See All the Stars

by Kit Frick

  “How’s Saint Anne’s?” I ask, buying myself a minute to think.

  “Fine.” He runs a hand through his white-blond hair. “My parents wanted me to transfer. They thought it would be easier, a fresh start.”

  I nod.

  “But you stayed?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. The real question is why, but he’s too polite to ask.

  “I stayed.”

  He stares down at his shoes, and my mind is made up. I slip the paper out of my pocket and hand it to him.

  “I came by because I found this in a notebook of Ret’s from last winter. She really did love you. She thought she was trying to save you from herself.”

  I offer up a small smile, and after a minute, he smiles back. “Anyway,” I say, “you should have it.”

  Before he can say anything, I’m spinning around, walking back to the car. None of us gets a happy ending. But I can give Jonathan Ret’s song. Maybe make him feel a little bit better about what happened after she wrote it. At least there’s that.

  31

  MARCH, JUNIOR YEAR

  (THEN)

  I grabbed Jenni before fourth, on our way into the sky dome. “What’s going on? Why wasn’t Ret on the chat?”

  In the middle of third, Jenni had started a new group chat with just Bex and me, instructing us to come to her place right after school. After a flurry of texts and a near-confiscation situation with my phone, I still had no idea what had prompted the SOS.

  Jenni looked around, her eyes lighting on the flood of bodies starting to spill through the sky dome doors. “Not here, come on.”

  She took my hand and pulled me down the hall toward the bathroom. The one by the sky dome used to be a smoker magnet because the vents lead straight up to the roof, but last year the school wised up and moved Mrs. Krackow to the classroom directly across the hall. Mrs. Krackow had a reputation for sniffing out smokers and doling out punishment like candy, so now no one did anything in the top floor girls’ room besides pee and check their makeup. It was usually empty.

  The door swung shut behind us, and I slouched back against the wall with the hand dryers. “You’re starting to scare me.”

  “Sorry, but everyone and their mom is in the sky dome right now. Ret wouldn’t want an audience.” Jenni adjusted the strap on her satchel bag against her shoulder and tucked a loose strand of hair back into her braid. “I don’t know if you noticed that Ret’s not in school today.”

  She delivered the news with a smug blend of satisfaction and concern. She knew something I didn’t, one of Ret’s secrets, and she was totally getting off on the power trip. Whatever. If something were really wrong with Ret, she would have told me.

  “I never see her before lunch,” I replied. “What’s going on?” I kept my voice level. Hell if I was going to give Jenni the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.

  “She called me last night. Jonathan dumped her.”

  “What?” I shot up, and my shoulder banged against one of the dryers. Every day for the last three weeks, I’d been waiting for Ret to waltz into school, announce that she and Jonathan were dunzo, and show off a collection of selfies with Dave. But every day, Jonathan and Ret were still together, and there had been no more mention of a pending breakup. I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “Jonathan dumped Ret?”

  But Ret had Jonathan on a string. He was hers for as long as she wanted.

  “Over the phone. Last night. Ret says she doesn’t care, but she wouldn’t be taking a mental health day if she wasn’t hurting. She’s coming over after school, and we need a full showing of support.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, when we were all assembled at Jenni’s and fawning over Ret with soft blankets and pints of Cherry Garcia, I hung back. I called bullshit on this whole charade. Ret obviously wasn’t broken up over this, but Jenni and Bex were too wrapped up in the showy melodrama of being a good friend to notice. The real question was how long Ret would allow it to go on. She wasn’t brokenhearted. Ret got Jonathan to break up with her.

  Of course she did.

  A mug of hot tea and a serious amount of ice cream later, Ret finally spoke up. “This is very sweet and all, but it really isn’t that big of a deal. I’m totally fine.”

  Bex got up from the floor at Ret’s feet, where she’d been camped out on the braided rug, and sat down on the couch next to her. Ret flinched, just slightly, when Bex enclosed her hand in both of hers.

