Catch a Falling Star

by Culbertson, Kim

  Heart racing, I pushed up onto my forearms. I could see the curve of my body reflected in his sunglasses. “Rehearse?”

  As an answer, he leaned into me, cool shoulder touching mine, and kissed me, his mouth warm. I couldn’t be sure if the rushing sound was the water or in my head. Or both. Definitely both. This kiss was worlds away from the one at the Fairy Tree. Soft, slow.

  When he pulled back, he smiled. “Well?”

  “I’m not sure if you need to rehearse this sort of thing.” I swallowed hard, my body tingling as I watched him slip back into the swirling water.

  Besides, that hadn’t felt like rehearsal.

  That felt real.

  Stop it, stop it, stop it, I told myself. I could not fall for this guy, not a guy who had approximately 16,437 individual fan clubs online.

  I dropped my head back onto my folded hands, my heart hammering.

  Pull it together, Carter. This was a job. It wasn’t real. None of this was real. Of course, the more I told myself this, repeated it over and over into the warmth of the river rock, the more I realized what a big liar I was. Because it was feeling dangerously real to me.

  “what’d you do today?” Alien Drake shook the ice at the bottom of his drained mocha, his feet propped up on the railing. We sat in the shade of his porch, the afternoon heat leaking in around us.

  I sipped my drink. “Worked. You?”

  “River.”

  River. Flashes of yesterday’s kiss pooled in my head.

  Alien Drake gave me a strange look. “You have the dopiest look on your face right now.”

  “Do I?” I tried to wrangle my dopey expression into something resembling indifference.

  Alien Drake narrowed his eyes at me. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

  I lifted my hair off my neck, leaning into the fan we had propped on a lawn chair nearby that funneled cool air our way. “I don’t know.”

  He grimaced like he’d swallowed something sour. “Ugh, you do, don’t you?”

  “Subject change!”

  He shrugged. “Fine. You want to grab something to eat?”

  I checked my watch. I had a couple of hours until I taught my dance class at Snow Ridge. “Sure.”

  “Unless you have to make out with your movie star.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  I sipped my iced tea, widening my eyes at him. “Well, that’s a tone I don’t love.”

  “Sorry. Where is he, anyway?”

  “Working. He has a job.” Adam was shooting a scene in an old house by the river, and they didn’t really have room for me to just hang out there. I’d be stuffed in another room wearing a headset. He was scheduled to shoot for twelve hours, and I’d barely get to talk to him.

  Alien Drake made another unpleasant face. “I didn’t think movie stars actually worked. I thought they partied on yachts with supermodels.”

  “Only between shoots.”

  He pressed his plastic cup against his forehead. “What is with this heat? Satan’s complaining. I hope it’s not this hot for the Fourth.”

  He was so pissy today. It wasn’t like him. “Do you hear that? It’s your Hawaiian ancestors calling you a wuss.” I spritzed him with the water bottle sitting next to us on the porch swing and gave up my spot in front of the fan. Like I had minutes ago, he was trying to change the subject. Our standard operating procedure when things got snappish between us. Change the subject before (not after) a fight erupted. Alien Drake didn’t fight. He just wouldn’t let it get that far. If it got close, he’d suggest going out for Taco Bell or frozen yogurt.

  But for some reason, I found myself changing the rules. “You don’t like him, do you?”

  Alien Drake shook the ice again, clearly deciding whether or not to engage. Finally, he said, “Why do you like him?”

  I’d known Alien Drake long enough to know this was a signature move, answering a question with a question. “I just do.” And as I said it, I realized that yes, I liked Adam Jakes.

  Too much.

  I pulled the lid off my iced tea and fished out an ice cube. Aiming, I tossed it at the birdbath in the center of the patch of grass in Alien Drake’s front yard. “You seem like you have a problem with that.” No more questions for Alien Drake. I’d give him statements.

  He fished around in his drink for some ice. “I’m just surprised.” Following my lead, he tossed it at the birdbath, hitting it on the first try. A blue jay hopped back, taking a swipe at the cube of ice; startled, it squawked away. He tried again. Perfect shot. “To be honest, I’d expect this kind of behavior from Chloe and, well, most of the other girls in this town, but not you.” The disappointment in his voice had a blade.

