. From hunters.”

“Hunters?” Lena’s stomach did a little backflip. “Like, the bad kind?”

He nodded, eyes darting to the sky. “They chase me. My ship… broken. I must leave.”

She glanced at the ship—looked like it’d lost a fight with a freight train. Zero clue how to fix it, but she couldn’t just bail. “I’ll help,” she blurted, surprising even herself. “I mean… I’ll give it a shot.”

Kael’s shoulders dropped, like he hadn’t banked on kindness. So they limped to the ship, and he talked her through it—twist this, hold that, don’t touch the sparky bit. His hands were all elegant, hers just fumbling, but somehow it worked. He told her he was an explorer, that his people mapped stars and hoarded stories. The hunters? They wanted to keep the universe tiny and locked up.

Right when she thought maybe they had a shot, the sky went dark. Like, doom-movie dark. A monster ship blotted out the stars—way bigger, way meaner than Kael’s. The hunters. Lena’s hands shook so bad she nearly dropped a tool, but Kael grabbed her arm. “We go now,” he said, eyes wild. “With you.”

“Me?” Lena squeaked. “No way—I mean, I’ve never—”

He cut her off. “You can. You are brave.”

She sure didn’t feel it. She felt like a disaster in Converse. But those hunters were landing, and Kael was looking at her like she was the last hope in the solar system. So she climbed in, heart in her throat, and hung on for dear life as the ship screamed into the sky.

The stars smeared past, a million streaks of light, and Lena just about burst with awe and terror. It was everything she’d ever wanted and way more than she could handle. They zipped to a planet with two freaking suns, ground glittering like someone spilled diamonds everywhere. Kael needed some crystal thing to patch up the ship. Lena followed, feet wobbling, completely out of her depth but stubborn as heck.

Didn’t take long for the hunters to catch up. They were massive, all armor and growly voices, stomping around like space cops on a bad day. She and Kael ducked behind a rock, her heart pounding loud enough to be a beacon. “I’m scared,” she breathed.

“Me too,” he whispered back. Weirdly, that helped.

They sprinted, dodged blaster fire, grabbed the crystal. Back in the ship, Lena yelled out ideas—“Fly lower!” “Zig-zag!”—and Kael actually listened. They barely made it out, the ship rattling like a tin can, but they did it. Together. Like a real team, or at least a pair of very lucky idiots.

Finally, when they were floating in some quiet corner of the universe, Kael looked at her and said, “You saved me, Lena.”

She snorted, shaky as hell. “I just… didn’t want to lose this.”

He grinned, small and real. “You belong out here.”

Maybe she did. When Kael brought her home, landing soft as a feather in the field, she didn’t cry. Gave him a quick, awkward hug, and watched him take off. The stars were still there—somehow brighter, like they’d been waiting for her all along. And Lena knew she’d see them again. Not just as a dreamer, but as someone who’d actually touched them.