Steering the Stars (17 page)

     
 
Tillie blinked her large eyes at me. “What should we be doing?”

     
 
“Since I haven’t seen much of London outside of school or my house, I don’t really know.” I let go of a sigh. “Tagging walls with inappropriate graffiti? Hacking into government databases? You’re the natives so you tell me.”

     
 
“Hannah,” Ruben interjected, “you might as well forget a career in hacking. You couldn’t even figure out how to download the economics tutorial Ms. Lawrence sent out on Tuesday.”

      
 
Laughing, Tillie nodded her head in agreement. “He’s right.”

     
 
“Very funny.” I felt my neck go hot. Either Joel was watching me or I was coming down with the flu. I pulled a rubber band from the pocket of my school blazer and gathered my hair into a low ponytail.

     
 
“Back to squash,” Tillie redirected. “Mr. Hammond doesn’t take attendance at practice but you do remember him saying it would be beneficial, don’t you?”

     
 
“Well, if Mr. Hammond said it then of course it’s true,” Ruben said with a sly smile. We were both well aware of Tillie’s crush.

     
 
Her cheeks turned a startling shade of pink. “This isn’t about me. It’s about the team.”

     
 
I picked up my hand like I was taking an oath. “Hand to God, Tillie, the number of practices I make it to won’t help the team. I’ll never be ready for an actual game.”

       Tille made a face. “Everyone is going to be there, Hannah. Ruben, Oliver, Pamela, Ava...” Her eyes slid over my shoulder. “What about you, Joel?”

     
 
Behind me, I heard a noise of uncertainty. “I—uh… probably.”

     
 
“You should at least try. We all could use the help. And, Hannah, you’ve got to keep in mind that you’re doing much better than you were a few weeks ago,” Tillie said diplomatically. “Didn’t you score a point off Mags in your final match yesterday afternoon?”

     
 
I leaned in toward her and whispered, “I only got that point because Mags’ contact popped out of her eye and she was temporarily rendered blind.”

     
 
Joel made a choking sound.

     
 
I glanced back and lifted one eyebrow, creating what I hoped was the picture of indifference.

     
 
“Amusing, isn’t it?” It was the first thing I’d said to him in weeks.

     
 
For a split second, he looked surprised that I’d finally broken the long-standing silence. Then he tried to cover it up by coughing into his closed fist. “Nope. Just got a little something caught in my throat.”

     
 
I wanted to scream, “WHAT GIVES, JOEL SINCLAIR?” Instead, I dismissively flipped my gaze to Tillie. “So, this afternoon…”

       “This afternoon you’ll go to the practice with Ruben and me?” she asked.

     
 
I gave an exaggerated eye roll and laughed. “You’re relentless!”

     
 
“But that means you’ll go?”

     
 
I slapped my hands against my desk and dropped my head. “I’ll go.”

     
 
At that precise moment, the bell rang and Joel heaved himself from his desk chair. Then I heard his low voice. “I guess I’ll see you at practice?”

     
 
Okay, now the temptation was too much. Was he talking to
me
? I lifted my head and peeked and saw that Joel was standing in the aisle beside my desk. He had both of his thumbs hooked beneath the straps of his backpack and he was definitely looking at me. AT ME.

     
 
“So, I’ll see you?” he said again and this time there was something solid in his tone.

     
 
I had no idea what was going on or what to say, so I just nodded my head.

      
 
He smiled. “Great.”

     
 
I couldn’t help it. I smiled back. “Great.”

****

“Budge up,” Tillie said as she knocked her hip against mine.

       “Ooomf!” I dropped the sweaty hand towel I was holding over my shoulder and scooted over on the bench to make room for her.

     
 
It was toward the end of squash practice. Half an hour ago, Mr. Hammond had paired Tillie and me to play doubles against Nathan Walsch and Ava. We lost the game nine to one and were now recovering on the sidelines.

     
 
“What’s wrong?” she asked, taking a sip from her water bottle.

     
 
I shook my head and used my forearm to wipe the salty sweat from above my lip. “It’s nothing.”

      
 
But it wasn’t nothing. I’d been staring at Joel, who was currently playing Pamela, and thinking about that night again. The night of our almost-kiss.

     
 
“Somehow I don’t believe you,” she said.

     
 
“And why’s that?” I asked, taking the bait.

     
 
“Because of the look on your face.”

     
 
I turned to her. “How do I look?”

       Tillie moved her eyes over my features. “Like someone murdered your kitten.”

