We Are the Stars

by Teagan Hunter

  We Are The Stars

  Teagan Hunter

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Teagan Hunter

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Teagan Hunter

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer quoting brief passages for review purposes only.

  Photography by Lindee Robinson Photography

  Models: JJ Butts and Chelsey Korte

  Editing by Editing by C. Marie

  Formatting by AB Formatting

  Mom,

  You’ve always believed in me.

  Thank you.

  1

  Elliott

  Laundromats are my sanctuary.

  To be more exact, this laundromat is.

  I know, I know, it’s strange. As an unwritten rule, laundromats have a certain wet, mildew-y smell to them, maybe a leaky roof or a lone creeper skulking in the corner—but this one doesn’t. No, it’s…quiet. Nice. It’s the place I go when I want to do some deep thinking or to get away while still getting things taken care of. The clanking of clothes rattling against the metal, the smooth hum of the washing machines, the squeak of the tile beneath my feet—I love it all. It’s my place, the peaceful, quiet space I use to gather my thoughts, to relax, to simply be.

  Or at least that’s the case when I come alone.

  “Are you paying attention to anything coming out of my mouth right now?”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  I pull my gaze from the window, from the boy across the street clearing away dirty dishes with a scowl, and bring my attention to my best friend, who’s sitting next to me. We’re hanging out at the local laundromat waiting for our biweekly loads of dirty clothes to finish drying. They’re taking forever, and no offense to the company I keep, but I’m beyond bored. All that’s stopping me from taking my still-wet clothes and letting them air dry back home where life is even more boring is the stranger across the street. My eyes have already managed to drift back over there of their own accord.

  “E?”

  Forcing myself to again turn to my friend, I kick his Nike clad foot with my Converse and wiggle until my cheek is resting against the cool glass of the window. “Sorry, Jase. Keep talking.”

  He rolls his dark brown eyes and huffs. “Anyway, like I was saying…”

  I halfway listen as I watch an empty bag float across the pavement separating us from Vern’s Diner. The air is growing warmer by the day and soon summer will be in full swing. I shudder at the thought, because that means winter is nowhere near close, and it’s always been my favorite season. In my opinion, if you grow up in Wakefield, MA, it’s required to love winter, even if only a little bit. I truly wish I were donning scarves and snow boots instead of shorts and tanks. I want to feel the cold whip across my skin instead of the heat of the sun, leaving me streaky with sweat.

  Yeah, winter is my favorite. Screw summer.

  I glance through the window as Jase drones on about a class he took last semester and barely passed. I can feel his pain because I barely passed a few classes myself. It’s not that I’m not smart enough—I’m perfectly qualified for all my classes—I’m just bored.

  With everything.

  School, my friends, life. Everything is a routine that never deviates, an endless cycle of classes, study, party, laundry every other week, and then home.

  All. So. Boring.

  Nothing is giving me a zing anymore. I don’t get excited about debating in class with other stubborn students, nor do I get pumped about any party Jase drags me to. I want a change—no, I need a change.

  The only thing that’s held my interest for more than a few minutes in months is what’s going on inside Vern’s Diner. Lame, sure, but I’ll take it.

  From here, I can see there are a decent number of customers inside for this time of day. It’s right between breakfast and lunch, but almost all the tables are full. I can’t blame the patrons; I’ve been known to visit Vern’s often, which is why I find the stranger so intriguing. In all the times I’ve gone to the diner, I have never seen him before, and I’ve lived in Wakefield my entire twenty years of existence.

  Just then, the boy in the window appears again, and Jase’s words are completely lost on me. I watch as he runs a frustrated hand through his hair then rests his hands on his hips. He closes his eyes against the bright sun and steps farther into its warmth before letting a frown curve his full lips. He looks as if he’s in pain, like something’s physically ailing him. I want to reach out and smooth the worry lines from his forehead, because he looks far too young to be carrying around so much hurt.

  Then, almost imperceptibly, he grins. The action, no matter how small it is, transforms his whole face. With him standing in the glowing rays, I can see his ruffled hair is a mix of browns tinged with a soft red. With his eyes still closed, I can’t see their color from here, but I’m guessing it’s something magnificent.

  Then, his eyes open and land on me.

  I stop breathing.

  He stares. I gaze back.

  I wave. His scowl returns, and, for some unknown reason, it pisses me off. My instant childish reaction is to flip him off.

  So, I do.

  “ELLIOTT!” Jase dives my way, covering my hand with his. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he seethes. “You can’t flip off a stranger.” He squints out the window, trying to get a closer look at Frowny Face Boy.

  Suddenly, he draws back, hauling me off the semi-comfortable lounge chair we’ve been occupying for way too long now and pulling me into the shadows of the rundown laundromat.

  “What is your damage?” I yank my arm out of his strong grip.

  “Do you have any idea who that is?”

