When the Stars Lead to You Page 5

  “Don’t ask,” I muttered.

  She raised an eyebrow. But Mom knew when to back off. “Dad’s gonna be late,” she said. “New client’s being a pain in the you-know-what.”

  I hung my blazer on the coatrack. “And that’s different from when, exactly?”

  She chuckled. Dad worked as an art director at an advertising agency and constantly got into it with one client or another. He thrived on fighting, at least while negotiating contracts.

  “I’ll order the sushi in about an hour,” Mom said. “You want your usual?”

  My stomach grumbled at the thought of salmon nigiri and a dragon roll. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  “Give me a hug, baby doll,” she said. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed. When I went to pull away, she stopped me and looked closely at my face. “You okay?”

  A brisk nod. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t believe you, but I hope you’ll talk to me when you’re ready.”

  “I’m going to start on my homework.”

  “Homework already? On the first day?”

  “That’s how you make valedictorian.”

  She was already back to her computer. I went into my room and closed the door. Lit an incense stick, hoping the sandalwood scent would calm my racing heart. Changed into yoga shorts and a tank top. Then I flipped open my laptop. While I waited for the Wi-Fi to connect, I dug deep into my documents folder, clicking through layers and layers until I got to a folder labeled X. I let the pointer hover, then double-clicked.

  There we were, the stars of photo after photo. Huddled together in the sand, me in my bikini, him in swim trunks. Kissing on his parents’ yacht on July Fourth while fireworks bloomed above us. Holding sparklers on Stephanie’s birthday, laughing as if we’d had no cares in the world.

  And then my favorite picture. Used to be my favorite picture. Ashton and me on the beach, the sky a tapestry of pinks and purples behind us. We’d been kissing when Stephanie called our names and pointed her phone at us. The way he and I were turned toward each other, the way his arm draped over my shoulders… it was obvious we were a couple. I’d felt so close to him. I’d felt like we’d had all the time in the world. Except that hadn’t been the case at all. I closed my eyes as the sadness washed over me.

  No! I wasn’t about to start feeling sorry for myself.

  Not again. Never again.

  I slammed my laptop shut and grabbed my running shoes.

  Time to refocus.

  Chapter 4

  I WAS GREETED THE NEXT MORNING BY A POUNDING HEAD and heart. I’d been having a delicious dream, and I wanted at least another hour of sleep. But my internal alarm clock went off at five forty-five every morning. And once I’m up, I’m up.

  Wait.

  That dream.

  Ashton.

  Oh my God.

  I needed my subconscious to explain itself. Immediately. Because I certainly did not go to sleep wishing for freaky-deaky XXX dreams about me and my ex-boyfriend.

  I rubbed my eyes and stared at my phone—5:46. Hours until I had to leave for school. Time for a vigorous, sweaty yoga flow to clear my head and set me straight. I hopped out of bed, twisted my hair into a bun, and stepped onto my mat. Then I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and began. Inhale, arms reaching up. Exhale, folding forward, head to knee. Connect. Center. Balance. Om.

  It didn’t work. The images refused to leave my brain. I pushed until my heart was racing and sweat was dripping onto my mat, and Ashton was still there. Every stretch reminded me of being wrapped around him, getting lost with him. Every breath reminded me of the passionate nights when we’d kiss for hours. Touching each other everywhere, pushing each other to the brink.

  I collapsed an hour later, more frustrated and confused than ever.

  The frustration and confusion didn’t end in the car ride to school while Blair babbled on and on about Louboutin shoes and Vuitton bags. Girlfriend was obsessed with all things fashion. Meanwhile, my mind played what the fuck on a constant loop. Because seriously, who has a sex dream about the boy who abandoned them?

  The frustration and confusion expanded triple-fold when I got to my locker and spotted Ashton at his. Unfair. Why did he have to be here, and why did he have to be so yummy? The freaking school uniform made him look like he’d walked straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad.

