Starlight

by Chelsea M. Campbell

  I get second place. Second place, and that was with less than half the voting time left. First place went to a boy from another school, meaning I am the top poet at Highville High.

  Toby comes up and stands between me and Saiph. “That was awesome,” he says.

  I feel really bad for Charlotte right now. She’s standing beside me, but Toby doesn’t even see her. I wonder how long she’s liked him, how long she’s been waiting for him to notice her. And then I come along, the least noticeable person on the planet, and suddenly I’m Miss Cool.

  Lots of people flock to our group, trying to get Saiph’s attention, especially girls. And yes, I’m jealous. I can’t help it. I want to push them away and tell them to get out of here because he’s mine. I mean, didn’t they hear the poem? A guy reads a poem like that for a girl, and doesn’t that mean something?

  Maybe not. He is, after all, just trying to grant my wishes and get out of here.

  People come up and congratulate me, too. Most of them say something like, “You wrote that? But aren’t you…?”

  Adrienne Speck? The big-time loser? The girl with no friends and no confidence in herself who’s always the laughingstock of the whole school? No. I’m not that girl anymore.

  I’m starting to think this “make Adrienne popular” thing isn’t going to be as impossible as I thought. In fact, with the way everyone’s smiling at me and congratulating me, while I’m surrounded by my new group of friends, I’d say I was pretty much there.

  That means, after the dance this weekend, Saiph is going back home to star land. Forever. I wonder how cool I’ll be with a broken heart.

  ***

  After school, I buy a frame for my second-place certificate and hang it in the living room where everyone can see it. It’s not my mom’s kind of achievement. It’s only second place, in a poetry contest, and it doesn’t compare to me getting the lead in the play. Which she’s still really bummed about me ruining. She probably has to hear a lot of crap about it from Nichole’s mom, too, if they’re still talking. So I know she’s not going to be proud of my winner’s certificate, or my fifty-dollar gift card for Barnes and Noble.

  But this is me. I’m not a drama queen. I’m not a cheerleader. She’s just going to have to deal with that.

  Mom comes into the room and groans. “Oh, Adrienne, what is that?” She tuts and shakes her head. “This can’t go here.”

  “Why not?” I put my hands on my hips.

  “It’s…” She’s already turning her nose up at it. “Can’t you put it in your room?”

  “No. I’m proud, and I want everyone to see it. I worked hard for this, and I put everything I had into my poem, and that might not be good enough for you, but it was more than good enough for everybody else.” You might not believe it, but it’s really hard for me to tell my mother I’m proud of this when I know she thinks it’s stupid. Writing poetry isn’t something she can understand. And being proud of it? Worse, wanting to hang it on the wall to force everyone to look at it, like it’s something worth showing off?

  A second place certificate in a poetry contest might not be the lead role in a play or the same as making head cheerleader, but it’s one thing I can be sure Nichole doesn’t have.

  One side of Mom’s face twitches. She grimaces at the certificate. “I’m going to at least get a better frame for it. One that goes with our décor.”

  “No, Mom. I already picked out this one. It’s my award, not yours, and I don’t care if you don’t like it.”

  Mom sort of stares at me for a minute, probably in shock that I just told her no. Knowing her, she’d come back with a frame covered in rainbows and pink unicorns. Eventually she blinks at me and nods. “Okay, hon. If that’s what you really want. Oh, and remind me later to charge the battery for the camera. I don’t want to miss out on Saturday.”

  “Saturday? What’s happening Saturday?” Okay, I know what’s happening Saturday, but I didn’t think Mom did.

  “The dance, sweetie. Aren’t you and your little Canadian friend going?”

  Considering that Mom has probably finished our wedding plans, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I feel kind of guilty having to tell her, “Um, actually, we’re not. I’m going, just… with someone else.”

  “Oh.” She makes a weird face. The kind she makes when she thinks someone’s making a big mistake. “I thought… You two are so cute together.”

  Ugh. “We aren’t going.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Adrienne, but”—she cups her hand around her mouth and lowers her voice to a whisper, even though Saiph isn’t around—“won’t his feelings be hurt?”

