The Stars Will Shine (7 page)

I moved my car from the courtyard last night for secrecy’s sake, so it’s parked on the small street that runs parallel to the wall I plan to jump, which works out nicely.

In a flash, I move across the back lawn over to the fire pit. With a lunge up onto the bench, I make a leap to grab the top of the wall behind it. Rough stones scrape the skin of my fingers, and I grunt hard as I pull myself up onto my elbows. My feet keep slipping as I climb, which makes the wall cut into the skin over my bony elbows. I let out a hiss as one cut goes particularly deep, but I manage to get myself all the way up so that I straddle the wall. My breaths come embarrassingly hard.

Just then, I hear a grunt of exertion much like my own, and I lean over toward the street side to investigate.

That’s when I see there’s a teenage boy starting a climb up the wall from the other side, his hands gripping the top not too far from where I sit.

What the hell? Who is this intruder?

I’m debating dropping back into the backyard and pretending that I was just giving myself a personal tour of the rest of the place, when the boy lifts his head and looks right up at me. And that’s when I realize…Well, this guy happens to be none other than Aiden Crosser. Which nearly sends me toppling over the edge in surprise.

“Hey there,” Aiden says breathlessly, confusion scrunching his face. He’s still pulling himself up to join me at the top of the wall. “Delilah, right?” He swings his back leg over the top of the wall and pushes his beanie back. It’s a dark blue one this time.

“Yeah…”

“Where are you headed off to?” he asks, like the two of us are in a perfectly normal situation right now.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt out instead of an answer. His dark eyes dance with the morning sunlight.

“I could ask you the same question.” His expression turns a little weird, like he’s trying to figure it out. “It’s early morning, and you’re escaping…” Realization dawns on his face. “Wait, are you and Dylan…Are you two, like, together or some—”

I whack his shoulder. Startled, he grabs the wall to steady himself. “
God, ew, no
! He’s my freakin’ cousin, dickwad.”

“Oh,” he says. Then, “
Oh
. You’re the cousin he mentioned.” So Aiden knows Dylan. Dylan knows Aiden. And Dylan mentioned me. Perfect.

I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to tell me he didn’t say very nice things about me. It’s written on your face.” Aiden scoots forward a little and lifts his hand, his eyes wide.

“No, it’s not th—”

“I told you already, man, I’m not a nice girl.”

“No, look, Delilah, that’s not what I…Here, I don’t care what he says, okay? He makes shit up half the time. He’s been that way since middle school.”

I regard him skeptically.

“So,” Aiden initiates, discreetly sweeping his eyes over my body. I let him get away with it. “What are you, uh…What are you up to?”

With a sigh, I glance once toward the kitchen then back to him. “If you promise not to tell, I’m sort of sneaking out.” I can tell he’s biting back a smile at my answer, so I add, “But it’s for a good reason.”

“Ah, I see,” he says, nodding like he’s in on some joke. “Well, I’m a man of my word, so I’ll tell you what—I’ll promise not to tell you’re sneaking out only if you promise not to tell I’m sneaking in.”

My face contorts, and I know it’s not pretty. “What? Why? Why would you do that to yourself? This place is a hellhole.”

“It’s for a good reason,” he echoes. His suppressed smile shows through in his dimples, and I feel the barest hint of a flutter in my chest. I want to cut the feeling out of me and chuck it as far as I can.

“Okay,” I say. “I see how it is.” I drop to the outside, to freedom. Thank God Aunt Miranda didn’t see us having our sweet little chat whilst perched atop her backyard wall, because apparently she approves of neither of us. I realize then that Aiden must be the friend Dylan met with yesterday. That means…

“Hey,” I say, turning around to rivet him with my eyes. “I took the fall for you yesterday.”

He gives me a funny look at first then comprehension sweeps over. “So you are a nice girl, after all,” he says. His head falls thoughtfully to the side. “But I’m not letting you take the blame.”

