Made of Stars

by Kelley York

  What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  As I sink down alongside Chance, he asks, “So, was that well-behaved enough?”

  I give him a sidelong look and pull the blankets up around me. Even with the distance between us, I can feel the warmth Chance gives off. I wonder what he’d say if I curled into him, fit myself against his side. “Was it that much effort to behave?”

  He stares at the ceiling, not meeting my gaze. “It didn’t show? I’m a better actor than I thought.”

  “Why should you have to try, though? What’s wrong with Rachael? She seems nice.”

  Chance looks at me only after I’ve flicked off the lamp next to the bed. In the darkness, it’s hard to make him out, but I’m not sure I’d understand his expression even if I could properly see it.

  “Nothing is wrong with her.” The way he says it makes it seem like that, in and of itself, is a flaw. “But she’s not going to like me.”

  I roll onto my side to face him. “Of course she’ll like you. Why wouldn’t she?”

  Chance mirrors my movements and reaches out to toy with a strand of my hair. The gesture is so absent that I think it’s because he can’t stand to stay idle. A restless habit, but I’m enjoying the attention all the same. “Pretty, smart, got her shit together, going places in life. She’ll hate my guts.”

  “That’s kind of judgmental, don’t you think?” I sniff indignantly. “I’m smart, pretty, and have my shit together.” Sort of. I have no clue what I’m doing after my year of free time is up. I mean, I had thoughts of going to community college here, maybe taking some photography classes or journalism, and I had hopes of getting a little apartment all my own that Chance could come visit whenever he wanted, but…

  His eyebrows shoot up, but at least he smiles, even if only a little. “Not the point.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Just watch, Ash.”

  “She’s not that different, you know. She’s smart, but you’re smart.” I tap his forehead with one finger. “You know a freakish amount about the most random subjects. She’s pretty, you’re handsome.”

  “I don’t have my life together.”

  “Sure you do. I mean, you’re getting there. You’ve got a job and a family—us—who love you.” I clarify, because whatever is going on with the family he avoids talking to us about, he has Hunter and Dad and me. We’ll be his family. We always have been.

  “So,” I continue, “all that said, name one thing Rachael has that you don’t.”

  I half expect him to jokingly say breasts or any number of other things. Typical Chance things, because serious subjects aren’t ones he broaches and certainly doesn’t stay on once touched. Chance snakes an arm out beneath the blankets and winds it around my waist, draws me closer until my head is on his shoulder and my heart is in my throat, and he’s so warm and comfortable, and I completely forget what we were talking about until he says—

  “She has Hunter.”

  Hunter

  Rachael puts her bags in the spare room while I linger in the doorway, wanting to inch out, say good night, and flee before anything else can happen. She looks around appraisingly.

  “I get the master suite, huh?”

  “It used to be Dad’s room.” I scuff my socks against the carpet, staring down at them. “Bathroom’s right across the hall. You know where I am if you need anything.”

  She nods, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. But she’s watching me. Waiting.

  When did being around my own girlfriend get to be so weird? Things were fine the last time we saw each other. She’d cried a little and kissed me as her parents were preparing to drive her and her things down to Florida. Not that we’ve ever been normal by most people’s standards. We aren’t overly affectionate. We haven’t slept together yet, and neither of us is big on public displays of affection beyond holding hands when we go out. And I’m aware it isn’t because I’m not an affectionate guy. I like it when Chance clings to me, whether we’re in public or not. Hell, I don’t mind when my own sister takes my hand or latches her arms around my neck. I don’t care what people think there, but with Rachael… I don’t know what it is.

  Now she’s watching me like she expects me to stay. Or to ask her to come back to my room. I like my space, and I’ve already crossed one line with her I didn’t mean to cross.

  I give her a smile. “So…good night. Sweet dreams.”

  “Hunter?”

  Crap.

