The Chaos of Stars (12 page)

“That’s really cool. I’d love to see your designs sometime.”

I’m caught off guard again. I don’t know how to respond, so I change the subject. “Where are we going?”

“My house. Tyler and Scott are there already.”

I try to tamp down my intrigue. People’s homes say so much about them, and even though it will really only say stuff about Ry’s parents, I’m still interested.

“How do you and Tyler and Scott know each other? Do you all go to the same school?”

“I actually met Tyler at Balboa Park last summer. We don’t go to the same school. But I like them. Neither of them cares that I have a tendency toward being antisocial, and Tyler never tries to flirt with me. Scott doesn’t, either.”

I roll my eyes. “So that’s your main requirement for friendship? They don’t hit on you? Is that like a regular problem in your life?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Isn’t it in yours?”

I frown, thinking of all of the guys I interact with. I do get hit on a lot at the museum. I just don’t care because I’d as soon be left alone.

When I don’t answer, he smiles. “It’s hard to be friends with girls most of the time.”

Oh, shut up. He is
not
saying that he’s too good-looking to be friends with girls. But then again, yesterday at the beach, there
were
a high percentage of beach beauties sitting very close to us and/or sauntering repeatedly past. And he never looked up once. I snort. “You poor handsome thing. If only you were ugly, then girls wouldn’t have to throw themselves at you all the time. I could break your perfect nose for you, if it’d make your life easier.”

He raises his eyebrows as if he’s considering it, then shakes his head. “I think my mom would be upset,” he says finally, a genuine note of regret in his voice.

“Maybe next time, then.” What if he had really asked me to? I laugh. I can see it, me trying and failing to break his nose. I’m not actually a violent person, in spite of being raised on bedtime stories of war and conquest and murder. I was also raised on stories of sex, and I’m not interested in that, either.

We leave the main road and wind through neighborhoods that are familiar, though I don’t remember why. I can see glints of the ocean from here, and then we pull up into a driveway.

A driveway I already know.

Oh, floods. My mockery from yesterday echoes perfectly in my ears. Of course. Of course it’s his house we parked at when we went to the beach.

“Yours?” I ask, my voice coming out as a pathetic squeak.

He nods, a smile pulling apart his full lips. I fight back the shame burning in my face. Yes, my comments were rude. But Ry could have told me it was his house, instead of letting me look like a jerk.

We get out of the truck and climb the broad steps. Ry pushes one of the massive, carved white double doors open. It’s like we’ve stepped into a museum of Greek antiquities. The floor is polished marble, with black tiles scrolling a pattern around the borders of the entry.

A bust of a woman, the pure definition of beautiful, is on a pedestal front and center, and various other sculptures line the room. Almost laughably out of place is a single humongous framed photo of a chubby, cherubic little boy, face smeared with cake as he laughs at the camera.

“My parents take our heritage very seriously,” he says, his voice solemn but his eyes twinkling as he looks at me to judge my reaction.

“Really? I dunno, it’s kind of understated.”

He laughs appreciatively, and I’m relieved that at least he has a sense of humor about the whole thing.

“The tile work is amazing,” I say, wanting to make up for my earlier mockery, and because it’s true. This floor is gorgeous.

Tyler pokes her head out of a side hall. “There you are! You okay, Isadora? Your call seemed panicked.”

I wave my hand dismissively. “I’m fine.” There are no bogeymen. I need to get over this.

“Good! I’m glad you came. Come on,” she says. We follow her through a hallway with dark wood paneling and the same marble floor, but covered in a plush, ornate rug.

I approve of the TV room we go into as Tyler runs off to use the bathroom. Someone seems to have abandoned the formality of the rest of the house—framed movie posters dominate the walls, and the biggest television I’ve ever seen in my life takes up the entirety of one wall. A full bar lines the back of the room.

I wouldn’t change a lot. The movie-poster thing is really cute. I’d use shadow-box frames and backlighting though. Switch out the L-shaped sectional for one long couch and a few movie-theater-style armchairs. Heavy drapes to block out the light better—the white shutter blinds are totally out of place. Redo the beige walls a pale gold, keep the baseboards their rich cherry color, and, ooh, put in maroon velvet drapes covering not just the wide window but the entire wall. Taking the fun atmosphere of the room up a notch or two. Also, a popcorn machine on top of the bar so the whole place smells right.