  Rat Bastard.

  He deliberately picked through his books, slowly placing them into his bag. I was mesmerized by the way he chewed his bottom lip while he concentrated. By the way he blinked. The way he took a deep breath before closing his locker.

  Longing and

  anger and

  desire and—

  He turned, totally catching me.

  My face grew hot, hot, hot. I tried to look away. I tried so hard. No luck. I was stuck. In. Place.

  And now he was coming over. I promptly dropped my Astronomy book because apparently my hands forgot how to work properly.

  He picked up the book and handed it to me. His fingers brushed mine, sending sparks all through me. “I don’t think you want to lose this.”

  “Thanks,” I managed to get out.

  Ashton was at my locker.

  Breathe.

  “Devon,” he said, that soft look on his face again. “I can’t believe it’s you. You look beautiful.”

  His voice had deepened slightly since that summer. I hated that it still gave me chills.

  “Thanks,” I said again.

  “So, we should—” He froze then, his eyes focused on my neck. “You’re still wearing it.”

  I touched the key-shaped pendant. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  “Dev…” His voice shook.

  The bell rang, making us both jump. “I–I have to go,” I stammered. And without another word, I turned and all but ran to my Astronomy class.

  My lunch tray hit the table with a loud smack.

  Blair, the unshakable bombshell, kept scrolling through her phone. “Rough morning?”

  I sank into a chair and rubbed at the headache forming behind my eyes. “You could say that.”

  She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Does it have anything to do with your blast from the past over there?”

  “Everything to do with it.”

  She raised her eyebrows, waiting not-so-patiently for me to elaborate.

  “I talked to him this morning.”

  She dropped her phone. “Holy crap, Devon. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re lying. You’re so not okay.”

  I bit my thumbnail. “So?”

  She tilted her head in his direction. “He’s sitting by himself, like yesterday. He stared at his phone all period.”

  “Did he?” I kept my voice flat and disinterested.

  But Blair didn’t fall for it. “He’s not very social, is he?”

  “He likes to keep to himself.”

  “You guys are alike in that way.” She picked up her phone, swiped at some things on the screen, then put it back down. “So, listen. I did some more research.”

  “Why?”

  She picked up her fork. “Because I’m worried about you. I see how you look at him.”

  I squeezed mustard onto my sandwich. I didn’t want to think about how I looked at him. It probably involved a blank stare and drooling.

  “He’s switched schools a ton of times. Switzerland. Germany. The UK. That’s not normal unless you have military parents. Which he doesn’t.” She frowned and shook her head. “There’s something there, but I can’t figure it out. Did he get expelled? Did he leave on his own? It’s like you said. He’s good at disappearing. But… why? What’s he running from?”

  “How do you even find this stuff?”

  She held up her hand. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  I had a feeling she wasn’t joking.

  Chapter 5

  ONE OF THE BEST THINGS ABOUT BEING A SENIOR AT PRESTON was that we got a free period
right after lunch, two days a week. They called it Enrichment, the implication being that the time was to be used wisely, maybe for studying or an extracurricular. Blair joined an art club, one that focused on sketching.

  After years of working on the staff, I’d been appointed coeditor of the Yearbook Club.

  Along with Auden Cooper.

  Professor Wilcox, the adviser, had said we were both too good, that she couldn’t just choose one.

  Fun.

  Auden handed me a printout of a spreadsheet. “We don’t have a lot of people on our staff. So I divided the duties like this.”

  Business manager, in addition to Clubs & Organizations Editor. “Auden, we should have decided on this together.”

  “I know, but I got all antsy and couldn’t wait!”

  “It wasn’t even one day.”

  Whenever Auden got in her “take charge” mode, she pulled her massive amounts of hair into a ball on top of her head. She stuck a pencil in that ball now. “Do you want to handle the money or not? I mean, you know what you’re doing with budgets and all that. I figured you’d be perfect.”

