Catch a Falling Star (26 page)

our heels.

I nodded, hoping to shed this feeling so foreign to me. “I’m

fine. Just tired.”

“We should get you something cool to drink.” He signaled to

Mik, who’d been walking a few paces behind us.

Hydration therapy again.

I didn’t need something cool to drink. Truth was, I was sad

because none of this was real. And that was suddenly a huge

problem.

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Because I really liked this guy, the version of him that broke

through his cloud cover once in a while. I had expected to tolerate

the tantrums of a brash, selfish movie star for a few weeks —

smile, grit my teeth, and quietly count my cash, help my brother

out, ease my parents’ stress. Adam wasn’t supposed to have flashes

of cute and smart and interesting. He wasn’t supposed to make me

feel like this. Like I could float away into the sky.

Only in the movies, right?

Except, I knew this wasn’t going to end well.

Sipping the tall iced glasses of lemonade that had magically

appeared, we passed under the trellis and out to the edge of the

vineyard.

“Look!” Adam pointed out across the valley. “The cemetery.”

He was right. You could see the cemetery from here like it was

a child’s model. Next to it, the funeral home looked like a match-

box. “Thanks again for stopping with me.”

“You really know how to impress a date.” He gave my hand a

squeeze. “Ghosts. Fairy Trees and dead guys. Cemeteries. Super

sexy, by the way.”

I took a breath of air. “I really love going there.”

He gave me a funny look. “Okay, now you’re just freaking

me out.”

I laughed, feeling some of the haze lift. “To see my grandma!”

I gave him a playful shove and he moved his arm around my waist.

I imagined away the cameras, focused only on the way his arm felt

around me. “Actually, there’s something really calming about a

graveyard.”

“If you say so, Crazy.”

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I sipped my lemonade, chewing a stray piece of ice. “Seriously,

I go there and all of the stupid stuff from my life seems, well,
stu-

pid
. Pointless. I mean, sooner or later, we all end up right there.

So, we need to not stress out all the time. We need to know that

we have a life and that is a good thing.”

“Yes, being alive is better than being dead.”

“You know what I mean.” Somehow, I knew he did. We stared

out over the valley, and I thought about how the feeling I got at a

graveyard was similar to the one I got watching the sky at night,

drinking in all those stars. There were many things in this world

to feel small — stars, cemeteries, oceans. They relaxed me. I

liked being reminded of being small, mostly because it took the

pressure off when people pushed you to be big.

“Mr. Jakes?” One of the Mik look-alikes appeared next to us.

“You can call me Adam.” He dropped his hand from around

my waist.

“Parker needs you both at the front of the house. We got the

pictures we wanted.”

Adam glanced down at me. “You ready?”

And just like that, the haze returned. “Sure.”

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seventeen

by nine, the sky had grown the deep color of grape juice with

an illuminated rim of pale still edging the horizon. Chloe and

Alien Drake had joined us for dinner. Pulled-pork sandwiches,

coleslaw, plate-sized wedges of seedless watermelon, huge vats of

homemade ginger ale, root beer, lemonade — all spread out on

red-white-and-blue-checked tablecloths. As we loaded our plates

in line, Alien Drake and I managed to joke a bit, the tension

between us thawing.

Now, he and Chloe snuggled next to each other on our blanket,

eating, listening to the band play covers of songs whose only connec-

tion was that they had some derivation of the word
America
in them.

As night beckoned the crowds to their blankets, the band’s

singer announced one last song before the fireworks show. Into the

mic, he said, “This song was a request from our special guest,

Adam Jakes. It’s an original song that we wrote, and it goes out to

Carter Moon. It’s called ‘Stargazer.’” His guitar hit the opening

notes, the drummer keeping an even rhythm, and he belted out:

Every night, she watches the sky.

Every night, she wishes on a star.

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Did she know she was looking for me?

Did she know she didn’t need to look so far?

I squirmed a little on the blanket. He had them write a song

for me? Parker hadn’t mentioned a song. I felt eyes on me from the

other blankets as the song filled the air around us.

After a minute, Adam whispered into my ear, “Do you like it?”

I nodded, my throat closing.

As I looked around at the people listening, believing this song

was meant for me, that it was true, I was struck with how much we

needed to know we were loved. We needed people to tell us, show

us, remind us. I studied the stars wide above me, realizing it was

because we knew how small we were that love mattered so much.

Even when everything in the world pointed to the contrary, love

carved out its own vast galaxy for us, made us the most important

thing in it, at least to somebody. But I also knew as I listened that

I didn’t want a fake song from Adam.

I wanted a real one.

The crowd listened around me, their heads bobbing along to

the easy beat. People sneaked glances in our direction, trying not

to look like they were staring. When the band finished playing,

Adam gave my hand a squeeze, jumped up, and crossed the dark-

ening lawn to the stage.

Chloe studied me from across the blanket, her eyes wide. “You

are in so much trouble.”

“Why?”

“You
love
him.”

My chest lurched. “I don’t love him. I’ve known him for, like,

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five minutes. It’s taken me longer to love a sandwich. We’re not
in

love
. We just started dating.” Chloe and Alien Drake exchanged a

concerned look; they knew overacting when they saw it.

Chloe motioned toward the bandstand. “He had a song writ-

ten for you and played in front of, like, four hundred people. Who

does that?”

Alien Drake nodded, clearly impressed. “I’ve never done that.”

Chloe gave his face a pat. “We know, sweetie.”

I watched Adam laughing with the lead singer, and I chose my

words carefully. “Don’t get me wrong; that was amazing, the song

was amazing, he’s amazing.”

Alien Drake, bemused, interrupted, “Just so we’re clear —

everything’s amazing.”