But no one’s asking me.

A hugely fat white Persian cat skulks into the room. Still planning my changes, I reach down and scratch her ears absently as she twines her way around my legs, purring like a street bike.

“Whoa.”

“Whoa what?” I ask. Ry is staring in amazement at the cat.

“Hera doesn’t like
anyone
.”

“Oh.” I look down. Her sharp, intelligent eyes regard me with something bordering on playful worship, like we’re in on the same eternal joke. There’s a reason cats were near deity in ancient Egypt. Dogs may be loyal, but cats are smart. This one must recognize our bond. You can take the cat out of Egypt, but you can’t take Egypt out of the cat.

Wow, I should have that embroidered on a pillow or something.

With a pang I’m reminded of Ubesti. I never let my parents get me another pet after her. Just another thing to love and lose. I gently shoo Ry’s cat away with my foot. She mews reproachfully and saunters out of the room.

Ry watches her go, eyes narrowed, then shakes his head. “Want anything?” he asks Scott, who’s engrossed in a video game. It’s so big on the television that I don’t know how he can keep track of anything going on.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Coke, Isadora?”

“Yes, please.”

He pulls a cold can out of a hidden fridge in the bar and hands it to me. “So.”

“So?”

“The entryway is off-limits, but what would you do with this room?”

“What makes you think I’d do anything with it?”

His dimple shows up. “You glared at the blinds.”

“It’s a great room! Really. But . . .” My mouth twists into a reluctant smile. I detail my plans, and Ry nods, following my finger as I point out what would go and what could stay.

“. . . And the overhead lighting is pretty, but wrong for this room. There shouldn’t be any fixture, just recessed lights along the edges of the room, with a dimmer so you could control the level.”

“I should have you talk to my mom,” he says, thoughtfully staring at where the popcorn machine would go.

“Is she here?” Scott sits up straight, suddenly engaged in the conversation.

“Don’t think so.”

“Ah, crap.”

“Plans for hitting on DeeDee thwarted?” Tyler asks as she walks into the room and sits next to Scott.

“Sadly, yes.”

“Wait—you want to—his mom?” Eww. Just, eww. People suck. “You’re okay with that, Tyler?”

Tyler shrugs, her sharp shoulders lifting the corners of her mouth at the same time. “Yeah. But only because I’d probably make out with her if I got the chance, too. You should see her.”

I look at Ry in horror, embarrassed for his sake, but he shakes his head. “Used to it.”

“Really, you need to see her,” Tyler insists.

“Really, I can promise you that I’ll have no desire whatsoever to hit on Ry’s mom if and when I see her. Ever.”

Tyler and Scott snort their private laughter. “Sure. If you think Ry’s gorgeous, just wait.”

“Who says I think Ry’s gorgeous?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“Nature pretty much demands it. Unless—are you a robot?” Scott slaps his forehead. “Of course!”

Tyler nods solemnly. “We should have seen it sooner. That long, elegant neck, those eyes, the hips, the perpetual good-hair days. Totally a robot.”

“The only question that remains is whether she’s a good robot, or an evil one.”

“Well, Hera liking you might indicate you’re evil,” Ry says. “But then again, nothing evil could appreciate my truck as much as you do. Speaking of, can I offer you rides anywhere you want for the rest of the summer in return for redesigning my bedroom?”

“Time for us to go!” Tyler says, standing up so fast she dumps Scott, who had his legs across her lap, on the ground. “Just remembered we have a thing! I’ll call you later!” She practically skips out of the room, dragging her grinning boyfriend by the hand.

That blonde? Evil. I’m going to make her take every Children’s Discovery Room shift for a month.

“So,” Ry says, turning toward me, his face a picture of innocence but his eyes doing that thing where they erase the rest of the world. “You think they want us to get together?”