  She rises off the bed, wringing her hands together. The one thing everyone can tell you about Rachael—she’s fucking gorgeous. All that sleek dark hair and big brown eyes. I should consider myself the luckiest guy in the world to have her slipping her arms around my neck and rising up to kiss me. Properly this time. Not like she did in the airport.

  It isn’t that difficult to relax, and I’ve missed kissing her. It only takes me a minute to get into it, into the taste of her mouth and the feel of her pressing up against me, inviting in a way she’s never been before. Is it because she missed me, or because of what I said on the phone? If “I love you” was the magic phrase for getting into Rachael Li’s pants, I know a lot of guys who would’ve screamed it from the rooftops.

  But something isn’t quite the same as it was a few months ago. It’s a niggling in the back of my mind that is keeping me from completely immersing myself in her. Maybe it’s the insistence with which she kisses me, or maybe it’s the idea that she might want to do this because I said something to her I’m not sure I meant. Or maybe it’s that my sister and best friend are only a few doors down.

  Something is clearly wrong with my head. Here I am, making out with a gorgeous girl, possibly being invited to stay the night with her—whatever that might entail—and my brain will. Not. Stop. What is wrong with me?

  After a few minutes, she pulls back. Not much, but a little. Just enough to smile against my lips. “I’ve really missed you.”

  “I can see that.” My voice comes out hoarser than I mean it to. I could stay here. I could try to shut up my thoughts, but…what happens after? When I wake up in the morning and realize I’m still not in love with her, but I care enough about her to feel insanely guilty about what I’ve done.

  Yeah. Not going to happen.

  I pull away, looking down to avoid the bewildered crinkle of her brow. “You’ve had a really long day, what with…traveling…and stuff.” So articulate, Hunter, guh. “Get some sleep.”

  Rachael smiles, but it’s a smile that clearly says she doesn’t understand. Thankfully, it also means she lets me go without further protest. So I can shuffle back to my own room, head down, contemplating a cold shower and reminding myself I’ll survive this visit.

  …

  After last night, I’m leery about being left alone with Rachael. Which is stupid, really, when I stop to think about it. It’s not like she’s going to drive me to an abandoned parking lot and jump me the second she has the opportunity, but I just…

  It’s easier, I guess. Having other people around. Breakfast isn’t bad, because Dad and Isobel—who came by with donuts for breakfast, and to meet Rachael—keep Rach occupied the entire time. While Ash continually nudges my foot with a tilt of her head, mouthing, Are you okay?

  Even though I nod in response while shoving food into my mouth, Ash knows me better than that. I don’t know what I would do without her. Her suggestion of going to the mall has nothing to do with wanting to shop and everything to do with making things easier on me. Rachael hesitates, but I swallow a bite of chocolate-and-sprinkle goodness to say, “Yeah, sure,” before she can figure out a way to politely decline. We wolf down the rest of our breakfast, thank Isobel, promise Dad we’ll behave (ha), and head out.

  I could hug Ash. Here, in a public setting, there won’t be as many awkward pauses and uncomfortable silences. Here, it’s more neutral ground. Plus I can lead Rachael away from Chance if things start to take a wrong turn between the two of them.

  I don’t know why I’m still nervou
s. I don’t know why the looks Chance keeps giving me make my chest tighten. This guilt is drowning me, and I don’t know what the hell I have to be guilty for. He’s my best friend, and Rachael is my girlfriend. A little anxiety about them getting along is normal, but what I’m feeling? Not so much.

  As we climb out of the car, Ash catches me by the arm and leans in. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Why would something be going on?” I smile, draping an arm around her shoulders. She jabs a finger into my ribs, which, thankfully, I barely feel through the padding of my jacket.

  “Don’t start, mister. You were giving these pathetic save me looks all through breakfast. Shouldn’t you be devoting what little time your girlfriend is here to…I don’t know, spending time with her?”

  Guilt nibbles at my insides, and I shove it back. “Things are a little weird right now, Ash.” I sigh. “Just…give me some time to get my head right. Please?”

