“It’s hard to believe it’s been over a year since you’ve checked in with him,” she pushed.
“Mom,” I warned.
She fiddled with a pile of blankets in the back of the VW. “It’s still just so strange not to see you dancing at all.”
“I teach my class at Snow Ridge Senior Living.”
She grinned. “And that’s lovely, even if they mostly can’t move.”
I tried to keep the smile out of my voice. “Don’t mock the elderly, Mom. It’s rude.”
“Okay, okay, I was just asking. No need to make a federal case out of it.” A huge clank downtown sounded through the morning air, and we both started, our eyes straying to something mechanical we couldn’t see but could suddenly hear. She made a face. “Ugh, Hollywood. Glad I’m heading out.” She slammed the back door of the van.
I shot her a look that said, Please, no Hollywood rants. While I was indifferent to Hollywood, Mom hated it. Chloe had learned not to bring it up at our house when she was over for dinner unless she wanted a six-part thesis on Hollywood’s waste, its gluttony, its vapid lack of regard for the working man. Of course, Dad would often remind Mom with his easy smile, “There are plenty of working men in Hollywood, Rose, honey. And women.”
Sighing, I leaned against the side of the van, peering into its depths; Mom had it stuffed with supply boxes, blankets, sleeping bags, and donated clothes.
Hands on her hips, she followed my gaze. “Maybe I shouldn’t go. The café is so busy right now. And your brother might need me.” She chewed at her lip.
This was her ritual. She cited reasons for not going, and we assured her it would be fine if she did. I hugged her. “It’s fine. Go.”
Waving out the open window, she drove away down our tree-lined street.
After seeing Mom off, I headed down our street and crossed to Pine, maneuvering through a couple of Street Closed signs. Halfway up Pine, three huge semitrucks loomed giant and white, coils of wire spilling from them and snaking their way toward Main Street. A small crowd had gathered near the Pine View Apartments, everyone whispering and pointing at the trucks.
Among them, I could see Alien Drake standing on the sidewalk, surveying the white trucks the way he studied the night sky. He’d probably walked Chloe to work at Little Eats that morning. Even if they’d been together six months, I was still getting used to him as Chloe’s boyfriend and not just as my best friend. He and I had, after all, grown up together two houses away and had sleep-outs in my backyard every summer since we were five, when he moved to Little from Maui. Watching him standing there slurping an iced mocha, I tried not to miss the times he used to walk me to work instead of Chloe.
“Morning, stargazer,” I called to him, and he walked toward me away from the crowd, waving a greeting. No matter how late we stayed out watching the sky at night, Alien Drake never looked tired.
He wore his usual uniform, a black hoodie and Bermuda shorts that drooped past his round knees. “Loud enough for you?” He motioned to the trucks with his iced mocha. I could tell Chloe had made it for him because it had I LOVE YOU!!!!! written in Sharpie across the side.
I gave him a quick one-armed hug. “I just sent you some ideas for the blog.”
“Cool.” He took a long drink of his mocha, draining half of it.
Alien Drake and I wrote a sky blog called Yesterday’s Sightings that we’d started last fall as juniors. The blog was mostly the stuff we talked about while we stargazed. Drake was obsessed with the possibility of life beyond Earth (hence his nickname), and even though I’d never fully believed in all his UFO stuff, I didn’t not believe in it — if that made sense. Plus, stargazing was fun year-round even if it was most fun in the summer when the hot days cooled and we could lie on Alien Drake’s roof and “space out.” Drake was way into the science versus myth side of it, so we learned stuff about aliens and space, but mostly it was just nice to sprawl out on his roof or a field somewhere, the sky an onyx, jeweled sheet above us. There was nothing quite like the stars to remind me how small I was compared to the vast black sky and, somehow, that nightly reminder relaxed me.
“Speaking of alien life …” I nudged Alien Drake and nodded toward the trucks. “We’ve been invaded.”
“Definitely beings from another planet.” Even with his wide face, his smile seemed barely to fit it. Alien Drake credited his Hawaiian genes with the fact that he was almost always relaxed and happy. He was like a people version of a therapy dog. Perfect for Chloe. Who often needed relaxing. And therapy. It also made him the world’s best friend. He drained his mocha. “You got big plans today? Working?”