  “No? Should I?”

  “Should you? SHOULD YOU?!” he shouts as he throws his hands to his hips and starts pacing in front me, tossing me disappointing head shakes here and there.

  I shift impatiently from one foot to the other, my arms crossed over my chest, waiting for him to explain his insane outburst.

  When several more moments pass and he doesn’t give any sort of explanation, I huff out, “What is so bad about him?”

  “I don’t understand how you don’t know.”

  “Know what?” I ask again, annoyed.

  “He may as well be famous around here.”

  I point a finger at him. “You know I don’t pay attention to small-town gossip. It’s rude and almost always not true. It’s like that game of telephone our teachers used to make us play in grade school. Everything gets so twisted by the end, no one knows what’s real and what isn’t.”

  Jase shakes his head adamantly. “No, this is different. There’s evidence to back it up.”

  “What evidence?”

  “Plenty.”

  I stomp my foot and shove past him on my way to my drying clothes. I yank open the door and reach inside, testing their drynes
s. Good enough for me. Grabbing the basket I brought, I fill it, tugging my clothes out into an unfolded pile. Curiosity is building inside me by the second. I have no idea what Jase is going on about, but I won’t sit around and contribute to gossip about a guy I don’t even know.

  I’m going to go ask him myself.

  “What are you doing?”

  I glance up at Jase. “Uh, putting my clothes up?”

  “They’re done?”

  “Almost.”

  He huffs. “Don’t you know it’s bad to wad up wet clothes and let them sit? They’ll mold.”

  “That’s a myth.” It’s probably not. “Besides, I’m bored and starving.” I point across the laundromat, my finger aimed at the diner across the street. “I’m also dying to know what this jackass’s problem is, and since you won’t tell me, I’m going to go find out myself.”

  “Like hell you are!”

  “Watch me, Jase.”

  He shuffles past me to the dryer right next to mine and hauls his clothes out. I don’t miss the way he grimaces at their slight dampness as he tosses them into his own basket. I know not folding them is killing him too, but he pretends it doesn’t bother him.

  The differences between myself and my best friend have always astounded me. Where I’m messy, he’s clean. Where I’m a little wild, he’s cool and collected. My hair is pale blonde, his is raven black. My eyes are crystal blue, his are dark brown.

  The biggest dissimilarity?

  He’s a dude, and I’m most definitely a chick.

  I know, I know. A guy and a girl can’t be just friends.

  Lie.

  We can and we are. There has never been anything even remotely hinting at something more. He’s Jase, I’m Elliott, and despite what his mom tells everyone, we’re not dating.

  “You can’t waltz over there by yourself, E. I’m going with you.”

  “Why not?”

  He pins me with a menacing stare. “Because I said so.”

  Taking a step closer to him, I reach over and pat his shoulder in a mocking manner. “It’s cute how you think you own me sometimes, Jase.” I turn, making my way toward the exit. “And by cute, I mean it’s a total dick move,” I throw over my shoulder as I push through the door.

  I hear him shout after me, but I ignore it, continuing my trek across the street. Refusing to pause to even drop my basket of clothes off at the car, I burst through the door of the diner. My cheeks heat the moment it dawns on me that I just waltzed into a restaurant with a basket full of my unmentionables.

  “Uh, can I help you, hon?” a brunette waitress asks, popping her gum as she talks.

  “Yep, a table for one, please.”

  Her brow rises. “Okay…”

  “Two! Make that two!” Jase demands as he walks through the door, sans basket and winded.

  The waitress shoots us a confused look and reaches for a second menu before leading us off to a booth.

  “Oh, actually, can we sit over…” I scan the restaurant until I can see the booth the boy was last cleaning. “There,” I say, pointing. “That one is perfect.”

  “Sure thing, hon.” The waitress nods with a tight-lipped smile and leads us to the booth I requested. “Your waiter will be with you soon.”

  She hurries off, shooting us another confused stare over her shoulder, shaking her head a couple times.

  I wiggle my way into the booth, trying to get my basket to fit comfortably beside me. Jase throws himself down with an aggravated sigh.

  “You’re insane, E. Didn’t even drop your clothes off first.”

  I grin over at Jase. “I had to beat you here.”

  Fighting a smile of his own, he shakes his head and picks up the menu in front of him. “Always were a pain in my ass.”

  “You love it. And me.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t do anything…wild.”

  I hold my hand to my chest in faux offense. “Jase, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

  “Sometimes I think I know you too well.”

  I smirk, and although he’s hiding his face behind his menu, I know he does too.

  Several minutes of silence pass before Jase grows frustrated with the lack of attention the wait staff is paying us.

  “Seriously, what’s taking them so long? It’s not like they’re that busy.”

  “Be patient. Maybe they’re scared to approach because you keep scowling at everyone.”

