Rewrite the Stars

by Rose, Charleigh

  “I think maybe she should.” He shrugs. “Make sure she doesn’t have the wrong idea about things.”

  “She doesn’t,” I grit out, sick of the third degree. We eye each other, neither one of us wanting to back down, but eventually he folds, looking away.

  “She’s cool,” Tres chimes in. “And she has nice teeth.” Tres is the baby boy at seventeen, and we all look out for him more so than we do for each other. Maybe because he’s the youngest. Maybe because he’s the only one of us who isn’t a complete asshole.

  Eros chuckles. “Rich people teeth. All white and straight. They probably cost more than your bike.”

  “Probably,” Tres agrees.

  Done with the conversation, I stand, tossing my beer can into the fire.

  “If the bunkhouse is a rockin’, we won’t come a knockin’,” Eros calls out as I’m walking away. I throw up my middle finger.

  When I open the door, I don’t expect to see Evan standing there, dripping wet in nothing but a towel. She’s bent over her suitcase, holding the towel together with one hand as her hair drips drops of water onto the floor. Her leg and a sliver of her hip are exposed, almost giving me a glimpse of her pussy. I see the shock register on her face half a second before she narrows her eyes, her brave façade slipping back into place. This chick shows about as much emotion as I do.

  “A little privacy?” she snaps, standing upright.

  I smirk. “You want privacy? Should’ve stayed home.” When you live your life on the road, you quickly learn to live without privacy. I walk past her, to the sink outside of the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Evan bend over, plucking something out of her suitcase before storming back to the bathroom behind me.

  Movement in the mirror catches my attention. I blow out a breath when I see that Evan didn’t close the door all the way. I see the profile of her body, the curve of her perky tit through the crack of the door. She lifts her arms over her head to pull her clothes over her head, and I avert my eyes, making quick work of brushing my teeth. I chuck my toothbrush into the sink and walk away. I sit on the edge of my bunk, bouncing my knee until she comes out.

  “What’s your deal?” Evan asks. She’s looking every bit of the spoiled rich girl she claims she isn’t in her white, silky nightdress. I can see the outline of her hardened nipples through the thin material.

  “That what you usually wear to sleep, or is that for my benefit?”

  “What?” She looks down at herself, covering her chest with her arms. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose. I’d be attracted to her in a paper fucking bag, but seeing her like this…makes it damn near impossible to ignore her.

  She pads her way back toward her suitcase. When she walks past me through the narrow space, I get a whiff of strawberries and sugar. She zips her suitcase up before kicking it back against the wall. She hits the light switch, then lies down on the couch. I kick off my boots and tear my T-shirt off, not bothering to get out of my jeans before rolling into my bunk. We sit in the dark, the only sounds coming from the jackasses outside the trailer. Just when I think she’s fallen asleep, she speaks.

  “Sebastian?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you trust Elliot?”

  I rub a hand down my face. “He showed up out of nowhere, saying his mom died in a house fire, looking for a job and a place to start over.”

  “And?”

  “And when we turned him down, he was hell-bent on working for us, specifically. Wasn’t interested in any other job.”

  “So,” she says flippantly. I can almost hear her shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe he’s just a fan?”

  “Maybe.” I’m not convinced. “Or maybe he’s just waiting to chop us all into tiny pieces.”

  I WAKE UP BEFORE EVERYONE else, trying my hardest to use the bathroom and get dressed quietly without waking anyone. A symphony of snores fills the bunkhouse—my soundtrack for the summer—as I throw on a loose, gray, ribbed shirtdress with thin straps. I finger-comb my hair, slip on my shoes, and I’m out the door.

  It’s only eight in the morning, but it feels like it’s one hundred degrees. I welcome the heat, though. It comforts me. I walk across the lot, waving to the people already setting up for the day as I pass them on my way to Roy’s trailer. A few of them smile and wave, but most of them pretend not to see me at all. The carnival crowd is a tough group to break into.