  How dare she appeal to my ego? “I’ll do it. But next time, don’t make any big decisions without me.”

  Tyrell Jenkins and Colton Myers, two boys who couldn’t have been more different but were somehow the best of friends, strutted into the room like they owned the place.

  Tyrell, tall with beautiful brown skin, deep dimples, and locs that hung down his back. Lover of jazz, anime, and painting. Blair’s object of obsessive desire. Too bad he was loud and proud about his dating preferences, which did not include white girls.

  Colton, also tall, with beige skin, blond hair, steely blue eyes. Football bro, whose dating preferences pretty much included anyone who was breathing.

  “Tech Director! Photo Editor!” Tyrell pumped his fist. “Yes!”

  “Auden, you lovely creature you.” Colton wrapped his arms around her. “Assigning me to Sports & People.”

  “I had a feeling you’d be okay with that,” she said, then glanced sideways at me. “I considered everyone’s interests and strengths when sorting all this out.”

  Just then, Professor Wilcox swept into the room. “Sorry I’m late!”

  “It’s okay, professor,” Auden said sweetly. “I’ve got it all under control.”

  Suck-up.

  Wilcox handed a stack of papers to Auden for her to pass to the rest of us. “Agenda. We’ve got a lot to cover today. Main thing being: What will be our theme for this year?”

  Auden and I looked at each other. The official motto of Preston was Unity, Respect, Growth. But that would not do for the yearbook.

  “If you haven’t been brainstorming yet, it’s time to think about getting on that.” Wilcox turned on the projector, and an image of her laptop screen appeared on the whiteboard. “But first you need to go over how to use the software.”

  Colton’s voice piped up from beside me. “But—”

  “I know what you’re going to say, Mr. Myers: You know the software already. But it’s been an entire season since you last worked on the yearbook. This is a refresher. It’s actually pretty straightforward, but I’m a lousy teacher. I’ve cued up a couple YouTube videos for you to watch while I go get a cup of coffee.” She hit PLAY. “I’ll be back.”

  With a swish of brown hair, she was out the door.

  “Hold up,” Tyrell said. “How is she a teacher if she can’t teach?”

  While the video played, I jotted down ideas for this year’s theme. It had to be a good one.

  Chapter 6

  “DEVON! MY FAVORITE BUDDING ASTROPHYSICIST.” PROFESSOR Trask beamed, his denim-blue eyes twinkling. With his round belly and rosy cheeks, my astronomy teacher/adviser could have been related to Santa Claus. As usual, Professor Trask had accessorized to the nines with Mickey Mouse. His tie. His watch. His suspenders. I’d never known anyone so obsessed with a Disney character. “Have a seat. I have your transcripts right here.”

  I plopped into a chair and watched as Professor Trask picked up my file. “How was your summer?” I asked him.

  “Really good. I worked a part-time gig at Disney World, selling pins.”

  I chuckled. “Of course you did.”

  “You laugh now, but wait until you get to go.”

  “I’ve been! My parents took me when I was five.”

  He nodded appreciatively. “Then you should understand the magic. I’d love to talk your ear off about how you should go back as soon as possible, but we only have thirty minutes to discuss your college plans.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re already here on the second day of school. Very impressive.” He flipped through the papers and then pulled one out. “McCafferty, huh?”

  “It’s what I’ve been working toward.”

  “I can see that. Your transcripts look wonderful. Straight As, top of the class three years running. Well-rounded extracurricular activities, great recommendations.” He peered at me over his glasses. “On paper, you’re a shoo-in.”

  I grinned. It was good to know that my hard work might actually pay off.

  “But.”

  The grin slid off my face. “But what?”

  “But so are a lot of other students, many of them right here at Preston.”

  I knew this. Of course I knew this. I couldn’t eat/sleep/breathe this dream without this knowledge constantly pounding around in my head. Competition to get into McCafferty was fierce, and my classmates were some of my biggest competitors.

