“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 swirling. “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 question. “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 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 something 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 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 exaggerate 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 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?”
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 something 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 fluttered, then disappeared beneath the picnic table. “This is my life, Carter. I don’t need you judging it.”
“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 tre
e 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. “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.”
He got the same look as when Hunter gave him notes after a scene — interested, but wary. “How am I?”
I hurried to explain. “I mean, you have nice moments, but mostly you’re aloof. Distracted.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Sometimes spoiled, selfish.”
He held up a hand. “Feel free to keep the list short.”
“Sorry.” I fiddled with a piece of broken-off crust on my plate, not meeting his eyes.
His whole body sighed next to me, and after a moment, he said, “I’m not in the business of trusting people right away. Kind of the opposite.”
I studied the curve of his chin. “Is that why you crash red Corvettes?”
His smile deepened the curve. “It was a Porsche.”
“What’s the difference?”
He pretended to search the ground around him. “I think I might have a brochure.” His voice teasing, he leaned his shoulder into mine, sending a low hum of current between us. “Here’s a shocking Hollywood secret. Tabloids lie.”
“So you didn’t crash a red Porsche and publicly humiliate a beloved Disney actress at a Lakers game?” I took a bite of pie, the buttery apple filling melting on my tongue.
Adam ran a hand through his hair, any stray bit of fun leaving his eyes. “Okay, sometimes they lie, and sometimes they just need a story, so they … embellish. Leave things out. Craft a version of it the public will respond to. Or we give them a version we know they’ll respond to. It’s entertainment.” His voice split into that annoyed edge I was more used to hearing from him. “It’s what I do. Entertain.”
“In your job or your life?”
“What’s the difference?”
“I might have a brochure.” I peeked under the pie plate. Feeling him relax again next to me, I added, “It sounds awful.”
“It’s not so bad.” He leaned over and popped the piece of broken crust into his mouth.
“Careful, movie star. I’m not afraid to use this.” I wielded my fork.
Swallowing, he used his thumb and finger to wipe the corners of his mouth and then gave me a stare, sad at its edges. “Not all of us are fortunate enough to be born a Hobbit.”
“Chloe is overly dramatic.”
“Is she right?”
I studied the empty plate. “Yes.”
“Because of your brother?”
I looked sharply at him.
“I know, your rules. But I’m a movie star. I’m used to getting my way. You know, spoiled, selfish.” He shrugged and shot a Hollywood promotion smile my direction, which, despite knowing it was his Hollywood promotion smile, still landed its target.
“Maybe you’re not so nice.” Maybe not nice, but he had the charm thing down. There was a reason he was paid a lot for that smile.
“Sometimes it helps to talk about it.” He cleared my plate to the side and took my hand, sending a flutter through me. Why, when he touched me, did I feel like I was standing on the narrowest of ledges?
“This,” I said, gesturing to his hand, “is definitely not in the script.”
I could tell he knew I was avoiding the subject because his eyes fixed on me, the weight of their interest coaxing me to talk. Tractor beam eyes. Another thing he was paid a lot of money for — that stare. A stare that said, The whole world just vanished, and we’re the only ones here.
“You can stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re interested in my problems.”
“I am.”
The weird thing was, he seemed interested. Without warning, I had one hundred percent of Adam Jakes’s attention, and maybe he was an excellent actor, but suddenly, I was the only other person in the world with him. His spotlight eyes, just for me. Quietly, he said, “You know, with my drug stuff and your brother’s addiction, it was just a matter of time before the tabloids made that link. You can’t worry about it.”
“I always worry about him.”
“Lucky guy.” My heart tripped. Who worried about Adam? Not his parents. Not his little sister.
I’d never told anyone how guilty I felt that John had so many problems and my life was so easy, but for some reason, I found myself telling Adam Jakes. “My mom says that we’ve both been exactly who we are since we were tiny,” I said, the tree house its own tiny galaxy. “John was like a dog behind an electric fence who pushed through, shook the electric sizzle off his coat, and headed out into the neighborhood to see what sort of trouble he could get into. Me — I was happy to sit on the lawn inside of the electric fence, knowing it was there, never testing it, staring at dandelions.”
Adam studied me. “What if there’s no fence?”
“I always feel like there’s a fence.”
He squeezed my hand, leaving a tingling imprint. “You need to get out into the world. When you do that, the fences get wider and wider apart.”
I grimaced, pulling my hand away. “I think maybe we’ve exhausted the fence metaphor.”
He watched the sky shift through the window, the web of pale cloud across the star-filled purple. “It can be good to see what else is out there. If only just to see it.”
I didn’t answer, didn’t tell him that I was tired of people telling me I should leave Little. That I should dance, that I should go off to New York. Should. Should. Should. What if I didn’t want to go? Not because I was scared or intimidated but because it didn’t sound like something I wanted to do? Why did being a teenager give you a sell-by date? People just assumed leaving was the best thing. What if I thought staying was the best thing? When I thought of my ideal life, it wasn’t something out on some blurred distant horizon. It was here. Here with the café, teaching at Snow Ridge, taking care of my brother. Not that he’d let me.
I didn’t harbor the big-city dreams so many of my friends seemed to have, and I guess that made me some sort of provincial freak or something.
“I have a question,” I finally said.
“Shoot.” His gaze slipped back to me.
“When something feels right, why, just because we’re turning a certain age, do we have to toss it all out in the name of some sort of adult success, in the name of growing up? Why do we always have to want something else, something better? What if it doesn’t actually get better? What if everyone out there is just lying to me and it really doesn’t get better than this?”
Adam settled back against the wall, frowning, thinking, the crickets filling up the tree house with their singing.
He didn’t answer me.
Morning, sky watchers. No blog
about space would be complete without talking once in a while about possible life on other planets. Yeah, UFOs, aliens, weird lights in the sky — that sort of stuff. We did some research (thank you, Google) and found out that every day almost two hundred people report some sort of UFO activity. Almost two hundred times a day, someone, somewhere in the world, sees something in the sky they can’t explain. It got us thinking about how we, as human beings, always have a hard time with things we can’t explain — UFOs, Bigfoot, the Bermuda Triangle. We’re fascinated by the things we can’t figure out, by the things that don’t have a right or wrong answer. Even when we can’t explain them, we need to make some sort of sense out of them — create lists, find connections, map it out. Maybe that’s why, when we can’t seem to figure out all sorts of other more commonplace mysteries (like why we all keep looking at the sky as if it might talk to us), we still need to try.
We think maybe it’s a lot like love, that need to make sense of the sky. We don’t know why we need it, we can’t explain it when it happens or when it doesn’t, but we need it like we need air or food.
So we keep looking for it.
See you tonight, under the sky.
it was snowing again in downtown Little. True, two guys sprayed it out of hoses, but when I arrived on set this morning, I couldn’t believe how real it looked. Drifts of snow lined the edges of the street, icicles hung from the eaves, and someone had fringed all the parking meters in the shot with pine wreaths and red bows. Probably Tiny Tom. That guy was really feeling the Christmas spirit. When I arrived, I saw him over by the crafty table, slathering a bagel with cream cheese, his head adorned with reindeer antlers.
I found my chair in Video Village, dumped my bag next to the chair, and sipped some ice water, watching the setup. The temperature was already in the low nineties, so the crew was in tank tops and cutoff jeans. It was disorienting, my town in Christmas mode and everyone in shorts.
Adam stood in front of Baby Face, a day spa. Its sign had been removed and its window display was now a charming kitchen store someone had cleverly named Marley’s Host, with gleaming copper pots hanging in the windows, multicolored Christmas lights reflected in their shiny bodies.
Catch a Falling Star Page 13
