Catch a Falling Star (19 page)

behind me.

Turning, I saw Alien Drake and Chloe walk in through the

open side of the barn.

“Hey!” Chloe called, running up to us. “Look at this!” She held

up a copy of
People
. “It’s you! You’re famous!” The headline read:

“Adam Jakes Finds a Little Love.” Under it, there was a picture of

us kissing beneath the Fairy Tree. For how lame that kiss had actu-

ally been, I had to admit it looked really romantic in the magazine,

the fringe of leaves making a halo around our faces. I scanned the

short article. It made several references to Little Eats but didn’t

mention me by name. I was just “small-town girl” or “Little local

girl,” which made me feel like I should wear braids and sell hot

cocoa in the Alps.

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Chloe smiled at Adam. “Do you want to see it?” She held up

the magazine.

“Nope.” He tugged at the brim of his hat, popping the rest of the

bread into his mouth, his shadow shield spreading across his face.

Chloe frowned, tucking the folded magazine into her patch-

work messenger bag. She smoothed the front of her haltered

sundress and, laughing nervously, she scanned the festivities. “I

know. This isn’t very exciting. Everyone here is, like, a hundred.”

“I like it.” Alien Drake headed over to where Jones stirred the

chili.

Chloe watched him, her eyes worried.

“You two okay?” I asked.

“He’s so grumpy lately.” She glanced shyly at Adam. “I think

he’s a little jealous of Adam.”

Adam watched Drake’s retreat. “Well, I’m a little jealous of

you guys — this place is unreal.” He sipped a jelly jar of ginger ale

I’d handed him. “Seriously, this is the best ginger ale I’ve ever

had.” He made it sound like ginger ale was something grand, some-

thing important. “But that stupid article” — he pointed at her

messenger bag — “I couldn’t care less about.” He drained his glass,

then left in search of a refill.

Chloe tried to hide her hurt feelings under a wobbly smile.

“Sorry.” I laced my arm around her. “He can be such a jerk

sometimes.”

She pulled out the magazine again and stared down at the

cover. “Well, maybe he’s used to being in
People
magazine, but

we’re used to the Jensens’ ginger ale, so I guess it’s all relative.”

147

I squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks for showing me. He might be

used to being in those silly things, but it’s weird to think of
me

being in one.”

“Right?” she managed. “That’s why I wanted you to see it.”

Then, she rolled the magazine up and smacked me over the head

with it.

“What!? Ow, Chloe!” It didn’t hurt, not really, but I couldn’t

believe she’d just thwacked me with a magazine.

“How could you not tell me about the kiss! I could
strangle
you.”

I rubbed the top of my head. “Next time, use your words. No

hitting
. We’ve been over this.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “And we’ve been over what sort

of information you never, ever fail to mention to your best friend.

Kissing a movie star. You call me, got it?”

“Okay, okay. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Her eyebrows peaked. “Whatever, Ms. Calm and Collected,

but it’s actually
incredible
,” she breathed, watching Adam refill his

ginger ale. “Every boy you ever kiss again will have to know he has

to live up to Adam Jakes.” She shook her head, her earrings swirl-

ing. “You have the proof.” She held up the magazine. “What was it

like?” She waited, clutching the magazine to her chest.

“Better than Tad and the Subway Date Disaster.”

She let out a whoosh of air, annoyed that I’d dodged the ques-

tion. “Well, I should hope so.” She stared at Adam across the patio.

“Seriously, you’re the luckiest girl I know.”

My stomach ached, not from being hungry or sorry, but from

wishing I could pull Chloe into the shade of a maple tree and tell

her
everything
. Like how I didn’t really know how Adam made me

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feel. Like how this was all supposed to be fake, but those stupid

butterflies every time he was close to me felt disturbingly real.

Besides Alien Drake, Chloe was my best friend. And I wanted to

share this with her, ask her if this was how she felt when Alien

Drake kissed her. But I couldn’t. Maybe it was okay that I couldn’t.

