“Yes, well, give Star those clippers. She needs them.”
Lucy turned, and Jess watched her make her way downstairs, grasping the railing as she navigated each step.
The bathroom door creaked open, and Star poked her head out. Her hair wasn’t dripping all over the place anymore, but it looked as tangled as a bird’s nest. Star raised her eyebrows when she spied the clippers and, without a word, grabbed them out of Jess’s hand and closed the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
STAR
Black hair filled the bathroom trash can. It looked like a small animal had crawled in and died. She studied her reflection in the mirror, running her hand along the side of her head. A girl who worked at the chocolate shop had a hairstyle like this, shaved on one side and long on the other.
It had taken forever to scrub the grime from her skin and under her nails, but based on how clean the girl in the mirror looked, it had been worth it. Star frowned at her reflection. It was familiar to her in a way that made her dig the jagged tips of her fingernails into her palms.
She looked like her father. Not in her features so much, although she thought she had his nose. Maybe. The details had blurred over the years. It was in the way her flesh stretched thin across jutting cheekbones, her eyes dull, the skin below bruised from lack of sleep. That’s how she remembered her father. Tired and high.
Her eyes burned. The first time her dad had overdosed, she was seven years old. It was a memory that hadn’t faded with time, no matter how much she wished it would. If she turned around, she was sure he’d be sprawled across the floor of this bathroom, his vomit squished beneath his pale cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ward off the memory, but it bloomed anyway, staining her mind with images she’d rather forget. When she couldn’t wake him, she had knocked on Mr. Ahmed’s door, and he had sat with her in the hallway, his long legs folded under him like a giraffe, until the paramedics arrived. He spoke very little, but his stoic presence was a comfort anyway, even if Star remembered her insides shaking so bad she couldn’t speak.
At the hospital, Star sat by her father’s bed, where he lay hooked up to machines and tubes, his eyes closed. She sat in a plastic chair on the other side of the room because she didn’t want to go near him. The only shoes she had at the time were a pink Dora the Explorer pair. They were so dirty that they looked brown against the gleaming linoleum. It made Star’s face get hot. While the machines beeped and squawked, she licked her finger and tried to clean a black stain off the white rubber. It was the first time she remembered feeling embarrassed.
Later, a nurse moved her to a waiting area and sat her in a chair across from a uniformed policeman. This nice officer has offered to sit with you until social services gets here.
The policeman’s eyes crinkled with his smile. I heard you had a rough morning, kid, he said, and when he moved, Star noticed how his face scrunched up like it hurt.
Star’s father didn’t have nice words to say about police officers, so Star knew to stay silent. Shy? the officer said. I understand. You’re smart to be wary of strangers. But see here—he pointed to his badge, a gold five-pointed star pinned to his dark-green shirt—this means I’m one of the good guys. He shifted in his seat and groaned.
Star knew the sound of pain. Are you hurt?
He smiled. That’s why I’m here, kid, but it’s nothing the doctors can’t fix. Like your dad too. I heard them say he’s going to be okay.
Star shrugged, and her eyes trailed along the lines in his badge, following them up and to each point of the star.
Do you like my badge?
It’s a star.
He chuckled. Why, yes, it sure is.
She avoided looking him directly in the eyes, but his voice was kind and sad, and it made her want to give him something. My name is Star, she offered.
You certainly don’t meet many Stars. From the corner of her eye, she saw him hold out his hand. My name is Ben.
Her dad did get better that time, and social services didn’t take her away from him. Thinking back to everything that had happened afterward, Star wished they had. It might have made all the difference.
She ran the cold water, splashed it across her face, and rubbed it vigorously with a towel, turning her cheeks pink. The last time she’d seen her reflection had been earlier that winter, when below-zero temps had forced her to sleep in a shelter. Come to think of it, that might have been the last time she’d showered too. She ran her hand up the soft skin of her arm, inhaled soapy perfume, and smiled. It felt good to be clean.
