“Evan. Let’s go,” Ethan says, pulling my gaze away from the Ferris wheel with the giant star in the middle.
We make our way inside the gates, passing booth after booth of games, being heckled and taunted by the attendants, before we stop at one Ethan is confident he can win. The milk bottle toss. Oversized, neon stuffed animals dangle from above, and a lanky, young guy donning smudged black eyeliner with matching chipped nail polish takes Ethan’s tickets before handing him three dingy-looking balls. Ethan tosses me a self-assured smirk, bringing his arm back before delivering a powerful throw.
But it’s not enough. The ball hits the bottle on the top of the pyramid, but they don’t fall. He tries again, this time aiming for the middle of the pyramid, but it still doesn’t work.
“Third time’s a charm,” the attendant taunts.
Ethan throttles the ball toward the bottles, but this time it doesn’t even hit the target. It bounces off the wall behind them, and Ethan curses, embarrassed.
“Give me three more,” he demands, and the carny happily obliges, taking his money.
He misses again, one, two, three more times. When he goes for more balls, I stop him.
“Give it up. Those things probably have fleas anyway,” I say, wrinkling my nose in disgust.
Reluctantly, Ethan agrees.
At the booth next to us, Nick manages to pop a balloon with a dart, and Chloe screams with excitement when she’s handed a purple monkey, hugging it tight to her chest. I chance a glance at Sav, not able to keep from chuckling when I see the daggers shooting out of her eyes.
“Green isn’t your color,” I say quietly, eliciting a glare.
We head toward the rides and I’m distracted, looking over my shoulder, expecting to see Sebastian at every turn, but he’s nowhere to be found. When we pass a tent boasting of a burlesque show, a big marquee sign that reads Vixens over the entrance, Chloe quickly shuts it down. “No. Not happening.”
“How about that?” Nick says, flicking his chin toward something behind me. I turn to see a creepy looking building with the words Fun House in crooked lettering, right above the entrance that happens to be a giant clown’s mouth. The U in Fun flickers, and I can’t help but feel a little uneasy.
“You’re not scared, are you?” Ethan asks, noticing my apprehension.
“No. Let’s go,” I say, straightening my shoulders, not waiting for a response before walking across the blacktop toward the fun house as “Highway to Hell” blares from the loud speakers. We pass the Must Be This Tall signs before handing our tickets to the attendant slumped in his chair, looking less than enthused. Turn Back Now and Enter at Your Own Risk warnings are plastered onto the walls right before we enter the clown’s mouth.
A set of stairs that slide side to side greet us, leading us into the fun house. I grip the warm metal railing to keep my balance. Nick and Ethan opt for jumping the stairs altogether. Chloe stumbles into me, laughing her thanks when I barely catch her before she goes down.
Savannah shoves past us to keep up with the guys. Chloe rolls her eyes but says nothing.
“She does it because she’s jealous, you know. She needs to feel wanted and adored. It has nothing to do with you.”
“I know,” Chloe says, her voice hushed. “I just wish she didn’t feel the need to be wanted and adored by my boyfriend.”
Guilt nags at me to tell her what I know. It’s on the tip of my tongue. But now isn’t the time. Nick assured me it wouldn’t happen again after I walked in on them at a party when Chloe was out of town. A series of drunken mistakes, no matter how much Savannah wishes it wasn’t.
Ethan turns back for me, saving me from responding, and throws an arm over my shoulders as we enter a room full of mirrors.
“Whoa,” I say, pausing, not knowing which way to go.
“A mirror maze!” Chloe exclaims, stating the obvious.
It’s dark, nothing but glowing, neon lights to illuminate the floor in front of me.
“This way,” Nick says half a second before walking face-first into a mirror. “Fuck!” he shouts, bringing his hand to his nose as we all laugh hysterically.
“This way,” Ethan repeats, his voice mocking Nick’s.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Leave the navigating to the women,” Savannah says, turning the corner with a palm thrust out in front of her, feeling for mirrors.
