Steering the Stars

by Doughton, Autumn

  He set the clothes on the back of the couch and came closer. “What was a lie?”

  “I thought…” I swallowed. “I thought you were starting to become my friend.”

  “I am your friend.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Henry touched the side of my face. My lungs seized up and I trembled involuntarily. “Care, I am your friend,” he repeated softly.

  I shook my head and pulled away to break his hold over me. Fresh tears spilled from the corners of my eyes and dripped down my cheeks. “I can’t trust you anymore.”

  I watched his hand drop and clench into a fist. “Because I lied to you? Because the only reason I drive you to school and eat lunch with you and have your back is because I’m doing my sister a favor?” he snapped. “And I asked you to homecoming because I was trying to help you out with some complete douchebag out of the goodness of my heart? Do I have all that right?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, Miles isn’t really a douchebag, but—”

  “Forget Miles,” he said angrily. “Is this what you really think?”

  I wrapped my hands around my middle and shrugged. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “So… homecoming?”

  “You don’t have to take me,” I answered quickly.

  “And what about me?”

  “What do you mean?” I sputtered.

  Henry looked away. He was quiet for a long time. “Maybe the reason you have such a hard time figuring out the constellations is that you’re not looking the right way.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, he muttered something I didn’t quite catch and walked away, leaving me alone in his family’s living room.

  As I stared after him, I shook my head in confusion. Some of the steam that had flooded my system an hour ago was fading and I was left with a rancid feeling rotting in the bottom of my stomach.

  I was right to be mad… wasn’t I? Henry and Hannah had both betrayed me.

  So, how did I wind up feeling like the bad guy?

  The last time Caroline and I had a big blowout like this, we were eleven. Then, the fight had been over a sweater. A purple sweater.

  Looking back, I knew it was ridiculous. It had been purple day at school and in the spirit of generosity, I’d lent Caroline my absolute favorite sweater—the one with an embroidered cat on the front—and opted to wear a purple corduroy skirt myself. It was a Thursday and the plan was that her mom would wash it and she would bring it back to me the very next day. But on Friday, she wasn’t in school.

  I called her house and I stopped by but no one was home. On Monday morning, I waited in front of the main entrance of school and watched her stumble through the front gate and walk slowly up the steps. I could tell by her downturned head and the flat look on her face that something terrible had happened.

  “The sweater?” I asked anxiously.

  Caroline’s cheeks flamed Pepto-Bismol pink as she dug a plastic bag out of her backpack. My sweater was folded inside.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a shaky voice. “It was an accident.”

  I tore the bag from her hands and ripped it open to inspect the damage. Just below the cat design there was a huge discoloration. The sweater was beyond repair. It was ruined.

  “What happened?”

  “It was bleach. I tried to wash it and I got mixed up—”

  I didn’t let her finish. “I thought your mom was going to help!”

  Caroline’s eyes welled. “She couldn’t, b-but I’ll buy you a new one. I promise.”

  I knew the McKains struggled to make ends meet and snottily asked, “How are you going to do that?”

  She didn’t have an answer so I pushed onward. “Forget it! I don’t want to talk to you anymore. You’re a dummy.”

  I threw the school door open and stomped down the hall, resolving not to speak to Caroline ever again.

  I lasted until the after-lunch recess.

  She looked so sad sitting on the swings all by herself. I watched her for a while and when I couldn’t take it anymore, I sat down in the swing beside her.

  “I was really mean,” I said regretfully. “I shouldn’t have said all that stuff. I know it’s just a sweater.”

  She looked up at me and I saw tear tracks shining on her cheeks. “It was your favorite.”

  I smiled. “It’s kind of babyish anyway. And Owen says the cat on it looks kind of evil.”

  Caroline sniffed. We sat on the swings in quiet for a few minutes, our sneakers dangling in the dirt.

  Then I asked, “So, why’d you try to wash it anyway?”

  Something about the expression on her face made everything working inside of me come to a screeching halt. My smile died. “Caroline, what’s wrong?”

  And that’s when she told me her mom was sick.

  ****

  To: Caroline

  From: Hannah

  Date: October 19

  Subject: I’m trying here

  I've lost track of the number of times I've tried to call you. I just want to talk.

  Please?

  ____________

  To: Caroline

  From: Hannah< vaughn.hannah@hotmail.com

  Date: October 20

  Subject: CALL ME

  Care, this is crazypants. It’s been over a day. Call me, okay?

  ____________

  To: Caroline

  From: Hannah

  Date: October 21

  Subject: WTF?

  You know what? The more I think about it, the more I think WTF? You can’t do this. You can’t just freeze me out with no explanation. It’s a total bitch move and I’m done trying. This is on YOU now.

  ____________

  To: Caroline

  From: Hannah

  Date: October 22

  Subject: I’m sorry!

  I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I’m just confused by all this and I was freaking out. This isn’t on you. I didn’t mean that. Care, PLEASE talk to me.

  I miss you.

