See All the Stars Page 7

  9

  AUGUST, SOPHOMORE SUMMER

  (THEN)

  The inside of Ret’s bedroom was dark, as always, and stifling in the late summer heat. The heavy blackout curtain drawn across the room’s one small window kept the sun out, but the standing fan whirring near the door was fighting a losing battle. Time seemed to operate under its own special logic there. It always felt like midnight, no matter what time it was outside. It had something to do with the candles flickering from every open inch of windowsill and bureau. And the boa draped from her mirror’s gilt frame, ready for a late-night show.

  I loved YouTube deep dives and pints of Ben & Jerry’s at Jenni’s, and I loved midnight drives in the Subaru, Bex singing along to Imogen Heap, the notes spilling across the dark streets that wound down along the river.

  But I loved being at Ret’s, just the two of us, best.

  The first time I came over freshman year, I remember thinking Ret’s room looked like it belonged to the love child of a burlesque dancer and a punk rocker. The decor was all black and silver and the walls were covered with posters of seventies punk bands, Sid and Nancy, London’s Leicester Square. They were mostly from Hot Topic, where Ret checked her morals at the door for a paycheck. Whenever anyone asked about her job, she would say, “It’s a store full of poser shit, but it’s better than the Gap.”

  Ret rolled over on her stomach and fished a bottle of blue glitter polish from underneath the bed. “I’ve been looking for this.”

  It was Sunday afternoon, and Ret and I were killing time. There were a very specific number of hours that needed killing: three, until I had to be home for dinner. Then twelve more until my alarm would signal the start of junior year.

  “First day statement?”

  Ret considered the bottle carefully. “Not if I go with the leather skirt we picked up at Salvation Army. I’m thinking neon yellow, maybe a red accent nail.”

  I was listening, but the other half of my brain was with Matthias. He was at the restaurant, working his last lunch shift of the summer. Next week he’d switch back to his part-time, school year schedule, and they’d promote one of the dishwashers to take over his daytime garde-manger hours. As Ret contemplated her outfit options, I leaned back on her bed and imagined his hands chopping tiny slivers of lemongrass at his station, the length of his torso and back arched over the cutting board, wiry arm muscles showing through his T-shirt sleeves.

  I picked up my phone and shot him a quick text: We on for grocery run at 5?

  “Gotcha.”

  “Huh?” Ret’s voice snapped me back to her bedroom.

  “You’re texting him again.”

  I tossed my phone to the end of the bed and held up my hands in surrender. “Just confirming a plan. I’m back now.”

  A slow smile played across her lips. “Tall, brooding, good with kids, loves to cook . . . I’m not sure what you see in him, Ellory May.”

  “Shut up, you’re just jealous.” I tossed a black pillow covered with silver and pink sequins at Ret’s shoulder.

  “Hey!” She grabbed the projectile before it could make contact. “I’ve got Jonathan to keep me warm, remember?” She lowered her lashes across the deep pools of her eyes and fluttered. She was ravish and flash.

  “I might remember if you ever talked about him.”

  Ret’s eyes snapped open. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m going to text him right now and end things.”

  “That’s not—” I started to say.

  “He should have broken up with me by now, but I guess I have to do everything.” She reached for her phone but didn’t turn it on.

  “He’s with you because he’s into you, Ret. Low self-confidence much?”

  Around us, Ret was nothing but confidence. But around guys, she was pink and raw. Tender and bruised. She never brought them around because a leader is never vulnerable. A leader never exposes her belly.

  “Screw self-confidence. That’s a bunch of bull-crap for only children.”

  “I’m an only child. You’re an only child!”

  “And mercifully, Veronica skipped self-confidence day in How to Screw Up Your Kid class. Anyway, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.”

  “Whatever.” I reached down and picked up the blue bottle of polish from the floor. “You have any red?”

  Ret twisted her lips to one side and examined my face. “Not red. You need something cool, a sea-foam green maybe. Oh, I know!” She pushed herself up from the floor and opened a metal tin on her dresser. “This teal will really bring out the summer highlights in your hair.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure about teal, but Ret’s excitement was infectious. Plus, she knew more about this stuff than I did.