The room seems impossibly large, and the more we walk, the more I lose my sense of direction. My white shoelace glows in the neon lights, slapping against the floor, and I stop to tie it. When I stand, Ethan, Chloe, Sav, and Nick are nowhere to be found. My footsteps cautious, I follow the sound of their laughter. I see one of Chloe’s blonde curls turn a corner half a second before a hand wraps around my wrist.
I scream as I’m pulled backward inside a secret door behind one of the mirrors. The door slams shut, eliminating all light, as a hand covers my mouth.
“Relax.”
Sebastian. I recognized his scent before he even spoke.
“What the hell, Sebastian?” I ask after he uncovers my mouth. My heart is beating so fast and hard, I’m almost positive he can hear it. It feels strange referring to him by his name. Intimate somehow.
“My friends call me Bastian.” I can’t see the look on his face, but I bet if I could, I’d see that cocky expression in place.
“How about I call you Bastard?”
“Well then, technically, you would be right. You following me now, Princess?”
“You wish,” I bite out, trying to make out his features in the dark space to no avail.
“You’re in my stomping grounds now. Not the other way around. You come for the show?”
“Believe me. I’m here against my will.”
“Still think I did it, huh,” he muses, deducing as much from my tone. I don’t respond. I don’t know what I believe anymore. “You said it happened the night after we were arrested?” he asks. I nod even though he can’t see, but he must sense it because he continues. “I don’t have parents with deep pockets to bail me out. We didn’t even see the judge for two days, Evan. I was still in jail.”
“What?” I whisper, disbelief lacing my tone.
“You heard me. I’m not a nice guy, but I’m not your bad guy.”
“Then, who…” I trail off. None of this makes sense.
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Sebastian says, his body closing in on mine. I feel a hand drag up my thigh, and his lips graze my neck, gliding up to my ear, down my jaw… “You eighteen yet?”
My stomach tightens with that mixture of fear and excitement. The kind I haven’t felt since that night in Nantucket.
“No,” I say through clenched teeth, my body melting into him of its own volition. His hand squeezes my waist right before his lips touch mine. I part them, waiting for him to slide his tongue inside.
“Pity,” he says against my mouth as he stuffs something into my hand, then closes my fist around it. His tongue darts out to lick at my lips in a taunting move. “See you next year, Princess.”
And then he’s backing out of the hidden room.
I feel my cheeks burn, a heady mixture of lust, embarrassment, and frustration coursing through me. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before I shove the door open, turning in circles to figure out which way he went, but he’s already gone.
“There you are,” Ethan says from somewhere behind me. “Quit fucking around.”
I stuff the paper that Sebastian gave me into my front pocket before I turn around.
“Take me home.”
As soon as Ethan reluctantly drops me off, I don’t even bother to let him down easy when he asks to come in. I waste no time running up the stairs to my room and unfolding the crumpled-up piece of paper.
It’s a half-slip of paper, from the judge, going by the looks of it. My greedy eyes rake over the page, taking the information in.
First name: Sebastian. Last name: McAllister. Six foot two. One hundred and ninety-eight pounds.
Green eyes, black hair. Born October thirteenth, four years older than I am.
Then it goes on to list his charges—trespassing, breaking and entering. But the most important detail is the time stamp on the top of the page. The day after our hotel room was broken into.
He didn’t do it.
“Evangeline?”
I snap out of my thoughts, looking up to meet my mom’s expectant gaze. It’s eleven o’clock at night, and I’m sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. I’m surprised to see her. She’s usually at the office long after I go to bed. She claims she’s busy with work, but I think it’s more than that. I think she avoids being here as much as she can.
“Sorry, were you saying something?” I pop the grape I’ve been rolling between my fingers while zoning out into my mouth.
“Are you okay?” she asks, eyeing me warily. If I had a quarter for every time I was asked that question over the past year…well, let’s just say, I’d be richer than I was before it all fell apart.
