The North Star

by Shepherd

  To Michael, Joanna, Oliver, Leo, and Charlie

  The story began with you

  —KS

  251 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10010

  Text copyright © 2019 by Kat Shepherd

  Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Bonnier Publishing USA

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Yellow Jacket is a trademark of Bonnier Publishing USA, and associated colophon is a trademark of Bonnier Publishing USA.

  Manufactured in the United States

  First Edition

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 978-1-4998-0809-4

  yellowjacketreads.com

  bonnierpublishingusa.com

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER

  1

  Zach Mamuya gripped the steering wheel with both hands and put the pedal to the metal. The shrill whine of the motor cut through the air, and he shot forward, his body slamming against the back of the seat. The yellow go-kart shuddered as he rounded the course’s first sharp turn and braced himself, lifting out of the seat and pulling on the wheel hard. He felt the motor rev faster as the ride smoothed out and the kart found its momentum again.

  Through his black-and-yellow helmet he heard the buzz of another racer coming up from behind. A neon-green kart was edging forward, its front bumper almost kissing the side of his kart. Number 28. Of course. Zach set his jaw and jerked the wheel to the right, slamming the other racer against the side of the track. He heard the shriek of Number 28’s side bumper grinding against the barrier. The friction slowed the other kart down just enough so that Zach could shoot ahead, and he allowed himself a small smile of triumph.

  He tore through the track, zipping around a few of the slower racers, until he finally caught up with the royal-blue kart in the lead, Number 17. Zach’s grin widened. He had raced against 17 before. Piece of cake. The blue kart was playing it safe, filling out the middle of the track to hedge against anyone passing him on either side. Zach tested the other driver, edging up on his left side. The blue racer responded by pulling to the left and blocking him, as Zach expected he would. Zach stayed right behind him, easing up on the accelerator, and waited for his chance. Just ahead he knew the track began a long, smooth curve to the right. His timing would have to be perfect.

  Right before the curve, Zach darted to the left and tapped Number 17’s left bumper. The driver responded just as he had before, by pulling left to block the pass. Zach laughed and hit the accelerator hard, pulling his steering wheel to the right. By goading the other driver into blocking the outside of the track’s turn, Zach had just claimed the inside of the curve, which would shave precious milliseconds off his lap time. He pulled the wheel to the right, preparing to speed forward and dominate the track.

  A blur of neon green filled the right side of his vision. Number 28. The green kart’s left bumper grazed his and pushed him into the blue kart, tangling them together as Number 28 shot forward. The green racer hugged the inside of the curve like a pro, streaking through the turn. Zach pulled to the right and followed, taking the inside of the turn and edging past 17, but the victory felt hollow. There’s no way he’d be able to beat 28’s time on that lap.

  Zach shook his head as he passed the finish line and pulled into the bay. He unbuckled his harness belt and stepped out of the go-kart. He joined the other racers as they headed over to the board to check their official times. Just as he’d suspected: second place.

  Zach pulled off his helmet and mask, and walked over to 28. “Nice move,” he said, holding out his fist for a bump.

  His twin sister, Evie, slipped off her gear, revealing shoulder-length braids and light-brown skin dusted with freckles. “I know,” she said, bumping him back and exploding her fist out.

  “Where’d you pick up that little trick anyway?” he asked. “YouTube?”

  Evie laughed. “Dream on, bro! I don’t cop any­one’s style!”

  The blue kart racer took off his helmet, and a grinning Vishal Desai punched Evie lightly on the arm. “I see Evie’s as humble as always.”

  Evie brushed imaginary lint off of her shoulder. “I can’t help it if you two can’t keep up!”

  Zach’s eyes widened in disbelief. “As if! I left you in the dust back there, remember? I still don’t know how you caught up with me.”

  “How I won, you mean? Maybe if you hadn’t counted me out so fast, you would have remembered to watch your back. Vishal’s not the only one to beat around here.”

  Zach held up his helmet. “Care for another round? We’ll see who’s still talking trash after that.”

  Evie looked at her watch. “Mom said we have to meet her outside by 7:30, so you’ll just have to wait ’til next time to lose to me again.”

  Vishal glanced between the two siblings. “Seriously. Do you two ever stop competing with each other?”

  Zach and Evie looked at each other. “No,” they said at the same time. The twins high-fived and headed to the counter to return their helmets.

  “I’m so glad I’m an only child,” Vishal muttered, following behind them.

  ***

  Sophia Boyd couldn’t understand how a perfect evening could go so wrong. She watched her mother fumble to put an earring in her left ear while cradling a cell phone against her right.

  Mareva’s voice betrayed a hint of rising panic as she spoke to the other person on the line. “What do you mean, stuck in traffic? This is Minneapolis, not New York; we don’t have traffic! The party starts in twenty minutes!”

  Dashiell Boyd paced the floor of their bedroom. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We hired this event planner months ago to make sure that everything went smoothly tonight. And now she might not even make the party?” He ran his hand through his graying hair.

