by Mia Belle
“Maybe you should contact him.”
“I’ll contact him in the grave.”
“Carter, we’re drowning.”
“No way in hell am I asking him for a paddle.”
“Maybe he’ll help. Maybe if he finds out how we barely have enough money for food—”
“Why the hell would he care? He was barely around when Kevin was a baby and he bailed when Mackenzie was born.”
“I know,” she whispers.
“I’ll figure it out.” I haul myself off my chair. “I’ll figure something out.”
She stands, too. “Can you ask your boss for a raise?”
I try to keep a straight face. If Peyton knew I was making my money illegally, I know she wouldn’t sleep at night. Well, it’s not illegal, technically. Okay, maybe it is. I used a fake ID when I applied for the piano job at a nightclub, pretending I was twenty-one. I’m pretty sure the woman running the club knows it was a fake. But she hasn’t fired me yet. Every day I worry she will. But maybe that’s why she’s keeping me, because she knows she can pay me crap and I won’t fight back. But where else can I get a job at night doing something I love? And yeah, I need to play piano or I’ll lose my mind.
“Maybe I can try to find something…”
“You’re thirteen,” I say.
“I can babysit.”
“You need to be here with the kids.”
“And you need to focus on your piano.”
“Pey—”
“It’s not right. You can be someone one day, Carter. You can be somebody. But not if you continue slaving away at this house.”
I rub my forehead. “They’re our siblings. If we don’t take care of them, we’ll be no better than Dad.” I move to the sink. “Get ready for school. I’ll clean up.”
I feel her watching me as I rinse off the dishes. I’m not sure how much she remembers, but I remember the good old days, when Dad actually cared about us and Mom wasn’t a single mother working like crazy to support us. He would take us every Sunday morning for banana splits and then pretend he was too full so I could finish off his cherry. Because there’s nothing like the cherry on top. I remember how he smiled at Mom with loving eyes as she rubbed her belly—gift number three, he called the unborn Hannah. I guess babies number four and five were no longer gifts but burdens.
The floor creaks as Peyton leaves to her room. She is the only one of us who has her own room. I share with Kevin and Mackenzie shares with Hannah. I have no idea what’ll happen to them when I leave for college. Which is probably why I haven’t bothered doing any research on music schools or programs. Because there’s no way in hell I can leave them like this. No way in hell I can make my dreams come true.
Chapter Seven
Jax
I stand in the middle of the hallway like a love-struck fool. Kara is at her locker only ten feet away.
Ten feet away, dude.
Ten feet.
She’s wearing a dark green shirt with a black mini skirt and black leggings. The shirt is lifted just a few centimeters because of her backpack strap, showing off some of that milky white skin. The contrast with her dark hair and pale skin is one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.
My mind wanders to all these fantasies. Of me actually gathering the courage to waltz over confidently, shooting out a hand and asking her to be my girlfriend. And then she’ll fall into my arms and plant a big one on me, and soon we’ll be discussing what house we want to buy and how many kids we want to have and how awesome it’ll be when I design all the costumes for the show she’s starring in—
The bell rings.
Kara shuts her locker and heads off toward her first class.
I hurry after her. “Hey, Kara!”
She turns around, searching the hallway.
I freeze. Her eyes are so beautiful. Like sapphires.
With a shrug, she continues on toward class.
“Wait.” I nearly trip over my feet as I run to block her path, my arm accidentally knocking into her shoulder and sweeping the bag off her arm. “S-sorry,” I sputter. Not sure if I’m out of breath because of the short distance I ran or because of the fact that I’m, like, right in front of her.
She studies me. And that same panicked look she had in the music store conquers her face. Damn. I scared her off that day.
Trying to put on a normal smile and pressing my arms to my sides so she won’t see how shaky I am, I say, “How’s it going?
“Fine.”
I try not to pay attention to the tension in her voice. And in her eyes. Why can’t I be one of those confident guys who act like a normal dude around the girl he’s in love with?
“Cool.” Another large smile that probably makes me look like a clown.
She looks at me for a few seconds. The panic seems to have magnified. She walks past me.
“Wait.” I shoot an arm to her shoulder, which she quickly shrugs away. Once again pretending that it doesn’t hurt, I start rambling, “So listen, it’s really just a formality, but the role is totally yours. I mean, of course it would be yours. Who else’s would it be?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The audition. Miss Lewis thinks it’s unfair to just hand it to you, blah, blah. So you need to audition, but it’s totally yours.”
She just stares at me. “I have no idea what you’re taking about.”
My mouth shuts as my eyebrows crease. “Haven’t you seen the posters? Beauty and the Beast?”
She crosses her arms. “I’ve seen the posters.”
“Cool. Stop by the auditorium after school for a quick audition. Like I said, just a formality.”
“I don’t want to be in the musical.”
“I know, it’s so annoying. I mean, you’re thee Kara Starr, but—huh? What did you say?”
She tightens her arms and narrows her eyes. “I said, I don’t want to be in the musical.” She walks away.
I stand there totally lost for a few seconds. Then I chase after her and block her path again. “What do you mean you don’t want to be in the musical?”