“I’m fine. Just distracted,” I say. Not a lie. I thought about Sebastian all night long. I tried to go to sleep to get my mind off him, but my dreams were filled of metal cages and motorcycle rides and mirror mazes. I’ve spent all day fixating on our encounter last night. He had proof ready. Had he been carrying it around? Did he see me at the carnival before he went to retrieve it? And why would he go out of his way to prove his innocence? It’s not as if he’s on trial. Why would he even care what I thought?
“Is your father home?”
“Is he ever?”
“I have something I need to talk to you about,” Mom says in a tone that puts me on edge. Caroline Thorne doesn’t do sheepish, unless she’s worried about my reaction.
“What is it? Is it Dad?”
“No, he’s fine. Well, he’s not fine, but you know…” she stumbles over her words. Something my mother doesn’t do. “I resigned today.”
“What?” I ask, shock rippling through me. We’re barely surviving as it is since my dad stole drugs from the hospital he worked at, causing him to lose his medical license. A co-worker confronted him, and he turned himself in, narrowly avoiding jail time. “Why would you do that?”
She gives me a tight smile, and the dread inside me intensifies. “I got a call a while back. They’re going to use your father’s…issues to discredit me.” She can’t even say the word addiction.
“No.” I shake my head in denial.
“We’ll be fine,” she insists. “We have savings. We’ll have to downsize and…readjust. But we’ll be okay.”
“Why did you have to resign? It’s not like you are the one with the problem,” I argue. “Why should we have to lose everything for his choices? When are we going to stop paying for his mistakes?”
“It’s not that simple. We’ll be under a microscope. Do you know how bad it would look as state treasurer if my husband was exposed for using drugs and losing his medical license?”
“It isn’t fair!” I yell, standing from my stool. I’m too busy seeing red to listen to her placate me. Dad already lost his career. Now he’s forced Mom to lose hers, too? When will it be enough?
“Evangeline. Enough,” she says, her voice tired, but firm. “I’ve had to jump through a lot of hoops to keep this under wraps. It’s summertime, so it’s the perfect time to move. You’ll still finish your senior year out at Centennial. It’s not the end of the world. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m exhausted.”
This is what she does. What she’s always done. Downplay the problem. Diffuse the situation. Dismiss my feelings. Even before everything changed, I was always made to feel that I was too sensitive. Too dramatic. Too emotional. Slowly, I’ve started to harden around the edges, showing little emotion, even when they’re trying to claw their way out.
I snatch my keys from the hook next to the stove and stride toward the front door.
“Where are you going?” Mom asks with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose like her teenage daughter throwing a hissy fit is the last thing she needs right now. I can’t help but think how different this scenario played out a year ago. My worried, overbearing parents are nowhere to be found. In their place are an absentee addict of a father and an overworked, over-stressed, willfully-ignorant mother with her head in the sand.
“Out.” I do her the favor of leaving before she has a chance to respond. It’s easier this way. For both of us. I duck into my beloved little white Mustang, gripping the steering wheel until it bears little crescent-shaped imprints from my fingernails before taking a deep breath and starting the engine.
As I drive down the quarter of a mile driveway, away from my house, I tell myself I don’t know where I’m going. I lie to myself the entire hour-long drive, and I continue to lie to myself even as I pull into the empty lot where the carnival was. Disappointment sinks like a weight in my stomach as I open my door, stepping out into the hot, night air.
There are no lights or sounds. Just the lingering sweet scent of the carnival. I don’t even know what I was going to say or do once I got here. I only know that for the second time in my life, I needed to get away and the carnival is where I ended up.
I slam the door shut and sit on the hood of my car, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes to keep the tears at bay. How did everything get so fucked up?
One year later
“CONGRATULATIONS.” MOM GIVES ME A tight smile, running a slender finger down the tassel that hangs from my cap. “I’m proud of you.”