  ____________

  To: Owen

  From: Hannah

  Date: October 22

  Subject: I need your help

  I know things are weird with us but I don’t know who else to talk to. Caroline and I had a fight and she won't answer my calls or emails. Have you talked to her? I guess I just want to know that she’s okay.

  Help me?

  Hannah

  ____________

  I checked my phone again, but there was nothing new. Not from Caroline or Owen or Henry.

  Oh, why hast thou forsaken me?

  It had been almost a week since our fight and in that time I’d run through the gamut of emotions. Confusion. Anger. Sadness. I still didn’t know for sure what had happened between us, so now the emotion I was stuck on was frustration.

  I kept thinking back to the conversation we’d had, trying to determine where it had all gone wrong. One minute we were talking about dresses and boys and the next, we were shouting and crying at each other. None of it made sense to me. What did she have to get so mad about? Was this really and truly about Owen? She had told me that he was devastated. But, really, he broke up with me.

  As for everything else… I’d told Henry about her crush on Miles and that’s all. WTF was the big deal? So what if he tried to step in and help? Shouldn’t she be happy about that? Shouldn’t she be thanking me instead of yelling at me and then acting like I didn’t even exist? None of it made sense to me. If I could only talk to her and try to sort this out then maybe we could—

  “Hannah!” Joel’s harsh whisper found my ears then his foot bumped into the back of my chair, jostling me back to reality.

  “What?” I asked, dazedly blinking over my shoulder at him. He waved his f
ingers and tipped his chin, trying to get me to look up.

  “Miss Vaughn?”

  The classroom swirled around me as I brought my head back around. “Huh?”

  Mr. Hammond was standing over my desk. “Your exam?”

  “Oh.” My heart stuttered. With a sick feeling I glanced down at the stapled papers in front of me. It was a test with twenty multiple choice questions about writing terminology and then a simple writing prompt. I’d answered two of the multiple choice questions at the top of the test and then I’d zoned out completely.

  And this wasn’t even the first time this week that I’d bailed on something in Mr. Hammond’s class. On Wednesday, I didn’t turn in the journal entries we were supposed to do.

  “Hannah?” he pushed.

  In a scratchy voice I said, “I guess I forgot?”

  “You forgot?”

  My face went hot. Everyone in the class was watching. I could feel Tillie and Ruben’s and Joel’s curiosity and concern and, of course, Ava’s glee. It all settled inside of me like a slab of hardening concrete. I didn’t want their stares. I didn’t want their concern or the glee or their criticism or their endless questions.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered through my shame.

  Mr. Hammond was still looking down at me and there was no denying the disappointment that creased his forehead and the sides of his mouth. He tapped his finger against my desk and quietly instructed, “I’d like you to stay after class today. I think there are some things we should discuss.”

  I swallowed and dropped my head so that my hair fell in front of my face, hiding my pink cheeks. Just loud enough for him to hear, I said, “Okay.”

  Mr. Hammond nodded once to let me know he’d heard me, then he turned away and went on collecting the tests from other student. When he was back at the front of the classroom, Tillie leaned over from her seat one aisle over. She got close enough that her blond hair brushed my shoulders and I could smell her strawberry lotion.

  “You forgot to take a test?” she whispered.

  I kept my eyes averted as I covered my mouth and coughed into my hand. “Yeah, I just got distracted.”

  “Distracted?” her tone was disbelieving. “By what? The back of Ruben’s head?”

  Ruben turned around and smiled a goofy grin at me. He pushed one hand through the length of his brown waves. “Mum does say I have nice hair.”

  “All mums say stuff like that,” Tillie said.

  “You don’t agree?” he asked and his grin wavered.

  “You could use a cut actually,” Tillie observed dryly before turning back to me. “What’s going on with you, Hannah?”

  All week, she and Joel and Ruben and my teachers and even my sister had been asking me questions. I just wanted them to stop. Their jokes and their cheer and their constant intrusions only made me feel worse. Just trying to explain how I was feeling seemed like an impossible task. Like expecting my voice to carry across an entire galaxy. These people didn’t understand what I was feeling. They couldn’t. They were all still living on earth whereas I had been marooned on planet My Best Friend Hates Me.

  “Don’t worry,” I told her, hoping she’d drop it. Beads of sweat were starting to form all over my skin and my throat was so tight it hurt. “It’s nothing.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me and squared her chin.“Bollocks. You missed squash on Tuesday and you didn’t turn in that assignment on Monday and now this? Forgetting to finish a test doesn't sound like the Hannah Vaughn I know.”

  “Well maybe you don't know me at all,” I snapped.

  Tillie flinched as though she had been physically slapped. I couldn’t blame her. Even I was surprised by the bitchiness of my voice, the force of my irritation.

  We blinked at each other for a moment and then I quietly said, “I’m sorry.”

  What the hell was wrong with me? Was I trying to alienate everyone in my life or was I just naturally good at it? Maybe Tillie was asking questions I didn’t want to answer, but the truth was that she had never been anything but wonderful to me. It certainly wasn’t her fault that Caroline wasn’t speaking to me.