Even friends couldn’t tell each other every secret we had tucked

away. Some things were meant to stay in their hidden places, right?

So instead, we stood in the quiet of the yard, the evening sky

dimming, the dark patch of night overhead deepening. It was nice

when the band began to play, slowly at first, softly. It gave us some-

thing to fasten our attention to as a way of ignoring how strange

the silence had suddenly become.

Besides, I wasn’t like Chloe. I didn’t need to broadcast things

all the time. And she could stand to do a little less broadcasting of

her Adam obsession, especially while Alien Drake was in earshot.

Over by the food, Alien Drake kept sneaking glances at Adam, his

face long. Poor guy. It was one thing to pin pictures of a movie star

to your wall, but it was something entirely different when he was

standing two feet away from your boyfriend.

“Drake looks really good in that shirt,” I whispered to Chloe.

“Yeah, he’s adorable,” she said distractedly, her fingers tapping

along to the music.

People filled plates of food and bowls of chili, and began

swaying to Dad’s easy guitar. “Well, I’m going to get some food.”

I headed toward the chili line, joining Adam, who was already

waiting.

As we scooped the steaming, spicy chili into our bowls,

Adam leaned into me. “You need to tell Chloe to relax about the

149

pictures and stuff. Cut a guy a break.” He nodded in Alien Drake’s

direction.

Surprised he’d noticed, I nodded. “I agree, but Chloe’s Chloe.”

After we got our food, we found a spot to watch the band at an

old picnic table under the oak tree. Alien Drake and Chloe plunked

down next to us, enveloped in their awkward we’re-obviously-

mad-at-each-other-but-pretending-not-to-be bubble.

“You two need to make up,” I said through a mouth of cheese

and chili.

“We’re fine.” Chloe drank half her ginger ale and plopped the

jar on the table.

“Yeah, fine,” Alien Drake echoed, his voice not sounding in

the same zip code as fine.

“Yeah, you seem fine.” Glory Daze was playing something loud

and fast, so I kind of had to shout it. Didn’t matter. They ignored me.

Adam spooned a big bite of chili into his mouth and bobbed his

head to the music. Squinting into the hazy light of the yard, I

watched people flood the small dance area. My stomach still

ached. Too much chili, I told myself, knowing that wasn’t it at all.

Alien Drake studied me. “Go dance.” He looked sideways at

Adam. “Seriously, you should see this girl dance. She’s the best

dancer I’ve ever seen. The best dancer in this town.”

“Easy, Footloose,” I said, my face heating. “Let’s not exagger-

ate things.”

Adam stared at me, looking as if I’d lied about my age. “I didn’t

know you were a dancer.”

Chloe nodded so hard her earrings jangled. “Don’t let her

whole fake-modesty act fool you,” she told Adam. “She won a huge

150

scholarship to a prestigious school in New York last summer and

turned it down
.”

I glared at Chloe. “Thank you for reporting, Chloe. News at

eleven.”

Adam set his empty bowl on the table. “Why’d you turn it down?”

Chloe toyed with one of her earrings that had tangled from her

vigorous nodding. “Are you serious? You don’t know our Carter

very well yet. She’s a Hobbit. She’ll never venture far from the

Shire. She’s tied here.”

Adam swirled his spoon in his chili and turned to look at me.

“Anything particular tying you here?”

Before I could respond, there was a commotion at the stage,

someone trying to get Dad’s attention. And Dad was trying to

ignore him and finish the song.

Alien Drake mumbled into his food, “Speak of the devil.”

My brother.

As if sensing my gaze, John turned, spotted me across the

courtyard, and his face darkened. No brightness for me tonight.

Just a tumble of unbrushed hair and a raggedy vintage AC/DC

T-shirt. He stormed over to our table, his energy like an incoming

wave of heat, and shoved a tabloid in my face, one of the trashier

ones printed on thin, inky paper. “You want to explain this?”

