Where the Stars Still Shine(57)

“Kat, I’ve never had a friend before. Ever.” I give the key a gentle turn and the lock slides back. “It’s just been me and my mom for my whole life, and I’ve never stayed anywhere long enough to have one. Or, be one. I guess I’ve always known that I should have told you about Alex, but I didn’t want to upset you. Except—”

She sniffles. “Yeah, I was going to be upset either way, which is just stupid because Nick is so much better. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I guess it’s just that I’d built Alex up in my imagination to be—I don’t even know. Like I had this dumb fantasy that one day he would realize how perfect I was for him.” There’s a note of embarrassment in her soft laugh. “And even though I know he’s so not right for me, the rejection still kind of hurts a little, you know?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

The shop is lit only by the crustacean Christmas tree as we step inside and Kat goes to the back room for her wallet. She’s back in only a few moments. “So I was thinking that maybe I’ve been a little pushy. I mean, I just plopped down on your bench and made myself your best friend without thinking that maybe you didn’t want one.”

“I do.”

“Thanks.” She smiles. “So do you think now that it’s Christmas break and I don’t have school we could go shopping on Monday after work? And, you know, maybe talk?”

“Definitely.”

“No blowing me off for Alex?” Kat asks, as she relocks the front door.

I hold up three fingers, a holdout gesture from the days I pretended I was a Girl Scout and made badges for myself out of construction paper. Before I realized homeless girls aren’t scouts. “I promise.”





Chapter 18


Greg is hunched over a bowl of cereal with a computer magazine when I come into the kitchen for breakfast the next morning. My hair is still damp from the shower and under my jeans and green plaid shirt I’m wearing the bikini Kat picked out for me. I could see my breath on my short trek across the yard, so I’m skeptical it’s going to be warm enough for the beach, but Alex insists the winter-morning chill will burn off by the afternoon. I take a bowl from the cupboard. “Where is everyone?”

“Phoebe is painting at the new house.” Greg slides the cereal box across the table. It’s his favorite, a healthy variety that tastes okay but feels like you’re eating a bowl of twigs. “And the boys are with my mom for the day.”

“I’m, um—going to the beach today with friends.”

The air between us feels overstuffed with the unspoken. I add to the thickness by omitting the part in which Alex is the friend, the beach is down in Bradenton, and I’m finally having my real first date. Greg nods. “What time will you be home?”

“Not sure, but don’t count on me for dinner,” I reply. “And I’ll have my phone.”

The crunch of cereal fills my head, blocking out the uncomfortable silence, and I focus on each bite so I don’t have to look him in the eye. Pretending Thursday never happened is harder than it seems, especially when the image of Greg holding the ruined book is burned painfully into my memory.

He’s still eating as I rinse my bowl and put it in the dishwasher.

“I guess I’m going to go now.”

“Have fun.” Greg glances up at me, flashes a quick smile, and then returns his attention to the magazine. I feel as if I’ve been dismissed and it stings a little.

“Thanks, um—I’ll see you tonight.”

I go back to the Airstream for my beach bag before walking over to Grand, where Alex is waiting in his truck. He’s sitting sideways on the bench seat, facing out through the open driver’s-side door. The sun hits him just right, catching the sun-bleached gold in his curls. He looks like living summer.

“Hi.” I step between his knees and he leans forward to kiss me. His lips are cool as I touch the ragged hem of his faded red board shorts. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“Nope. I’m amphibious.” He steps down from the cab, walks around with me to the passenger side, and yanks open the sticky door. It creaks in protest.

“Amphibious, huh? Born with gills and lay your eggs in water?”

“Well, I was going to say I’m cold-blooded.” He runs his fingers up through his curls and my stomach does a crazy little happy dance. “But now …”

I laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, as I get in the truck. “I like smart girls.”

He slams the door shut and I lean through the window. Our faces are so close I can see the way his eyelashes go from dark at the base to pale at the tips. “This door isn’t ever really going to fly open without warning, is it?” I ask.

Alex shakes his head. “I only said that so you’d sit closer to me that first time.”

“I would have anyway.”

He kisses me again, then touches the tip of my nose. “So smart.”





The hula girl dangling from the rearview mirror does a wild wind dance as we head south on US 19 with the windows down, past car dealerships, strip malls, fast-food joints, and shabby little pink motels that look as if they haven’t been touched in half a century. Reggae spills from a pair of small speakers wedged between the windshield and sun-faded dashboard, attached to a portable cassette player. Alex sings along with the warped song. I like his voice, scratchy and off-key, and how he’s not self-conscious about it. I like the way he sticks his arm out the open window and pushes against the wind. And when he looks in my direction, I like knowing that even though they’re shaded by dark sunglasses, his eyes are smiling at me, too.