Made of Stars

by Kelley York

  “Like a good old-fashioned date?” She lifts her gaze to me, lips tilted in a faint smile.

  The pain in my back slowly seeps away as the tension does. What is going on with us? Back home, things weren’t this bad. When Rachael and I started out, we had fun. We laughed. We talked about nothing important. I miss that friendship. More than that, I miss when everything between us didn’t feel like such an effort, when every conversation wasn’t about our future while we were never living in the here and now.

  Could this be my fault? Am I not trying hard enough? Has my attention really been so focused on Chance and Ashlin that I haven’t been giving us a fair shot? I can’t be happy with myself until I try. She’s only here for a bit longer, and during that time…I should—no, I need—to give her more of my attention.

  I reach for her hands, brushing my thumbs across her knuckles. “Sure. It’s a date.”

  Ashlin

  Chance makes good use of his phone. He texts me bright and early every morning, which might annoy me because I like my sleep-in time, but he’s saved me from being late to work more than once.

  I want to ask him about Hunter. After talking to Rachael and thinking about it incessantly, I can’t get it out of my head that there might be something between Chance and my brother. Hunter would undoubtedly get defensive and awkward. Not that Chance is a pro at being open and honest, but I feel like…maybe talking to him about it would make him feel better. Maybe it would make me feel better, too.

  Maybe I really am imagining all of this. And then I think it’s just my way of trying to avoid being heartbroken that the boy I want to be with might never have wanted me to begin with.

  Instead of asking about Hunter, I try to bring up the subject of Christmas night and his parents’ yelling that Rach and Hunt witnessed, but he brushes me off easily and avoids me the rest of our shift. How do you talk to someone who always runs away?

  Otherwise, we manage to truck through the week with minimal drama. I try to keep Chance occupied so Rachael gets her time with Hunter. Which would work great, except Hunter himself seems put off by the idea of Chance and me always hanging out on our own. He doesn’t complain, and he takes Rachael out several times just the two of them, but I can see the protest in his eyes, which means Rachael can surely see it, too. There’s a sort of underlying tension in Hunter’s demeanor toward Rachael now that wasn’t there before. It isn’t the same as his nervousness when she first arrived. Now, I think he’s genuinely unhappy and something must have happened. When I try to ask him about it, he only shrugs me off.

  There is so much being unsaid among everyone, and it’s driving me crazy.

  Come New Year’s Eve, I’m almost unsure about this whole rafting trip. We’re going to be stuck on a flimsy piece of inflatable plastic, needing to work together to get to Hollow Island, and then we’ll be secluded and with no distractions but one another for who knows how long.

  Almost unsure. But not enough to call the whole thing off.

  The cold is biting. We bundle up and promise Dad we’ll be safe—just going to a party with some friends in town. A lie I’m not sure he totally buys, but we’re eighteen. He can’t do much other than give us worried looks as we leave. He has Isobel for company tonight, and she loops her arm with his and gives us a wave as our car pulls out of the driveway. He’ll be just fine.

  Hunt drives us to the beach. It’s a farther row from here than it would be from our cliff-side location, but the water is calmer, and getting the raft (not to mention Rachael) up and down the cliffs would be impossible. The wind yanks at my coat. Snowflakes skip and dance across the rocky beach while we struggle to get the raft out of its box and blown up. It doesn’t look nearly as secure as I thought it did in the store, but you get what you pay for.

  Chance pulls from the car a cooler where we packed drinks and snacks, and where my camera is tucked alongside a couple of flashlights into a plastic bag to keep it from getting wet. Rachael huddles in her baby-blue coat and mittens, worrying at her bottom lip.

  “Are you sure that thing’s safe?”

  “We’ll find out,” Chance says, and with a grunt he begins hauling it to the water with Hunter’s help.

  “Is it big enough?”

