When a Star Falls (Stars Book 1)

by Rachael Eliker

  “Hang on,” Mandy said as she put me on hold.

  The blood drained from my face, and I licked my parched lips, my mind racing as I tried to figure out how I was going to explain things to Mr. Drake. Showing off for my boyfriend didn’t seem like a very intelligent answer.

  “What is it, Ruby?” Ms. Osborne furrowed her brow again. I’d think she had some gift for discernment if it weren’t obviously written all over my face.

  “Oh,” I giggled lightly, waving my hand in the air like I wasn’t facing the imminent death of my career, “it’s nothing. The music executive isn’t so thrilled that I decided to sing Heart on Fire instead of Dark Shadows on Chicago Tonight. I imagine I’ll be put on probation for that. I guess, I dunno. Can they even do that?”

  Ms. Osborne pursed her lips and declared, “Let me handle it.” Without waiting for my permission, she yanked the phone out of my hand and pressed it to her ear. When the line clicked off hold, she started speaking before Mr. Drake could get a word in edgewise.

  “This is Ms. Osborne, Ruby’s therapist. She’s given me permission to speak on her behalf to avoid any undue emotional stress a conversation with you may cause.”

  “Therapist?” I hissed.

  Ms. Osborne covered the receiver. “I can’t pretend to be your lawyer. I don’t know enough legal jargon.” She hushed any further protests with her pointer finger. Continuing with Mr. Drake, she said, “She is aware of your disapproval for the song she chose to sing on her latest public appearance, but it was a decision that was neither detrimental to her career nor your record label, and if anything, has been helping to continue to fuel her success. Currently, she is taking a brief but much-needed break at home with family and friends before Harper Music plunges her into a relentless touring schedule. She will be returning to work on Monday, after she is well-rested.

  All I could hear was silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Oh, and you will allow her to play the guitar as she sees fit, seeing as she auditioned with the guitar for you. End of discussion. Good day, sir.”

  If the phone had a receiver, I was confident Ms. Osborne would have slammed it down for extra effect, but since it didn’t, she smashed it into my open palm.

  “Remind me to never mess with you,” I chortled, shaking my hand from the sting from the phone.

  She tucked an errant strand of her hair back behind her ear and sat a little straighter. “Nobody ever messes with a presidential secretary. Not if they know what’s good for them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “How is this even possible?!” I shouted angrily. My head was cocked sideways, restrained by the hair stuck in the strap of my bra. I slipped a robe over my still damp body and trotted down my parents’ stairs, calling for help.

  “What do you need, honey?” I found my dad sitting in his favorite arm chair in the living room, reading the newspaper while my nephews battled on the couch. I watched Ben do a particularly impressive facebuster to Charlie who cried just long enough for Sam to peel his eyes away from the television and give the boys a warning. Charlie used the break in play to his advantage to get an upper hand on Ben, who quickly found his face being ground into the couch cushions by his older brother.

  I looked at my dad then decided against asking for his help untangling my hair from my bra strap. He was still in denial that his daughters had grown up enough to need bras.

  “Um, have you seen mom? Or Hannah?”

  “Your mother’s out in the garden and Hannah’s over there in the kitchen, waiting for some banana bread to come out of the oven, I believe.” Dad looked up over his newspaper and looked strangely at me. “Why is your head—”

  Not wanting to get into a conversation about me and my fancy bras and the perils of their straps with my dad, I skipped over to the kitchen, calling behind, “Thanks!”

  Hannah leaned over the counter, staring into the oven lost perilously deep in her thoughts. I felt a twinge of guilt clearing my throat. It wasn’t often Hannah got to enjoy a few quiet moments to herself but my only other option was to cut a considerable chunk out of my hair to free myself. I was sure Casey could make it work but I didn’t want to return with any surprises since I was already on rocky ground with Harper Music. “Um, Hannah?”

  She jumped slightly and turned around, her eyes narrowing as she gazed at me. Putting her hand on her hip, she sassed, “Don’t tell me. You got your hair stuck in your bra. Again.”