  Mareva balanced against the wall and stepped into a pair of sky-high heels. “A flash mob? I don’t even know what that is,” she said into the phone. The Boyds walked through the hallway and down the grand staircase to a massive living room that opened onto a sweeping stone patio. The furniture had been removed, and the room converted into a ballroom for the evening, with a bar in the corner and a small stage set up at one end of the room.

  Sophia bent over the box of floral centerpieces and grabbed an armful to place on the tall, narrow cocktail tables scattered throughout the room.

  “That’s the spirit, Soph,” her dad said approvingly. “It may not exactly be the night you dreamed of, but if we all pitch in, I bet everything will go just fine.”

  “I hope so,” Sophia said nervously. “All the guests did RSVP, right?” Sophia didn’t even know why she was asking; she had checked the guest list dozens of times. She could practically recite every name in her sleep.

  “Well, there is one small change,” Dashiell said. “Your mom’s aunt Marguerite called earlier today and said she’s not fe
eling well, so she can’t make it.”

  “But she was so looking forward to tonight!” Sophia cried.

  “I know, sweetie. She was really disappointed.”

  “Well, I guess at least it means that leech Evan Masterson won’t be here, either, then,” Sophia said.

  Dashiell tried to look stern. “Now, come on, Soph, I know you don’t like the guy, but calling him a leech may be going a little too far.”

  “Yeah, right, Dad. I’ve heard you and Mom talk about him. You know he’s only after Aunt Marguerite for her money; the guy’s at least thirty years younger than she is! Every time he comes over he looks like he’s casing the place. He gives me the creeps.”

  “Well, whatever we think of him, he’s still Marguerite’s friend, so we have to be polite.”

  Dashiell saw Sophia’s sullen expression and lowered his voice. “But between you and me, kid, I wouldn’t worry too much. Your mom had a quiet word with her aunt about Evan a few weeks ago. Let’s just say I don’t think Marguerite will be putting him into her will anytime soon.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Sophia rested her head on her dad’s shoulder for a moment before pulling out her phone and checking the evening’s to-do list. “Okay, so the centerpieces are ready, and the string quartet will be set up here once they finish tuning up.” She pointed to a small cluster of chairs and music stands on the stage. “What about the food and drinks?”

  “Tell you what, I’ll go make sure the bartender remembers to bring up an extra case of champagne, and then we’ll tackle the kitchen.” Dashiell straightened his cuff links and disappeared through the door to the dining room.

  Mareva let out a loud sigh into the phone. “Yes, of course we have the schedule you made for tonight. I’ll have Sophia print it out and make sure every staff member has a copy. You’re sure everyone knows what to do?” Mareva looked around the ballroom wearily. “Okay, well, we’ll do our best.”

  Sophia could hear the event planner’s muffled voice through the phone. The tone was calm and reassuring, and Sophia rolled her eyes. As if. Like anyone was going to feel calm when their event planner canceled less than an hour before what was supposed to be one of the most important parties of the year.

  Sophia’s parents were well-known philanthropists, and she had been dragged along to charity fund-raisers for as long as she could remember. But tonight was supposed to be different. Sophia wasn’t being dragged to this one; she was the one who convinced her parents to throw the event in the first place.

  In sixth grade last year, Sophia had been assigned a report on gibbons. She hadn’t even known what a gibbon was when she started, but she quickly fell in love with the adorable primates and was horrified to discover that they were some of the most endangered animals on the planet. When she learned that the Minneapolis Zoo was hoping to build an education center and exhibit to house a pair of critically endangered gibbons, she begged her parents to lead the fund-raising efforts. Tonight was supposed to be the kickoff.

  Mareva hung up the phone and turned to her daughter. “Sophia, can you—”

  Sophia held up a manila folder filled with copies of the evening’s schedule. “Already on it, Mom.”

  “You’re a dream.” Mareva straightened the top of her strapless black gown. Her neckline was bare, her hair pulled back into an elegant chignon at the back of her head. “Do I look too plain? I don’t want anything to take away from the North Star once I put it on. It is, after all, the guest of honor.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  Sophia smiled at her mother. “Mom, every person at the party is going to want to bid on that necklace once they see you wearing it. It’ll be perfect.” Sophia hugged her mom and looked up at her anxiously. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I know it’s been in your family for generations.”

  Mareva stroked her daughter’s hair. “Honey, we’ve always told you that the North Star would be yours someday. I couldn’t be prouder to know that you’re willing to give it up for something you care about. That family legacy means much more to me than diamonds.” She picked up a centerpiece and shooed her daughter toward the kitchen. “Now, let’s go make sure this party doesn’t fall apart before it even starts!”

  Sophia hurried off to the kitchen to pass schedules out to the staff. The caterers hired for the evening bustled around her, piling silver trays high with delectable treats. In the corner of the kitchen, the bartender and chef were arguing about wine pairings.

  Sophia heard the doorbell ring and glanced at the clock. The first guests were already arriving! She rushed to answer the front door, but her mother was already there, greeting an older woman in a long, burgundy velvet dress and elbow-length gloves that highlighted her mahogany skin. The woman’s ears and throat were dripping with jewels. Mareva saw Sophia and beckoned her over. “Darling, come and meet Gwendolyn Fairbanks! Your father and I saw her sing Aida at the Minnesota Opera just before you were born!”