Gone is the panic. Oh yeah, it’s definitely gone. She’s pissed now. “Is it so hard to believe that I don’t want to be part of a production?”
“But it’s a musical.”
“Obviously.”
“And you’re Kara Starr.”
“I know who I am.” She pushes past me.
“Wait.” I gently grab hold of her arm. “I thought you’d want to play Belle.”
She yanks her arm away. “You thought wrong.”
“Okay, you’d rather play the Beast?”
She gives me an incredulous look.
“I just don’t get it.”
“There’s nothing to get. I told you I don’t want to be in the musical. It’s not that hard.” She walks off.
I race to block her path again. “But with Kara Starr starring as Belle, we’ll sell out the show.”
She shoots daggers at me. “Did you just hear yourself? That’s all I am to you? A name?” She pushes past me again, this shove much stronger that I lose my footing for a moment.
Shoot.
Crap.
Damn.
“Wait, wait.” I huff as I block her path for the umpteenth time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. You’re not just a name to me. I’m a huge fan. You have no idea how much I loved your riff in—”
“Can you get out of my way?”
I blink at her, trying to shove away the icy feeling in my heart. Swallowing hard, I say, “Please hear me out. The theater department is dying. We hardly have any freshmen or sophomores. My friends and I are like the only sophomores. Most of the good actors graduated already and our productions have been…let’s just say pretty crappy. If we don’t have a knockout performance, the school will stop funding theater club.”
A look of sympathy passes over her face. “I’m sorry. That sucks. But it’s not my problem to fix. I have to get to class.”
“You
’re supposed to get how important this is to us,” I say, exasperated. “Because you’re one of us.”
She shakes her head and marches off.
***
“It makes no sense,” I say as I plop down in front of my computer. Ezra lowers himself on the floor and crosses his legs, like he does every time the three of us hang out at my place. Well, it’s only the two of us now. I miss Carter hanging out here. But he’s busy helping his siblings with homework because his mom started taking more shifts at her job. I’m so jealous of him. I’ve always wanted a little brother or sister.
“What doesn’t make sense?” Ezra asks as he unzips his backpack. “Enlighten the audience.”
“Kara Starr doesn’t want to join our production. Our musical. I once heard her say on a radio interview that she’d die if she couldn’t sing anymore. She loves performing.”
“Maybe not anymore,” Ezra says.
“People don’t just give up on something they love. Something must have happened.” I’m whacking away at the keyboard, visiting all the fan sites dedicated to Kara Starr, Broadway, the shows she’s been in. “Maybe during her last show. She played Chava in Fiddler on the Roof earlier this year, but only for a few weeks. I thought it was weird that she left so early, but I assumed it was because she moved on to another show. But she hasn’t done anything since Fiddler. What could have happened?”
“Jax, this isn’t any of your business,” Ezra says from where he’s memorizing his song for his audition tomorrow. Which is ridiculous because he knows the thing by heart.
“It is my business when it comes to Kara Starr.” I whack at the keys again.
“Give her some privacy. If something happened to her, that’s her business. You wouldn’t want anyone poking their nose into your life. Kara’s a person, Jax, not just a celebrity. You have to stop seeing her that way.”
I spin around to face him. “Are you kidding me right now? You think I see her as some celebrity and not a real person?”
“Well, you are kind of star-struck.”
“It’s more than just star-struck! Do you have any idea how she makes me feel?”
“Well…”
“Do you know what made me fall in love with Broadway?” I demand.
“Kara Starr?” Ezra says.
“Yes, but what was it about her that made me fall in love with theater?”
“Because she’s beautiful?” he asks.
“No! Annie was my first Broadway show. I remember being around seven years old, so excited on the drive to New York City. How amazed I was at seeing Times Square. How I couldn’t stop bouncing as we headed to the theater. My parents surprised me with orchestra seats. I could see the actors so clearly…And then Molly came on stage.”
“Knock knock.” Mom peeks her head in, then enters with a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say as I take the plate. “You’re the best.”
“You really are,” Ezra says with a smile—which is very rare these days. The only time I see this much emotion from him, other than when he’s on stage, is when he’s at my house.
Mom smiles warmly. “My pleasure. Do you boys need anything?”
“No, thanks,” Ezra says. “You’re more than kind.”
With another smile, Mom leaves the room. I’m about to continue venting, when I spot Ezra staring off in the distance as he clutches a cookie. This happens a lot—him getting lost in his memories like that—usually when a happy situation reminds him of a crappier one. Maybe he’s reliving his childhood, when he and his parents weren’t constantly at odds. Maybe once upon a time, he and his mother baked cookies together. Maybe he used to throw a ball around with his dad in the front yard. But things haven’t been the same since both his parents made partner and he fell in love with theater. He doesn’t talk much about them, and his brooding has gotten worse since his grandfather died three weeks ago. Maybe that’s why he likes hanging out at my place—because my parents are awesome. I know I’m one of the lucky ones.
He shifts in his seat, and that’s when I realize I’m staring at him. Clearing my throat, I say, “Anyway…what was I saying?”
He takes a bite of his cookie. “Then Molly came on stage.”