  “I doubt that. I think they’re just lazy.”

  I nod. “You’re right. You’re basically a giant puppy.”

  “Did you just compare me to a small, harmless animal? Give me more credit than that, E.”

  “Sorry, a kitten.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Liar.”

  A shadow falls over the table, and we grow silent.

  “You.” It’s like the voice is edged with sharp knives the way it twists in my gut.

  Knowing it’s the boy from the window, the one I flipped off, I don’t turn to look at him. “Me.”

  He says nothing else and neither do I. Frowny Face Boy stands there staring at me—I know because I can feel his eyes burning small holes in the side of my head. The heat his gaze is giving off is almost palpable.

  I pretend to peruse the menu while sliding my eyes his way. I’m thankful I wore my hair down today because there’s no way he can see me peeking through my curtain of white-blonde locks. He’s lean, almost too lean, and standing with his hands down at his sides. He keeps picking at his thumb with his index finger, the movement filled with agitation. I move my eyes to the stains adorning his white shirt: ketchup, soda, grease…and whatever that purple shit is.

  After several unsteady moments, Jase is the one to break the tension.

  “I think we’re ready to order.”

  “What can I get you?” Even though he’s directing his question to Jase, his eyes never leave me.

  “Uh, a vanilla Coke and a double cheeseburger with fries.”

  I peek over at my friend, noticing his face is turning redder by the second. He’s staring at Window Boy as hard as Window Boy is glaring at me. His knuckles are turning white from the grip he has on the table. Jase doesn’t act this way around anyone. He’s the humblest, most laid-back guy I know, but for some reason, this stranger is turning him into someone he isn’t.

  I’ve known Jase since I was eight, when we met in the third grade. He said he liked my TMNT backpack. I told him his lunchbox was ugly. We’ve been best friends ever since. He’s always been the calm to my storm, always been there to help talk me off a ledge or to guide me through any difficult decisions.

  Since I’ve known Jase for twelve years now, and since he knows me better than anyone else on this entire planet, his reaction should bother me, should be a red flag.

  But it doesn’t, and it’s not.

  Nothing about Window Boy scares me or tells me to stay away. I mean, I know I just met the guy, but I don’t get that vibe from him. I sense sadness and anger, but despite my immature action earlier, none of it is directed at me, not in a menacing way.

  “And for you?”

  Daring a glance up at him, I’m surprised to find the look on his face to be blank—all his emotion is in his eyes.

  His gray eyes. They’re gray, and they are magnificent. Woeful, but still so beautiful. And intense.

  His mouth parts the slightest bit once our gazes connect, and the action steals my attention. His lips are full, his nose a little too big, and his jaw strong. It’s lined with day-old stubble, and I can’t help but think how well it fits him. He has the smallest freckle under his right eye, drawing my attention back to his gray gaze.

  “I’ll have the same, minus one meat patty and the vanilla, and add on a side of nacho cheese. Oh, and two cherries in the Coke.”

  Window Boy raises a brow. “So, not the same.”

  “It’s basically the same,” I challenge.

  “‘Basically’ and ‘the same’ are two different things.”


  “Yes, but ‘basically the same’ is something entirely different.”

  He rolls his stone-gray eyes and goes to turn.

  “What’s your name?” I blurt out.

  Jase kicks me under the table and I glance to him, mouthing dick before returning my attention to our waiter.

  He points to the nametag on his stained white t-shirt.

  Carsen.

  Carsen. Where have I seen that unique spelling before?

  “You spell your name in a strange way,” I tell him.

  He quirks a brow at me, his eyes drifting to the basket sitting next to me. Giving me a taunting grin, he says, “This coming from a girl who has pizza on her underwear? I suppose we’re even in the strange department then.”

  With that, he spins and hustles back behind the counter, conveying our order to the cook in a clipped tone.

  I can feel Jase seething from across the booth. Realistically, I should be as upset as he is over the comment Window Boy—Carsen—made, because it was completely inappropriate to comment on my underwear, but I’m not.

  I lean back in the booth, grinning after him.

  I’m impressed.

  “Get that look off your face.”

  “What look?”

  “That dreamy look. You cannot like him. You cannot be friends with him. You can’t even think about being friends with him.” Jase’s words are harsh and I must say, I don’t like them one bit.

  Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I study my tablemate. His brows are scrunched together in a serious fashion and his jaw is set. He’s visibly upset by Carsen, but I haven’t the faintest idea why.

  “What happened between you two?” I question Jase.

  He reels back. “What? What are you even talking about?”

  “You and Scowly. What happened? Why do you hate him? Something had to have happened for you to be acting this way.”

  “What way?”

  “Like a jerk.”

  Jase runs a hand over his face and releases a pent-up breath like I’m exhausting him. “I still can’t believe you don’t know. You had to have at least heard his name before. It was all over the news and in the papers for months.”