  Once I get across the lot, I try to remember which trailer is Roy’s. They all look alike. Taking a chance, I choose a door, walk up, and knock on it. I hear Roy’s voice call for me to come in.

  “Hey…” he says, stroking his mustache, trying to remember my name.

  “Evan,” I supply.

  “Yes. Evan!” he exclaims. “I’ll get it one of these days. Have you thought more about joining the burlesque girls?” I had, actually. Dance is my thing. But I don’t know if I can do the whole nude thing, so I decide that this summer is about branching out. Taking the unpredictable route. Maybe learn something new.

  “I have, but I think I’ll pass. Got any other ideas for me?” I ask, pasting on a smile.

  “My daughters run the face-painting booth, but one of them ran off with her little boyfriend,” he grumbles. “You fancy yourself an artist, Evan?”

  Really? Face-painting a bunch of five-year-olds all day? “Got anything else?” I try.

  “That’s all I got. Two hundred a week. Take it or leave it.”

  “Just call me Picasso.”

  “Atta girl.”

  Two hours later, I’ve gotten food tickets that’ll last me a month from Roy—an unexpected bonus—and the rundown from Jada, Roy’s youngest daughter, on the ins and outs of the face-painting booth. It’s all pretty straightforward. She lets me know that we’ll split the days in half with me taking on the mornings, then orders me to practice a couple designs on her. She’s bossy for a fifteen-year-old.

  I’m mid-unicorn when a shadow falls over the booth. I look up to find Sebastian staring down at me, his face set in a hard line.

  “You’re blocking my light,” I complain. Jada goes stiff, seemingly shocked by his presence.

  “Next time you take off, leave a fucking note.”

  “Jesus, Sebastian. You’re not my father.”

  “You’re right. Your father wouldn’t even notice if you were missing. Leave a note.”

  Ouch. Set myself up for that one. I roll my eyes, playing it off. “Aye aye, captain,” I say with a salute that he doesn’t find funny.

  He slaps a palm down onto the booth, leaving a piece of paper before turning to walk away without a word. I pick it up, turning it over to find a phone number. Does Sebastian have a cell phone? I don’t know why the thought surprises me. I’ve never seen him with one. He’s like an eighty-year-old in a twenty-two-year-old package. I stuff the number inside my bra, deciding to program it into my phone once I get back to the trailer.

  “What?” I ask Jada who’s gaping at me like a fish.

  “Is he, like, your boyfriend?”

  “God, no.” I laugh, dipping the paintbrush into iridescent glitter before brushing it onto the pink unicorn on her cheek.

  “He likes you,” she accuses.

  “I’d hate to see how he treats the people he doesn’t like.”

  “Do you know how many girls would die to talk to him? I mean, any of the Sons of Eastlake, really. But Sebastian…” she trails off, dreamy-eyed.

  I watch Sebastian’s form walking away from me. His broad shoulders, disheveled hair, that self-assured walk. I can’t say I don’t feel flattered at his apparent concern for me. It’s been a long time since I felt that from anyone. But I don’t entirely believe it. I can’t figure out the why of it all. Can’t work out if he likes me or hates me. I don’t think he’s worked it out either.

  “All done,” I announce proudly, picking up the handheld mirror to show her the final product.

  “Not bad,�
� she remarks, checking it out. “Now let’s try a dragon.”

  I sigh, wiping my masterpiece off her cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”

  For the next five days, I fall into a routine. Eat. Work. Watch the Sons of Eastlake perform. Sleep. Have a few beers with everyone after closing time, then I do it all over again. Eros keeps me company some nights. He’s the closest thing to a friend I have here, when he’s not too busy getting wasted or laid. Or both. Elliott hangs out sometimes, too. I keep what Sebastian said in mind, being polite, yet distant, but until he does something to raise my suspicions, I can’t write him off completely.

  Sebastian has been noticeably absent since the day he marched over to the face-painting booth to lecture me on leaving without saying anything. Even the guys have commented on it. He comes and goes, performing each night, but then he’s a ghost. I get the feeling he’s avoiding me specifically. I try not to think about where he is, or who he’s with. My guess would be that Selina girl.