“I’m on sandwich duty today.”
“Exciting.”
“Yes, very exciting. Bread. Turkey. Tomatoes. Lettuce. It’s a science.” He knew, maybe more than anyone, how much I loved working at Little Eats. And I especially loved being on sandwich duty, the steady rhythm of assembly. Preparing large quantities of food was its own sort of meditation.
“Well, I’m heading to the river.” He popped the plastic lid off the mocha and fished out an ice cube to chew on. “You should come out after you finish your scientific duties.”
I quirked a half smile. “Your girlfriend is dragging me in search of the infamous Adam Jakes.”
He raised his bushy eyebrows. “You going to help her raid his cooler for more ice?”
“I’m just there for support. She’ll need me to prop her up when she faints from sheer amazement at his otherworldly presence.” I rolled my eyes, knowing I was standing next to perhaps the one person who cared even less than I did about celebrities.
His smile slackened, barely noticeable. “Carter Moon: Celebrity Support. You should have T-shirts made. Even better, you should come to the river.”
We stood for a minute, watching the idling trucks. I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to go stand around staring at a film set when I could be going to the river. Which is what I really wanted to do. I wanted to sit in a pool of sunlight and read, my feet in the green water.
“For the record,” he said, “I’m taking it personally.” His eyes scanned a group of guys hauling equipment from the back of one of the trucks. “Your choosing Chloe over me.”
I knew he was kidding, but I couldn’t help the snag in my belly. I didn’t tell him I could pretty much say the same thing to him. Not that Alien Drake and I could ever be more than friends. Chloe knew this, which was why I could be a third wheel with them. Alien Drake and I had tried that once in the winter of eighth grade, a kiss on his roof bundled under his mom’s old paisley bedspread as we watched the sky. It had been a total disaster that ended in a fit of giggles (me) and a revolted body spasm (him) that almost pitched him off the roof. Alien Drake was like a brother to me. A brother who didn’t get defensive all the time.
Alien Drake rattled the ice in his cup. “Okay, sandwich scientist. I’m off, then. Text me if you change your mind and you decide to ditch Chloe and do something for yourself for once. Otherwise, see you tonight.” Waving, he headed back up the street, leaving me staring into the mess Hollywood was currently making of my town.
To Hollywood’s credit, they seemed to work a long day. When I got to Little Eats at eight, they’d already staked out a side street nearby for some filming and had built a wire-infested, camera-ridden den of Christmas cheer: heaps of fake snow, sparkly garland draped in windows, a horse harnessed with a cheery Christmas wreath around its sweltering neck. People in shorts and T-shirts hurried about, and I caught glimpses of several actors bundled in wool coats and boots.
No sign of Adam Jakes, though.
All morning, Chloe kept casting her distracted gaze toward the bustle down the street until finally, after three dropped salads, Dad threw her into the kitchen on dish duty and pulled me off sandwiches to take her place out front. We were busier than usual, probably because people had come downtown to see the film set, and I did my best to make up for Chloe’s sudden absence from the patio. By noon, I was sweaty from racing around ref
illing iced teas and listening to the general buzz about the “movie people.”
During a lull, I leaned against our fence and studied the trailer parked along the street across from us where the film crew seemed to go to get food, emerging with salads, drinks, and other snacks. A man who must have been an actor in the film banged out the trailer door, holding a can of Coke, wearing head-to-toe winter wool as if it were thirty degrees out.
Did it ever throw them off, jumping so quickly between fantasy and reality?
After my shift ended at three, Chloe almost pulled my arm out of its socket dragging me down to the set. At the roped-off corner of the side street leading to Main, we could see crew members moving hurriedly about, actors standing around in Christmas wear, and a few curious onlookers hanging around the edge of the rope like new swimmers. A couple of scruffy-looking guys with cameras slung around their necks checked their iPhones or smoked cigarettes.
“Paparazzi,” Chloe whispered. I could almost hear her heart hammering in excitement.