  “Teal it is.”

  She tossed me the bottle and sank into the big red armchair in the corner of her bedroom, and I started on my left hand.

  “The important thing to consider is what kind of entrance you plan to make tomorrow.” Her bangs were freshly trimmed and streaked with Electric Banana, and her skin seemed to smolder in the room’s low light.

  “Entrance? I plan to park in the student lot and make the grand hike to the main doors like every other day of our lives. What are you even talking about?”

  “You and Matty, of course.”

  The polish was smooth and pearly. The color was a little loud, but Ret was right; it would bring out the natural sun-streaks I always had in my hair by the end of the summer. I kept painting until all ten nails glistened.

  “Top coat?” I asked.

  Ret dug back into the metal tin and produced a clear bottle. “Seche Vite, only the best. Come sit.”

  I walked over to Ret’s dresser and sat down in front of her burlesque hall mirror. She placed her hands on my shoulders and leaned back, taking me in.

  “Matty’s been good for you,” she mused. “You’re positively glowing.”

  I fought a smile. “It would be hard not to glow in all this candlelight.”

  She ran her fingers through my hair, smoothing it back. “Hmm-mm. It’s more than that. You’re so beautiful, Ellory.”

  I folded her words up tight and tucked them into my heart. Then she unscrewed the cap and started on my left hand.

  “That stuff smells like cancer,” I said, breaking the mood.

  “As long as you don’t eat it, I’m sure you’ll be fine. And don’t think I don’t know you’re avoiding the question.”

  I sighed. “We’re not making some grand couple-y entrance tomorrow, if that’s what you’re asking. All I need is Lizza Kendrick asking if we came from his house or mine.”

  “Not before school,” Ret said like it was obvious. “I mean at lunch. You do have fourth in the sky dome, right?”

  The sky dome was what everyone called the upperclassman cafeteria. It was on the eighth floor of the school, and instead of a solid roof overhead, there was a big open skylight cut into the center of the ceiling. It wasn’t as nice as it sounds. It leaked in the winter, and by spring, the glass was always smeared with grime and bird shit. Eventually, the school would throw a big tarp on top, blacking it out. The only really good thing about the sky dome was that it was reserved exclusively for juniors and seniors, which meant that this year, we finally got to eat there.

  “Yeah, we both have lunch fourth.”

  “And?” Ret’s line of inquiry was innocent enough on the surface, but underneath it all, she was testing me.

  “And nothing. I’m not sitting with his indie dude-bros. I will meet you in front of the east doors, and we’ll go in together.”

  Ret smiled, satisfied. “Just checking.”

  “You don’t want to eat with Jonathan and the varsity lacrosse team?” I asked.

  “Hell no. I just thought you and Matty might have your own plans, now that you’re all serious.”

  “And you wouldn’t disown me?” I asked. I already knew the answer. You are mine.

  “I would totally disown you.”

  “Fascist
.” I said it to call her out, but the truth was I needed her to care. I needed her to need me.

  “That’s me. There, all done.” Ret dropped the bottle of top coat back into the metal tin and blew across the tops of my nails. “Give it ten, and you’re good to go.”

  She grabbed her phone from the floor and wrapped her arm around me, then angled the screen at the mirror. “Say senior belles.”

  But I didn’t say anything. I tilted my chin down, letting my hair fall forward over my eyes, and curled my lips into my sultriest smile while Ret pressed her lips against my cheek. Snap.

  There was a quick knock on the door, and Ret’s mom poked her head in. “Hi, girls.”

  “Why even knock?” Ret asked.

  Ms. Johnston stepped inside, looking flustered despite her business suit and heels. Her blouse was unbuttoned about two buttons too many, and her lipstick looked like something she’d borrowed from Ret. “You don’t want me to knock?”

  “It’s rhetorical. Never mind.”

  “Hi, Ms. Johnston.” I held up my right hand and began blowing lightly across my nails.