  Tres has started to come around. He even brought me an iced coffee the other morning. Lathan still acts like I killed his cat, though. Can’t win them all, I guess.

  I feel out of my element and alone, but then again, I’ve always felt that way. My friends were never true friends. My life was a lie. At least I don’t have to put on an act out here.

  It’s our last night in Indio. Next up: Washington. As I’m sending out a quick text to my mom, I hear the creaking sound of the trailer door opening. I know it’s Sebastian before I turn around. I can smell him. I can feel his stare on me.

  “Saved a seat for you in the front row,” he says by way of greeting.

  I turn to face him. He’s wearing his signature leather jacket and rosary. His sweat-slicked hair is pushed back in that perfectly disheveled look he wears so well. “Is that your idea of a peace offering, or is that your way of keeping an eye on me?”

  He inhales through his nose, something he does when I’m testing his patience, I’ve come to realize. I don’t know why he seems to think I can’t take care of myself. I may not have won everyone over, but I don’t think anyone’s exactly out to get me either. “Peace offering?”

  “Yeah. You know, for ignoring me this past week.”

  “You’re not my responsibility, remember?” he says, throwing my words back at me.

  “I just thought—”

  “You just thought, what?” Sebastian cuts me off. “That we’d braid each other’s hair and have pillow fights every night?”

  I thought it’d be different. I thought it’d be more glamorous and exciting and less…lonely. “Never mind.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Fuck off.” I’m not about to tell him anything. Not when he’s in asshole mode.

  “Tell you what. You come to the show tonight and I’ll make time for you afterward.”

  “Who says I want any of your time?”

  He shoots me a look. “If this isn’t a cry for attention, what is?”

  “So full of yourself.”

  “Am I wrong?” When I don’t answer right away, he says, “Thought so. See you there.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Knowing he’s not going to get more of a commitment than that, he walks back out the door.

  I pace the floor, stalling until the very last minute, knowing I can’t resist all the while. Sebastian doesn’t spare me so much as a glance all week long, and I’m supposed to fall in line whenever he decides I’m worthy? What’s with the sudden shift in behavior? If I’m going to cave and make myself look like a doormat, I might as well make him wonder a little first. Besides, I’ve watched Sebastian, Eros, Tres, and Lathan in that cage from afar almost every night and I never get tired of it. Getting a front row view isn’t exactly a punishment.

  I slip in right as the show kicks off, taking the only empty seat in the first row. Sebastian’s eyes lock onto mine as the announcer, Roy’s brother Randy, launches into his usual spiel about centrifugal force and defying gravity. I don’t hear a word of it, though, because the way Sebastian’s looking at me is different than before. Or maybe it’s just that he hasn’t actually looked at me at all lately and I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be held under his gaze. I fight the urge to shift, unnerved by the way he’s making me feel.

  He pulls his helmet onto his head, and then they’re off, whirling around each other like opposing magnets that won’t allow the other to get too close. Up and down, side to side, crisscrossing paths. The crowd is completely enthralled, and I’m no different, even having seen this very stunt a handful of times before.

  When the show comes to an end, I stay put, knowing the aftermath always takes a while. They roll out of the metal cage one by one before removing their helmets and taking a bow while the audience applauds. Eros tosses me a wink, but I’m otherwise invisible. Again. I don’t know what Sebastian has in mind tonight, but I’m curious to find out.

  After nearly forty minutes of signing photos, posing for pictures, and making general small talk with a group of stragglers, Sebastian breaks away from them and jerks his head for me to meet him out back of the black and white striped tent.

  “You came.”

  I pull a face. “Did you ever doubt I would?”

  “No.”

  That’s what I figured.

  “You kept up your end of the bargain. I’ll keep mine.”

  “So, what’s on the itinerary?” I ask, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

  He lifts a shoulder. “Urban exploring,” he says with finger quotes. “Your favorite, if I remember correctly. They want to go check out this haunted hotel.” He must sense my disappointment in my lackluster response, because he says, “Unless you have something else in mind?”