I choke on my mouthful of Coke, narrowly avoiding spewing it all down my front, then focus on Ry, glaring. If he thinks I’m going to be coy about this, he’s wrong. I refuse to flirt. “Yeah, actually, I do think she’s trying to set us up.”

He nods. “Tyler tends to go into mother-hen mode. She thinks I’m by myself too often, and obviously thinks the same of you, which in her mind turns into making us a couple.”

“I’m not going to date you.”

He has the nerve to look puzzled, and—oh floods, are you kidding me—sad. “Have I done something to you?”

“I—no. It’s not you. I’m not going to date anyone. Ever.”

“Really?” He sits down on the couch like he expects me to follow suit. I stay standing.

“Really. I have no desire whatsoever to date and get married and have kids.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “The one doesn’t lead immediately to the others, you know. There are stages in between, or so I’ve heard. Could be a rumor, though.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. What’s the point? Nothing lasts forever. Relationships only hurt.”

Sometimes I wonder if my parents ever loved each other. They barely exist on the same plane. My dad cheated on my mom with her sister, whether or not he meant to, and she still pulled out all the stops to resurrect him. For what? A husband who’d rather be in the underworld than in ours.

And in spite of all that, they have each other, forever. They last forever, their marriage lasts forever, there is no loss, no breaking up, no inevitability of death. I think if I fell in love with someone, I’d never be able to breathe, never be able to function because of the fear.

I’m already going to lose myself. I never want to have to deal with losing someone else, too.

“That’s kind of bleak,” Ry says. “I think you’re wrong.”

“What do you know about it?” I snap.

Ry shrugs. “My parents broke up.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Deflated, I sit gingerly on the edge of the couch. Great, Isadora. Brilliant. Make fun of his house and then bring up his own family pain. I mean it. Sometimes I forget I’m not the only one with a past. Ry’s a real person, too.

“Nah, it’s okay. It was a long time ago. My mom thought she wanted other things, and my dad couldn’t forgive her for it. They spent a while chasing different lives and being unhappy, and then they got back together. They’ve been pretty good ever since.”

“That must have been really hard for you.”

“I wasn’t born yet. But none of us is perfect, right? And if you love someone, you have to deal with that. If you ask me, love is what makes everything worth it. Otherwise what’s the point of anything? Besides, I’m glad they worked it out. I kinda like existing.” He nudges me with his elbow, grinning, and I have to smile back.

“Fine. But I say, skip loving someone so you never
have
to deal with it.”

He doesn’t look away from my eyes, trapping me in the perfect blue of his, then claps his hands together like he’s come to a decision. “Are you also morally opposed to being friends? Does that mysteriously lead to immediate babies, too?”

My heart flutters a tiny bit—like it knows maybe I’m in trouble here, like it’d rather steel up and have me flip him off, or laugh in his face, or shrug him away. But he’s a real person to me now, someone with pain and weirdness and heartache woven into the narrative of his life. And he seems sincere, and it might be nice to have a friend in addition to Tyler.

“I guess not,” I finally answer, well aware that I paused far too long before responding. But friendship isn’t something that should be taken lightly, right? “Although Tyler will be way happier about it than she deserves to be.”

“I think she deserves to be happy. And now that we’re friends, can I get your advice on my room? It’s pretty bad.”

“How bad are we talking?”

“Two words: sports theme.”

“Floods, we’d better get started. What did you have in mind?”

He looks at me for a long time before smiling. “I’m thinking a color scheme of browns with accents of hunter green.” He holds out a hand to help me up from the couch, and as I take it and feel his hand around mine in a shock of human contact and something more, that part that warned me of trouble is proved absolutely right.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

.....................................................................

S
obs rack my body as I slam my door shut behind me.

They don’t want me.

They don’t want me.

It’s a tomb! I’m going to die! They’ve known it this whole time!

Exhausted from rage and grief, I do what I always do when I need to calm down, and kneel in front of the altar in my room.

“No,” I say, filled with horror. Because as I stare at the altar, I realize that no one prays to me. No one prays to my brother Sirus, or my sister Essa, or any of us. Because we don’t matter.