  “You’re just in shock. It’s perfectly understandable. You’ve been together for almost nine months. It’s going to take a while for this to really sink in.” She glanced toward the kitchen, where Jenni was checking on something in the oven, and lowered her voice. “Remember when Jenni and Mark broke up?” She gave Ret a knowing stare that conjured up memories of endless prog rock playlists and a particularly grody band T-shirt that Jenni had refused to wash for two months. “Love is hell.”

  “I appreciate the concern. I really do.” Ret extracted her hand from Bex’s grasp. “But I basically asked him to dump me.”

  “What? You didn’t tell me that.” Jenni appeared in the doorway to the TV room, oven mitts on both her hands.

  I sank down onto the arm of the couch and leaned my head back against the wall. Called it. Jenni thought she had the jump on me, but I was the keeper of Ret’s secrets. I felt a little bad for Jenni, but that was just the way of things.

  “He wanted, like, a white picket fence and three kids and a dog and stuff. I told him it wasn’t my style and he could tag along for the Ret Show if he wanted, but I didn’t think he wanted. I had to lay it out for him like five times. I guess he finally got it.”

  Jenni looked pale. I couldn’t tell if she was more upset about Ret’s blanket rejection of all things hearth and home, which she so dearly loved, or not having early access to the contours of Ret’s heart.

  I felt a little ill myself. All I wanted was for Matthias to make us a priority again. I was willing to compromise; Portland had been my dream, I should never have expected it to be his. And now the city I used to crave had become a sore spot I was afraid to touch. I’d mention other schools casually, how this one had a beautiful campus or that one had a brand new sculpture studio. I took Principal Keegan’s advice and made a Google Sheet of the top studio arts programs all over the country, then left it poking out of my bag when I knew Matthias would see. All I needed him to do was meet me halfway, give me some sign that he saw what I was doing. Offering a compromise, waiting for him to take it. So far, my efforts had gone unanswered.

  But for Ret, it was all a game. She had intentionally sabotaged things with Jonathan, and it wasn’t because she didn’t care; I was absolutely sure of it. She cared too much. All at once, I totally got it. Ret wasn’t bored. She was happy, and it scared the shit out of her.

  “The truth is,” Ret was saying, “I should have dumped him ages ago. We were a ridiculous match from the start. I don’t know why I let it go on as long as I did.”

  “Maybe you actually liked him more than you thought.” My voice was gentle but clear. I was not letting Ret off the hook that easy.

  Ret was the sun and I was the moon, and I could see straight through her.

  I got it now—why Ret called Jenni last night, not me. She needed someone whose motherly instinct was going to kick in, who was going to sympathize with her manufactured drama. I knew too much. I knew about Dave.

  “Interesting theory.” Ret threw me a look I couldn’t quite place. “But there was no point. I was never going to marry Jonathan Gaines. We were not going to have a white wedding and a Hawaiian honeymoon and live happily ever after. Eventually, he was going to figure that out on his own. I just sped up the inevitable, that’s all. End of story. Who wants to order sushi?” She pulled the pirate-cat flask out of her bag and passed it around.

  Bex continued to fuss over Ret, but Jenni retreated to the kitchen. Her father and stepmother would be coming home from work soon, the baby in tow. Their evenings were en
tirely dictated by Jenni’s little sister—her feedings, her bath, her bedtime. Sometimes Mr. Randall would poke his head into the TV room, but our paths rarely crossed. I got the impression it wasn’t much different for Jenni when we weren’t around. I didn’t know much about her mother, just that she’d left when Jenni was little, that she lived somewhere outside Vancouver and rarely called.

  Everyone knew that Jenni was into cooking, fashion, and playing hostess; they were just the things Jenni liked. But maybe there was more to it than that. Three kids and a white picket fence might be Ret’s worst nightmare, but one girl’s trash is another’s treasure.

  After the sushi order was in and Jenni had rejoined us in the TV room, Ret insisted that we put a moratorium on breakup talk and find some junk TV on streaming.