  “I’m not allowed to have a crush on a movie star? Not practical, predictable Carter — is that it?” Something unknown began simmering in me, something deep that felt like lava thickening.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Alien Drake did not look happy to be having this conversation. He looked like he was having nonelective surgery. His third cube missed the birdbath by about a foot.

  “What did you mean, then?”

  “Never mind.”

  “No, not never mind. Is it really so impossible to believe I might like him and he might like me?”

  So I almost couldn’t hear it, he said, “Actually, yes.” Two words. Only two, but he might as well have heaved a stone house on top of me for the weight they held. “Sorry, Carter. It’s weird. Chloe’s got pictures of this guy tacked all over her wall and now you’re with him.”

  I stood, leaving my iced tea on the white wicker table next to our chairs. “Are you mad at me or Chloe? Because she’s the one drooling all over someone who isn’t her boyfriend.”

  “Because he’s a movie star.” He kept shaking his head. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  I took his porch steps two at a time. When I hit the landing, I turned. He sat miserably in his chair, his wide face flushed, no trace of his usual smile. I started to try to fix it, but for some reason, I wanted to stay mad, I didn’t want to fix it. Not right now. I felt guilty for not telling him the truth about Adam, but it didn’t matter what was true. “Look,” I told him. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with Adam. It’s all really new and strange. I can’t explain it, but the thing is, with you, I shouldn’t have to try.”

  Then I went home to get my teaching stuff for Snow Ridge.

  I dropped my bag on the chair by the stereo. Mr. Hines was already there, waiting in his wheelchair by the window, and I gave him a little wave. He frowned, which in Mr. Hines’s world was as good as getting a hug.

  I got the fan going and opened another window, and it helped move the still, warm air around the room. The room where I taught dance had pale hardwood floors and tall, wide windows that looked out onto the pool. Still shaken from my fight with Alien Drake earlier, I took a moment to just stare at the rectangular blue shimmer of it, at the two or three elderly women moving through its cool blue water.

  A minute later, Adam poked his head in the door. “This where you teach?” He emerged into the room, trailed by what I thought at first was a film crew, but then realized were several members of the press, including Robin Hamilton and her cameraman from Sandwich Saturday.

  “What are you doing here?” He’d brought press to my dance class? Wait. I scrolled through the texts from Parker on my phone. Oh, right. He’d texted me about it last night. I just couldn’t seem to keep everything in my head. Hurrying to the stereo, I tried to look organized as I fed a CD I’d made yesterday into it.

  Adam’s smile faltered, but he turned to Robin. “See what I told you? So dedicated to Snow Ridge she forgets all about me. Gotta love her priorities.” Robin scribbled something into her notebook. He gave me his lopsided megawatt smile. “But she’s always glad to see me.” His look said, Fix this please; look happy to see me.

  I nodded lamely. “Sure am.” I was a bad, bad actor.

  Behind him, two of my regulars, Helen Brown and Elsa
Pinter, stood in the doorway, their lined faces confused. They wore the sweats and light, summery shirts favored by the octogenarian women here at Snow Ridge. “Carter?” Helen patted her halo of white hair. “Are we having class?” Her eyes darted nervously to the cameraman standing behind Adam.

  I waved them in. “We are. Sorry for all this. This is, um” — I bit my lip, looking at Adam — “Adam Jakes. He’s here with me today.” I felt dumb introducing him. It felt like pointing at a tree and saying, This is a tree.

  Elsa squealed like a tween. “Oh, you’re the movie star! We read about you in the paper.” She hurried over to him, fiddling with the loop of her too-big belt.

  He made a show of kissing her hand, leaving her giggling and pink-cheeked. “Thought I’d join you today, if that’s okay?” They nodded their white-haired heads.

  A half dozen others drifted in, making introductions or eyeing Adam suspiciously, depending on the person. Two or three took one look at the camera, at the woman jotting down notes, and fled back to their rooms. “You’re scaring off my regulars,” I told Adam.

