Under the Northern Stars by Tay Marley is part of Teen Vogue's original short fiction partnership with Wattpad Books. You can read all about the I Saw the Signs fiction series here, and stay tuned for new chapters daily updated below from Oct. 19-23, 2026. For notifications, sign up for Teen Vogue's flagship newsletter.
Leo and Gemma share a fence line, but that’s the only thing the two have in common. He’s an up-and-coming bronc riding champion. She’s an aspiring scientist obsessed with stars and space. With senior year behind them, Gemma believes ignoring Leo’s constant teasing will finally be easier, except for one teeny detail–her dad is his coach. When an unexpected accident turns her life upside down, no one is more surprised than Gemma when Leo steps in to help. As the pair shares a summer filled with stargazing, drawing, and fun, they move beyond the assumptions they’ve carried for years. But with Gemma leaving Montana for college, their budding romance might be over before it even begins.
Below, dive into Tay Marley's short story told in five chapters, Under the Northern Stars.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: It’s a Starry Night for a Pool Party
Out here, in the vast countryside of Western Montana, most people who want to see their neighbors hop on a four-wheeler and take a two-minute drive down a narrow dirt road. Or maybe you’ll walk for a half hour through the rolling paddocks and then hop a boundary line. On my family’s slice of land, where I’ve got a small cabin out back that I call the lab (with my equipment and a deck where my telescope stands), I’ve got the privilege of being right up beside the neighbor’s pool house. Too close for comfort.
Three of my favorite things in the world are the stars, my family, and this land I grew up on. Three things I don’t love are leaving for college at the end of summer, snakes, and my egocentric, bronc-riding neighbor, Leo. He moved in next door when he was nine and decided to nickname me after the only scientist he knew, Albert. My love for science and perfect-score pop quizzes became fuel for the teasing that went on for years. We’re older now, but the tone was set. Now that school’s done, it’s easier to ignore him.
Well, not tonight. A loud whoop of masculine excitement, followed by a splash, pulls me over to the short wooden fence. Peering over (it’s built for livestock, rather than privacy), there’s a small gathering next door. You wouldn’t know the party was small from the noise. We’re two weeks into summer and I swear, Leo’s had a party every single night. A nonstop celebration of our graduation and the start of our adult lives.
I love change and new opportunities, but I don’t know if I’ll love this next season of my life more than how I feel about home. It’s my safe haven: the stretching land, the animals, the small stream and trees on the east side of the property, the quiet, the kitchen deck where I drink my coffee and watch the sun come up. It’s all part of who I am.
Ignoring the antics, I head back to my telescope. Lowering my eye to the viewfinder, I focus on my most recent target: the Sagittarius cluster. The night is clear, crisp, and the bright grouping of stars, golden like a swarm of bees, glows. It’s gorgeous.
Suddenly, there’s a solid thump on the top of my head. “Ow!” The pain is instant. Looking around I spot a football on the ground.
Leo.
He effortlessly clears the fence and jogs straight for me. When he hops up on the deck, he grabs my face in both hands. He’s shirtless, dripping wet from the pool, and staring directly into my eyes.
“Shit,” he moves my head in every direction. “You good, Albie? I can throw but I didn’t know I was that good.”
Gathering myself, I step back, pulling my face from his grip and wiping the water away. “What were you aiming for? The moon?”
“Are you concussed?”
“I hope so.”
“I can take you to the hospital,” he offers, as I pick up his ball and hand it to him. “There are some signs to look for. Dilated p—”
“Leo,” I say. “I’m fine. I know the signs for a concussion. I also know the signs for someone who’s had too many. Exhibit A.”
He tsks and folds his arms, still clutching the football in one hand. “You’re so mean to me all the time.”
“Your football hit my head. You’re lucky it didn’t hit my equipment.”
“I’ve definitely said that before.”
“This is expensive.” I point at the telescope.
“I didn’t hit it,” he says. “Relax.”
“Yeah, you hit me. In the head.”
“You said that already,” he picks up my hand and encloses it in his palm. “I am very sorry, Gemma.”
“I’m still waiting for you to tell me what you were aiming for.” I pull my hand from his. “Because you overshot by a lot.”
“I was aiming for your telescope.”
I tilt my head at him, looking unamused. It’s gone eerily quiet. “Your party might be over.”
Leo shrugs. “I am the party, so that doesn’t surprise me.”
He means that sincerely. “And with ego like that, you must take up the whole dance floor.”
“With moves like mine, I deserve the whole dance floor.”
A bark of laughter escapes. Unfortunately, I’ve seen him dance, and he is good. “Mm-hmm, people tend to make space for hazardous situations.”
“Would you like me to admit that you can dance, Albie,” he teases. “I’ve seen you move. I would gladly share the floor with you next time we’re both at Lulus.”