We waited.
And waited. For what seemed like an hour. The crowd around us ebbed and flowed as people grew weary and left, and then new onlookers joined the line. All I could think about was how good the river would feel after a day like this, the cool water tingling my tired feet.
“Oh my God!” Chloe shrieked. “It’s him,” she hissed, marking my arm with her viselike fingers. She pointed spastically, her body having some sort of celebrity-related seizure.
The cameras all lifted in unison. The bystanders took a collective intake of breath.
And, yes. There he was, emerging from the door of a shop, in a full wool coat, designer jeans tucked into Sorels, his hair the same honeyed muss as in all those pictures on Chloe’s wall, his eyes bright even from a hundred feet away.
Adam Jakes.
He turned toward us and gave a sort of half wave, half shrug. Chloe let out the kind of squeal a five-year-old makes on Christmas morning and tried to get the zoom function to work on her iPhone. I studied him as he talked with the man Chloe claimed was his manager, the British Pisces. Adam Jakes frowned at something Parker Hill was saying and gave a little neck roll like he was prepping for a boxing match.
“We love you, Adam!” screeched a woman far too old to be screeching at teen actors; she leaned into the rope, waving madly.
Ignoring her, Adam Jakes disappeared back into the shop, like one of those lions at the zoo that makes a quick appearance before going back into the cave to lunch on some sort of severed piece of meat.
Sweat trickled down my back. “Can we go now? You saw him.”
Chloe’s eyes were fixed on the door Adam Jakes had disappeared behind.
“Chloe?”
She didn’t take her eyes off the set. “I’m going to see if he comes out again.”
“Then I’m going to the river,” I told her transfixed frame. “Blink twice if you can hear me.” No blinks. Shaking my head, I left her standing there. I’d grab a drink at Eats and head to the river to meet Alien Drake. That was enough celebrity sightings for one day. Or for one life, for that matter.
Inside Little Eats, Dad stood at the counter, his back to me, talking to a woman I didn’t recognize. He turned at the swish of the kitchen door. “Hey, you. Back so soon?”
“Just grabbing a drink and heading to the river.” I filled a cup with ice and tried not to stare at the counter woman.
Her dark hair was shot through with gray and frizzed out around her head like she’d stuck her finger in a wall socket. She had a pair of reading glasses hanging from a chain, wore a pair of purple-rimmed glasses on her face, and had two more pairs of sunglasses stuck into her frizz. She was like a walking LensCrafters. “So,” she said to Dad. “You can help me out?”
“I can make a couple calls. Maybe pull off some chicken Caesars, maybe some cheese plates, some cookies.” She nodded enthusiastically. Dad turned to me, his eyes the only thing betraying that he’d been here since five a.m. “Can you hang out for a second?”
“Sure.” I poured some lemonade over the ice and took a long swallow.
The woman scribbled a number on a napkin. “Here’s my cell and, seriously, thanks for this.” She hurried out the front door.
“What’s up?” I asked, setting my cup down on the counter.
Dad picked up the phone and started to dial. “The movie people need a second meal.”
“What was wrong with their first one?” I dragged a busing tray to several of the blond wood four-tops that needed clearing.
He clamped the phone between his ear and shoulder. “They’re running overtime and need to contract out for some extra food.” He disappeared into the back, emerging again with three huge bowls we used for mixing salads.
I stopped loading up the gray tub with dishes. “For tonight?”
He nodded, then said into the phone, “Henry, it’s Mike Moon, over at Little Eats. Any chance you can have Steve run over some romaine heads? Yeah, now. For the movie people.” He laughed at something Henry must have said on the other end. “Yeah, right?” He motioned for me to leave the busing. “Can you make some Caesar dressing?”
Bye-bye, river trip. I disappeared into the kitchen.
after I helped Dad organize the movie people’s second meal and did all the dishes, I drove an extra salad over to my brother at the Fast Mart. The night had cooled, and I shivered as bits of stars began to peek through the dark. I watched him through the scratched glass of the storefront. My brother — tall, broad shoulders in an ash-colored T-shirt, his dark hair curling around his ears. He hadn’t noticed me yet, so he didn’t have a chance to put on the face he’d light just for me. The face he got before saying, “Hey, little sis.”
