Steering the Stars (4 page)

      
Uniforms?

      
The practice schedule?

      
Squash season?

       My stomach was going sour. “Great.”

       “Wonderful,” he repeated, nodding and heading for the exit. The moment the office door shut behind him, Ava rolled her eyes and the boy with the sketchbook really did start to laugh.

       For my part, I couldn’t move. I just stood there with a vacant expression on my face, staring after my new teacher.

       “Oh God,” I wheezed.

      
What the hell?

       Was it possible that I agreed to play SQUASH?

       “You don’t even know how to play,” Ava’s disgusted words found my ears.

       “No,” I confirmed. “But I guess I’m going to figure it out.”

To: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

From: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 31

Subject: SOS

This is my official signal for distress. School is not going well. I repeat, SCHOOL IS NOT GOING WELL. I have so much to tell you about but have no time to explain right now.

H

____________

After I finished reading Hannah’s email, I groaned and dropped my phone to the bed. I did a few calculations, trying to think if it was already tomorrow there or the middle of the night, but eventually gave up. I’d have to check that time zone app thingy I downloaded before she left me because my brain wasn’t working properly.

     
 
It was too early.

     
 
My caffeine levels were down to zero.

     
 
And it was the first day of school.

     
 
Normally I loved the first day. Maybe it was just me being an overachiever, but there was something about the smell of fresh paper and never-before-used pencils and new books that took me to my happy place. But not this year. This year I was dreading the first day of school like it was nobody's business.

     
 
As I rolled over and burrowed further beneath the covers, an awful, queasy feeling came over me. The thought of having to endure junior year without my best friend was making me physically ill. I knew it was the age of cell phones and Facebook, but
still
. There was no doubt in my mind that this year was going to, in a word,
suck
.

     
 
Okay, so maybe I was being a little dramatic, but there was definitely something wrong with me. I took stock of my symptoms. I was sick to my stomach and every few minutes I would feel like I couldn’t breathe, but I wasn’t running a fever—was I? I touched my forehead but my skin felt fine. Gah, this whole thing was crazy and stupid and I couldn’t explain exactly why I felt like this. I just wanted desperately for it to stop.

     
 
Swallowing against a dry throat, I thought about staying in bed and not doing anything for the rest of the day. Maybe even the rest of the year. As it was, I certainly didn't have the energy or the desire to get up and get ready.

     
 
After a few more minutes and a lot more wallowing, Aspen, my red and white Siberian husky, decided she’d had enough. She pounced on me and placed her paws on either side of my body and licked my face until even my eyelids were drenched in slobber. I tried to deflect but it was no use.

     
 
“Geroffmee!” I shouted as we tumbled to the floor in an avalanche of pillows and blankets.

     
 
I glanced back at my bed. Well, I guess that was one way to force me out of bed.

        Aspen circled me until I pushed to my feet and tramped down the stairs to let her out into the backyard. I leaned against the doorframe just watching her frolic and sniff the grass. It was starting to rain but she didn’t care. In fact, she seemed even happier. She just shook her body and bounded to the other side of the yard. I found myself jealous of her ability to adapt.

      
 
Jealous of a dog.

      
 
Yep. I was officially pathetic.

      
 
I left Aspen outside and wandered back upstairs, trying to convince myself that a shower would help my rotten mood. It didn’t.

     
 
Ten minutes later, I wrapped myself in a towel and I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I was close to tears and everything inside of me was still all dark and twisty. Was this what it felt like to be depressed? Was I hurtling down the road to becoming an emo teen who wore all black and listened to crybaby music?

     
 
I wasn’t entirely sure, but I was positive that despite knowing my father was just down the hall, I’d never felt so alone in the world. And, all things considered, that was saying something.

     
 
I still couldn’t believe that Hannah had left this town. Oklahoma.
Me
.

     
 
My best friend was off having an amazing adventure in London and I'd totally morphed into an ugly, green-eyed monster. Maybe the knowledge that I wasn’t as happy for her as I’d previously thought was what was making me feel sick.

     
 
I reminded myself that if the roles were reversed and I had been the one who’d won an essay competition and was offered a place at my dream school, I'd probably have abandoned Hannah without a second thought.

     
 
It was London after all.

     
 
Buckingham Palace.

     
 
Big Ben.

     
 
Platform 9 ¾.

     
 
Okay, so probably not the last one, but she'd promised to see King's Cross Station and I figured that was close enough to count.

     
 
She was the writer though. She was destined for greatness and adventure and a big life. But me? I wasn’t sure what I was yet.

     
 “
Caroline!” my dad called from the hall.

     
 “
Getting dressed!” I hollered back.