  “In my defense, the first time I’d only had a real bra for a week. These things and long hair are treacherous.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes and grabbed the scissors. “Let’s have a look.”

  Five minutes and only a few shorter strands of hair later, I leveled out my head and stretched my sore neck. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “Why don’t you cut your hair?” Hannah asked, running her fingers through her own dark brunette hair that was cut into a stylish a-line bob. “The length of your hair doesn’t have anything to do with your femininity, you know.”

  “I know,” I said defensively. “I just like it the way it is, that’s all.” Then, being honest without really wanting to be, I mentioned, “I like how Collin runs his fingers through it.”

  Hannah nodded, seeming to understand that sort of logic, as if there were any in that way of thinking. “How is he, by the way?”

  Out of nowhere, a boulder of emotion lodged itself in my esophagus. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t talked to him lately.”

  Since my rather nasty one-sided phone conversation with Collin, I’d retreated to my parents’ house and spent the past couple of days sleeping in and wandering around in sweats, sipping smoothies and inhaling entire loaves of homemade bread. I penned a few lyrics and tucked them away in my writing journal that I kept for such occasions. Writing music was helpful, but I could tell by the tone of the lyrics that I was anything but happy. Without Collin, I was miserable. The only glimmer of light was the possibility that Troy was interested in me. But would that possibility fill the cratered void Collin would leave if we broke up?

  “I’m going to tell you a secret,” Hannah said. “Nobody’s perfect. Especially men.”

  I stared unblinkingly at her for a moment. “Is that it?” I asked incredulously. “That’s not exactly a secret. I thought you were going to tell me the meaning of life or something.”

  “For someone who seems to know it all, you forget those rather obtuse truths frequently.”

  “Me?” I asked, pointing to my chest. “I’m not the one who flew to the wrong city to see their girlfriend perform.”

  “No kidding,” Hannah said flatly. “However, you are the one making the situation worse by holding a mistake over his head. Do you think he’d be doing the same thing if you’d been the one who messed up?”

  “Well, no—”

  “So why haven’t you called him? Delaying the inevitable only makes things worse.” Hannah sliced a piece of banana bread off the pan she had pulled out of the oven. Steam escaped the severed loaf, and the smell alone was enough to make my mouth water. I was transported back to when I was six years old, coming home from a long half-day of kindergarten to a piece of banana bread and milk before taking my afternoon nap. My problems back then seemed equally as daunting, but the difference was that a snack and sleep would right the world.

  Hannah put her bread on a napkin and waddled over to a stool that was tucked under the overhang of the island. Her stomach was disproportionately enormous compared to the other parts of her body, and though she looked miserable with swollen ankles and a constant look of exhaustion on her face, I couldn’t help but envy the stability her family had provided her and the excitement a new baby always brought.

  “Think you’ll go before your due date?” I asked through a mouthful of moist, sweet banana bread.

  Hannah rolled her eyes and answered, “Not likely. I have yet to get one my kids to ever show up on time. I hope this isn’t a sign that they’ll be perpetually late for everything.”
r />   I snorted and flicked my hair behind my shoulder, leaning on my elbows on the counter.

  “Pick out a name yet?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said with raised eyebrows. “Quit changing the subject. Why haven’t you called?”

  I heaved a deep sigh and answered honestly, “Because now I’ve made it awkward. I chewed him out when he was trying to apologize, and instead of calling right away, I put it off. With each passing minute, it makes it more and more humiliating to have to grovel in front of Collin, hoping he’ll forgive me.”

  “So you’re running away from your problem instead? How very mature of you.”

  “I’m not running away,” I argued.

  Just then, Sam walked into the kitchen, following his nose. “Is the bread done?”

  Hannah’s eyes bugged out of her head and she screeched, “What did you do to your shirt?!” She threw an accusing finger at Sam, who seemed to only now be noticing the two missing buttons and tear from his navel to his right rib cage.