“I’d rather dance with Old Man Ed when he’s near comatose.”
Leo lightly laughs. “I’ll see you at the rodeo tomorrow?”
“Why would you see me at the rodeo?” I will definitely be there but I don’t know what that has to do with him.
“It is preliminaries.”
I shrug. “So?”
“Your dad is my coach?”
“Your point?” I say. “You hit me in the head and now you want to catch up after prelims for, like, a high five or something? Maybe I do have a concussion because we don’t usually talk this much.”
He looks taken aback. “I always talk to you. You’re the one who never talks to me.”
I step off the deck, putting my back to him. “I do my best, Leo. I like my conversation to be stimulating.”
“I have a joke for that.”
I head back toward the house, confused as to why I enjoyed that exchange so much.
The fact that my dad doesn’t have a son to pass the torch of bronc riding to is one of his deepest sorrows. He’s got more trophies than I can count. Traveled all over North America, dubbed one of the best riders of his generation.
But my mom almost died giving birth to me and the doctors recommended no more kids. Dad did his best to embrace having a daughter and got me on a horse before I could walk. For a while, I did some barrel racing in the junior division. There were no trophies, but I wasn’t terrible. I can ride, lasso a calf, hang onto a bronc who is bucking for its life, but at around nine, on a school excursion to the planetarium, the stars stole my heart. I’d never seen something so spectacular as I did in the observatory. I wanted to know more. I never wanted to leave.
Mom got me my own telescope, and from there my passion grew. Science became my favorite class, the night sky my favorite subject. Dad is supportive, he loves me and wants me to be happy, but he mourns the loss of a successor.
When the Meyer family moved in next door and Leo showed some promise, he became the recipient of my dad’s knowledge, skill and, here’s hoping, his titles. Even though my dad has been training Leo for the last four years, we barely speak. At school, he’s treated like he parted the Red Sea. Everyone wants a piece of him, his time, his smile, his conversation. The teachers love him because while he isn’t a class clown, he knows how to insert a well-timed quip that makes everyone laugh. I’ll never admit it, but he is funny, and it works for him.
There’s nothing wrong with him, unless you count his ego as a flaw. But I’m still unsure if ego truly villainizes someone or if we’ve just decided to redefine the idea of warranted confidence.
Me? I’m not some recluse with no status. I get along with most people and can adapt to different environments with ease. Always make it a point to be polite. But Leo thrives on the validation he gets from crowds, peers, teachers. His face lights up when he gets praise and grows dejected when he’s told he’s messed up. Especially by my father.
When Leo walks through my kitchen doors, open onto the deck to let the morning sun stream through, he finds me sitting at the breakfast bar eating eggs.
“Albie, how’s the head this morning?”
“Dad,” I shout. “Your stray is here.”
“Calling me a dog, Gem?”
I turn on my stool toward him and smile, ignoring the way his jeans fit his thighs and his T-shirt hugs his chest. “That would be an insult to dogs.”
“Ouch.” He leans on the breakfast bar beside me and inspects the top of my head. “No headache?”
“Yeah, but he’s leaving soon.”
Leo chuckles. “I am showing genuine concern for your head here, Albie.”
That’s the part that keeps my guard up and the sarcasm coming. I don’t understand how to act when he’s being sweet. It feels too . . . enticing. Leo isn’t a womanizer, but his type is generally the hot, confident barrel racers that orbit around him. I’m not going to delude myself into thinking he’d be interested in me. Not that I’m interested in him…
“Good,” Dad says, appearing from the corridor. “You’re here. You prepared for this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir,” Leo says, and pushes off the breakfast bar, following my father toward the door. “See you later, Gem. I’ll be the one winning.”
“Literally the lamest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Gemma,” Mom tsks when she trails into the kitchen. “Good luck, Leo.”
“Keep that head safe,” I call out. “You wouldn’t want to bump it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Leo looks far too pleased at this exchange, and my dad tugs his arm, shooing him out of the kitchen. As they go, once again, I’m surprised to be more amused than annoyed.
Mom huffs with a hint of laughter, her eyes fixed on the coffee she’s pouring.
“What, Mom?”
“Nothing,” she grins. “You’re coming to the rodeo, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say. “Torrence is going to pick me up. We’re making the most of it before I leave and can’t go anymore.”
If mom catches the tone in my voice, she doesn’t comment. The truth is, every time I consider leaving for Arizona, thinking of what and who I’m leaving behind, I’m struck with grief, not just sadness—a bone-deep grief that gets worse the closer the date gets. The opportunity to go to one of the best colleges in the US for astronomy is a blessing, but it’s hard to remember why I want to go when I have such a deep-rooted love for the life I have here. It’s hard to imagine anywhere else giving me more than what I’ve got.