Steering the Stars

by Doughton, Autumn

  “Hey!” I said, suddenly thinking of something. It was Friday afternoon which meant that the whole weekend was stretched out in front of me. If I didn’t make plans with my new friends, I’d be spending the whole time alone in my bedroom at Felicity’s house. “Do either of you want to see that new Chris Pratt movie with me this weekend?”

  Tillie frowned. “I wish I could, but my parents are making me go to Harwich to visit my grandparents. I won’t be back until late Sunday evening.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and cocked my head. “Ruben? You interested?”

  “I can’t, Hannah,” Ruben said. “It’s my great-uncle’s seventieth birthday and my mum warned me that attendance at the party is mandatory.”

  I shook my head. “That’s okay. I’ll just—”

  “I’ll see it with you.”

  I turned and met Joel’s eyes and there was a long, long pause like the whole world was taking a breath.

  “What?”

  “The movie,” he said, tipping his chin. “I’ll see it with you.”

  I could feel my friends staring at us. Ruben, of course, was completely clueless, but I wondered what Tillie was thinking after what I just admitted to her.

  “Oh, you don’t have to do th—” But he was already bending to grab his phone from his bag.

  “What time?” he asked.

  “I haven’t even checked yet,” I started, biting my lip and turning to Tillie for help. She looked just as surprised as I felt. “But, honestly…”

  Joel ignored me. “I’m sure there’s something playing early afternoon. So, how about if I stop by and get you around noon?”

  “Uhhh…”

  “What’s your address?”

  “Ummm…”

  Tillie leaned forward and grabbed my hand. “She lives on Bridgeman Street,” she told Joel. “Near the church gardens. What number, Hannah?”

  “Apartment 6B,” I said dazedly.

  “All right then.” He typed the address into his phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I stared after him as he walked away. And with my heart beating fiercely in my chest, I thought, Maybe he won’t show up.

  “That’s a wrap!” Mrs. Cobb called from her place in the audience chairs. We had been rehearsing since the middle of September, and we were still making our way through the script readings.

  While the rest of the cast shuffled around the stage, joking, laughing, and sharing their weekend plans, I stuffed the script into my backpack and quietly slipped out the back door of the auditorium.

  It was a Friday night and as I walked across the parking lot feeling the last streaks of daylight settle on my shoulders, I figured I was the only high school student at Northside lame enough to have zero plans. Even the AV and chess club kids probably had more going on than I did.

  I knew there was a football game because I’d seen the crimson banners splashed all over school and had been forced to sit through an hour-long pep rally yesterday afternoon. Even now, more than an hour before kick-off, the streets surrounding campus were filling with honking cars and students yelling out the windows. Typical stuff.

  With my head down and my hands buried in the pockets of my jeans, I kept walking. I just didn’t see the point in going to the game without Hannah. What would I do? Sit in the stands by myself, feeling more and more like a social leper?

  No, thank you. My plans for the weekend consisted of staying home, telling my dog what a failure I was going to be as Eliza Doolittle, and painting the upstairs bathroom. Because that’s how exciting my life had become.

  “You’re a ball of sunshine,” I muttered to myself as I fumbled with my keyring and let myself into the empty house.

  Dad was gone for the weekend—something about a job out of town or maybe a builder’s conference. He didn’t tell me much about what he was doing and I didn’t press the matter. It was just easier that way.

  Over the past couple of years, Dad and I had established a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. He did his own thing and I did mine and very rarely did either of us try to break through the icy silence that had settled over the house following my mother’s death.

  It stung to think about, but a part of me wondered if things would be better off if he met someone new. Maybe we could bring light back into this house. Or even some basic conversation.

  Moving on wasn’t a betrayal to Mom’s memory. She’d want both of us to be happy, and I was positive she’d hate to see that Dad and I had become strangers with nothing to say to each other.

  It hurt that he could barely look me in the eyes, but I reminded myself that it wasn’t always this way. I had memories of laughter and car rides and late nights snuggling in between my parents’ warm bodies. I could close my eyes and think backward to before—before everything went wrong—and I could see the laugh lines around my father’s eyes and I could feel his arms strong and tight around me as he swung me up to perch on his shoulders. This way you have the best view, Caroline.

  Aspen’s wet nose pulled me back from the painful memory.

  “Do you need to go out?”

  She plopped on her butt and yawned. I laughed and led her through the kitchen to the back door.

  “Be good!” I called and grabbed some pretzels from the pantry. Then I kicked off my shoes and headed up the stairs to change.

  Once in my room, I yanked off my white blouse and jeans and found a sport bra and an old pair of shorts from the bottom drawer of my dresser. The shorts were discolored and worn and there was a rip in the back pocket from where I’d gotten them caught on my bike. Perfect attire for painting.

  I pulled the bra and shorts on and gathered my messy curls into a loose ponytail before heading out back. Aspen joined me as I dug through old pails and vinyl sheeting until I found the color I was looking for.

  “Voila!” I showed her the rusty paint can.

  Unimpressed, she blinked then bounded for the kitchen door.