I licked my lips, wanting to start preparing my friends, letting

them know this wasn’t going to last, even though I couldn’t really

tell them that. “Yeah, I like him. But I’m trying not to get too

attached, okay? I mean, where can this possibly go? He’s a
movie

star
. We’ll all be seniors at Little High next year, but Adam will

probably be filming a movie in France or something. What’s he

going to do — fly home to meet me for study hall? Come to prom?

I can’t get attached.” As the words spilled out, I realized I wasn’t

preparing my friends — I was preparing myself. Even wrapped in

lies, I couldn’t have shared any truer words.

But, of course, it was too late.

Chloe’s eyes found Adam up by the band. He was checking out

the lead singer’s guitar, noticed us watching him, and gave a small

wave. Chloe let out a sigh and shot me a worried look. “If you

say so.”

208

A few minutes later, Adam settled back down next to us on the

blanket. The night had darkened enough for the fireworks to start

launching. “Thanks for the song,” I whispered, my throat tight.

Before he could respond, light burst open in the night sky

above us.

I jumped a little, mostly from the noise, and Adam put his arm

around me. “Okay there, Jumpy?”

I nodded, but inside I was miserable.

When he leaned in to kiss me, I tried to ignore the sound of

cameras. Instead, I imagined them as part of the cannon-thump of

the fireworks launching, as part of the necessary space between

that thump and the blooming of scattered light above us. Mostly,

though, I needed to pretend all the noise — all the clicking of

cameras around me and the popping of fireworks in the sky above

me — was simply outside of me. When, really, I knew the noise

was no match for the pounding in my chest, for the way he made

me feel when he was near me.

After the fireworks left the sky smoking and dark, we walked

alone toward the Range Rover, Mik having run back to the house

for some of our things that we’d stashed in the entryway.

As we neared the garage, I saw the lit end of a cigarette before

I saw him emerge from the shadows.

T.J. Shay.

“You’ve got yourself some rich friends, Carter,” he drawled,

his face falling into the light of the motion sensor we’d set off with

our approach.

209

A familiar current of unease moved through me. “What are

you doing here, T.J.?”

Adam drew closer to me, his hand taking mine. “This is a

private party.”

T.J. flashed a ticket stub. “Yeah, I know. Big winner!” He gave

a practiced leer. T.J. had spent years cultivating his gangster image,

and he almost had it mastered. In a few more years, it would

cement itself into place, but I still remembered when he used to

wander our house in a Batman costume and, for me, parts of that

boy lingered beneath the leer.

I let go of Adam’s hand, crossing my arms across my chest.

“You called into a radio station contest?”

Shrugging, he stuffed the ticket into the pocket of his baggy

shorts. The shorts looked more like they used to be pants, pants

that had met with an unfortunate exchange with a chainsaw. The

hems sagged in varied lengths, frayed at their edges, and a long

chain looped at his waist. I knew it was attached to a knife. T.J.’s

beloved knife. He bragged about it the way a new parent would a

small child who’d just started walking. How many times had he

shown me that knife when he used to hang out at our house? I used

to find it sort of boring and sad, little boy with his grown-up blade,

but here, in the shadows, it served its purpose.

“What do you want, T.J.?” My voice wobbled a little; this guy

was a long way from Batman costumes.

“Where’s your brother?” He dropped his leer, and without it,

his face just looked slack and mean. “We can’t seem to find him,

and he owes us some money.”

“I already gave you money.” I thought of the stack of hundreds

210

in the white envelope I’d passed him through his open car win-

dow in the Taco Bell parking lot back when things first started

with Adam.

T.J. shrugged. “It wasn’t enough.”

“How much now?” Adam asked.

T.J. eyed Adam the way one observes their options at a meat

counter. “You going to pay me, Hollywood?”

“How much does he owe you?” Adam asked again.

“Adam, this really isn’t —” I began.

T.J. cut me off. “He owes me fifteen thousand dollars.”

That number weighted my feet to the ground.
$15,000
. The

last time I’d asked John he’d said it was three grand, four tops.

“There’s no way he owes you that much.”

He lit another cigarette. “Interest.” Blowing the smoke away,

he added, “And I don’t think you know your brother like I do.

Fifteen is generous. That’s after what you gave me. Your boy’s got

a problem.”

I shook my head, anger melting away any lingering waves of

fear. “John’s not here, T.J., and I think you should go.”

T.J. laughed a quick puff of air. “Right, like you’re going to

make me.”

A blur passed us, quick and dark, and suddenly T.J. was face-

down on the ground, Mik’s hulking form pinning him like a bug.

Adam walked over to T.J. “This is Mik. He doesn’t like it when

people don’t leave when I want them to.”

“Get. Him. Off,” T.J. wheezed.

“Didn’t I meet a sheriff earlier at the parade? Nice guy.

Redheaded. Is he here?” Adam asked Mik. Mik nodded, motioning

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back down toward the lawn. People had mostly cleared out, and

the catering company was moving tables, stacking plates. Someone

had turned on some floodlights.

“That’s Luke O’Casey. I’ll get him.” I started to turn toward

the lawn.

T.J.’s eyes bulged, but he still tried for tough guy. “Tattling is

not in your brother’s best interest.” His breath came in ragged

gasps.

I waited, half turned toward where I’d last seen Sheriff

O’Casey.

Adam took slow steps toward T.J., waiting until his feet were

at T.J.’s eye level, and then he crouched down next to him. “
Tattling?

Seriously? What are we, five?” His voice came out low and grav-

eled. “This isn’t about tattling. . . . This is about reporting you to

the proper authorities.”

“Wait!” T.J. rasped, his eyelids beating like hummingbird