  “Box says it holds up to four people. We’ll make it work. If you don’t wanna go…”

  Rachael shoots Chance a hard look, brushes the hair from her face, and stalks after them. It would seem her last few days of having Hunter to herself have boosted her confidence, because she hasn’t been tolerating his sass today, and she hasn’t been shy about keeping at Hunter’s side every moment she gets.

  Getting the raft afloat and all of us into it requires rolling up pants, yanking off shoes, and wading into the freezing cold water. After a few minutes of flailing and splashing and shrieking, we manage to pile into the raft. The waves threaten to shove us back onto the rocks, but with some careful maneuvering and lots of shouting, Hunter and Chance get us going in the right direction.

  The farther from shore we get, the easier it is to row. But it’s cold. Unbearably cold. The wind stings my face and my hands, even through my gloves. I keep my arms wrapped around the cooler, not wanting a wave to roll beneath us and knock it right out of the raft.

  I have no idea how long it takes, only that by the time we bump against the craggy shore of Hollow Island, our teeth are chattering and the boys are out of breath. We drag the raft up shore, tucking it and the oars behind part of a crumbling brick wall where the water doesn’t have a chance of sweeping up and stealing it away. Then we stand there and stare at the dark island before us, breathing hard. Shivering but triumphant.

  “Look the same as when you swam here last?” Hunter asks Chance, elbowing him with a grin.

  “What?” Chance blinks, rolls his eyes, gives him a shove, and ventures forward. “Shut up and come on. Get the flashlights!”

  I haul the cooler while the others get the flashlights, the only three we could find because no one thought about actually needing them until an hour before we left home. Kudos to us.

  The island smells of salt and dirt. All around us are buildings barely standing, torn down in a relatively short time thanks to the onslaught of harsh wind and the waves eating at the shores. They’re all condemned, meaning the island itself is legally off-limits. The threat of fines, I’m sure, is only a small deterrent for anyone who really wants to come out here, but I didn’t see any other boats on the shore. It’s safe to assume we’re alone.

  Chance veers into one old building that is missing a wall but is otherwise in relatively decent shape, and I set the cooler down before following. A set of wooden steps once led up to the porch but is gone now. Hunter grabs my upper arms and lifts me over the steps to the porch, which creaks in protest beneath my weight, before turning to do the same to Rachael.

  She tucks her hands under her arms, shaking her head. “I’ll wait here.”

  Hunter frowns. I see his mouth working like he might argue, but he only says, “Okay,” hops onto the porch, and moves past the door hanging on one lonely hinge.

  “Maybe we should’ve saved this for next weekend,” I whisper to Hunter. Chance is picking his way across the floor, checking for holes, easing his weight when he steps so the rotting wood doesn’t give way under him. Hunter’s eyes follow his every movement, almost worriedly.

  “No. I offered last night to stay home with her if she didn’t want to go. She insisted we should do it. If she wants to mope all night, then whatever. I’m not going to let it ruin our time.”

  Fair enough. Hunter and I both gave her an out, and she chose not to take either. I shake my head and roll my shoulders back, just as Chance is calling us over to look at the remnants of some old machinery across the room.

  We explore the place top to bottom. Well, maybe not top, because the stairs to the second floor are ruined, and Hunter refuses to give Chance a boost. Nothing here feels sturdy. Nothing feels safe. That’s part of what makes it exciting.

  And, ma
n, is it awesome. I fish out my camera and take pictures of everything. Chance poses in the corner, back to the lens, head down, like something out of a horror movie. I get shots of caved-in ceilings, missing walls, the places where nature has encroached in on the man-made structures to take them back where they belong. Grass and weeds poke through the floorboards. Cobwebs floating from the eaves catch my hair and shoulders, tugging at me like ghostly fingers.

  We move from one building to the next, getting bolder with the weak architecture and braving the stairs in some to look out through second-story windows, shuffling through broken glass and the occasional reminder that, yes, people used to live and work here. A scrap of material that might’ve been a sock. Some papers pinned beneath a rock that have long since yellowed and lost their ink.