  “Fine,” I said as we walked inside. “I’ll do it myself.”

  Six years ago when my mom discovered this place, the plan was to move in and restore it in stages. Dad thought she was crazy to even want to try. The house was huge and beautiful, but it was also falling down. He tried to talk her out of it by offering to build us something new in a subdivision he was working in at the time, but she couldn’t let the idea of this place go. She was convinced we could make it something magical and drew plans for how the rooms would look one day.

  That’s just how she was. She didn’t see the world the way it was—she saw possibilities. She believed that everything had potential—my father… me… and this old disaster of a house.

  For the first year or so that we lived here, both of my parents worked on it whenever they had a spare moment. Even I was put to work, sanding the stair rails and priming baseboards. Then, Mom got diagnosed and everything changed. Paint cans were replaced with pill bottles, and no one had time to mess with the broken light fixtures in the dining room or cracked tiles on the kitchen counters.

  Sighing, I used my hip to bump open the door of the upstairs bathroom. I set the paint can on the black and white checkered tile floor and used a screwdriver to crack open the lid. My mom had chosen a bright and cheerful yellow for in here. It wasn’t a color I would have chosen, but this wasn’t really my project. It was hers, and I was just finishing it for her.

  The bathroom was full of corners and crevices so it took me a couple of hours to get a solid coat down. My arms and neck were sore and achy, but as I stood back with my hands on my hips and examined my work, I felt pretty good about it. Mom would have loved the way it turned out. Dad, on the other hand, probably wouldn’t even notice.

  Yellow flecks of paint dotted the skin of my arms and stomach. I didn’t need a mirror to tell me that I also had paint on my face and my back. It was probably in my hair too. I pulled the ponytail holder out and let the springy red curls bounce over my shoulders. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to use this s
hower, I grabbed my shampoo and conditioner and headed into my room to find a pair of pajamas.

  The downstairs didn’t have a shower but it did have a really cool, deep clawfoot tub. It was one of those tubs that was perfect for bubble baths and it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity.

  I reached into my desk drawer because I was pretty sure I had a few scented candles stowed in there. Out of habit, my eyes went to my laptop and I saw that I had a new message from Hannah. I set my stuff down and opened the message.

  To: Caroline

  From: Hannah

  Date: October 2

  Subject: TGIF

  How are rehearsals? Any better?

  ____________

  I needed to get clean, but I needed to talk to my best friend even more. I sat down, pulling my knees up against the wooden edge of my desk and emailed her back.

  To: Hannah

  From: Caroline

  Date: October 2

  Subject: Re: TGIF

  Oh it’s great...you know, other than making a fool out of myself for two hours every day after school…

  :(

  I’m expecting Miles to stop talking to me any day now for being a complete and total suck-ass. He probably won’t want to be associated with me and my horrible acting skills. And you’re right—thank God it’s Friday and I don’t have to do that again until Monday.

  ____________

  Just as I pressed send on the message, the doorbell rang. A fissure of fear coursed through me. It was after nine, Dad was away and I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone to come over. I glanced over at Aspen who was sound asleep on my bed. Some watch dog she was. Her ears barely twitched.

  Doooonng! The doorbell sounded again.

  My heart was twisting as I pulled on a sweatshirt over my sport bra and crept down the stairs to see who it was. I tried to remind myself that robbers and rapists usually didn’t knock or announce their presence. It was probably a late delivery or a neighbor needing something.

  “Aspen, come on. Wake up, girl.” She stirred a little so I rubbed in between her ears to coax her awake. “Come on. I’m so not going downstairs without you.”

  She might suck as a guard dog, but she at least looked like she could be ferocious. She reluctantly hopped off the bed and followed me down the stairs, her fluffy tail wagging behind her. Oh yeah, she was ferocious all right.

  The sun had long since set and the old house was creaky and full of shadows. I reached the landing and peeked through the peephole.

  What the?

  I blinked and looked again. Was I starting to see things? Had I inhaled too many paint fumes?

  I pulled the door open. Henry Vaughn was standing on my front porch with two brown paper grocery bags in his arms and a shy smile on his face.

  “Hi?”

  “Hi,” he said like it was completely normal that he was standing on my porch on a Friday night. “You’ve got some… yellow on you.”

  “Oh.” I brushed the loose hairs back from my forehead. “It’s paint.”

  “Paint?”

  “I was painting the bathroom upstairs and about to take a shower. God, I probably smell foul.”

  He leaned forward and breathed through his nose. “Nope, you smell like you always do. Like strawberries.”

  “That’s—” I faltered, trying to ignore the quick thrill I felt coursing through me. “It’s my shampoo.”

  “Ah.”

  Flustered, I looked up and down my street like that might offer some clue as to what was going on. “W-what are you doing here?”

  Henry shrugged. “I had a craving for chocolate chip cookies and I know for a fact that no one makes them better than you.”

  “You’re here because you want me to make you chocolate chip cookies?” I clarified.

  He nodded. “Is that rude?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Kind of… I mean, it’s like nine thirty.”