  “Oh. This?” Sam asked sheepishly. “I was wrestling with the boys and Ben jumped off the couch to try and take me down and ended up using my shirt as leverage. I’ll fix it. Promise.”

  Hannah wordlessly handed Sam a hunk of bread on a napkin and shooed him out of the kitchen. “Girl talk,” was all she said, and Sam was out of there faster than a falcon in a freefall.

  “Men are simple, Ruby,” Hannah expounded. “They don’t need much and really, they’re blundering it up all the time. It’s ingrained in their DNA or something. The important thing to remember is they’re trying.”

  I nodded. For all of Collin’s bumbling forgetfulness and inability to use common sense, he was the sweetest man I knew. More than once he’d sent elaborate bouquets when he wasn’t going to make it to one of my appearances and whenever he listened to me ramble on, I was the only person in the universe that mattered.

  “You’re right,” I sighed, relinquishing the last of the tension in my shoulders and giving in to what Hannah suggested.

  “As if there was ever any doubt.”

  She took another bite and rubbed a spot on her stomach where her daughter was elbowing her from the inside. Both of us were startled as Chloe unexpectedly burst through the door, covered in mud. It was slathered over every inch of skin and her adorable sundress.

  “Chloe!” Hannah cried. “What on earth?”

  Chloe beamed. “I’m a mud princess,” she declared, sticking her chest out proudly.

  “Mom!” Hannah shouted even louder.

  Out of breath, Mom came trotting to the door. Her facial expression was as if she was expecting to find her eldest daughter ready to give birth on her kitchen floor. She took one look at Chloe and tried to hide her snickering behind her hand, but it was no use.

  “You were supposed to be watching her, Mom,” Hannah whined.

  “I was!” Mom giggled. “Honestly, I turned my back for one minute and she was gone. I figured she’d gotten tired of weeding and came back to the house.”

  Deciding now was as good a time as any to call Collin, I slipped out of the kitchen and headed back upstairs. My phone lay on the bathroom counter and I picked it up, immediately dialing Collin before I lost my nerve. I held my breath as it rang and rang and rang…

  …and went to voicemail.

  Forget bras. Whoever invented thong underwear had to be a close relative of Satan. Harrison had handed it to me along with a skin-tight silky dress that I was supposed to wear for the first song of my set. I remember him saying something about wardrobe not wanting any lines showing. I’d responded with snark about the barely-there panties and was given the option of going commando. I snatched his wretched underwear and told him I’d rather have something on, in case I fell head over heels while trying to dance and sing on stage, which seemed more and more likely the longer practices went. Shooing him from the room so I could get dressed, I hid behind a paneled room divider and wriggled into my outfit. I wished Harper Music would just accept that I wasn’t going to be a great all-around entertainer and just settle for my skill as a singer and songwriter—one who sat on a stool and strummed a guitar, not one who did the splits and complex ballet movements and backflips while singing notes above staff.

  Vanessa, lounging on a white leather couch that took up the entire back wall of the dressing room, said, “You really need to get over your aversion of feminine lingerie.”

  I stared in disbelief at her reflection in the mirror but she didn’t look up from examining her nails. “Vanessa, I appreciate that you were able to come support me at my first show, but I don’t need a lecture on embracing fancy undies right now.”

  “I was right about the heels, wasn’t I? Ditch the granny panties while you still can.”

  “I don’t wear granny panties!” I shouted indignantly. Kiki snorted from her arm chair and mumbled something inaudibly. “Shut up, Kiki! I barked with a smile that I couldn’t seem to squelch.

  Vanessa stood, flinging her wavy hair behind her shoulder and positioned her purse strap. Shrugging, she sniffed, “Suit yourself. I’m going to go get a manicure before the concert. I’ll be there in the front row with my cousins, cheering for you.” She hugged me tightly. “Good luck. You’ll be amazing.”

  “Thanks,” I said, almost speechless at a rare, genuine compliment. She gave me a small grin and let herself out the door.