  “Ellory, please. It’s Veronica.” She turned to her daughter. “Margaret, I have a showing in Carlisle this evening. You remember?”

  “Sure.” Ret shrugged. She hadn’t remembered, or didn’t care. When did Ms. Johnston—Veronica—not have an open house to run or a date that might go all night? I felt a little bad for her. Sure, she was kind of a flake, but it’s not like she had it easy raising Ret on her own. It’s not like Ret made things easy for anyone, least of all her mom.

  “I’ll be back by ten.”

  “Sure.”

  She started to back out of the doorway, then stopped. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

  “Mom, it’s like hours until dinnertime.”

  “Oh, right.” She frowned. “Well, there might still be Chinese in the fridge. Or you can call for pizza, okay?”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  “It was really nice to see you, Veronica.” I smiled extra sweetly. I don’t know why I felt the need to be nice on Ret’s behalf, but I did. Ret didn’t say anything, and in a minute Ms. Johnston turned and closed the door behind her.

  “Ugh, anyway.” Ret scowled into the mirror in front of us. “Back to you and Matty.”

  I closed my eyes and pictured myself pulling into the lot tomorrow morning, making that first walk of the semester across the pavement and down to the main doors. I was itching to get back to the metal shop. I wanted to make a series of sheet metal postcards and an ankle bracelet for Cordelia. I wanted to walk the halls with Matthias, holding his hand for everyone to see. I wanted to take over a window table in the sky dome with Ret, Jenni, and Bex. Everything was lining up, coming into sharp and brilliant focus.

  Ret picked up her phone again and clicked it over to our group chat, which was currently titled Boys of Summer, and was the reason I’d had that corny eighties song stuck in my head all week. I leaned over to get a look. While we’d been talking to her mom, Ret had posted the picture of the two of us in the mirror to our chat. Bex had responded with a series of blurry, faraway shots of some Usher look-alike she’d spotted at the mall, but Jenni was radio silent. Either she hadn’t seen the latest chats, or she was sulking, feeling left out. I grimaced. Ret couldn’t pass up the opportunity to draw blood.

  “I’d better go,” I said. “I have to go to Wegmans for my mom before dinner, and the list is epic.”

  Ret gave me a kiss on the cheek and handed me the bottle of teal polish. “In case you chip. Sky dome before fourth?”

  “East doors.” I kissed Ret back and grabbed my phone and bag.

  As soon as I walked outside, the late afternoon sun smacked my skin in a bright blaze. If possible, it was even hotter out there than it had been in Ret’s room. I fished my sunglasses and phone out of my bag and leaned back against the car. The metal burned through my cotton tank top.

  It was 4:55, and Matthias had been done with his shift for almost an hour. He should have texted me back by now. I clicked on my phone, but the only new messages were from our group chat. I opened up my conversation with Matthias, just to make sure my last text had gone through. Even though I already knew it had.

  I could swing by his house, but wasn’t that a little needy? He’d said he might need to go to Wegmans, that he’d let me know. But he hadn’t.

  It wasn’t a big deal. It was just groceries. But it wouldn’t have been a big deal to text me back, either.

  I tossed my phone in my bag and slid into the driver’s seat, putting the windows down and cranking up the AC. The icy blast hit my chest, and I sucked in my breath. I was probably going to rot in hell for wasting energy, but I was in no mood to care. He’s just busy. His battery died. It wasn’t the first time Matthias had forgotten to text me, or forgotten a plan. But he always had a good excuse; Cordelia had needed something, or he’d had to pick up an extra shift. He had responsibilities. It wasn’t like he didn’t care. I backed out of Ret’s driveway with the AC blasting and the windows down, and I headed to the store. It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal.

  10

  OCTOBER, SENIOR YEAR

  (NOW)

  At lunch, I head down to the metal shop like I do every day at the start of fifth. The thing about scheduling your lunch period to avoid everyone you know is that then you have lunch with no one you know. The sky dome is a right but not an obligation. I take my usual route from math on the sixth floor down to the art wing, all the way across the school. A blocky sandstone addition that was tacked on sometime in the nineties, the art wing is home to the wood shop, metal shop, art studio, dance studio, and theater. It stands out like a sore thumb next to the redbrick, ivy-trimmed main building. It’s the best part of Pine Brook.