  Through it all, Rachael stays out in the open, sitting atop the cooler and watching us. When we move farther into the island, she picks up the cooler and drags it along, sets it back down, and sits again. I don’t know whether or not to feel bad for her. Maybe annoyed she’s being such a drag. Maybe bad that it must be so boring to be her.

  After losing my camera to Chance and letting him snap a shot of Hunt and me outside a lopsided structure, Chance announces we’ve got thirty minutes until midnight. Toward the center of the island, we locate the most intact building. A tall, red brick structure, just like Chance told us there would be. He only could have known about it if he had, in fact, been here before. I stop just outside, turning to glance at Hunter, who looks from the building to me with an expression as surprised as I feel.

  The surrounding buildings have likely shielded it, so it’s stayed upright a little better, enough that we can actually head upstairs, watching for any broken steps. This time, Hunter manages to prod Rachael into tagging along. She cringes the whole way up, clinging to Hunter’s arm, and I’m worried they’re both going to drop right through the floor because she won’t let him go.

  On the roof, we have a picture-perfect view of the island around us. Granted, it’s dark, so we only have the vague outline of trees and buildings here and there, lined with snow, and the glistening of the ocean. Maybe we’ll be able to see one of the New Year’s fireworks shows on the mainland in the distance.

  We’re miles away from existence, and it’s so beautiful.

  Hunter

  There aren’t words to describe it. The island is desolate, lonely, eerie, but it has an ethereal charm to it. Hauntingly beautiful in its solitude.

  Chance and Ash agree, but Rachael obviously does not. All night, she’s given me strained smiles when she catches me looking. Tired sighs and weary scowls when she thinks I’m not. But what can I do? Since our argument on Christmas, I’ve really tried spending time with Rachael and Rachael alone. We’ve gone to a few movies, shopping, sightseeing.

  It’s been the most boring couple of days since I returned to Dad’s.

  Even last night, I grudgingly gave her the option to stay home with me, and she insisted she wanted to give it a try. Brave the crazy adventures of the Jacksons and their fearless leader, Chance. Her exact words, even. But the tone of her voice when she said Chance’s name was enough to tell me things aren’t as okay as we’re both trying to pretend they are.

  Now that we’re here, I can tell she’s not enjoying it. She greets everything on the island with a look of wary disdain, as though she’s better than this place, like touching anything or taking a risk for once in her life might result in her untimely demise. I only manage to talk her into coming into the red building (Chance told the truth about coming here before; color me surprised) because: “We’re going to eat on the roof if it’s steady enough.” In other words, she can come along, or she can ring in the New Year all by herself.

  Rachael takes a step back, eyes the structure with her mouth drawn tight, but reluctantly allows me to pull her inside. How can she not love this? The view is stunning. The smell of the ocean and the feel of the salt-tinged air every time a breeze happens by. It’s the perfect way to spend New Year’s, and Rachael seems determined to not enjoy a second of it.

  “This is our castle,” Chance says as he stands at the edge of the rooftop, too close to the ledge for comfort. “This is our kingdom. How fucking amazing is it?”

  “Pretty fucking amazing,” Ash and I say together.

  Rachael stares down at her shoes. “I thought we were going to eat? It’s almost midnight.”

  I glance at my phone. It’s 11:50, yep. “Where’s the cooler?”

  “I thought Rachael had it,” Ash says.

  “I left it downstairs. It was too heavy for me to drag up here by myself.”

  I give Chance’s jacket sleeve a tug to draw him away from his self-induced trance as he gazes out over the island. “Come on, your highness. Your loyal subjects are hungry.”

  Chance swivels around and latches onto my arm, grinning like this is the best thing he’s heard all evening. We leave the girls behind and pick our way back down the rickety staircase. When I spot the cooler just outside the door, I heave a sigh of relief. “Still there.”

  “Where the hell would it have gone? The island spirits sleep on holidays, you know.” He hefts up one handle while I grab the other. It isn’t heavy, really—more awkward and ungainly to maneuver. We didn’t pack anything in ice; it’s cold enough outside, so why would we need to? It was more a precaution to keep everything dry rather than cold.