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, looking over her shoulder. But I already know the answer. Mom gives a slight shake of her head, her eyes downcast. He hasn’t been around for the better part of two years, whether it be because he was in jail for getting busted for possession or driving with a suspended license or doing God knows what in his bedroom. Yes, his. My parents don’t even share a bedroom anymore.
That’s the thing about addicts. They’re lone creatures. They live in isolation so they can use in peace, without judgment or intervention from the people who love them, denying they have a problem all the while. Nothing outside their bubble is of importance. I don’t know why I thought my high school graduation would be any different. If I died today, he probably wouldn’t even attend my funeral, and that’s the sad truth.
“Want to go out to dinner or something? We can splurge for that fondue place you love,” she offers. I know she’s asking out of obligation. She doesn’t have the time, money, or energy for that.
“I have plans with Chloe and Sav,” I lie, giving her an out. I do have plans, but they have nothing to do with Chloe or Savannah. The Jessup Brothers Carnival is back in town, and once again, like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to it. I’m too curious—too hard up for excitement to pass it up. “Can I use your car?” I had to give mine up six months ago when Dad said the bills got to be too much for my mom to handle, though I suspect he didn’t use the money to get us out of debt. Sharing a vehicle has been less than ideal. Luckily, our opposing schedules allow for it. Mostly.
“No can do. I’m working all night. Can’t Savannah pick you up?”
After resigning, she got a job doing home care—mostly elderly, bed-ridden people—making a fraction of what she made as treasurer. She won’t say it, but she’s miserable. And she’s not the only one. We moved into a shitty three-bedroom house on the other side of town, and I’ve somehow managed to keep this lifestyle change to myself. My friends are none the wiser. It’s not that I’m ashamed. I’d just rather not deal with the bullshit drama that would follow something so scandalous as a formerly rich bitch being, well, a broke bitch.
“I’m sure she will.”
Mom gives me an empty smile, and we walk out of the crowded stadium toward the parking lot. We’re both silent as we walk toward her car, but I can tell from the way she keeps casting glances my way that she’s about to drop a bomb on me. That must be why she wanted to take me out to dinner.
“What is it?” I ask once we’re inside the car, turning the air vent away from
me. I hate the cold, even in this weather. I take my cap off, tossing it into the back seat.
“I have something to say. And you’re not going to like it.”
“Never do,” I mumble under my breath.
“How do you feel about staying with your grandparents for the summer?”
Whatever I thought she was going to say, this wasn’t it. I wouldn’t have seen this coming in a million years.
“What?” I say, practically breaking my neck from snapping my head in her direction so quickly. “In New York?”
“Why not?”
“Why would I?” I spit back. “I don’t even know them.”
Her jaw tightens as she bites her tongue. After she takes a few seconds to compose herself, she responds. “Things are about to get…messy. At home.”
I scoff. “Welcome to the past two years.”
“Messier. And I don’t want you around for it. My parents have already purchased our flights. They don’t know what’s going on, so you will not tell them about your father. As far as they’re concerned, we’re just coming for a long-overdue visit. Understood?”
“You have got to be kidding me.” I let my head fall against the headrest.
“It’s not permanent, Evangeline. It won’t kill you to spend some time with them.”
“I’m not going. I’ll stay with a friend if you don’t want me around, but I’m not going to spend my summer with strangers.”
“I’m not asking.”
“And I’m eighteen.” My meaning is clear. I don’t need permission. I thank my lucky stars that I’ve been preparing for this moment, stashing away every penny I had since the day my mom told me she was resigning. I sold designer clothes, shoes, jewelry, only keeping the things I couldn’t bear to part with. I reach forward to turn on the radio, maxing out the volume. Mom turns it off. She doesn’t speak right away, choosing her words carefully, a learned skill from her time as a public official. When she pulls into the driveway of the much humbler three-bedroom house we now call home, she puts a hand on my arm, stopping me from immediately leaving.
Rewrite the Stars Page 5