The sour smell of old cheese rose from the pile of her clothes. She glanced at the rags and scrunched up her nose. Jess was right—she did stink. She considered her choices. She didn’t want to put those disgusting rags back on, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to leave the bathroom wearing only a towel. The bathroom door rattled softly. Star wrapped the towel tighter. Her heart beat fast against her chest. She’d locked the door, but still.
A square yellow note lay on the floor, the edge of it wet.
You can keep the dress, it read.
“What dress?” she wondered aloud, and flicked the paper over to find more writing.
The one hanging on the outside of this door.
Star hesitated. What did she know about Lucy? Nothing, except that she lived in this tiny mountain town in a big, weird house. She thought of the note that Jess had given her. Lucy knew things about her. How? And what about Jess? At first Star had thought she was Lucy’s granddaughter, but she acted more like a housekeeper. Jess didn’t seem to fit into Pine Lake any more than Star.
A yellow dress hung from the crystal doorknob with a plastic bag looped around the hanger, and a pair of black Doc Martens sat on the floor. She reached through the crack and grabbed them before quickly locking the door. Another note had been stapled to the bag.
Leave your clothes outside the bathroom.
Jess will wash them for you.
Star stared at the pile of rags. What was the worst that could happen? If Jess stole her clothes, Star could always trade the dress in for something better at a secondhand shop. She shrugged, kicked her clothes into the hallway, and placed Lucy’s note on top of them.
Her plan was to get dressed and eat as much food as they offered. Maybe she’d stay for one night. Treat Lucy, Jess, and Pine Lake like nothing more than an overnight shelter. She’d seen a dozen or so expensive-looking antiques since she entered the house. She could swipe one or two—the old lady would never notice. That would more than make up for the money that Shred had stolen.
A packet of new underwear and a sports bra lay inside the bag, along with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss. Lucy had been confident she’d accept her invitation. She ran her finger over the dress’s stiff material. Star hadn’t had a new dress since she was five and it was Easter. But that one had bows and tulle in spring shades of pink and green, and her mother had worn one with colors that matched. She remembered because she’d eaten a chocolate bunny from her basket and accidentally smeared chocolate across the skirt. Instead of getting angry with her, Star’s mother had laughed and wiped the brown smudge off as best she could, then hugged Star and said, Well, the silly bunny should have left a napkin too.
Star blinked hard to keep her eyes dry and pulled the dress from Lucy over her head. Unlike her Easter dress, this one was simple and unadorned. She zipped up the side—a perfect fit. Star picked up the rock she’d left resting on the bathroom sink along with the note from Lucy and slid them both into her sock. The rock was cool and hard, but it was the only thing that felt familiar.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JESS
Jess poured the last of the tea into Lucy’s cup and watched as she took a careful sip. “Would you like me to make a fresh pot?” she said, reaching for the cup.
“This is fine.” Lucy held firm to her cup, shaking her head. “The girl will be down soon anyway.”
“Star.”
“That’s right.” Lucy smiled. “Star. Wh
at a beautiful name.”
“It’s probably a street name,” Jess explained.
“Still beautiful.” Lucy stared at Jess over the rim of her cup, her eyebrows raised.
Star entered the room, and Jess gasped, spilling her cold tea.
“Well, well,” Lucy murmured.
Jess blotted her jeans with a cloth napkin, trying to hide her surprise at Star’s dramatic transformation. Her overpowering cloud of black hair was gone, buzzed from the sides of her head until the soft pink of her scalp lay visible beneath the short black strands. She had left the top longer and wore it swept over to the left, where the tips grazed the top of her ear. She wore a mustard-yellow seventies-style minidress, oddly fresh alongside her severe haircut. Teen punk glam. Jess softened. Without the rags and all that hair, Star looked even smaller than before.
But the girl had not moved since entering the room, balancing on the balls of her feet as if prepared to turn and flee at any moment. She held her chin high. “The dress was on the door,” she said.
“It looks very nice on you.” Lucy nodded her approval. “Sit down.”
Star tiptoed to the chair opposite Jess and Lucy, shoving her hands under her thighs. Her feet barely touched the ground.