Without looking back, I walk on toward my car, parked about a hundred feet away, and the whole way, I’m well aware of his eyes watching me go.

***

“Hey! Help me bring these boxes out from the back,” Trevyn says as soon as I walk through the shop’s door. Sweat dampens his gray tee-shirt, and there’s a flush on his face, like he’s already been here working for a while.

“You even sleep?” I joke.

He shoots me a look from over the heavy box he’s carrying and states, “You’re ten minutes late.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I, uh, got held up.”

He jerks his head toward the stockroom, hurrying me along. I hoist one of the hefty boxes from the back into my arms and join him again in the aisle.

“What do you want to listen to today?” he asks once I’ve set the box down, but before I answer, he grabs a record off the shelf and shoves it to my chest. “This one.” I look it over.
Siamese Dream
by The Smashing Pumpkins.

“We can’t just open the ones on the shelf,” I say, laughing. “You’ll lose out on money.”

“Sure we can. I’ve been meaning to add that album to my personal collection anyway.”

The rest of the day is spent, once again, with the sign on the door turned to Closed because Trevyn is intent on whipping the shop into shape before allowing in any more customers. While we clean and organize the shop and shape our database, I think up ways we could boost business. Ideas for flyers and promotional events swim to the forefront of my mind, and I let them simmer there while I work. Trevyn and I don’t talk much, but we find ourselves absently singing along to the songs playing, our version of whistling while we work. We maintain a nice rhythm while we unload vinyls from boxes, record them in the database, and slide them into their specified places upon the shelves.

By the end of the day, we’ve got most of the boxes emptied, the floor swept, and the counters all cleaned. We even fixed the lettering on the exterior of the shop so that the place doesn’t look like some sketchy sex shop to passersby. In fact, the entire shop looks considerably more presentable than when I first popped in yesterday. It’s a majestic place; truly, it is. With its high shelves, dark wood, arched ceiling, and dim yellow lighting, it reminds me of a scaled-down version of Trinity College Library, with added ricketiness. It’s so different than any other record store I’ve ever been in that I think its interior and architecture could be an attraction alone.

When I return to my relatives’ house, I don’t bother sneaking in through the back way. My legs are sore from climbing ladders all day to reach the top shelves, so jumping the colossal wall really doesn’t appeal to me at present. And besides, I’m in such a good mood from the progress Trevyn and I made that I don’t think even one of Aunt Miranda’s sour expressions can douse the feeling.

As soon as the front door shuts behind me, Aunt Miranda appears in the foyer, having teleported straight here from wherever she’s been fuming about my disappearance. Her arms are crossed, as they often are when she is angry, and her scowl is in full force. I give her the briefest of blasé glances then head left for the stairs, choosing to stay silent to avoid kindling her wrath.

But as I push past her, her fingers curl around my upper arm. “Where were you all day?” she asks in a stone cold tone. Her grip on my arm tightens to the point that it almost hurts. I stare at her hand encircling my arm then drag my gaze to hers. She has fire in her pupils, the look of a dragon who’s been pilfered from. At any second, black wings might sprout from her shoulder blades and her teeth might turn to fangs.

I shake my arm free and walk away.

“No dinner for you tonight, Delilah,” she calls after me.
Like I was going to eat with you anyways.
“And your grounding term has been doubled. If you don’t want to see it tripled, I suggest you stop sneaking out and follow the rules of this house.”

I flap my hand back at her, and she lets out a sound halfway between a huff and a growl. When I pass Dylan’s room on the way to mine, I see him inside, lightly plucking at the strings of a rusty-red-colored electric guitar as he lies idly on his bed, his back propped up by some pillows. He lifts an eyebrow at me as I pass, so I know he heard the scolding I got, but then he closes his eyes, devoted to the soft music he makes. I hate to admit, even to myself, that his playing is fucking beautiful, especially because I know he still has no intention of ending my undeserved grounding by telling his mother the truth about those stolen wine bottles.

Chapter Five

Miles of Vinyls is my oasis in a desert. But already, occurrences the next day at work begin to suck it dry.

