Beyond Falling Stars (Starlight Saga Book 3)

by Sherry Soule

Mr. Jackson scratches his head. “I inspected each one this morning and they all seemed fine.”

  “It’s not your fault.” I spot a girl peeking around the side of the house near the garden. By the time I stand, she’s gone. “Did anyone else see her?” I repeatedly jab a finger at the house. “It was Neela!”

  The Vacation Sabotager strikes again!

  Hayden jumps to his feet. “What?”

  “She must have teleported here and messed with the Water-Glider,” I say.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Tanisha says. “Why would she do that?”

  I whirl on her. “Because all of Hayden’s ex-girlfriends are jealous psychos.”

  “Not everyone on the planet is out to get you, Sloane,” Tanisha says. “You’re being paranoid.”

  My chest heaves. “Not everything is cute kittens and rainbow-farting unicorns, either.”

  “Sloane, chill!” Tanisha lifts her hands. “Don’t take it out on me.”

  “Sorry, but I still don’t trust you,” I say. “Maybe you and Neela are plotting against me.”

  “Are you serious? Come on, I don’t know how many more times I can say I’m sorry. And you’ve got no proof Neela did anything.”

  She does have a point.

  “Why are you defending Neela?” Viola demands, standing beside me. “Whose side are you even on?”

  Zach steps closer to us. “Hold up, ladies. Let’s not get into a catfight over a Water-Glider going kaput. Everyone needs to take it down a notch.”

  Each of us seems to release a held breath and somewhat relax. Tanisha crosses her arms and takes a step closer to her parents. Jonah stands and leans into my side.

  “That’s better,” Zach says. “Let’s all just settle down.”

  “We can either call a truce, or I’m done,” Viola says. “And we part ways for the rest of the vacation. So what’s it gonna be, Tanisha?”

  Mr. Jackson clears his throat. “We’ll let you kids sort this out.” He places a hand on his wife’s back and they walk to the house.

  Tanisha digs her toes into the sand, her skinny legs sticking out from under her booty-shorts. “Truce, I guess.”

  “I’ll agree to a ceasefire,” I say, and then Tanisha and I awkwardly hug.

  Hayden gives me a quick peck on the lips. “Let’s get you home.”

  “As in Earth?” I ask hopefully.

  “Not quite yet, Peaches.”

  I hang my head. “Darn.”

  “In the meantime, let’s keep you alive long enough for the return trip,” Hayden says. “And dinner with my parents.”

  I pull him away from the others and lower my voice. “I think Neela tampered with my Water-Glider because I could’ve sworn I saw her here.”

  “Don’t worry. If it was her, I’ll protect you from big, bad Neela.”

  I shove his shoulder. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Scout’s honor,” Hayden says, crossing his heart.

  Shaking my head, I laugh. “When were you ever a scout?”

  “Hypothetically, never. But it’s never too late to join.”

  Sweat prickles under my arms. “So, dinner? With your parents?”

  “It’ll let them see firsthand how committed we are to each other.”

  “About that…” My voice hikes up an octave. “After what happened today, I may just lay low for awhile.”

  Hayden’s not a magnet for trouble like me. Nobody calls him Cyclone Sloane. Everywhere I go, disaster and chaos seem to follow, even on a distant planet. Hayden and I have a complicated love-story riddled with obstacles and enemies galore. And his parents are not my biggest fans.

  “Please do this for me.”

  “Fine.” I sigh. “I’ve survived worst…so dinner it is.”

  FRIGHT NIGHT BABBLE

  Greetings, Fellow Horrorphilas!

  Certain movie clichés make me want to throw Twinkies at the screen! Like, why are horror films always set in creepy locations like abandoned mental hospitals or old mansions?

  We need more locales that are truly frightening, like a high school. Whether the characters are stalked by gruesome specters in the hallways, or winning prom queen and getting drenched in pig’s blood, or being locked in the boiler room, high school can be a scary place.

  I do love that Canadian flick Ginger Snaps, where two teen sisters are obsessed with death and living in suburbia hell. But just once, I want to watch a scary movie that takes place inside a Target. For example, it’s a dark and stormy night after closing…

  “Clean up on aisle thirteen, please!” a voice says, crackling over the loudspeaker.

  A person in a red polo lifts his walkie-talkie and says slowly, “But, sir, there is no aisle thirteen.”

  Cue the dramatic music.