  He grinned sheepishly, and I shot him the best ain’t-we-cute? smile I could muster. Robin scribbled something on her pad.

  I turned on the music, something light and peppy for warm-up. “Okay, all. Let’s get in our places.” Elsa wheeled Mr. Hines to the front row. Adam settled in a nearby chair, and I faced my nine students.

  I worked them through a series of easy steps, the same ones we did each week but to different music. Whatever I could find on iTunes that sounded fun, sometimes classics, sometimes random indie stuff I could download for super cheap.

  At the end of class, they always asked me to “do a dance” for them. That’s how they always phrased it. “Are you going to do a dance?” As if there simply wasn’t a verb for dance, just a noun. Usually, I didn’t blink, but today I glanced at Adam, who sat in a chair by the window, staring out at the pool. I didn’t need a journalism degree to notice he wasn’t even really watching.

  I started to pack up my bag.

  “Wait!” Elsa squeaked. “Aren’t you going to do a dance?”

  Adam sat up, his eyes settling on me.

  “I was thinking maybe I’d skip it today.”

  They protested.

  Not politely.

  “Well, so much for the idea that your generation has better manners.” I laughed, skipping a few songs ahead on the CD until I hit an old favorite. It was deliciously languid and not too long, just acoustic guitar, and it let me move like water, lyrical and unhurried. Perfect for the end of a hot day. I tried not to imagine Adam watching me move, watching me spin in the slanting light of the evening, my body shifting to this slow, dreamy song.

  When I finished, everyone clapped, including Adam, who was staring at me with distant, sad eyes. I hurried to take the CD from the player. Helen and Elsa scurried over to Adam so he could sign autographs for their grandchildren. After retrieving Mr. Hines, they gave me a final wave at the doorway. “Great class! That dance was beautiful,” Elsa told me. Mr. Hines frowned his approval.

  I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, avoiding Adam’s eyes. “Thanks, I love that song.” I waved as Elsa wheeled Mr. Hines out of the room.

  Mrs. Adler meandered toward me, a towel around her slender neck. I adored Mrs. Adler. At ninety-four years old, she simply oozed poise and grace, but wasn’t afraid to tell you how she saw things. “Thanks, darling. Always the highlight of my week.” She gave my hand the little pat she always gave me after class.

  “I’m glad you liked the class.” I popped the CD into its plastic cover.

  She gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, the class, sure. Lets us shuffle our old bones. But the best part is always watching you dance.”

  I smiled, blushing, and stuffed the CD into my bag. She noticed my discomfort and put a cool hand on my arm. “Can you introduce me to your gentleman friend?” Her watery eyes gleamed as Adam came over to shake her papery hand.

  “Adam,” he said, almost shyly. Mrs. Adler could even make a movie star avert his eyes. She was that classy.

  She introduced herself. “Well, I’ll be. Ninety-four years old and I’m shaking the hand of a movie star. You’re no Paul Newman, but you’ll do.”

  Adam let out a genuine laugh. “Well, thank you, Mrs. Adler. Ninety-four years old is impressive.”

  She waved him off, the towel slipping from her neck. “It’s not impressive, young man. Nothing impressive about something I have no control over. Just get up each day.”

  I bent to retrieve her towel. “It seems impressive to us.”

  She hooked it once again around her neck, somehow making it elegant. “You’re young. Always getting impressed with the wrong sorts of things. Give it some time.” She gave a little wave before shuffling from the room.

  “She’s a riot.” Adam watched her go. “That was fun. You’re a good teacher.” His eyes fell on me. “And dancer,” he added softly.

  I turned away. “Oh, that wasn’t really much of anything.” I moved around the room, repositioning the chairs that were pushed up against the wall back into rows so they’d be ready for the book club I knew they held at night.

  Before he could respond, the reporter sidled up. “So, it’s Carter, right?”

  I blew a strand of hair from my eyes. “Yes.”

  “Nice to see you again. Robin Hamilton with Watch! magazine.” You could even hear the exclamation point in the way she said the magazine’s name. “I was wondering if I could chat with you for a minute for my story?”