Tears pricked Jess’s eyes. The girl unearthed dark memories.
“You have no family, is that right?” Lucy asked, staring hard at the girl like she was solving one of her crossword puzzles. “All alone. An orphan. Little Orphan Star.”
“Lucy,” Jess said quietly, wondering at the woman’s taunting words.
Star knitted her eyebrows together. “What of it?” she said.
Jess stared at her hands. Star looked vulnerable and young, but with a membrane of pure toughness. Like Chance. Jess had loved him with her whole being, but she hadn’t always been able to provide for him the way he deserved. They’d lived day to day, and there had been times when that meant rice and beans for every meal or sleeping in two pairs of socks and a winter coat because she couldn’t afford the heating bill. But Chance had never complained. Her throat closed, and she pushed to her feet. She shouldn’t leave, not now, but she had to get away. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, and hurried past Star’s chair. “I have to go . . .” The room blurred, and she touched the wall with her hands to steady herself, feeling their eyes follow her to the hall.
“It’s not a street name.”
Jess halted, her head hanging low, eyes squeezed shut. Her wrist ached from an itching so intense she wanted to rip her skin off, and a deep tiredness had seeped into her bones. “What did you say?”
“I said it’s not a street name. It was my mother’s name for me. She said I was her wish.”
CHAPTER NINE
STAR
After Jess disappeared, Star turned around to find Lucy watching her. She stuck a thumb toward the ceiling. “She do that often?”
Lucy sat straight up in her seat, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded in her lap, and stared at her with those eyes. It made the skin on the back of Star’s neck prickle, and she doubted her intention to stay even one night with this woman. She turned her head to look out the window. It was early afternoon, probably still plenty of time to catch the evening 401.
“Your note.” Star swallowed hard. “How do you know about my friend?”
Lucy raised her eyebrows, shook her head, then picked up a folded newspaper. “A Japanese art form.” She looked expectantly at Star.
“What are you talking about?” The glimmer of hope she’d had this morning when she jumped on the bus, the faint belief that maybe something could go right for a change, grew cold. There was nothing for her here but a demented old woman.
“Six letters, dear.” Lucy held out the paper, pointed to a row of boxes. A crossword puzzle.
Star shook her head. “I-I . . .” Her bottom lip trembled, and she felt her eyes get wet. No, no, no. She would not cry. She pressed her lips together, waited for the moment to pass, then stood straight and crossed her arms. “You know about the accident?”
Lucy shook her head.
“Then how do you—” Star’s voice faltered, and she cleared her throat. “What do you want?”
Lucy sat back in her chair, resting her hands on the padded armrests. “Those are excellent questions, Star.”
She waited for her to continue, but Lucy tilted her head and gazed intently over Star’s shoulder. Her scalp tingled the way it might when someone stood just behind her. “Then why aren’t you answering me?”
Lucy smiled, piling the loose skin of her cheeks into soft folds around her mouth. “Give me time, girl. I don’t always understand what they want at first.”
Cool air brushed across her neck. She shivered. “What who wants?”
Lucy waved a hand in the air. “Never mind that for now. But you can trust me, Star.”
She snorted. “You want me to trust you? Then tell me why you want me to stay here. And how you know all those things about me. Tell me something.”
Lucy nodded. “I can’t tell you much yet, but I do know that the pieces are finally coming together, and I can promise you that it will all make sense in time.” Without another word, she rose from the couch and swept out of the room, her black skirts swinging, leaving Star to ponder her cryptic words.
She should have left right then. Grabbed a handful of jewelry and sprinted for the bus stop. But she didn’t. She sat as though glued to the chair, her stomach twisted into knots.
Lucy returned carrying a small plate crowded with buttered toast, fresh strawberries, and a ramekin of yogurt. She set it on an oval table beside Star, along with a cup filled to the brim with amber liquid. “Do you like tea?” Lucy said.