  “One of the largest obstacles for you, Devon, is that you are not a legacy. The other is that you indicated you will need financial aid to attend. The legacy part can be overcome with your academic history,” Professor Trask said, stroking his beard. “But the finances might be tricky.”

  I clutched my pen. Tight. “Would they deny me admission because I’m not rich? Can they do that?”

  “Unfortunately, some universities factor finances into their selection process.”

  I took several deep breaths and tried to fight the dejection clawing up my spine. I hated how this process made me feel. As if I weren’t good enough because I wasn’t wealthy. So many of my classmates could write a check and attend school anywhere in the world. Money was no object at all for them, and I had to admit I was super envious of that.

  I tried to ignore my sweaty hands. “Should I even bother applying?”

  He took off his glasses and looked me in the eye. “Definitely. Don’t give up hope. McCafferty has been known to generously reward those who show a tremendous amount of potential, and I believe you do. In fact, I’m going to suggest you apply early action. That way, if you get an acceptance in December, you can start making concrete plans for financing your tuition. But I want you to consider some other less expensive, yet still high-quality, options.”

  I had to go to McCafferty. Even the undergraduate students got to travel to the biggest telescopes in the world for research. Getting an assistantship during graduate school guaranteed placement at one of the top air and space associations in the country. There really was no other option for me. I’d apply to the safety schools, but I couldn’t see myself at any of them.

  Professor Trask gave me a bunch of scholarship applications.

  “But I’m not Swedish,” I said, reading over the top one.

  “Look closer. It says preference given to students of Swedish descent, but what if no Swedish students apply? That money could go to you,” he said. “What have you got to lose?”

  I nodded. “Fair enough. And maybe they have scholarships for Black students. Or Irish ones. Or biracial ones. I could qualify for all of them.”

  “You never know. One thing I do know, though, is that if you don’t apply, the answer is already no. That’s why we’re doing this.” He nodded briskly. “Listen, deadlines will be here in a flash. I want you to have your Common App account completely set up, and at least three other college choices ready to go, by the end of the month. I’ll loo
k them over, and we’ll move forward from there.”

  I gave him a nod back. “You got it.”

  Chapter 7

  GRADES, SCHOLARSHIPS, MCCAFFERTY. GRADES, SCHOLARSHIPS, McCafferty. Grades, scholarships, McCaff—

  “Hi,” Ashton said, slamming my mantra to a halt. “I was wondering if we could talk.” He sounded confident, but the slight pink in his cheeks betrayed his nerves.

  “Okay.” I didn’t sound confident at all. I cleared my throat and slammed my locker door.

  Ashton stared at me with those damn eyes that were full of galaxies, hypnotizing me, making my knees shake. “Hi,” he said again.

  My mouth opened slightly, then I closed it and shook my head. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”

  He nodded, glanced at the floor, then looked at me again. “I don’t blame you.”

  All I could feel was my longing to stroke his face. Even despite my anger, my embarrassment, my confusion.

  He caught his lip between his teeth. “I need to apologize to you. Big-time. What I did… it was messed up. Inexcusable.”

  I was instantly transported back to that awful day. Sitting on the porch, my heart shattering. Humiliation suffocating me so I couldn’t even breathe. The great horned owl hooting on the bird clock. Because it was midnight, and Ashton never came.

  “Devon?”

  Except now it was over a year later and he was here.

  “Devon?” he said again.

  I gripped my bag to keep from shoving him into a locker. “I thought you were dead.”

  He had a way of looking at me that haunted me all day and night. It was the way his face softened, the way his eyelids lowered slightly. As if he were trying to bare his very soul to me without saying a word. He stared at me with that look now, making my anger dissipate, but only a little bit.

  “It was a shitty thing for me to do, and you never, ever deserved it,” Ashton said, stroking the strap of his bag with trembling fingers. “And I’m sorry, Devon. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t expect you to believe me, but I never meant for our summer to end that way.”