  As I round the corner into the haphazardly diagonal hallway that connects the two buildings, two witches brush past me, followed by Ariana Grande and a goblin.

  At Pine Brook, only seniors dress up for Halloween because only seniors attend the Zombie Smash in the sky dome after school. Funded entirely by the annual Senior Council cheesecake drive, the Zombie Smash has always been and will always be a senior class event. Wearing a costume to school is a mark of seniority, a privilege. Some Pine Brookians spend four years planning their outfit.

  We were going to go as Pussy Riot. As the Golden Girls. As the Pretty Little Liars. We were going to go together.

  Now, it seems so pointless. An exclusive dance for exclusivity’s sake. This senior will be avoiding the sky dome today like the plague. Now. After school. This senior is not wearing a costume. This morning, it felt like an act of protest, but now I feel the nakedness of my slouchy jeans and cardigan. No costume, no friends. No date for the dance.

  As I walk, I listen for my name. Don’t get mad, Holland. Don’t rage out. Any one of the burns I’ve had hurled my way from across the parking lot, down the hall, inside the locker room this fall. But today, no one says anything. Everyone’s too wrapped up in the spooky fun to notice me shuffling down the hallway to the shop corridor.

  But I notice them. Among the stream of plainclothes underclassmen, I spy three cats. Kobe Bryant. A sexy nurse who is definitely getting sent home before eighth period. And then, all the way down at the end of the corridor, three girls in short leather skirts, high heels, and identical black wigs bobbed neatly at their chins. As I squint toward them, hoping my eyes are playing tricks on me, one girl tilts her head back and raises her hand in the air. I watch as a stream of what must be water flows down from a flask into her mouth, and the other girls shriek. Are they actually dressed up as Ret? Are they some kind of baby minions?

  Before I can even diagnose what I’m feeling—angry, ill, betrayed?—someone much closer catches my eye. I duck into a doorway, but it’s too late. He sees me.

  “You don’t have to hide. I don’t bite, you know?”

  Dave’s practically in my face, coming at me with a low, oily chuckle that makes my skin crawl.

  “Maybe I
do.” I snap my teeth into the air between us. “Bite.”

  He takes a step back, surprised. Roving eyes, flushed cheeks, slight twitch at the corner of his lips. Dave Franklin may not be the last person I want to have a heart-to-heart with today, but he’s definitely high on the list. I crane my neck around him, down the corridor toward the Ret Johnston Fan Club, but they’re gone, if they were ever really there at all.

  I turn my attention back to Dave. He’s wearing a trucker hat that says Cool Story Bro, which I guess is his idea of a costume. Not that I’m one to talk.

  “Jesus, Holland. Just jokes, okay?” He holds up his hands defensively.

  I sigh and step out from the doorway, back into the hall. “What do you want, Franklin?”

  “I’m not going to hassle you, okay? It’s just . . . there’s something that’s been on my mind.”

  My stomach sinks. Whatever Dave’s selling, I’m not buying.

  “It’s not a good time.” I start walking toward the metal shop.

  “It’s about Ret.”

  I freeze.

  “It’s something she said last winter, while we were hanging out downtown. I can’t get it out of my head. She said she didn’t deserve you. That you were too good for the rest of us.”

  His words form a knot somewhere deep in my gut, stirring the ash. “She was probably drunk.”

  “Doesn’t mean she didn’t mean it.” He shifts his weight back and forth, back and forth, his expensive sneakers squeaking against the Pine Brook floor. Does he want me to thank him? Is this his way of waving a white flag?

  I don’t say anything and Dave doesn’t say anything, and for a minute we stand there silent in the hall while the last bell rings and classroom doors close.

  “You’re late,” I say finally. “To wherever you’re going.”