Adam bristled next to me. “Whoa,” he breathed, standing up

just as Drake did, and out of the shadows behind us, I felt Mik

materialize, too. I had a sudden mountain range around me.

“Wait.” I tried to focus on the tabloid, on the grainy picture.

John’s arm shook. “This came today. Where I work. I have to

look at this crap where I work?”

151

The article blared, “Adam Jakes’s Little Lover Has Loser

Brother.”

I cringed at the
lover
and the
loser
. Stupid and hurtful for the

sake of alliteration. I put my hand on John’s arm, trying to steady

the article so I could read it, but he wouldn’t hold still. This

wasn’t the first time I’d seen my brother’s eyes cloud and whirl

like this. “I didn’t know anything about it, I swear.” My stomach

twisted, the chili sitting like cement. “I would never want some-

thing like this out there.”

“Well, it’s out there,” John hissed. “It’s definitely out there.”

His eyes darted to Adam. He seemed to notice Adam now, to

absorb
who
he was standing near. “Did you have something to do

with this?”

Adam shook his head, wary of John like one would be of a tiger

suddenly out of its cage. “That’s not really how it works.”

Anger pulsed in me. How was this my fault? It was
out there
, as

he said, because he kept making dangerous choices. “You know

what, John? If you don’t like the way your life looks in a headline,

maybe that has less to do with me and more to do with you.” My

voice shook, but John reeled back like I’d slapped him.

John opened his mouth to respond, but, suddenly, Dad was at

his side, his hand on his elbow. “John, you need to go. Your sister’s

here with friends. Now’s not the time.”

John shook him away. “Oh, right. Her
friends
.” His eyes burned

into me. “I don’t know what you’re doing with Mr. Hollywood

here, but leave me out of it.” He tossed the tabloid at me; it flut-

tered, then disappeared beneath the picnic table. “This is my
life
,

Carter. I don’t need you judging it.”

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“I wasn’t,” I said, meeting his flashing eyes. “But it seems like

you are, or you wouldn’t care so much about that stupid article.”

With Dad not on stage, the music had already stilled, leaving a

hush in the yard. People tried not to watch us — shuffled feet,

picked at their food — but their silence gaped. We’d become the

show. Adrenaline leaked from me, and I was grateful we didn’t

have photographers clicking away all around us. Or maybe we did,

and I didn’t even notice it anymore.

Above us, clouds moved across the moon, passing ghosts.

Dad walked John away, both of their shoulders slumping.

Adam was trying to catch my eye, but I avoided his. Pushing myself

away from the table, I asked Mik to take me home. Somehow, he

was the safest mountain right now.

Later, Adam knocked on the rim of my tree house doorway, the

curtain I used as a door silhouetting him.

“Come in.” Surprised to see him, I scooted over a bit so he had

room to sit next to me.

He poked his head in, smelling of cinnamon and nighttime.

“Cool fort.”

“Not as cool as yours.”

He crawled into the tree house and sat cross-legged next to

me. “Mik said he brought you here.”

I went back to watching the emerging stars out the window. “I

didn’t think Mik spoke. That’s one of the reasons I picked him to

drive me.”

“He speaks.” Adam produced a plate of apple pie and a fork.

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“Mrs. Jensen insisted. She said to give the fork back to Mr. Jensen

when you see him next. You’re lucky I didn’t eat it on the way

over.” That explained the cinnamon.

We sat for a few minutes, listening to crickets, not touching

the pie. It struck me that, like Parker had said, a million girls
would

kill to trade places with me right now, sitting in a tree house with

Adam Jakes bringing them pie and smelling of cinnamon.

“What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me. “You’re making a

strange face.”

“You’re just, well . . .” I took a small bite of pie. “Being so

thoughtful
.”

He leaned against the wall, stretching his long legs out in front

of him. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

I chewed my lip. “Well, you aren’t always . . .” I searched for

the right way to say it. “So . . . nice.”