Catch a Falling Star
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K I M C U L B E R T S O N
UNCORRECTED PROOF | NOT FOR SALE
Title: Catch a Falling Star
Author: Kim Culbertson
Publication Date: April 29, 2014
Format: Jacketed Hardcover
ISBN: 978-0-545-62704-7
Retail Price: $17.99 US
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-545-62705-4
Ebook price: $17.99
Ages: 12 and up
Grades: 7 and up
LOC Number: 2013029467
Length: 304 pages
Trim: 5-1/2 x 8-1/4 inches
Classification: Social Issues / Friendship
Love & Romance
An Imprint of Scholastic Inc.
557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012
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UNCORRECTED PROOF – NOT FOR SALE
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Copyright © 2014 by Kim Culbertson
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All rights reserved. Published by Point, an imprint of Scholastic Inc.,
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Publishers since 1920
. scholastic, point, and associated logos are trademarks and/
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or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
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or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
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recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
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For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention:
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Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
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Culbertson, Kim A. author.
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Catch a falling star / Kim Culbertson. — First edition.
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pages cm
Summary: Carter Moon is expecting to spend a quiet summer working in her
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parents’ restaurant and hanging out with her best friends Alien Drake and Chloe
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— but when a Hollywood ompany arrives to film a movie, her sleepy California
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town is suddenly transformed, and Carter finds herself playing an unexpected
part in it all.
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ISBN 978-0-545-62704-7
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1. Motion picture actors and actresses — Juvenile fiction. 2. Acting — Juvenile
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fiction. 3. Best friends — Juvenile fiction. 4. Friendship — Juvenile fiction.
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5. California — Juvenile fiction. [1. Actors and actresses — Fiction. 2. Motion
pictures — Production and direction — Fiction. 3. Best friends — Fiction.
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4. Friendship — Fiction. 5. Self-realization — Fiction. 6. California — Fiction.]
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I. Title.
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PZ7.C8945Cat 2014
813.6 — dc23
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2013029467
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Printed in the U.S.A. 23
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First edition, May 2014
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Book design by Yaffa Jaskoll
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for anabella,
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one
if my life were a movie, it would start with this moment. The scene
would open with one of those expansive overhead shots of a vast, for-
ested landscape, the bleached summer sky threaded with clouds. The
music would be something rumbling, like thunder, or maybe more
liquid as the shot found the curve of our river cutting through granite
mountains, its waters famous for their inky green swirl, reflecting al
the pine and sky. In that introductory, melting sort of way, the camera
would dip in, fastening to the yel ow line of the single band of a remote
highway leading into our small town tucked into the endless mass of
Tahoe National Forest, zeroing in on the passing of a road sign:
LittLe, CA
3 miLes
Next, the shot would pass that sign and slide into the slender
downtown of Little, California. My town. It would move along
the pretty pastel rows of Victorian shops and houses, the corners
of streets marked with wrought-iron lampposts, past gaggles of
people at outdoor cafés or leaning their bikes against storefronts or
waving as they crossed the street. It would highlight the way our
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town had a sort of sunlit glaze in the summer, a slow ease that built
the slimmest of armor between us and the rest of the world.
In the movie version of my life, the shot would slow as a sleek
black Range Rover turned the corner and made its way like a
mirage up our main street, people stopping to shield their eyes
from the sunlight glinting off its perfectly washed windows.
The audience would know instantly that nestled inside that
air-conditioned car sat someone bigger than our small town.
But this wasn’t a movie.
This was my life.
And I still had three more hours before my shift ended.
My friend Chloe, though, could make any moment feel like a
movie. So Chloe would make sure to magnify it for both of us.
“Carter, that’s him!” she shrieked, clenching my arm as we cleared
dishes from the patio of Little Eats, my family’s café on the main
street of downtown Little. A half-filled cappuccino mug slipped
from her hand, breaking into two clean pieces on the cement of
the patio, the handle separating from its white porcelain body.
“Ouch, Chloe.” I unpeeled her death grip, quite sure my circu-
lation had been compromised. “That’s coming out of your paycheck,
not mine.” We watched the onyx car glide by, our café a watery and
strange reflection in its tinted back windows. In the front passenger
seat, a man in his thirties rested his tanned arm on the rim of the
window, tapping absently to music we couldn’t hear, his mirrored
sunglasses miniature versions of the tinted backseat windows.
The car came to rest at the stop sign right outside our patio.
“Do you think he can see us?” Chloe breathed, drinking in the
Range Rover’s idling purr.
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As if in response, the back window slid open, and before we
could blink, we had a full view of its famous passenger.
Adam Jakes.
Movie star.
Chloe gasped, her face going slack with shock. Framed in the
backseat window, Adam Jakes peered out, his famous blue eyes
hidden behind sunglasses. Everyone in the café patio stilled, as if
a mountain lion had entered a field and all inferior wildlife held
their breath. There, framed in that window, was the same tousle
of burnt-sugar hair, the symmetrical face, the same pair of wide
shoulders, the slouchy look of his mouth that always seemed to say,