Star nodded and stared at the food. It looked too fresh, too clean—the butter glistening a creamy yellow, the strawberries impossibly red and plump. Her mouth watered, and her stomach growled. She wanted to hold the plate above her head and let the food fall into her mouth all at once. Instead, she forced her fingers to pick up a single piece of toast, and she took a small bite.
Lucy watched, her eyes bright with amusement.
Star ate until her plate was empty of everything but the leafy part of the strawberries. “What’s wrong with Jess?” she asked at last.
Lucy hummed softly to herself.
“Lucy?”
“Yes?”
“About Jess? She ran out of here like she was mad or something. What’s wrong with her?”
“I hardly know her.” Lucy glanced past her into the hallway where Jess had been a few minutes ago. “But she lost someone too.” She frowned.
A small, dark figure darted past the entrance to the sitting room, making Star cry out in surprise. Was there another kid living here? A puff of icy air tickled the exposed skin of her neck. Maybe Lucy was some kind of nut who collected street kids. Her full belly turned suddenly nauseated.
Lucy’s shocking blue eyes widened. “You too,” she said so quietly Star almost didn’t hear her.
“Me what?”
“So angry.” Lucy tapped her chin. “But with whom?”
Star’s heart hammered in her chest, and she bolted to her feet. She needed to get out of here. “Listen, lady, I don’t think—”
From somewhere above her head came a loud crash that shook the lights on the walls, and Lucy was halfway up the stairs before Star could utter another word.
CHAPTER TEN
JESS
Their voices drifted up the stairs and into her room, her only sanctuary here. She closed the door to shut them out and sat on the edge of the bed, her arms folded across her stomach, her eyes closed tight.
But the room felt stuffy and hot, and her wrist had begun to throb with the near-constant itching. She traced the scars with her finger and felt shame burn her skin.
It was at her lowest point, a year after Chance died, when she couldn’t find the answers to the questions that plagued her or stop the nightmares that woke her every single night. Why did Chance leave the apartment? What was he doi
ng outside on a night thick with snow and slush, the streets wet and slippery, in nothing but his pajamas with the red and blue and yellow Transformers? Too many unanswered questions except for one: At a moment when her son needed her the most, why wasn’t Jess there? And then he was gone, and the absence of him and her failure to protect him were simply too much.
When she’d noticed the knife sitting out on the cutting board, she’d seen a way out, and then she was sawing at her wrist, tears streaming down her face as she cried and screamed and the blood snaked hot down her fingers until everything went black.
She woke up in the hospital, her wrist bandaged in white, to find her mother sitting beside the bed in a yellow chair that wobbled and squeaked when she shifted forward in her seat. It had been years since she’d last seen Joann, first because her mother wanted nothing to do with Jess and her mistake and then because Jess wanted nothing to do with the woman who’d abandoned her and her son.
Why, Jess? Her mother had coughed, a phlegmy, hoarse sound that filled Jess’s mouth with the sour taste of cigarette smoke.
Leave. Jess turned her head to the wall, pulling the blanket tight around her body like a shield.
I tried to be part of your lives, Jess, but you kept me out. Maybe if you’d let me into Chance’s life, maybe none of this would have happened.
Jess’s stomach burned with a rage that curled her fingers into claws. She yanked her body around and for the first time looked at her mother. Hair more gray than brown, eyes sunken into dark circles, her thin lips a straight line. Jess’s body vibrated with a festering rage. She threw the covers to the floor and stood, not bothered by the cotton edge of her hospital gown flapping against the backs of her thighs. She lifted one arm and pointed to the door. Get out.
Her mother hugged her bag to her chest, pursed her mouth. You’re a suicide risk, Jess. You need me now. They say you can’t be trusted to be alone.
All these years later, Jess could still feel the way her anger had crawled just under her skin, biting at her until she was screaming in a voice that grew higher in pitch and made her eardrums tingle. Get out, get out, get out! Her screams sent two nurses rushing through the door, hands stretched in front of them like they intended to tackle her. Joann backed out of the room, and suddenly Jess’s bones felt too heavy for her body and she crumpled to the bed, curled into a tight ball, and closed her eyes. It was the last time she saw her mother.
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