  Adam’s face darkened. “Hey, Robin, I don’t want Carter feeling pressured. She’s a private citizen.”

  Like he was some sort of general in an army.

  “It’s okay.” I waited for her question, my hands hovering over the back of one of the chairs.

  Robin’s eyes lit up. She asked about my job at Little Eats, about the way we met, about our time together so far, all questions Parker had prepped for me. Then, she had a final question, touching her pen to her lip conspiratorially. “So, girl to girl, Carter. Does it bother you that he’s shooting a kissing scene with another local girl?” She flipped through her notes. “Someone from your grade, if I’m not mistaken. Beckett Ray? Do you worry he’ll stray?” She giggled at her rhyme. My head clouded. Beckett Ray? What was she talking about? I clearly couldn’t hide my surprise because she looked positively gleeful. “Oh, didn’t you know? She was just cast. He was shooting with her all day at a house by the river!”

  I squeezed the back of the chair. “Adam’s a professional. If he’s working, he’s working.” I didn’t really know where that came from, but I thought it actually sounded pretty good.

  The cameraman snapped a picture.

  Adam put his arm around me, his eyes guarded. He had my bag slung over his shoulder. “We should really be going. Let Parker know if you need anything else.” As he ushered me out of the room, and out of their sight, his arm dropped away from my shoulders and he handed me back my bag.

  outside, the evening darkened the trees. We crossed the parking lot where Mik had the Range Rover tucked in the shadows. Before we could reach it, Adam caught my arm, turning me toward him. “Why didn’t you take that scholarship?”

  I watched over his shoulder as Robin Hamilton and her cameraman pushed through the doors of Snow Ridge. Seeing us, she stopped, nudging her camera guy. He snapped a few pictures. Adam turned, saw them, too, and knowing they would mistake this for a fight (not in the script), he hurried me into the Range Rover. “My car’s here,” I started, but Adam assured me he’d have someone drive me back to it later.

  “Okay.” Soon the cool air of the Range Rover enveloped us.

  Mik pulled the car out of the lot.

  With Snow Ridge fading into the distance behind us, Adam asked me his question again.

  “It’s kind of hard to explain.” I studied the houses passing us outside, each yard familiar to me yet foreign — little universes of their own. On one lawn, a family sat in
folding chairs, their yard threaded with colored lanterns, the kids playing with sparklers, the Fourth starting early.

  Mik turned the car toward town. We must be heading back to base camp. I closed my eyes, leaning my body into the soft leather of the Range Rover, my muscles limber from dancing. The car hummed over the road.

  I heard myself talking before realizing I’d started. “Remember when you were little and you were just supposed to love something? No one asked you why. You could spend hours and hours on it, and nobody worried about whether you were going to turn it into anything. It didn’t have to be about anything … productive. You could just paint or dance or collect bugs or sea glass and it was just a lovely thing, remember?”

  Adam shifted in the seat next to me. “I never really had that.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. He’d had the show, always the show, so he’d been creating something for that bigger world all along, the world that wanted products. He sighed, his head turned toward his own window. With the purple sky behind him, he looked like he should be the prince in one of those fairy-tale retellings Hollywood kept churning out. Which, now that I thought about it, he had been a year or two ago in a remake of Sleeping Beauty.

  Finally, his head still turned away, he said, “I used to collect baseball cards. I remember there was a store in this funky part of L.A. that my dad would take me to, rare cards and that sort of thing. We’d spend hours in there. Then people found out I collected, and they just started sending me all these really hard-to-get ones, so I stopped. I mean, it was nice of them and all, but it just took the fun out of it.”

  I nodded. In so many ways that was what had happened to my dancing, that slow melting of fun. “That’s like dance. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere, all the fun just evaporated.”

  Mik pulled the car up to the gate.

  I took a breath, knowing I was about to tell Adam something I’d never told anyone else. Why did I feel like I could talk to him? Maybe because I knew he was leaving soon. In a week, he’d be gone and could take my secret with him, but even as I thought it, I knew it was more than that. “You know that audition, the one that got me the scholarship?”