  Peace, love, and horror flicks,

  Sloane

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Thank you for having me over for dinner, Mrs. Lancaster,” I say, offering my hand to Hayden’s uptight mother.

  She stares at me standing in the doorway, her gaze raking over my feminine and fearless outfit: a black corset to suck in my flab, with an asymmetric skirt, and thigh-high platform boots. My purple hair is loose and my makeup is all smoky eyes and glossy lipstick.

  Mrs. Lancaster forces a tight-lipped smile as she shakes my hand, her thin gold bracelet sliding along her wrist. “Please come in.” She steps aside and I move past her into the house. “And we didn’t have much choice since Hayden practically arm wrestled me into inviting you.”

  “Oh. Well, I wasn’t too keen on this dinner myself, but I think it’s time we buried the hatchet.”

  Shutting the door, she raises an eyebrow, and I internally cringe. Maybe not the best choice of words since she seems to want to bury that hatchet in my skull.

  “My son can’t stop talking about you.” Mrs. Lancaster straightens the hem of the pink cashmere sweater she’s wearing with white rayon slacks and Prada heels so high they should be illegal. “Except I already know what type of gold-digging girl—”

  “Hey, Sloane, you made it.” Zach walks into the foyer, wearing dark wash jeans, a black button-down, and leather jacket. “You ready to face the death squad?” He laughs, and his mother gives him a stern look.

  “Thanks for the rescue,” I mumble. “Where’s Hayden?”

  “Upstairs getting pretty. He sent me to play bodyguard.”

  Mrs. Lancaster meanders to a bar and pours herself a drink, which I’m guessing is alcohol by the way she takes a long gulp.

  Unlike my own home, this place is all formal, cold elegance. High ceilings, elaborate moldings, and oversized windows with expansive views of the majestic ocean. The decor is ornate reds and golds, and the stone floors gleam, sprinkled with rugs and a profusion of fancy, stiff-looking furniture.

  “Where’s Delta?” I ask.

  “She’s at the Zeta library,” Zach replies.

  “Hello, Sloane.” Mr. Lancaster saunters into the room, taking a sip from a glass filled with amber liquid. With his dark hair and athletic build, he could be Zach’s twin, except he’s dressed in a suit and tie. “Glad you could join us this evening.”

  “It’s my pleasure, sir,” I say.

  Mr. Lancaster lifts his glass in acknowledgment and takes another sip before walking to the bar to refresh his drink and pour his wife another.

  Time to jumpstart: Operation Win-Over-the-Lancasters.

  I nudge Zach. “Is your mom ever gonna like me? Is she always so chilly?”

  “Just sing a chorus of Ice, Ice, Baby.” Zach rocks on his heels.

  “Awesome,” I say. “You staying for dinner?”

  “As much fun as that’s gonna be, I already have plans,” he says, lowering his voice so only I can hear him. “I’m taking Viola for a romantic boat ride at sunset.”

  “You two are really digging each other, huh?” I whisper.

  “Yup. She’s a…” Zach’s cheeks flush pink. “Vi’s an amazing girl.”

  “That she is,” I agree. “You’d bette
r treat her right, Zachary Lancaster.”

  “No worries there.”

  Hayden teleports in a brilliant radiance of bluish light, like an aura surrounding his body that quickly fades. He’s wearing a dark blue short-sleeved, button-up shirt revealing his extremely muscular arms, and black jeans. His angular features are pinched as he glances over at his parents, then faces Zach and me. “You made it.”

  “And you’re late,” I say.

  “Well, I’m here now and hopefully my parents haven’t embarrassed me too much.”

  “Hate to miss all the fun, but I got a date.” Zach backs up. “Good luck.” He teleports out of the room.

  “This is a bad idea,” I grumble. “Is it too late to slip out the door?”

  Hayden pats me on the back. “Suck it up. It’s only one night.”

  “Sloane.” Mr. Lancaster mixes a drink with weird blue liquid. “How are you enjoying Zoltar?”

  “The city’s cool and interesting,” I say, and nervously ramble on, “And, um, your house is very clean. I’ve never seen such a sanitary room before.”

  “I appreciate the compliment,” Mrs. Lancaster says caustically. “So few people bother to notice the cleanliness of our home anymore.”

  “Drinks?” Mr. Lancaster asks from the bar.

  “Sure,” Hayden says with a wink. “Sloane will have a cosmopolitan.”