  “Tillie, I didn’t mean for that to come out like that. I just—I just have a lot on my mind and I’m not feeling well and I’m off today.”

  It was a lame thing to say and she didn’t even bother to respond. She just turned her face so that I couldn’t make out her expression and started to gather her things. A notebook. A blue pen. Three number two pencils.

  One of the pencils rolled off her desk to the floor. I bent over and snatched it up before she could do it.

  “I’m sorry,” I tried again, holding the pencil out to her like an olive branch. “Really.”

  “Forget it. We all have bad days,” she said as she took the pencil from my hand and stood up from her seat. Her face was tight and her normally friendly eyes were guarded. “It’s fine, Hannah.”

  But I knew that it wasn’t fine. How could it be?

  “Okay,” I said, feeling like a headcase. “I’ll see you later?”

  “Yeah,” she said and waved once as she walked away.

  Ruben was standing in the aisle. He frowned down at me, shrugged his shoulders to show his confusion and then he ran off to catch up with Tillie. As the two of them crossed the door, he said something to her I couldn’t hear and slung one arm over her shoulder.

  I hunched over farther into my seat and let out a shaky breath. Could this day get any worse?

  “Hannah?”

  Crap. I’d forgotten that Joel was still sitting behind me. This meant, of course, that he’d witnessed the whole awful scene with Tillie.

  “Don’t,” I said stiffly.

  “Don’t what?” He touched my shoulder and that concrete slab in my gut cracked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to go hide under a rock or throw myself off a bridge. Instead, I shook his hand off.

  “I just… just…” I squeezed my eyes so tight that tiny explosions of orange and fiery yellow burst behind eyelids. “I know how I was with Tillie but it’s none of your business, okay?”

  He stepped around his desk and crouched down in front of me, trying to make eye contact. I looked everywhere but at him because I feared peering into those tiger eyes. I feared I would lose it.

  “I can’t talk to you right now,” I said to the floor. My voice sounded different, not even like it belonged to me. “I still have to meet with Mr. Hammond and figure out this test thing.”

  He was quiet for a beat too long. “Then later.”

  “Later,” I confirmed, silently praying he would go away. After another five seconds of trying unsuccessfully to get me to lift my chin and meet his gaze, he gave up and stood to leave. I remained in my seat with my feet rooted the floor.

  When Joel was gone and the classroom was mostly empty, Mr. Hammond met my gaze. His voice cut across the new quiet like a sharpened blade. “Miss Vaughn.”

  That was my cue. My chair made an unpleasant scraping sound against the floor as I stood. Cringing, I grabbed my bag and shuffled to his desk.

  “What happened?” he asked outright when I was standing in front of him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know I blew it with the test.”

  He looked down for a moment. “Hannah, it’s more than the exam. A few weeks ago, you and I had a discussion in this very classroom about finding your voice and writing from the heart. It’s obvious to me that you are struggling with this. I can’t overlook the test but I could be persuaded to work with you if I could understand what the problem is. Is something happening that you want to talk about?”

  Was something happening? Yes. And did I want to talk to someone? Yes, but that someone was across the Atlantic ocean and currently not answering any of my phone calls. Having a heart-to-heart with a teacher who I’d known for about five seconds was not the same thing.

  “Not really,” I answered.

  Mr. Hammond obviously didn’t believe me. He raised on
e perfectly-shaped eyebrows. “Not really? Your work or lack thereof would indicate otherwise.”

  “I know... I just…” I was struggling to come up with an excuse that didn’t sound like an excuse. I knew that I was a failure in every single way. As a student. As a friend. As a girlfriend. As a sister. “I haven’t been feeling well or getting much sleep.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not good enough. As I said, I can’t forget the things you’ve missed but I can offer you an opportunity to try to recover your grade.”

  “Okay.” I was listening.

  “Turn in ten thousand words to me on Monday the ninth and I shall grade that in place of the exam.”

  “Ten thousand words? On what?”

  “That’s entirely up to you.”

  I blinked. Was he kidding? “B-but I need some guidance,” I protested. “Ten thousand words is a lot and I have no idea what to write about!”

  Mr. Hammond exhaled. “Hannah, at this level I can’t hold your hand through each and every assignment. You’re going to have to take some initiative on this one.”

  Irritation welled inside of me. Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he see that I wasn’t cut out for this, for writing or Warriner? Why would he still expect anything from me?

  “Look,” I said, “writing is…it’s just too hard for me right now. I feel like every time I put my pen to paper or my fingers on a keyboard, I lock up. I don’t think I can do it.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and considered me. “When I chose your essay out of thousands, I did so because I saw potential in you. I didn’t expect you to come all this way to give up.”

  The weight of his words burned through me. I felt them under my clothing and on my skin. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t have been chosen to win the contest.”

  Mr. Hammond’s mouth fell open a little. “So that’s it? You’re just going to accept a zero on your exam and the other assignments and be done with it?”