  “Five minutes to midnight,” I announce as we head up to the second floor. “Let’s get a move on or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Oh!” Chance stumbles, his side of the cooler going down. “My legs. My poor, poor legs. I don’t think I can walk another step. All that rowing has crippled me.” He sinks to the floor, the back of a hand pressed to his forehead.

  I laugh and set my end down, too. “Come on. Seriously. We only have a few minutes.”

  Chance’s expression sobers. “Until what?”

  “Until midnight, genius.”

  “And at midnight, what’s the ritual? You’re supposed to kiss the person you want to be with the next year or something?” He studies me, and I can’t make my voice cooperate, so I only stare back. Chance hmms. “In that case…I’m right where I want to be.”

  I’m not laughing anymore. In fact, every one of my gut instincts is telling me I ought to be dashing up those stairs right now, cooler be damned. I should be there with Rachael.

  So why am I still standing here, staring at him dumbly like I have no idea what he’s talking about? Like we haven’t been dancing around something neither of us has named ever since we came back into each other’s lives?

  No, longer than that. Even back when we were kids. When he kissed me. When he slept in my bed and I’d wake up to his hand on my chest, his head on my shoulder. On Christmas, when his lips brushed my jaw in that little intimate way, like it was a secret just for us.

  My throat is dry. This big, empty, decaying room feels too small for the two of us and everything we have not said or done.

  “We should go…”

  Chance gets to his feet and steps not over the cooler, but onto it, putting him several inches taller than me. My eyes are level with his chest. His hands brace against my shoulders. This is something I need to run from. And I can’t. I can’t, I can’t.

  Chance asks, “What time is it?”

  It takes everything for me to pull out my phone so we can both see the screen. It’s 11:59. Chance nods.

  “Acceptable,” he says, prodding my face to look up at him.

  Then he kisses me.

  I saw it coming. I knew it would happen. Yet I’m stunned into silence, into stillness, with any capability I ever had of rational thought right out the door. His mouth is soft and his lips are salty from the ocean air, and even if they’re cold, his tongue is warm, and a hundred thousand memories of summers long past come rushing back all at once.

  Chance, with a broken arm, trying to wade around in the creek while keeping his cast above water, until I scooped h
im up and let him ride on my shoulders.

  The three of us dressing up, makeup and all, to perform plays for Dad.

  Lying out beneath the stars while Chance recites stories we’ve heard a hundred times and still love.

  Chance, going on about how his parents are rich, how they love him, how he has plans to attend a fancy college in Greece—or London, or Rome, or Japan—after high school.

  Chance, pointing out the constellation of Draco and telling me, Dragons don’t kidnap princesses or set fire to villages. They’re noble. Honorable. Worshipped, in many countries. Dragons protect.

  I think of the constellation on his back while my hand touches it through his shirt, and I wonder if he had that in mind when he got it. Dragons protect. Something secret and hidden to protect him when he needed it most, because nothing else could.

  Then I hear something overhead. A laugh. A shout. Whooping and hollering and Happy New Year and I remember the world isn’t about Chance and me. There’s a girl upstairs I should be kissing at midnight. Not this boy, who keeps his secrets locked away so carefully, who lies about stupid, little things just because he can, and who breaks my heart every time he does.

  I jerk away, not knowing if I’m more horrified with him for kissing me, or me for kissing back, even if only for a moment.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” I manage, taking two, three, four steps away. “Why did you… I have a girlfriend.”

  Chance’s expression darkens. “Oh, please.”

  “I do.” My voice cracks.

  “You aren’t in love with her.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  He crosses his arms and hops off the cooler. “Are you?”

  I open my mouth. Close it again. Rachael is someone I care about. Someone I’d never want to hurt. On Christmas, it dawned on me just how badly my lack of trying had been hurting her, so I was putting forth the effort. Trying to reconnect. Trying to rediscover what it was that made me decide I wanted to date Rachael to begin with.