  Sophia reached to shake Gwendolyn’s hand, and the opera singer presented hers palm down, almost like she expected Sophia to kiss it. Sophia glanced quickly at Mareva, but saw no guidance in her mother’s frozen smile. There seemed to be a small undercurrent of tension between the two women that Sophia couldn’t quite read. Sophia squeezed the opera singer’s hand between both of hers. “How lovely to meet you! Thank you for coming.”

  Gwendolyn stepped inside and looked imperiously around the foyer. “I thought tonight’s soiree was to be a preview for those who wish to bid on the North Star, but I don’t see it anywhere. How are potential buyers supposed to know what they’re bidding on if you’re keeping it locked away somewhere?”

  Mareva’s hand flew to her throat. “Oh, goodness! Things were so busy I forgot to put it on!” She turned toward the staircase, but just at that moment, a crash came from the hallway. “Oh, what now?” Mareva mumbled, and rushed off to investigate.

  Sophia gave Gwendolyn her most dazzling smile and took her elbow, leading her to a table laden with cheese and fruit. “Thank you again for coming. Would you like some champagne?” Gwendolyn nodded stiffly, and Sophia turned to the kitchen, nearly colliding with her mother, who was rushing to answer the doorbell again.

  “One of the waitstaff fell and twisted her ankle, so now we’re one down. Luckily she’ll be all right, but I’ve got her set up in the pantry with some frozen peas on her ankle. Could you pass a tray for a few minutes while I get the door?” Without waiting for an answer, Mareva made a beeline for the foyer to greet the small handful of new guests that were streaming through the doorway.

  Sophia waved to her father, who was standing behind the bar serving a cocktail to a sallow, dour-­looking man in a brown suit. “I would have thought that you would have a professional bartender,” the man said peevishly.

  Sophia’s father forced a smile. “He’ll be along in a sec.” He turned to his daughter. “Sophia, can you check with the bartender while you’re back there?”

  “I’m on it!” she called back. On her way to the kitchen, she recognized a young couple talking with Gwendolyn Fairbanks: Gideon Doheny and his fiancée, Abigail Morris. Gideon had a perfect tan and dazzlingly white teeth. He sported a pink shirt under his suit jacket, and Abigail wore a nervous smile and a huge diamond on her left hand. Just then, Gideon’s cell phone rang, and he held up one finger. “I’m sorry; I have to take this.” He excused himself and walked away from the group, leaving the two women in uncomfortable silence.

  From across the room Sophia heard a loud whooping. Social media celebrity Jasmine Jetani was holding up a glass of champagne and Snapchatting against a backdrop of stuffy old people with disapproving looks on their faces. Her fake eyelashes fluttered, and her glossy pink lips pouted into the camera. “Woo-hoo! Better get ready, peeps, because in a few days this famous neck is going to be draped in the most legendary diamonds in Minneapolis! It’s gonna be epic!”

  Jasmine threw her arm up in the air, spilling champagne all over her pink sequined minidress and splashing he
r marabou-trimmed heels. She shrieked and switched off the phone’s camera. “These shoes are one of a kind!” She looked around, and her eyes fell on Sophia. Jasmine hurried over and grabbed her arm. “Where’s your bathroom?”

  Sophia wordlessly pointed down the back hall.

  Returning to the kitchen, Sophia steeled herself, trying to channel her inner Mareva. Sophia’s mother was an attorney who had taken on a lot of highly contentious court cases. Surely Sophia could find a way to keep the bartender and chef from killing one another, assuming she could get them to listen to a thirteen-year-old.

  After a few minutes of flattery combined with her biggest puppy-dog brown eyes, Sophia managed to get the bartender back to his post and the chef focused on the next round of hors d’oeuvres.

  A caterer came back to the kitchen with an empty tray. “We’re in the weeds out there,” she said breathlessly. “It’s like these folks have never eaten before! I can’t keep up!”

  Sophia held out her arms. “I’ll take a tray.” The caterer looked at the chef, who nodded, and handed Sophia a silver tray of toast points and caviar.

  Sophia brought the tray to a group of white-haired old ladies. “Oh, how sweet,” one lady said. “Isn’t it lovely how you’re helping out Mommy and Daddy tonight when I’m sure you’d rather be watching video games like all the other children?”

  Sophia forced a smile and passed around the tray of caviar. “Well, actually, this gibbon fund-raiser was my idea. See, there’s this stuff called palm oil. It’s in everything from lotion to peanut butter, and because of it, gibbons are losing their habitat.”

  She looked earnestly at the group, who was munching their toast, crumbs drifting down their chins, but the women’s attention had already wandered. One of them pointed across the room. “Oh, look! Isn’t that Gladys Ganje? Why, I think she’s had a face-lift!”

  Sophia took a deep breath and looked around the room. She saw her mother heading up the grand staircase, and the two shared a smile before Mareva disappeared down the hallway. Sophia moved to a group of silver-haired men. She offered the tray.