  “No.” I feel like I’m lying to her. Which is stupid, because no matter how jealous Saiph seemed when I asked Jason out, and no matter how upset and, yeah, maybe a little hurt he seemed when I said yes to Toby, I did ask Saiph. And he turned me down. What’s a girl supposed to think? That he’s secretly madly in love with me? Yeah, right.

  “Okay,” Mom says, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me.

  “Sorry, Mom,” I say. “I guess the wedding’s off.”

  ***

  I take Charlotte to the mall with me to get a dress. She volunteered to come along when she found out I was going alone. I couldn’t take Saiph, not after everything that’s happened, and I don’t know if Charlotte would approve of me taking a boy with me for dress shopping anyway. She says it’s a girl thing.

  “He said it wasn’t a big deal,” I say, still feeling awkward about going with Toby to the dance. “We’re just friends.” I wonder if Toby knows that.

  “It’s okay,” Charlotte says. We weave our way through a mob of people coming out of a department store. Once we’re in the clear, she gives me a sidelong glance. “I know who you really like, and it isn’t Toby.”

  I feel my cheeks go red, but it’s not like it was a secret. I haven’t told anybody, of course, but I guess I haven’t gone out of my way to hide how I feel about Saiph.

  We nearly walk past Diana’s Dress Boutique, but I stop and press my face to the glass, staring inside. Somebody bought my blue dress. Well, their blue dress now. “I asked him to the dance.”

  “Who?” Charlotte asks, but I think she knows.

  “Saiph. He turned me down.” I leave smudges on the window as I pull myself away. Saiph said no, and someone bought my dress. My Cinderella story isn’t turning out so well.

  “He did?” Charlotte sounds skeptical. “But, you two…”

  “Us two what?” I can see how both Charlotte and my mom might have gotten the wrong impression about me and Saiph and where we were headed. Because even I made that mistake. “He wasn’t jealous.”

  “He acted like it. Oh!” Charlotte grabs my arm. “Maybe he’s shy.”

  This is Saiph we’re talking about. Him, shy? We both exchange a look and shake our heads.

  “Maybe not,” Charlotte says.

  I consider going in Diana’s Dress Boutique, but it wouldn’t be the same. And I’d only be thinking of it. Saiph was right—it was the dress, and now it’s gone. Maybe it’s better this way.

  Since I splurged on redecorating my room, I don’t have as much money for a dress, so we go to the store where all the not-so-cool girls shop. It’s a little cheaper, and the clothes might not be as fancy, but they’re still pretty.

  The dress I pick out is red, with a simple design. It’s silky and sleek and the straps go around my arms instead of over my shoulders. The bottom is cut in a curve, so that one side is higher than the other. It’s nothing compared to the blue wonder, but it looks good on me. It shows off my shoulders and my legs, and while it feels a little weird to have so much of me uncovered, I don’t feel unworthy of looking my best anymore.

  ***

  Saiph catches me writing a new poem at my desk on Friday night. I slide my hand over it as he comes in the room. “What’s that?” he says. He sounds dead, not like his usual, happy self.

  “Nothing.” I say it too quickly. I turn the paper over and sti
ck it under a book so he can’t see. “They, uh, wanted me to read my poem at the dance. I don’t know why. I mean, you were great, but me? Well, anyway, I thought…” I stop and lick my lips. I’m talking too fast, and I feel really nervous. And I’m painfully aware that the dance is tomorrow night, meaning Saiph’s going home in only a day. “I’m tired of that poem, and there’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately, so I thought I’d write a new one. I don’t know if it’ll go over so well, but it means a lot to me.”

  “And it’s a secret.”

  “And it’s a secret. Right.” I nod. I get up, not sure what to do with myself now that he’s in the room. There’s so much I want to say to him. The truth is, the new poem I’m writing? It’s about him. That’s why I can’t show it to him yet. I think he’s a little hurt, though.

  I sit down on edge of the bed. Saiph sits down next to me. Our shoulders touch, we’re that close. “So,” I say, because I don’t like not talking about it, “you’re going home soon.”

  “Yes.” His voice is quiet. He doesn’t sound happy to be leaving.