       I laughed for a second. Then I took a deep breath and reluctantly whispered, “I went out with Joel.”

     
 
“
Joel
?” Her eyes skidded to the squash court.

     
 
“Don’t look at him!”

     
 
Tillie made a noise and turned back to me. She bowed her head so only I could hear her when she whispered, “Sorry, I was just surprised. I expected you to say that you were actually an undercover spy, or that you were about to undergo a sex change operation. Anything but that.”

     
 
I laughed.

     
 
“Joel Sinclair?” she asked, glancing at the squash court. “Really and truly?”

     
 
I nodded. “Really and truly.”

     
 
“Bloody hell. You like him,” Tillie said knowingly. “You
really
like him.”

     
 
“I think I might,” I admitted quietly. Finally saying the words out loud made me realize just how much I needed to talk to someone about what I was feeling.

     
 
She shook her head and lifted up both of her hands. “I thought you told me you have a boyfriend in America. Owen? Is that not…?”

     
 
“Yeah, that’s not really a thing anymore.”

     
 
“Since when?”

     
 
“Since… “ I cringed. “Well, pretty much since I got here.”

     
 
Her eyebrows climbed her forehead.

     
 
“Yeah,” I continued, blowing out a breath. “We didn’t officially break up but we haven’t talked at all, so I assume that means we’re through.”

       “Oh.”

       “Yep,” I said in a flat tone.

       “And you went out with Joel? When was this?”

       “A few weeks ago we went out for sausages. And that is not a euphemism, okay? We actually went out to eat and we ordered a sausage platter.”

       “Okay,” she said, holding back a laugh.

        “And I thought we had fun but he’s pretty much ignored me ever since.”

     
 
“He talked to you today in class,” she pointed out. “I saw it myself.”

      
 
I shrugged. “Still… him saying that he’d see me at practice isn’t exactly a romantic gesture, is it?”

     
 
“Well, no.”

     
 
“See? I’ve been over that night a bazillion times. I’ve thought about it so much that I seriously think I’m at risk for becoming one of
those
girls. You know the ones I’m talking about?” I waited for Tillie to nod her head. “Ugh, I despise those girls and I’m turning into one!”

     
 
She chuckled and shook her head. “You are not.”

     
 
“I am! Maybe he thought I was annoying? Or boring?” I said. “Maybe I didn’t talk enough… Or maybe I talked too much! Ugh, I probably talked too much.”

     
 
“Well you do talk too much,” Tillie said, grinning. “But my question is—does Joel know you’re single?”

       I moved my shoulders. “I told him that Owen and I broke up.”

       “Your Facebook page still says that you’re in a relationship,” she observed.

       “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

       Tillie made a face. “If you ask me, I think that Joel Sinclair is pining for you as we speak, but he thinks you’re already taken so he’s protecting his fragile heart. You little heartbreaker,” she chided. “The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.”

       “Who doesn’t stand a chance?” Ruben asked, toppling onto the bench next to Tillie.

       Mr. Hammond had just called the end of practice and everyone was scattering—rounding up the equipment, disappearing into the changing room, and collecting their things.

       “Ew!” Tillie complained, moving her arm away from Ruben. “So sweaty.”

       “You don’t like it?” He shook his sweaty hair like a dog and we all laughed.

       “Hey!” I said, suddenly thinking of something. It was Friday afternoon which meant that the whole weekend was stretched out in front of me. If I didn’t make plans with my new friends, I’d be spending the whole time alone in my bedroom at Felicity’s house. “Do either of you want to see that new Chris Pratt movie with me this weekend?”

       Tillie frowned. “I wish I could, but my parents are making me go to Harwich to visit my grandparents. I won’t be back until late Sunday evening.”

       “Oh, that’s a shame.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and cocked my head. “Ruben? You interested?”

       “I can’t, Hannah,” Ruben said. “It’s my great-uncle’s seventieth birthday and my mum warned me that attendance at the party is mandatory.”

       I shook my head. “That’s okay. I’ll just—”

       “I’ll see it with you.”

       I turned and met Joel’s eyes and there was a long, long pause like the whole world was taking a breath.

       “What?”

       “The movie,” he said, tipping his chin. “I’ll see it with you.”

       I could feel my friends staring at us. Ruben, of course, was completely clueless, but I wondered what Tillie was thinking after what I just admitted to her.

       “Oh, you don’t have to do th—” But he was already bending to grab his phone from his bag.

       “What time?” he asked.