  My eyes widen. “Cosmo? What?”

  “Gray Goose vodka, right?” Hayden has a devious twinkle in his eye.

  “No, no, I don’t want any cocktails! I don’t even drink alcohol,” I say quickly. “Okay, well, I did have beer the night of the senior prom, but I got sick and I vowed to never drink again. I’ll just have water or soda, please.”

  “Relax.” Mrs. Lancaster takes another long drink. “My son has an odd sense of humor.”

  Mr. Lancaster hands me a glass of water, then turns to his son. “Hayden, what can I get you?”

  “Martini. Shaken, not stirred,” Hayden says deadpan.

  “You’re not funny,” Mr. Lancaster says. “You can have soda.”

  “But not shaken,” Hayden says, smiling. “We don’t want to it to spill and dirty our clean house.”

  I elbow Hayden in the ribs and whisper, “I hate you.”

  Laughing, Hayden ushers me into the dining room. “Let’s eat.”

  He pulls out a chair for me at a long table in a spacious chamber with one wall made entirely of glass and the view of the ocean is breathtaking. The table is set with fancy china and crystal glasses, and three candelabras casting a warm glow over everything. The Lancasters enter the room with their drinks and take seats at each end of the table in swanky chairs fit for the royal family.

  A door opens, which must be the kitchen, emitting delicious aromas. A Zeta man walks out and announces, “Dinner is served.”

  I smile at Mrs. Lancaster and say, “Something smells delicious. You must’ve spent all day in the kitchen. My mom hardly ever cooks—”

  “I don’t have time to prepare meals,” she replies, her eyes scanning over my plump figure. “I assume you do the cooking and all the eating?”

  “Mother!” Hayden warns, then turns to his dad. “Please get her to play nice. You promised.”

  Mr. Lancaster casts a weary glance at his wife. “Yes, we did. But please don’t raise your voice to your mother.”

  A Zeta woman and man enter the room, placing steaming dishes on the table in front of us.

  The Zeta female catches my eye. “Tonight we are serving smoked Arethusan Snorkelfish, Gorellian Bog-Fungus, and Recti bread.” She spins on her heel and returns to the kitchen.

  The snorkelfish resembles honeyed ham, the fresh baked bread has a buttery scent, and the Bog-Fungus looks similar to steamed vegetables.

  “Sloane,” Mr. Lancaster says. “Are you religious?”

  “Am I w-what?” My left leg starts jiggling.

  “Religious,” Mrs. Lancaster says, “as in, spiritual.”

  Wow, way to put me on the spot. On the nervous energy scale, I’m at a gazillion out of ten.

  “Um, yeah,” I say. “I believe in God and the power of attraction. You know, how what you put out into the universe you get back? Like karma.”

  Mr. Lancaster shakes his head. “I was going to ask you to say grace, but—”

  “Oh! I can do that,” I say.

  Everyone bows their head.

  I break out in a sweat, fidgeting with my napkin under the table. “Um, I just wanna start off by thanking God for our meal, and space travel and our wicked cool Zeta hosts. Oh, and thank you Father, baby Jesus, and the Holy Ghost, ’cause whoever eats fastest gets the most. And, um, I humbly request you perform a miracle and remove all calories from dessert if you have a quick moment. Amen.”

  Mr. Lancaster folds his napkin. “Well. That was certainly…interesting.”

  I stab my fork into the Bog-Fungus and take a bite. The veggies taste like a mix of Brussels sprouts and zucchini. Dinner is a gourmet delight, and I dig in with enthusiasm.

  “So, Sloane,” Mr. Lancaster says. “What’re your plans after graduation?”

  I wipe my mouth with a linen napkin. “Attending film school. I, uh, want to write screenplays.”

  Mrs. Lancaster sneers. “That’s a tough business. I sensed you were a dreamer.”

  Ouch. She says dreamer in a way that sounds more like loser.

  Hayden wears a proud smile. “Sloane has a column in the school’s online newspaper and it’s really funny. She’s even got a big following.”

  “I never understood social media,” Mrs. Lancaster says glibly. The woman hardly eats a bite, but somehow her drink never seems to be empty. “Real face-to-face interaction is much more pleasant than all this online communication. I read a study that social media is more addictive than cigarettes or alcohol nowadays. Those two compulsions, along with cocaine, are the most severe addictions humans have to deal with. It’s what ruined poor Lindsay Lohan’s career.”