  I wonder if he can hear my heart breaking, because it seems really loud to me. A great big crack is spreading right down the middle. “Do you want to? Go home?” I don’t know how star boys live, but he probably has friends up there. He probably already has a life—he doesn’t need to be part of mine.

  My hand is on the bed, and it brushes close to his. I wish I could just grab hold of him and never let go. If he has to leave, he’ll have to take me with him. But I can’t. Things don’t work like that anyway. “There isn’t any way you can stay?”

  “Just one—” There’s a flash of blue light. His voice chokes off into nothing, even though his mouth keeps moving. He puts a hand to his throat and shakes his head.

  I don’t know what that means. All I know is I hate that he’s leaving soon. “Saiph, I…”

  His hand’s on top of mine. He stares at me, his eyes intense. He holds perfectly still—he doesn’t even breathe—like I’m about to say the most important thing in the world.

  Saiph, I like you a lot—like, a lot a lot—and I don’t ever want you to leave and you know that wedding my mom was planning? It doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

  I can’t say that. I smile at him. “I have to get back to work.”

  He gets up to leave, but I grab his hand. “You should come to the dance tomorrow. Please? I don’t want you to leave without giving me a chance to say goodbye. And I’d like you to hear my poem.”

  He tells me he’ll think about it. The biggest night of my life, and he might not even be there. But with him going home tomorrow, I guess I’d better get used to it.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  I’m a mess all day Saturday. Saiph skips out, going who knows where, and I’m terrified that he’s left for good already. I keep telling myself the dance hasn’t happened yet. Even if I have a date for it, my wish hasn’t been completed. I haven’t actually gone there, with my date, and that was the condition. He can’t skip out early and just hope everything goes smoothly.

  Especially because things are about to go very not smoothly. My hand shakes as I pick up the phone. I’ve already got my dress on. My mom helped me curl my hair and put on a little makeup. I’m ready to go, and the dance is only an hour away. Which is why making this phone call sucks so much. My stomach is jumpy and flip floppy. Toby will answer the phone, and the only sound will be me puking. How is that for a hello?

  I dial his number, and though my stomach flutters, I manage not to barf. I’m relieved when Toby answers. “Hello?”

  “This is Adrienne.”

  “Oh, hi.” He sounds too happy. He sounds like he’s glad to hear from me, even though we’re going to see each other in about an hour. Or at least we were.

  “I’m sorry. I hate to do this, but…” I take a deep breath. I can practically hear the tension and suspense he’s feeling on the other side of the phone. I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can’t do this. I can’t go to the dance with you tonight.”

  Silence.

  “Toby?”

  There’s a pause, and then, “Yeah?” He doesn’t sound so happy now.

  “I’m really sorry, but we can’t do this. You need to go with Charlotte. Trust me on this, okay?” Then I hang up. I’ve never hung up on somebody in my life until now. It’s not the same as slamming the phone down in anger—it’s not that kind of hanging up—but I cut the conversation short. I bet he had a lot of questions, and I didn’t stick around to answer them.

  Toby’s probably going to hear on Monday that I was at the dance. Because I’m still going—I have to read my poem. I’m just not going with him. But I didn’t lie—he needs to go with Charlotte. The quicker he figures out he belongs with her and not me, the better. Plus, there’s no way I could take him to the dance and then read a poem that’s meant for someone else.

  And, okay, there’s one other tiny reason. If I don’t go to the dance with Toby, with my date, then my last wish doesn’t get fulfilled. Then Saiph won’t be able to go home, right? And my wish wasn’t to go to any old dance, but this dance. So, once it’s gone, he can never fulfill my wish.

  It’s a clever plan, don’t you think? Then why do I get such a bad feeling about it? Like something’s about to go terribly, terribly wrong?

  ***

  I make another attempt to find Saiph. I even call my mom on her cell phone to see if he’s with her. He’s not. He’s not at the house. I checked every hiding place I could think of, just in case. I even looked in the attic, behind all the boxes. I had a horrible image of Saiph, trapped and being crushed by an avalanche of old junk, wishing he could come say goodbye to me, but instead dying alone in his least favorite place. So maybe it was a good thing I didn’t find him in the attic.