  “This is not going to be an all-night pity party,” Ret decreed from her place of power on the couch. “We will eat small food with chopsticks, we will watch The Real Housewives of Wherever, and we will feel no shame about clowning on their terrible, absurdly rich, faux-dramatic lives. Let this reality television shit-show serve as a reminder that life could always be so much worse.”

  And so that’s how it was, because Ret declared it so.

  Everyone watched The Real Housewives, but I watched Ret. She laughed the loudest at Housewife One’s brush with credit card debt and Housewife Three’s bad collagen job. During the commercial break, she threw me a little smile and placed her finger across her lips as if to say, Shh. You’re the only one who knows the truth.

  I smiled back and shoveled a salmon avocado roll into my mouth. I knew more than Ret realized. I knew the real reason she’d forced Jonathan’s hand. She’d never admit it, not even to me, but too much happiness scared her. It meant having something to lose. And now when she went public with Dave, she wouldn’t look like the bad guy. Ret was a mastermind. And I was the chosen one, the sole secret-keeper in her own drama, The Real Teenagers of the West Shore.

  For maybe the first time ever, I felt sorry for Ret. I was fighting for what I had with Matthias because he was worth fighting for. She’d had something good with Jonathan, but she’d pushed it away. And for what? A challenge, another bad boy. I’d never say it to Ret’s face, but it was all kind of boring and predictable and sad.

  32

  APRIL, SENIOR YEAR

  (NOW)

  Today is Friday, the notification deadline. So far, I’ve racked up two rejections, two acceptances, and radio silence from the only school I really care about. I check my phone between each period. Nothing. In the parking lot, starting up the Subaru. Nothing. It’s four thirty, which means it’s only one thirty in Portland. I toss my phone back in my bag and try to be patient.

  At home, I run down the hall to my room and throw my laptop open. Maybe checking my email on a different device will change my luck. Bruiser follows me into my room and finds the sunny spot on my bed. He stretches out and yawns as if this isn’t the single most important moment of senior year. Okay, Bruiser. Let’s try this your way. I close my eyes and picture a bubbling mountain stream while my browser opens and my email loads. I count to ten, then fifteen for good measure. Gurgling water. A calming, peaceful breeze. When I pry open my eyes, the email is actually there, bold and new and begging to be read.

  Dear Ms. Ellory Holland,

  Congratulations! It is my pleasure to offer you admission to Portland State University and the School of Art + Design. I am happy to offer you a place in our incoming class. As a distinctive arts community within a major university, we take great pride in our students’ commitment to artistic achievement and academic excellence. I want to congratulate you on your accomplishments, and I look forward to welcoming you to our campus community in Portland this fall. . . .

  You know that feeling when you’ve been waiting so long for something to happen that when it finally does, you almost don’t believe it? I print it out and read it again. Somehow, it looks more real on paper. I start to believe it. This is the letter that says I’m going to get my new start. In spite of what I did, everything I lost. I’m not sure I deserve this. Maybe what I deserve is to be stuck on the West Shore forever, pushing my guilt up the mountain over and over like Sisyphus and his stone.

  I push the thought aside.

  I am not a terrible person. I earned this.

  Mom makes my favorite dinner on Saturday to celebrate—buttermilk chicken, Caesar salad, and ice cream for dessert—and calls the aunties to share the news. Dad walks around the house with this big, goofy grin on his face, bursting with pride.

  All weekend, I dream about forwarding the acceptance to my former friends, Principal Keegan, the whole school—as if it would matter, prove something about my worth. Look at me, Pine Brook! I’m a real artist. I’m going to Portland!

  It would prove exactly nothing. I can hear the whispers in the halls. Who does she think she is? Ellory Holland’s not just a maniac, she’s a heartless bitch.

  I scale my fantasy back. There’s only one person who cares, one person who I need to tell. On Monday morning, I unfold my list and spread it out on my desk. Three names are crossed off—Bex, Jenni, Jonathan—and two remain—Matthias, Ret. I print out another copy of the letter and slip it into my bag. Email opens a door, invites a response. And I don’t want a response any more than I want another ambush at my car or a fresh avalanche of notes. There haven’t been any new ones in weeks, ever since I told him to stop. I get the last word. The last note will be from me.