  I lean close to Hayden and whisper, “Your mom’s a Lohan fan?”

  He shrugs. “It appears so.”

  “Sloane, where are you planning to go to college?” Mr. Lancaster asks. “To learn to write these screenplays.”

  “In Los Angeles, sir.”

  “Geez,” Hayden says. “Don’t turn this into an interrogation. You could try asking Sloane what her favorite movie or book is first.”

  “We are just attempting to get to know your friend, son.” Mr. Lancaster sets his fork on his plate. “What is your GPA?”

  Hayden huffs. “Father, please don’t cross-examine my girlfriend.”

  Mr. Lancaster sits back. “It’s a simple question. What type of grades do you get, young lady?”

  “Well, I’m not on the honor roll or go to a special school for brainiacs like my brother, but I get decent grades.”

  “Yes, but do you get A’s and B’s?” Mr. Lancaster presses.

  “Mostly B’s, and I am taking one AP honors class,” I say. “I’m not great with science. I couldn’t dissect a frog in biology.”

  “Did you know,” Mrs. Lancaster says, “that Hayden was accepted at Harvard? And Yale? We’re hoping he goes into law like his father and attends an Ivy League.”

  “Law school, huh?” I fidget with my napkin. “Did you hear Mattel released a new doll called Divorced Barbie,” I say with a giggle. “She comes with half of Ken’s property and even gets alimony.”

  I wait for a smile. Even a chuckle from his parents. Only Hayden laughs at my joke.

  Wow, tough crowd.

  “Hayden’s very ambitious and I’m extra proud of him,” I say to cover up my lame, apparently unfunny joke. “As I assume you are by telling me this…”

  “Extremely proud,” Mrs. Lancaster says. “Hayden’s special.”

  “So is Sloane,” Hayden says. “She’s important to me, but I didn’t bring her here to have you attack her, Mother.”

  “I will not tolerate that disrespectful tone in my house,” Mr. L
ancaster says.

  “We can’t help it if this family has standards.” Mrs. Lancaster tosses her napkin onto the barely touched plate. “We are homo-superior, and we want the best for our children. We have the bloodlines to consider, Hayden. You can’t dilute it by giving us grandchildren with inferior genes.”

  My stomach leaps into my throat. “Grandchildren?” I gulp. “No one’s having any babies!”

  Hayden huffs. “Mother, stop it.”

  This dinner conversation is going downhill faster than a kid on a bicycle without brakes. Hanging my head to hide my red cheeks, I start eating again, keeping my eyes trained on my plate and wishing this night would end. My chest hollows out. Coming here was a mistake.

  “I never realized how spoiled you were, Hayden.” Mrs. Lancaster sips her wine. “We indulged you boys once too often and now we’re paying the price with this…this girl.”

  Hayden slams his fist on the table, rattling the china and glasses. “Either be civil to my girlfriend, or we’re leaving.”

  I flinch and lift my head, my body temperature spiking.

  His mother blinks. “But we haven’t had dessert yet.”

  A Zeta woman appears, carrying a bowl and scoops the delicacy within it onto each plate. I accept a big glop of what looks like vanilla bean custard and each bite is like heaven in my mouth.

  Slumping in my seat, I pat my belly. My stomach so full I might need a forklift to get me out of this chair.

  “Shall we adjourn?” Mr. Lancaster asks. “Unless Sloane wants to lick her plate clean.”

  Mrs. Lancaster lets out a soft laugh. Guess she only enjoys jokes at my expense.

  “You guys promised to behave,” Hayden scolds, as if he’s the parent and they’re the naughty children.

  “Um, thank you,” I say. “Everything was delicious.”

  “Excuse me.” Mrs. Lancaster scoots back her chair and rushes into the next room. k`1`2

  “I’ll be right back.” Hayden follows his mother.

  Mr. Lancaster and I sit there awkwardly.

  “Do you smoke cigars?” Mr. Lancaster asks.

  The random question startles me. “Um, no, sir. I recently quit. Too expensive and I hear it causes lung cancer.”

  “I see…” Mr. Lancaster gives me a side look, and I catch the hint of a smile, the faintest glimmer in his eyes, just enough to make me think he finds me amusing. But it immediately disappears, his face rearranged to the usual blank expression. “Then I won’t ask you to join me.” He walks out a door into the backyard to smoke.