  “And?”

  “Isn’t it a little late for dessert?”

  “Coming from the girl who eats her dessert first?”

  “I do, but not at bedtime,” I pointed out before realizing how incredibly lame I sounded talking about bedtime like I was eight years old.

  “You should live a little, Care.”

  “You sound like Hannah.”

  “She is my sister,” he said then gestured to the door. “So are you going to let me in or—?”

  “Oh, yeah, duh,” I answered and opened the door wide enough so that he could get past Aspen and me. “Sorry. Come on in.”

  “Nice shirt,” he said with a wink as he slipped by.

  I looked down and realized that in my panic, I had grabbed his sweatshirt—the one he let me borrow the first day of school.

  “Oh my God... yeah, I meant to return it to you but…” I knew my entire face was turning crimson—the curse of redheads everywhere. “It’s just… the sweatshirt is really comfy. But I can take it off—I mean, not right now because I only have a sports bra underneath and that would be... awkward,” I rambled on. “What I meant was that I can go upstairs to my room and change into something else. It’s not like I was offering to strip or anything like that.”

  This was worse than messing up my lines on stage. Even Aspen looked like she was embarrassed for me.

  Henry held up a hand and laughed good-naturedly. “Care, stop it. You can keep the sweatshirt.”

  “No—I couldn’t. That’s...”

  “I have like ten more at home,” he said before adding, “Besides, it looks good on you. Better than it does on me.”

  “Okay.” I let out a gush of air but it did nothing to lessen the heat in my cheeks.

  We stood there for a minute just looking at each other. Finally, Aspen nosed Henry’s leg.

  “I think she wants you to pet her,” I whispered to him.

  He balanced the two bags of groceries on one hip and reached down to rub behind Aspen’s ears. She kicked her back leg against the wood floors and let her tongue loll out the side of her mouth.

  We both laughed.

  “So, cookies?” I asked again.

  “Yeah.”

  “You know my house is kind of…”

  “Kind of what?”

  “Undone,” I said, biting my lip.

  Henry looked over the peeling wallpaper and at the half-finished wall separating the dining room and sun porch. “I like works in progress.”

  “As long as you understand that you’ve been warned,” I said as I led him down a narrow hall to the kitchen.

  He set the bags down on the counter, and I helped him unload the ingredients.

  Right away it was obvious there was way too much. We could easily be baking chocolate chip cookies all night if we attempted to use this up. There were three good-sized bags of flour and sugar, two cartons of eggs, eight sticks of butter, chocolate chips, a giant can of baking powder, baking soda, and a bunch of other random ingredients not even needed for the recipe, like cinnamon, almond bark, marshmallows, and a lone can of cream cheese frosting.

  “Um, wow,” I remarked, taking it all in. “Hungry?”

  Henry stopped what he was doing and turned to me. “What?”

  I pointed. “All this food.”

  He looked confused. “Did I do it wrong? I checked the recipe on my phone.”

  “And then multiplied by twenty?” I guessed. “This is enough to feed the entire football team. Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Like what?”

  “Are you high?”

  He laughed and I thought I could hear a hint of embarrassment. “I wanted to be sure that I got all you needed.”

  I smiled. “So you just grabbed a little of everything? Even if it wasn’t part of the recipe?”

  “Pretty much,” he said.

  “The almond bark?”

  He paused long enough to look at me. “You never know.”

  “Marshmallows?�
��

  “Maybe we’ll make cookie s’mores.”

  “And the frosting?”

  “Have you had chocolate chip cookies dipped in frosting before?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  He picked up the can of frosting and took a step toward me. “Care, remember what I said? You’ve got to live—”

  “A little,” I finished for him. “I know I do. And that’s what I’ve been trying to do lately.”

  A slow smile took over the bottom half of his face. “I’ve noticed.”

  “You have?” I pressed my back against the countertop and squeezed my fingers into a fist. Gah, why did Henry have to look like that when he smiled?

  He nodded. “Of course I have.”

  But only because I’m like a little sister. “Because you’re watching out for me with Hannah gone?”

  Henry opened his mouth but before he got anything out, my phone beeped.

  It was on the opposite side of the kitchen, near the back door. I must have left it there when I’d gotten home. I ran over and scooped the phone up so I could check the incoming messages. Sure enough, there was a new one from my bestie.

  Jellybean08: Hey chica! Are you online? I have to talk you about something…

  I glanced across the room at Henry. He was trying to look busy, opening packs of butter and rearranging the baking stuff, but I could tell that he was paying attention to what I was doing. I typed out a quick response.

  CareBear16: Sorta but someone is over so I can’t really talk right now.

  Jellybean08: Okay, well maybe later?

  CareBear16: Sure.

  I set my phone down but right away, it beeped again.

  Jellybean08: Wait. Who’s over? Isn’t it like 9PM there? That’s past your bedtime.

  Crap. What should I say? I didn’t want to lie, but I seriously did not feel like explaining that her brother had stopped by on a Friday night. To make chocolate chip cookies with me. It was just too weird.

  The phone buzzed again.