  There’s no time for protesting. Rachael and Chance are already footing it for the front door to get out of the snow, and Rachael keeps casting furtive looks over her shoulder. Like she knows I’m talking about her. Ash is the same way. How do girls always know when you’re trying to have a conversation that involves them?

  We’re here early enough that most of the people inside are those who come in for a daily walking club. Mostly old people in tacky track suits who do a few laps around the perimeter, where it’s not too hot or too cold and there are plenty of places to stop for a rest. Shops are still in the process of opening. The food court has barely cracked its shutters and turned on its stoves.

  I like this time of day. No crowds, no lines, fewer noisy kids squealing or shoving past.

  God, that makes me sound old.

  After browsing the stores—correction: after the girls browse a few stores while Chance and I trail around patiently after them—Chance buys himself a hot pretzel that he shares with Ash, while Rachael gets a smoothie for her and me to split. I’d rather have some of the pretzel. Chance is licking salt off his fingers when he says, “Hey, Hunt.”

  Rachael’s all-natural smoothie tastes like pureed grass. Guess it’s a good thing we ate right before coming here, so I’m not starving yet. “What?”

  “Didn’t we tie last time we were here?” He hands the remainder of the pretzel over to Ash, who gladly shoves it into her mouth. Rachael glances at me, questioning, and I can’t help the silly grin pulling at my mouth.

  “No. I won. You just wouldn’t admit it.”

  It’s a challenge, and Chance never backs down when I say I can do something better than he can. Probably a stupid idea. The last time he and I raced through the mall, we were fifteen years old and people kind of expected that sort of stupidity from boys our age. We could’ve hurt someone, or ourselves. Besides that, security tossed us out after we crossed our imaginary finish line. We’re lucky they didn’t call Dad.

  When did I get old enough that I started worrying about stuff like this?

  It was years ago, but the memory of how it felt is still so vivid. That’s how it is with my summer memories; they’re all about sensation rather than details of who said or did what. But that was then, this is now, and I can only imagine how Rachael will feel if she sees me acting like a kid in the middle of a public place. She doesn’t like to be embarrassed.

  “Did not,” Chance counters.

  “Did too.”

  Rachael looks between us, confused, and Ash says warningly, “Guys…”

  Chance isn’t listening. He’s watching me with a glint in his eyes, coming to a halt and bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s limbering up. “Come on, then. Rematch.”

  I make a valiant effort to stop grinning, and fail. “We’re not kids anymore. We’ll make a scene.”

  “Then admit I won.”

  “You didn’t,” I say. “But I’m not running.”

  “Come on.”

  “No.”

  Chance spins, and with a squeak of his sneaker on linoleum, he’s off.

  Rachael emphasizes this with a startled “Oh,” and then “Hunter!” because without another thought, I take off after him.

  We sprint through the mall, the thumping of my pulse and Chance’s breathless laughter a duet in my ears. We weave in and out of the occasional mall-walker. Chance rounds a bench, and I hop right over it to gain the lead, just by a few feet.

  Suddenly, it’s summer and we’re fifteen again. Chance is all ungainly limbs and freckles with a shirt too big on him and sneakers that are falling apart. It’s one of those moments where everything else in the world fades to a dull hum in the background because all that exists is Chance and me, and I want to take his bright-eyed, exhilarated face and bottle it up for safe keeping.

  At the end of the mall, a play area has been installed since the last time I was here. Little tunnels, a slide for toddlers, and a ball pit that can’t be any more than two feet deep. I slow down out of fear I’m going to trample some poor kid or his unsuspecting parent, but Chance plows right into the ball pit headfirst, laughing, but so out of breath not much sound is coming out.

  My chest burns. My legs are jelly. But, God, what a fantastic feeling, and I’m laughing, too, as I stumble over to the edge of the pit and brace my hands on my knees while I try to reintroduce air into my lungs. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this.