The face he wanted me to think was his real face.
He was on the phone, his features pinched. Turning to lean against the counter, he caught sight of me, his eyes widening. He held up a single finger. One minute, he motioned. Wait.
I turned from the window, studying the only other car in the lot. A tricked-out white Honda sedan. A group of guys in beater tanks laughed at something they were watching on one of their phones. T.J. Shay’s friends. Which meant T.J. was somewhere inside Fast Mart. My stomach clenched.
As if on cue, T.J. sauntered up to the counter, waiting for my brother to get off the phone. He dumped his bag of Cheetos and bottle of Mountain Dew on the counter. T.J. and my brother had been friends in elementary school, but by the time they hit middle school T.J. had traded his Magic cards for 40s stashed in brown paper sacks. By high school, he’d pretty much dubbed himself the king of that certain group of rural white boys who fancied themselves gangsters. He’d tricked out his car and taken to cutting class to hang with his older brother, Cory, who ran some sort of questionable “yard work” business but who never seemed to do much more than occupy his garage.
Suddenly, T.J. reached across the counter and grabbed the phone from my brother, who slouched back against the lottery machine. T.J. nodded, said something to my brother, punctuating whatever it was by chucking the phone at him. Seconds later, he pushed through the doors, clearly not paying for his snacks.
I tried to keep my face blank.
As he sauntered by, T.J. gave me a brief once-over. “Carter,” he leered.
“T.J.” I didn’t look at him. Eye contact with T.J. Shay usually required a shower afterward.
The Honda squealed out of the lot as my brother joined me on the sidewalk.
“Hey, little sis.” John pulled me into a bright-faced hug, smelling of cigarettes and mint gum like he always did.
“What did T.J. want?” I noticed the stains of a fading bruise under John’s left eye.
“Just needed to use the phone.” He angled his eye away from me.
“Did you remind him you talk into it rather than chuck it? I mean, I know he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but it’s really a simple sort of function.” I held my hand to my ear like a phone.
John half smiled and avoided answ
ering. “You see any of the movie people yet?”
“They’re all over downtown like ants. You can’t miss them.”
He lit a cigarette behind his hand, as if it was the thing being kept secret. “Did you see the famous one, the actor?”
I shrugged. “Chloe dragged me to the set today, and he came out of a shop for about five seconds.” A stray lock of hair had escaped my ponytail, and I tucked it behind my ear.
“That is so cool. I bet he’s loaded. How much money do you think he has on him at all times?” John stared off in the direction of T.J.’s exit.
I shrugged, not at all liking the direction of this conversation. “I’m not really privy to Adam Jakes’s financial habits.”
John flicked some ash in the general direction of the outside garbage can. “Maybe he’ll come into the café.”
“Actually, Dad and I ended up making a bunch of salads and stuff for the set tonight.” I’d smell like garlic for two days to prove it.
He looked impressed. “Seriously? Like working for them? You should have called me.”
“You were here.” I didn’t mention Dad wouldn’t have offered him any work even if it hadn’t been last minute. “We just helped out — some salads, a cheese plate, some cookies. We had about an hour to pull it off. It’s not like we’re dining daily with Adam Jakes and his entourage.” I coughed loudly and made a show of waving the smoke away from my face.
He blew the next stream of smoke to the side. “Can you imagine having that much money? How much do you think he carries around with him?”
“What did T.J. want?” I asked again.
His eyes darkened.
“Who was that on the phone?” I tried to get him to look at me.
He stubbed out his cigarette, turning serious eyes on me, his body tense. “You a reporter now? You doing a cover story?”
I watched the sky as it bruised with evening, slipping toward black, a thin slash of pale light still lining the horizon of pine trees like a halo. Even from the crappy Fast Mart, our town could be so beautiful. No wonder they wanted to shoot a Christmas movie here. Maybe they came just to film that sky. I held up the salad. “Have you eaten? I brought you some extra.”
Catch a Falling Star Page 2