  For a moment, I lost myself in my thoughts in a quiet moment but Kiki interrupted, ready to share her never-ending wisdom. She rose from her seat and crossed the room to examine the outfits Harrison had brought in. “If you’re not careful, Harper Music will mold you into whatever they see fit.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I used to be a pudgy freckled redhead who was too shy to look anyone in the face,” Kiki said as she held up one of my strappy dresses across her chest, modeling it in front of the mirror.

  “Really?”

  Kiki scoffed, “You are so gullible. Of course not. I’ve always been this fabulous. I just mean, if you’re weak, they’ll walk all over you. You need to stand up for yourself.”

  I sighed heavily and leaned against the counter, carefully fingering the fuzzy spines of the Lemon Ball cactus Collin had given me. Surprisingly, it had been thriving. Collin had told me I was over-watering it and had sent me a new pot to transfer it to as it grew. I’d brought it along so it didn’t die while I was on tour, but it was too painful of a reminder to have with me. Maybe I’d ask Mandy to take it back to Harper Music for me.

  “What’s with the cactus?” Kiki disrupted my thoughts again.

  “It’s from a friend,” I murmured.

  Kiki probably knew it was from Collin but was kind enough not to push it. A knock on the door of the dressing room broke the silence. “Come in!” Kiki and I called in unison.

  “Here’s the rest of both your wardrobes. The finishing touches have been put on all of them and I’m supposed to tell you they want you in full attire for the final run through.” Harrison pulled in a rack of clothing behind him, and Kiki watched with mute interest, checking out the assortment of clothing, rubbing the fabrics between her fingers and taking them off the rack to twirl around, examining the front and back.

  “Ooo! I was waiting for this red outfit to be finished. I’m using it in my opening song,” Kiki purred. She tossed my dress on the makeup counter and held the red latex suit to her body. “It’ll make me look like a fractured drop of blood,” she smiled darkly.

  “Whoa there, Kiki. Tone down the weird.”

  She looked at me like I was the one with horns growing out of my temples. “It’s not weird since blood is a metaphor for love in the song.”

  I smiled and rolled my eyes. “You’re so disturbed, Kiki.”

  Harrison pushed his glasses up and added his two cents, “You always bring the outfits to life, Kiki.”

  “At least Harrison recognizes my fashion artistry.” Harrison’s ears turned a shade or two darker than her blood red dress.

>   I skimmed over some of the outfits, fingering the expensive fabric and exact cuts. “What’s this?” I picked up a strappy white leather outfit.

  Harrison looked over his list, scanning it with a pointer finger. “Looks like it’s for your third song, the beachy summer love one.”

  “Sun and Shores?”

  “Yep, that’s the one.”

  I held the hanger up and looked at the scraps of fabric that had been sewn together. The material was luxurious and well-constructed but it was a bit…revealing.

  “I can’t wear this,” I shook my head.

  Harrison clenched his clipboard, looking at me with wide, unblinking eyes. “What am I supposed to tell my higher ups?”

  “This isn’t what I’ve been practicing in. What happened to the cute, flowery sundress?”

  “It was decided it wasn’t sexy enough. Too good girl and not seductive enough. If you put it on, it gives the illusion of a string bikini.”

  “Harrison, I’ve never even worn a string bikini in my life. I’m a one-piece kind of girl.”

  “Maybe I could see if they’d let you wear some thigh high boots to cover some skin?” Harrison suggested.

  I would have laughed except it was plain to see Harrison’s rising desperation. I might as well have been asking him to tell Mr. Drake to his face that I thought he sucked.

  “Harrison, bare feet don’t bother me. It’s the rest of me being on display, like a piece of meat. Believe it or not, I have some self-respect. I get that you’re in a predicament, but so am I. I’m not wearing that.”

  Harrison debated internally for an elongated moment while his mouth flopped open and shut. “Um. Okay, then. I’ll just, uh, let them know.”

  “Find that cute sundress. It went better with the tone of the song, anyway.”

  Harrison’s tall frame sagged as he conceded. He took the outfit from my hand and shut the door quietly behind him.