  But he’s not here, or with my mom, and he couldn’t have gone back to star land, especially now that I canceled my date with Toby. I don’t know where he is, but it’s getting late. I have to get to the dance.

  I worry the whole way there. What if I don’t ever see him again? It’s bad enough that my heart’s breaking, but now I might not even get to say goodbye? I console myself with the fact that my last wish isn’t getting granted. Not technically, and that means he’s not leaving tonight. Right?

  When I get to the school, the dance is packed. They converted the lunchroom into a ballroom, or at least as close to one as they could get. The music is loud and there are people all over. I can’t help looking at every one of them, hoping Saiph came to the dance after all. I don’t see him. I see guys who give me, well, looks. Guys who should probably be calling me a stick instead of ogling me, just because I put on a dress.

  I also see Nichole. She’s here with Jason, and she’s wearing the dress. The blue wonder itself. I hold off on my search for Saiph long enough to march over to her and glare. She and Jason are making out next to the punch bowl—eww—and it takes her a minute to notice me. But I’m not going away. She was the one who made fun of me for wanting the dress. Just when Saiph had convinced me maybe I wasn’t unworthy of it, she had to come along and make me feel like I wasn’t good enough. And I know I already felt that way, that she was just preying on my insecurities, but now she’s wearing the dress? She probably made me feel worthless just so she could get her hands on it. She was never better than me, just jealous and mean, and you want to know something else? That dress looked way better on me than it does on her.

  When Nichole finally stops slobbering all over Jason and notices me, I’m ready to chew her out. I’m ready to make a scene and let everyone know how that dress should have been mine, and just how bad Nichole looks in it compared to me. But I don’t. There’s no point in it. I’m so disappointed in her that there isn’t anything to say. And embarrassing her in front of everyone isn’t my style—it’s hers. There are better things to be than one of the Nicholes of the world. Like one of the Adrienne Specks.

  I shake my head at Nichole and walk away.

  ***


  When it’s time for me to read my poem, I go up on stage, and the music stops. I haven’t found Saiph. I peer into the crowd, hoping he’s there, but with the lights on stage and the rest of the room dark, it’s too hard to see.

  The principal, Mr. Henry, introduces me. “I’d like to take a break and let us all hear from a very talented young lady. I know I’ve enjoyed her poetry very much, even when someone told me I shouldn’t.” He makes a point to look at me. “This is the piece that put Highville High on the map, and beat out Herrington, and one I know we all would like to hear again, which is why I arranged for this encore performance.”

  It’s only sort of an encore, because Saiph gave the first performance, not me. And, really, it’s not an encore at all, because I’m not going to read that one.

  “And now I’d like to present the lovely Adrienne Speck.” He gestures to me, then retreats to the edge of the stage, behind the curtain.

  “Thank you, Mr. Henry,” I say, feeling weird talking into the microphone, “but I wrote a new poem that I want to read.” I look out at the crowd. It’s terrifying, being up in front of all these people, but it’s pretty cool, too. They haven’t heard this poem, and, like the last one, I put everything I had into it. No one in the world has seen this poem but me, and I have no guarantee they’re going to like it. And Saiph isn’t here to read it or bail me out if this goes horribly wrong. It’s all up to me.

  I’m on stage, in front of pretty much the whole school, about to read them a poem that might as well be my heart smeared on a piece of paper. And despite the way my legs feel like jelly and my stomach’s glad I haven’t eaten anything, I’m not afraid.

  ***

  I read the poem like I believe in it, because I do. I don’t give quite the performance Saiph might have, but I do my best. It turns out my best isn’t so bad. The crowd applauds me at the end, and nobody laughs. They could have laughed. I just poured my heart out to them—a heart that, not very long ago, it seemed like everyone was out to stomp on—and they didn’t boo me off the stage. More than that, it went well. Mr. Henry thanked me for sharing that with us, pointing out one more time that it was my abilities that put us on the map. I don’t know how much “on the map” we are after one poetry contest. Even if we did beat Herrington, our rival, I still only got second place, but I don’t want to spoil his fun by telling him that.