       “I haven’t even checked yet,” I started, biting my lip and turning to Tillie for help. She looked just as surprised as I felt. “But, honestly…”

       Joel ignored me. “I’m sure there’s something playing early afternoon. So, how about if I stop by and get you around noon?”

       “Uhhh…”

       “What’s your address?”

       “Ummm…”

       Tillie leaned forward and grabbed my hand. “She lives on Bridgeman Street,” she told Joel. “Near the church gardens. What number, Hannah?”

       “Apartment 6B,” I said dazedly.

       “All right then.” He typed the address into his phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

       I stared after him as he walked away. And with my heart beating fiercely in my chest,
I thought,
Maybe he won’t show up.

“That’s a wrap!” Mrs. Cobb called from her place in the audience chairs. We had been rehearsing since the middle of September, and we were still making our way through the script readings.

       While the rest of the cast shuffled around the stage, joking, laughing, and sharing their weekend plans, I stuffed the script into my backpack and quietly slipped out the back door of the auditorium.

     
 
It was a Friday night and as I walked across the parking lot feeling the last streaks of daylight settle on my shoulders, I figured I was the only high school student at Northside lame enough to have zero plans. Even the AV and chess club kids probably had more going on than I did.

     
 
I knew there was a football game because I’d seen the crimson banners splashed all over school and had been forced to sit through an hour-long pep rally yesterday afternoon. Even now, more than an hour before kick-off, the streets surrounding campus were filling with honking cars and students yelling out the windows. Typical stuff.

     
 
With my head down and my hands buried in the pockets of my jeans, I kept walking. I just didn’t see the point in going to the game without Hannah. What would I do? Sit in the stands by myself, feeling more and more like a social leper?

     
 
No, thank you. My plans for the weekend consisted of staying home, telling my dog what a failure I was going to be as Eliza Doolittle, and painting the upstairs bathroom. Because that’s how exciting my life had become.

     
 
“You’re a ball of sunshine,” I muttered to myself as I fumbled with my keyring and let myself into the empty house.

      
 
Dad was gone for the weekend—something about a job out of town or maybe a builder’s conference. He didn’t tell me much about what he was doing and I didn’t press the matter. It was just easier that way.

     
 
Over the past couple of years, Dad and I had established a
don’t ask, don’t tell
policy. He did his own thing and I did mine and very rarely did either of us try to break through the icy silence that had settled over the house following my mother’s death.

     
 
It stung to think about, but a part of me wondered if things would be better off if he met someone new. Maybe we could bring light back into this house. Or even some basic conversation.

     
 
Moving on wasn’t a betrayal to Mom’s memory. She’d want both of us to be happy, and I was positive she’d hate to see that Dad and I had become strangers with nothing to say to each other.

     
 
It hurt that he could barely look me in the eyes, but I reminded myself that it wasn’t always this way. I had memories of laughter and car rides and late nights snuggling in between my parents’ warm bodies. I could close my eyes and think backward to before—before everything went wrong—and I could see the laugh lines around my father’s eyes and I could feel his arms strong and tight around me as he swung me up to perch on his shoulders.
This way you have the best view, Caroline.

     
 
Aspen’s wet nose pulled me back from the painful memory.

     
 
“Do you need to go out?”

     
 
She plopped on her butt and yawned. I laughed and led her through the kitchen to the back door.

     
 
“Be good!” I called and grabbed some pretzels from the pantry. Then I kicked off my shoes and headed up the stairs to change.

     
 
Once in my room, I yanked off my white blouse and jeans and found a sport bra and an old pair of shorts from the bottom drawer of my dresser. The shorts were discolored and worn and there was a rip in the back pocket from where I’d gotten them caught on my bike. Perfect attire for painting.

     
 
I pulled the bra and shorts on and gathered my messy curls into a loose ponytail before heading out back. Aspen joined me as I dug through old pails and vinyl sheeting until I found the color I was looking for.

     
 
“Voila!” I showed her the rusty paint can.

     
 
Unimpressed, she blinked then bounded for the kitchen door.

     
 
“Fine,” I said as we walked inside. “I’ll do it myself.”

     
 
Six years ago when my mom discovered this place, the plan was to move in and restore it in stages. Dad thought she was crazy to even want to try. The house was huge and beautiful, but it was also falling down. He tried to talk her out of it by offering to build us something new in a subdivision he was working in at the time, but she couldn’t let the idea of this place go. She was convinced we could make it something magical and drew plans for how the rooms would look one day.

     
 
That’s just how she was. She didn’t see the world the way it was—she saw possibilities. She believed that everything had potential—my father… me… and this old disaster of a house.