  “Did I win?” Chance pants, squirming onto his back in the array of red, blue, and yellow plastic balls.

  I grin around my labored breathing and extend my hand, which Chance takes. “Yeah. You won that one.”

  Instead of crawling out, he yanks, and I find myself sprawled out half on him, half sinking into the pit, with Chance laughing in my ear.

  We lay there for a minute or two, relearning how to breathe. Or maybe waiting to see if security is going to boot us out. Rachael and Ash find us first. My sister looks amused, but Rachael’s pretty face is offset by a deep frown, and her arms are crossed. Chance and I get to our feet, only the vague residual burn in my lungs a reminder of our fun. Too bad Rachael’s disapproval is kind of a buzzkill.

  I haul myself out of the pit. Chance snags the belt loops of my jeans to drag himself out along with me, nearly sending us both right back where we started.

  “I won,” Chance announces proudly.

  Rachael’s gaze never leaves my face. “What was that?”

  “What?” I push a hand through my hair, feigning innocence. “We were just playing around. No big deal.”

  “You could’ve run right into someone,” she says. “What if you’d tripped over a poor little kid?”

  “There are never kids here this early,” Chance cuts in. “We wouldn’t have done it if I’d seen any the entire time we’ve been here.”

  Rachael casts him a sour look, clearly displeased at having our conversation interrupted. She’s not used to that. When she’s unhappy with me, it’s usually just her and me. No one else to interject his opinion.

  I hate Rachael’s lectures. They never fail to make me feel like I’m five years old. I cram my hands into my pockets and hunch my shoulders, torn between wanting to apologize just to appease her and not wanting Ash and Chance to see that this is how our relationship works. Rachael gets upset, I do what she wants to smooth things over.

  “I’m sorry,” I find myself saying.

  It’s all she’s getting out of me, but it seems to be enough. Rachael sighs, shoulders slumping, but at least her irritation is short-lived. Her tone is mild as she says, “Let’s just get out of here.”

  I will myself to relax, grateful that’s—hopefully—over and done with. And I try to ignore the way Chance rolls his eyes before putting his arm around Ash and walking away.

  …

  We have lunch at a diner across the street. The girls sit on one side, and Chance crowds in beside me, squishing me effectively against the wall when I try to put some distance between us. His elbow is digging into my side. He had asked the waitress for a kid’s menu so he could draw
on it with the crayons they provide while simultaneously sipping at his drink.

  I busy myself by picking at my chicken and fries. Ash and Rachael delve into their own conversation. School and boys. Go figure.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” Ash is saying, swirling her soda with her straw. “I mean, I’ve had a few. Off and on. But they’re kind of— How many guys have you dated through high school?”

  “Two others,” Rachael says. “Not sure if the first one counts. We only dated for a few weeks.”

  “Please. That’s how long most of my relationships last! Why didn’t they work out?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The first guy was someone I had been friends with for years. I guess we got it into our brains it was a great idea to start dating when we got to high school. Bad idea, let me tell you, dating a friend.”

  At this, her gaze flicks to Chance and lingers. What the hell was that for?

  “The other one I really liked, but he dumped me for someone else. Which crushed me at the time; he was a great kisser.”

  I don’t know if Rachael is doing this on purpose to bother me or to make me jealous, but it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t. At least, not for the same reasons it probably should. It only bugs me because it’s one of those situations where I don’t know if she’s trying to get a reaction when I don’t feel like giving one.

  “That makes you lucky.” Ash sighs, jabbing her salad with a fork, skewering a tomato and popping it into her mouth. “Anyone I’ve dated has been severely lacking in the kissing department.”

  My spine stiffens. Note to self: get a list of the boys my sister has been making out with and break their legs.

  Chance, who I didn’t think was even paying attention, doesn’t look up when he says, “That’s because I set the bar too high, being your first kiss and all.”