Two hours into the heat of things, the door opens with a cheery ring, and with the moving glass the sunlight swings across the floor and shelves. I look up, eager for my first customers here.

But instead I find Dylan. And behind him, Aiden.

I bite down on my tongue, hard.

“Good to see you, too,” Dylan says, eyeing me with a grimace. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were grounded. Chained up. On lockdown.” I turn up my brow at him and raise the volume of the music so Trevyn doesn’t hear us. Dylan steps back, raising his brows in turn. “I—
we
,” he says, motioning between him and Aiden, “got permission to be out.”

“Oh, is that why he was sneaking into the house at 7:45 yesterday morning?”

Dylan scratches behind his ear and in resignation says, “I told you. Mom doesn’t like him.”

“Because he gets you into trouble?”

“Something like that.” I glance at Aiden, but his face is unreadable.

“The only reason I’m grounded is because I took the fall for him,” I say as I stab my finger into Aiden’s chest. He rubs the spot and gives me an apologetic look.

“I’m going to get you ungrounded,” he promises.

“I really don’t give a shit,” I snap. “I couldn’t care less that I’m grounded. I’m here aren’t I? A whole lot of good it did.” I push my lips to the side and pretend to focus on the screen of Trevyn’s laptop that sits before me, our database open. I scroll the mouse wheel up and down.

“Why
are
you here?” Dylan asks again. He casts a puzzled look around the store. “And why are you behind the counter. Where’s Trevyn?”

On cue, Trevyn steps out from the last aisle with a friendly grin. “Behind you.”

Dylan and he exchange fist bumps then Trevyn holds out a hand to Aiden. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Aiden meets his hand with a firm shake. “Aiden Crosser.”

“I apologize for my cousin Delilah here,” Dylan cuts in, “who seems to have no respect at all for people’s personal property.” I get the feeling he’s hinting more at the fact that I put salt in the bristles of his toothbrush last night and less at my position behind the checkout counter.

I smile sweetly at him. “I wasn’t the one who stole a man’s expensive bottles of wine, was I?”

Dylan’s nostrils flare in response, and Aiden shifts awkwardly on his feet.

“No apology is necessary,” Trevyn says, speaking up to ease the tension. “Your cousin is actually my new employee.” He places a hand on my shoulder, a reassuring gesture, but I see Dylan’s eyes look to the spot where Trevyn’s fingers innocently graze the end of my collarbone, and they widen a little. Then he laughs, more like a scoff, and spins in a circle with his hands in his pockets.

“What, did she sleep with you or something?” he remarks when he comes full circle.

“Whoa.” Trevyn raises both hands. “Hey, man, it’s not like that at all.” His eyebrows dip low together.

I step forward so that I’m right in Dylan’s face, jaw jutted, eyes burning holes into his. My hand twitches once at my side before I slap him square across the face. He recoils and brings his hand up to cradle his cheek, where a red mark emerges in the form of my handprint. He stares at me, astonished I did it, while Aiden and Trevyn bite into their knuckles to dampen their laughter.

But I’m not laughing. Not at all.

I grind the words with my teeth. “Don’t think for a second that you know me.”

When I get to the stockroom, I slam the door and lock it. With my back to the door, I slide down and let my head fall into my shaking hands.

I breathe once, twice, three times, trying to calm myself. I shouldn’t have slapped him. It didn’t make me feel any better. But I heard those kind of assumptions all through high school, from kids and adults alike, so why does it hurt so much coming from him? Is it that it hurts me
he
said it, or is it that it’s painful he said it in front of Aiden and Trevyn, the two people who have yet to judge me?

My heart thumps in my chest, louder and louder until it sounds like a fist knocking on wood. I scramble to my feet, wiping my mouth. Someone
is
at the door, knocking. I don’t want to open it, but if there’s one state I have no desire to return to, it’s that of a pathetic little girl, wallowing in self-pity. I unlock the door and step back, turning my head away.