     
 
For the first year or so that we lived here, both of my parents worked on it whenever they had a spare moment. Even I was put to work, sanding the stair rails and priming baseboards. Then, Mom got diagnosed and everything changed. Paint cans were replaced with pill bottles, and no one had time to mess with the broken light fixtures in the dining room or cracked tiles on the kitchen counters.

     
 
Sighing, I used my hip to bump open the door of the upstairs bathroom. I set the paint can on the black and white checkered tile floor and used a screwdriver to crack open the lid. My mom had chosen a bright and cheerful yellow for in here. It wasn’t a color I would have chosen, but this wasn’t really my project. It was hers, and I was just finishing it for her.

     
 
The bathroom was full of corners and crevices so it took me a couple of hours to get a solid coat down. My arms and neck were sore and achy, but as I stood back with my hands on my hips and examined my work, I felt pretty good about it. Mom would have loved the way it turned out. Dad, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t even notice.

       Yellow flecks of paint dotted the skin of my arms and stomach. I didn’t need a mirror to tell me that I also had paint on my face and my back. It was probably in my hair too. I pulled the ponytail holder out and let the springy red curls bounce over my shoulders. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to use this shower, I grabbed my shampoo and conditioner and headed into my room to find a pair of pajamas.  

       The downstairs didn’t have a shower but it did have a really cool, deep clawfoot tub. It was one of those tubs that was perfect for bubble baths and it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity.

       I reached into my desk drawer because I was pretty sure I had a few scented candles stowed in there. Out of habit, my eyes went to my laptop and I saw that I had a new message from Hannah. I set my stuff down and opened the message.

To: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

From: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

Date: October 2

Subject: TGIF

How are rehearsals? Any better?

____________

       I needed to get clean, but I needed to talk to my best friend even more. I sat down, pulling my knees up against the wooden edge of my desk and emailed her back.

To: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

From: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

Date: October 2

Subject: Re: TGIF

Oh it’s great...you know, other than making a fool out of myself for two hours every day after school…

:(

I’m expecting Miles to stop talking to me any day now for being a complete and total suck-ass. He probably won’t want to be associated with me and my horrible acting skills. And you’re right—thank God it’s Friday and I don’t have to do that again until Monday.

____________

       Just as I pressed send on the message, the doorbell rang. A fissure of fear coursed through me. It was after nine, Dad was away and I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone to come over. I glanced over at Aspen who was sound asleep on my bed. Some watch dog she was. Her ears barely twitched.  

       Doooonng!
The doorbell sounded again.

       My heart was twisting as I pulled on a sweatshirt over my sport bra and crept down the stairs to see who it was. I tried to remind myself that robbers and rapists usually didn’t knock or announce their presence. It was probably a late delivery or a neighbor needing something.

       “Aspen, come on. Wake up, girl.” She stirred a little so I rubbed in between her ears to coax her awake. “Come on. I’m
so
not going downstairs without you.”

     
 
She might suck as a guard dog, but she at least
looked
like she could be ferocious. She reluctantly hopped off the bed and followed me down the stairs, her fluffy tail wagging behind her. Oh yeah, she was ferocious all right.

     
 
The sun had long since set and the old house was creaky and full of shadows. I reached the landing and peeked through the peephole.

       What the?

        I blinked and looked again. Was I starting to see things? Had I inhaled too many paint fumes?

        I pulled the door open. Henry Vaughn was standing on my front porch with two brown paper grocery bags in his arms and a shy smile on his face.

       “Hi?”

       “Hi,” he said like it was completely normal that he was standing on my porch on a Friday night. “You’ve got some… yellow on you.”

       “Oh.” I brushed the loose hairs back from my forehead. “It’s paint.”

       “Paint?”

       “I was painting the bathroom upstairs and about to take a shower. God, I probably smell foul.”

       He leaned forward and breathed through his nose. “Nope, you smell like you always do. Like strawberries.”

       “That’s—” I faltered, trying to ignore the quick thrill I felt coursing through me. “It’s my shampoo.”

        “Ah.”

       Flustered, I looked up and down my street like that might offer some clue as to what was going on. “W-what are you doing here?”

       Henry shrugged. “I had a craving for chocolate chip cookies and I know for a fact that no one makes them better than you.”

       “You’re here because you want me to make you chocolate chip cookies?” I clarified.

       He nodded. “Is that rude?”

       I couldn’t help but laugh. “Kind of… I mean, it’s like nine thirty.”