Where the Stars Still Shine(22)

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to see someone?” he asks. “Even if you’re not borderline, which I really don’t think you are, it might be good to talk to a professional about—well, about whatever.”

And have someone verify it? “No.”

“Okay. So. Miss Tzorvas …,” he says and I have to remind myself he’s talking about me. Callista Tzorvas is as new as the names Mom and I made up. Greg says it with a measure of seriousness that makes me think we’ve returned to the punishment portion of the conversation. “I’ve spent twelve years worrying about where you were and what was happening to you. Now that you’re here, I don’t want to keep worrying so much. So I expect you to tell where you’re going and when you’ll be home, got it?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll give you a free pass for today,” he says. “But the original grounding still applies.”

I’ve spent most of my life in one room or another with only my imagination to keep me company, so I can’t explain why the thought of spending the rest of the week in the Airstream with nothing to do bothers me.

“Have you thought any more about the job?” I ask.

“About that—” he says, and I brace myself for bad news. “I talked to Theo today, and he said the job is yours if you want it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, well, you can thank your grandma for that,” he says. “She suggested that it doesn’t make sense for you to play catch-up in high school when you can get your GED and work for Theo. So you start the day after tomorrow, but only if you sign up for the exam.”

I’m overtaken by an urge to hug him, but I can’t make my arms do that. Not yet. Instead, I reach over and squeeze his hand. “Thanks, Greg.”

He smiles at me in a way that makes me think it’s almost good enough.





Chapter 8


The next morning I’m reading about borderline personality disorder on the Internet when I hear a knock at my door. I minimize the website and close the laptop. Kat is standing on the other side of the screen, her hair twisted up in a pair of low knots, and she has half a dozen long necklaces draped around her neck. She’s also holding two paper to-go cups of coffee.

“Hey,” she says, as I push open the door for her. She steps up into the trailer and hands me the cup without the lip-gloss stain on the rim. “You left the party so suddenly yesterday and when you didn’t answer my texts, I got kind of worried. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

Her dark eyebrows pull together as she places her cup on the table. “Are you sure? What happened?”

“I heard some women talking about my mom and—I don’t know. I had to get out of there.”

Kat falls onto my bed, laughing and rolling around as if she’s having a seizure, which is not quite the response I expected. I’m not sure what’s funny about those women talking about my mom. Maybe this is a joke I don’t get. After a few seconds, she leans up on her elbows. “So that’s why Yiayoúla Georgia went ballistic on Carol and Gloria. And when she was done telling them off, she threw them out!”

“Really?”

“Carol kicked up a fuss about taking her nasty spaghetti salad and Gloria made Yiayoúla Georgia get her Tupperware container out of the dishwasher,” she says. “And both of them said they’d never speak to her again, but she was like, Whatever, bitches.”

“She said that?”

Kat laughs. “Well, no, I embellished a little there. But it was still pretty epic. Your grandma is so cool. I wish mine were more like her. It’s hard to believe they’re sisters.”

“I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

“Please.” She waves me off as if it’s nothing. “It isn’t a proper family party unless someone goes home pissed off. Give it a couple of weeks and it’ll be over. Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” I say. “By the way, Greg is letting me take the job.”

Kat flails again and when she sits up, her knots are half-undone and my once-made bed is a mess. “This—is so awesome!”

Still, her excitement is infectious and a kind of happiness bubbles up inside me, and even though I feel guilty about it, I can’t stop myself from smiling.

“We need to go shopping. I mean, Theo makes us wear T-shirts from the store when we’re at work, but you need shorts and jeans and—” Kat eyes my too-often-worn red top. “You need everything, Callie.”

“Phoebe is taking me today.”

She tugs at her lip a couple of times. “Okay, you know, Phoebe is awesome and dresses great—for a mom. Seriously, my mother? Wears mom jeans. But this is your fashion future we’re talking about. You can’t entrust it to just anyone, especially not someone who spends her day hanging out with toddlers.”

“What does that mean?”

“This is why you need me, Callie,” she says. “You’re a blank canvas. Let me paint you. Wait—that sounded creepy, didn’t it? Trust me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Kat jumps to her feet. “Let’s go now.”

“I’m grounded, remember?”