  I bite my bottom lip, angling my body toward the Ferris wheel glittering in the distance. “I still haven’t gone up there.”

  “No?” He sounds shocked.

  “I haven’t been on any of the rides, actually.” Not a one. And not just here. I haven’t so much as ridden a kiddie coaster in my whole life.

  His eyebrows tug together as he considers this. “Then it’s settled.”

  An hour later, the boys are gone, and a freshly-showered Sebastian emerges from the bathroom. He had the foresight to bring his pants with him to change into, but he’s not wearing a shirt. He ducks his head and slides a palm through his inky, wet hair, shaking the water out, and I take the opportunity to get an unfettered look. His body is lean, but strong. His face is beautiful, but lethal. He brings the towel in his other hand up to dry his chest before tossing it onto the bathroom floor behind him.

  Walking toward his bunk, he plucks a plain black T-shirt off the mattress. I watch the way his back muscles ripple and roll as he pulls it over his head. The level of attraction I feel toward him is not normal. At least, for me it’s not. I’ve been dying to be touched how he touched me last week. I felt his need for me. You can’t fake that sort of thing. He was on fire for me, and now…now there’s not an ember left among the ashes. Is it because I’m a semi-permanent fixture now? Or is it simply because fucking a girl with daddy issues is less appealing?

  Part of me questions my choice to come here. In my mind, Sebastian was this larger-than-life, mysterious creature who turned my world upside down once a year. I romanticized him, even when I condemned him for something he didn’t do. Reality rarely lives up to the fantasies I’ve dreamt up in my mind.

  “You ready, or did you want to stare at me some more first?” Sebastian’s words jerk me from my thoughts. I scowl at him, but he only smirks in response.

  I stand and make my way for the door and out the trailer, not waiting to see if he’ll follow. He’s by my side before I’ve made it more than a few steps, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his black jeans.

  “Shit.” I stop short once I realize the fairgrounds are noticeably empty.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “The rides will be closed.” The asshole probably planned it that way.

 
“Only for customers.”

  Right. “How silly of me to think the rules would apply to Sexy Sebastian.”

  “Hate that fucking name,” he mutters. We walk in silence through the littered fairgrounds, past the trash cans that overflow with onion rings and napkins and aluminum beer bottles. I’d hate to be the one in charge of cleaning this up.

  When we approach the entrance, Sebastian makes eye contact with the guy operating it, then points up to the wheel. The guy nods, giving him a thumbs-up. Sebastian pushes the gate open, motioning for me to go first.

  “Such a gentleman,” I tease.

  “Never that.”

  I scoot into the silver cart, the metal seat warm against my exposed thighs. Sebastian slides in next to me, pulling the lap bar up to rest over our legs.

  “That’s it?” I ask, my eyes wide as dinner plates. “That’s what’s going to protect me from plummeting to my death?” I try to push the bar lower so it’s tighter on my legs, but Sebastian’s a lot bigger than I am, and it’s already pressing into the tops of his thighs. His laugh is a low rumble at my expense. “This thing doesn’t feel very sturdy.”

  “Ride safety is the one thing you don’t have to worry about. The ride jocks are too afraid of Jessup to fuck up.”

  The wheel jerks into motion and slowly, we’re lifted from the ground. I white-knuckle the bar over our laps, suddenly feeling a whole lot more nervous than I thought I’d be. My stomach rolls as we get higher and higher, and I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. If I see how high we are, I might puke on Sebastian McAllister for the second time in my life.

  “Relax, Evan,” Sebastian murmurs.

  I inhale deeply through my nose as the cart rocks—I wish it’d stop doing that—my palms sweating as I grip the rail.

  “Any news on your dad?” he asks. I’m momentarily thrown off guard before I realize that he’s trying to distract me.

  “I don’t want to talk about him right now,” I snap. Or ever.

  “Open your eyes.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Open your eyes,” he says again, this time sounding closer.