  I pull into the student lot extra early. As I make my way to the second floor, my stomach lurches, just a little, and I can feel my heart start to clobber inside my chest. The past doesn’t just vanish behind a screen of good intentions. All those feelings—the hurt and confusion and the deep, burning anger—they don’t just go away. Whoever said that time heals all wounds didn’t know what he was talking about. Time dulls the wounds, makes them bearable. But it doesn’t patch you up and send you on your way, good as new.

  I’m the only one who can make that happen. And it’s freaking hard.

  I square my shoulders and push through the doors leading out of the stairwell and onto the second-floor hallway. I walk fast, my strides long and purposeful. The sooner I do this, the sooner I never have to think about Matthias, ever again.

  His locker is in the middle alcove, right next to the Smurf’s. I take the email out of my bag and stare for a second at the folds of paper. My stomach heaves for the girl I used to be, the dreams I used to hold so close. Matching emails, a life together in Portland. I fought for us, and it wasn’t enough. Remembering that girl—the one who believed in happily ever after—makes me want to cry or scream or disappear.

  I need to get this over with. I grab a pen and press the folded paper against his locker door. This is just one more step, Ellory. Just one more loose end to tie up tight. I start to write.

  M—

  This is how the story ends.

  —Ellory

  This is not forgiveness, not absolution. This is just a fact, an answer to the question of what happens next. I am going to Portland. Without you. Goodbye. The paper slides through the vent at the top of his locker, gone, swallowed into darkness. I click the pen shut and toss it back in my bag, and I’m done here, spinning on the heel of my boot, walking quickly toward the opposite stairwell, the one that will lead me up to my locker and homeroom and what remains of senior year.

  There isn’t much time left, not really. The months until graduation have melted into a matter of weeks. I’ve been counting them down all year, graduation day shining before me like a bright light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. But now that it’s almost here, it dawns on me that I’ll have to face the day itself. All the Pine Brook seniors sitting with their friends, sharing in-jokes and sentimental selfies, marching proudly across stage, cheering loud and long. Will anyone cheer for me?

  I am weak for caring. But I do.

  I pause for a moment on the second stair from the top and pull out my list. I press it against the w
all and cross the fourth name off. As I stare at the paper, the letters waver and morph into a photograph, five glowing forms in caps and gowns, hands waving, faces lit up by the hot June sun.

  Bex, Jenni, Jonathan, Matthias. Ret.

  I blink. Their forms become names again, just words on a scrap of paper. I shove it back into my pocket and walk out of the stairwell, into the hall. As I spin the dial to open my locker, as I gather my books, as I walk through the door into homeroom and sit down at my desk, I think about the one name that remains. The hardest name of all. The one that makes my insides threaten to turn into smoke and ash all over again. I could say our business is finished, that I resolved things with her first.

  Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I walked away, but I never said goodbye. It was an ending, but not the end. And Ret, I owe you that.

  33

  APRIL, JUNIOR YEAR

  (THEN)

  I grabbed my bag from the seat beside me and locked the Subaru. Beep beep. Ricky and Rebecca were in Philadelphia for the weekend with Cordelia, visiting a grandmother or aunt. Matthias had stayed home, and this was my chance. A whole night of no parents, no distractions. I was done playing nice, done dialing it back. I was going to invite myself inside his house, and I was going to stay over. Surprise!

  I walked up the steps to the front door and rang the bell. When Matthias opened the door, he looked dazed. His eyes were red, and he reeked of cigarettes and beer.

  “Hi.”

  He coughed twice into his sleeve in response. Now that I was here, it was hard to believe I’d let him keep me out all this time. I’d allowed him to make the decisions, dictate the terms. I was so done with that.

  “Did we have plans?” he asked. He didn’t sound mad, just a little confused.

  I shook my head no, then took a step toward the door. He took a small step back, barely letting me across the threshold.

  “Can we get past this?” I asked. “I am not here to judge your house.”