“Right. As soon as she opened her mouth, I was entrapped. Kara wasn’t just in the musical, she was the musical. I’d never seen such passion in someone before. I sat on the edge of my seat until she walked off stage, and I knew in my heart that was I wanted to do. I wanted to be on stage. I wanted to perform. So I joined my mom’s dance studio and she signed me up for voice lessons.”
“And you continued to go to Kara’s performances,” he says with a hint of a smile. “And you fell even more in love with her.”
“Yeah.”
I know he and Carter think I’m a little obsessed with Kara Starr, but I can’t help it. The heart knows what it wants, right? But she always used to be an unattainable dream, which made it easy to drown in my fantasy. Now that she’s in my town—in my school, in my classes—it’s no longer an unattainable dream. But who am I kidding? She looks at me like I’m the devil. Maybe the guys are right and I do need to control myself.
“Look, Jax,” Ezra says as he stashes his papers into his backpack. “If Kara doesn’t want to be in the musical, that’s her decision. You can’t force or guilt her. We’ll have to find a way to sell the tickets without her.”
I puff out my cheeks. “You’re right. Sorry.”
He stands and claps me on the back. “You’re a passionate guy. You’ve got a lot of heart and you care. That’s not a bad thing.”
“Thanks.”
“I gotta get home. Mind if I take some cookies for the road?”
“Sure. See ya tomorrow. Get your lines down, man. Not that you should be worried—you’re definitely going to be cast as the Beast.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Later.”
Once he closes my door, I turn back to the computer and continue searching. It’s not my curiosity fueling me or my worry about the future of theater club. I’m worried about Kara. Something feels off. I’ve seen glimpses of her every year when she came to Skyville for the summer, and she’s always been a bubbly and smiley person. I remember the huge smile she gave my mom five years ago, when eleven-year-old me was too shy to ask her to sign my playbill for Matilda, which she starred in a few months before.
But she’s not that bubbly, smiley person anymore. Something happened to her—I’m sure of it. And I’m worried. Because I love the girl and want her to be happy.
Should I just let it go? I mean, Ezra is right and it’s none of my business.
But I’m not the kind of person to turn a blind eye when someone is sad or upset. So I’ll do whatever I can to make her days at Skyville High easier. Even if she doesn’t join the musical.
Chapter Eight
Kara
The bell rings. Everyone jumps up and packs away their things. I gingerly pull myself out of my desk, not in a hurry to get to lunch like everyone else. I’m actually avoiding it, a little. Yesterday, I ate alone at a table at the back. I hoped someone would join, maybe say hello. But no one did. I know I can’t expect people to make friends with me—I have to be more assertive—but I feel like a total outsider. But I tell myself to give myself a break. It’s only the third day, after all.
I stash my textbook in my locker and make my way to the cafeteria. One of the posters on the bulletin board catches my eyes. Beauty and the Beast written in large, cursive letters with a sign-up sheet underneath. Ignoring the warning voice in my head, I move closer and peer at the names. I frown when I see that not even half is filled out. I wish more people were into theater as much as they’re into other clubs.
Not that I’m any better. The stalker guy asked—practically begged—me to join and I flat out refused him. I sigh as I turn away.
And ram into a hard chest.
Raising my head, I find one of the guys from the music store—Ezra, I think?—staring down at me with a hard l
ook in his eyes. I step away and adjust my bag over my shoulder. The guy is extremely good-looking. Like extremely. His eyes are hazel and beautiful, and there’s a lot of heartache buried inside. He tries to mask it with indifference, but I know better. His medium brown hair looks so silky that my fingers itch to run through the strands. They reach just below the chin and fall over his eyes in a totally bad boy way. And his chest? From our crash, it’s obvious he spends a lot of time in the gym.
“Not everyone has a famous grandmother,” he grumbles.
“What?”
“Maybe to you it might seem like a pathetic high school musical, but for some people it’s our ticket out of here.”
My eyebrows furrow. “What are you…? Is this about Beauty and the Beast?”
His eyes grow even harder. “The least you could do is help out the little people.” He pushes past me. “Because you were once a little person yourself.” He marches away.
I stare after him. Who the hell does he think he is?
Backing up against the wall, I drop to the floor and press my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. This is too hard. I thought getting away from New York would help put the past behind me, but my name and face follows me everywhere I go. And the worst part is that people think they can demand things from me. They expect things from me. They have no right. They have no idea what I’ve been through. Can’t I just live in peace?
But a part of me—a big part of me—yearns to be in the production. Yearns to be on stage again. “You can take the girl out of the theater but you can’t take the theater out of the girl” describes me one hundred percent. Performing is in my blood. It’s my number one love. But I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
I heave myself off the floor before tears threaten my eyes. Before I’m drawn too far into the past and the awful memories. The theater club will just have to do without me. Like I told the stalker guy, it’s not my problem to fix.
***
“You’re Kara Starr.”
I try not to groan or roll my eyes. Forcing a pleasant smile, I say, “Yep. That’s me.”
The woman who owns the dance studio smiles even wider. “You’re so talented. I’ve seen you on stage quite a few times. My son is a big fan.”