     
 “
Ten minute warning.”

     
 “
I’m hurrying,” I lied as I stared at the wildly-patterned leggings, cream-colored top, and bright teal scarf that I had picked out last week with Hannah’s help. The shirt was okay, but those leggings? Yeah, who was I kidding? That just wasn't happening. Not even on a good day... and today was not a good day.

     
 
I threw the leggings and scarf in a pile on the floor next to my desk before pulling out a pair of well-worn jeans and a plain top from my dresser drawers.

     
 
As I dressed, I thought more about my predicament. It’s not like I could reasonably be mad at Hannah for jumping at the chance to leave. Logically, I knew this was an opportunity of a lifetime. But knowing that didn’t change the fact that I was stuck behind in boring Oklahoma. Sure, Libby Park was pretty and quaint. It had been voted the “Top Historic Town in the Midwest” three years running, but that didn’t make it cool. Certainly not London-cool.

     
 
Even steadfast, always-there-in-a-pinch, Owen Kilgore had been radio silent for days. He was off doing new and exciting things too. After a lot of pushing from his parents, he had agreed to transfer to Holy Cross this year because their lacrosse team was much better than Northside’s and it would definitely boost his college scholarship prospects.

     
 
Nope, I couldn’t blame either Hannah or Owen for leaving, but that didn’t mean that I had to like it. No matter how I looked at the situation, I was officially and completely alone. And, as I tried to wrangle my mass of curly red hair into a simple ponytail, I decided I wasn’t happy about it. Not one bit.

     
 “
Caroline! If you aren't out in five minutes, you'll be walking to school!” Dad yelled up the stairs.

     
 
The threat was actually pretty tempting, but a flash of lightning followed by a thundering boom quickly changed my mind. If it wasn't raining cats and dogs, walking would have been a much better alternative to sitting in my dad's old beat up work truck that smelled faintly of oil, grime, and cigarette smoke for ten minutes of what was sure to be awkward silence.

     
 
“Fine,” I mumbled under my breath before shouting, “I'm coming!” as I grudgingly stomped down the stairs. He was waiting for me at the front door with one hand already on the doorknob and his toolbox in the other. He was wearing a plain white shirt with a red flannel shirt over it, dirty blue jeans, and his work boots. He must have a job today. That was, so far, the only bright spot in this very gloomy morning.

     
 
I’d seen pictures of my dad from when he was in high school. Back in the day he looked just like Val Kilmer in all of his
Top Gun
glory. Sadly, these days the only thing he resembled was a broken man in grease-stained jeans.

     
 
“What took you so long?” he said, looking down at the toolbox in his hands instead of up at me. He never looked me in the eyes any more. Even though it hurt, it wasn't hard to understand why he couldn't. With my mess of red curls, the dusting of freckles across my nose, and my pale green eyes, everyone said I looked just like my mom.

     
 
“I couldn't decide what to wear,” I grumbled. I really wished it wasn't raining. The eight blocks on foot would probably be worth it just so that I could pop by Starbucks for a Pumpkin Spice Latte right now. Even when the world sucked all around me, I could always count on PSL to remind me that there were still bits of happiness out there.

     
 
For the last two years, I’d ridden with Hannah and her brother. But this year, I'd be depending on my dad for rides until I could manage to buy myself a car. I’d piled on the babysitting jobs over the summer to save up and I was almost there. Just a dozen or so more nights of getting my hair pulled by the Rennert boys and I should have enough. It would probably only be enough to snag a junker but I wasn’t going to complain. I’d take anything.

     
 
Before she left, Hannah had advised me to ask my father for help, but I wasn't about to go there. Dad couldn’t spare the couple hundred dollars I needed or handle an extra insurance payment. God, he could barely cover the bills as it was.

     
 
He was a contractor who was scarcely able to stay afloat in work. And it had been that way ever since Mom died.

     
 
Plus, the old Victorian house we lived in wasn't exactly cheap to maintain.
Even to these standards
, I thought as I looked around.

     
 
Mom had had huge plans for this place… historic tours or maybe even a bed and breakfast that would one day be featured in a five-page spread in
Architectural Digest.
But, like everything else, the house and the dream had faded when she had. Now I just hoped that the walls and the roof would hold through the winter.

     
 
“Well, c'mon before we're both late,” he muttered as he handed me an umbrella.

     
 
“Thanks,” I said as I took the umbrella from him. I grabbed my bag from the hook in the hall and dragged my feet out the door. The world outside was cloaked in a grimy grey. I blamed Hannah for this too. As if it wasn’t enough that she had abandoned me, it truly seemed that my bright and sunshiny best friend had taken the sun and all of its warmth with her.