Star Daughter(17)

He shook his head hard. “No way! How can you even think that?”

“But you knew I’m a star, and you let me inspire you, and . . .”

The clutter on the floor, which had been cute before, felt oppressive now. All those versions of his song, inspired by her. Just like his ur-grandfather and his poor star muse.

If Dev hadn’t just been using her, her heart raged, why hadn’t he been honest in the first place?

“I didn’t let you inspire me!” Dev protested. “You just did it. It’s what you do.”

What she did? Sheetal couldn’t move. What was happening to her? First her hair, now this ability to see into people’s dreams . . . and inspire them without even trying.

Fear made her shout. “You knew what I was and pretended you didn’t!”

“What did you want me to say, Sheetal?” Dev yelled back. He’d crushed the hem of his T-shirt in both fists. “My family hated stars? My great-whatever-grandfather tried to kill one? Because yeah, it’s true, he did. But here’s the thing: nobody except Jeet even believes you exist anymore—”

“Dev. Stop,” she cried. “Even if they don’t believe it, why would your family want to remember a story like that? That man would’ve wanted me dead. He would’ve wanted my mom dead. What would Jeet say if you told him you’d found me?”

Dev looked as miserable as she felt. “He’s actually the one who told me where to find you. He wanted me to get to know you, but—”

“He what?” Sheetal’s knees trembled. What was she supposed to do with all of this? With the silver flame crackling violently at her core?

She scrutinized him, this beautiful boy she’d kissed and confided her silliest thoughts to, who made her alternately laugh and swoon, whom she’d thought she might love. She traced the planes of his face, the arch of his lips, the mischievous, dark eyes that never failed to make her melt—until now.

You didn’t lie to the people you cared about. You definitely didn’t pretend to like them.

Her cheeks burned. She was a fool.

Dev reached for her again. “I should’ve told you I knew sooner. I wanted to—”

“My mom warned me about people like you.” The words fought their way free of Sheetal’s mouth, ready to scald everyone and everything to cinders. “I can’t believe you knew all this, and you didn’t say a word. How am I supposed to trust you?”

He bowed his head. “Will you please just listen—”

“I have to go.” She needed to get away from this house owned by people whose relatives had—had—and who might still . . . She couldn’t even think it, it was so huge and awful.

All of this was so huge and awful.

Sheetal sprinted down to the kitchen for her bag, skirting the island so she wouldn’t glimpse the leftover cookies. The thought of them just made her want to throw up or cry or both.

In a daze, she went outside and texted Minal. The first rays of the setting sun spilled down, a sweet-tart torrent of mango juice that meant Dad would be home from work soon—and the sidereal song would be back in full force.

Naturally Minal didn’t answer, and of course Sheetal didn’t have any cash for a taxi or even a bus. And it was too far to walk. Of course.

She figured she might as well do the one thing guaranteed to make this crap day even worse.

Sheetal called Radhikafoi to come get her.

An hour later, huddled on the burgundy leather sofa in Radhikafoi’s Pine-Sol–scented living room, Sheetal watched her cousins jab buttons on their video-game controllers while her auntie and Dad talked in low voices. This latest model would be gone within a day or two; Radhikafoi had just cooed to Dad about a gold-and-green Victorian settee in a local antique store. It wouldn’t match any of her contemporary décor mixed with Indian folk art, but since when did that matter?

Since when did anything matter?

Dev’s claim that she’d inspired him set her even more on edge. She tugged on a piece of fringe lining a throw pillow, almost unraveling it. How could that be true?

Sheetal’s messenger bag sat at her feet. Now it dinged with a text message. Her eyes dry and scratchy, her nerves sparking like live wires, she reached in and pulled out her phone.

I never wanted you to inspire me. I want to write songs about you, not because of you.

“Who was that?” Radhikafoi called from the kitchen. “Is it that boy?”

“It’s no one.” Even as Sheetal lied, she sent back a string of flame emojis followed by plenty of knives and skulls. It felt awesome.

But not for long. Smoldering underneath was the hurt, the broken heart emojis she typed and then deleted before pushing her phone away. It wasn’t just that he’d lied, as much as that rankled. But by not telling her the truth, he’d cheated her. She could have had one more person who shared her secret, someone she could’ve been herself with while hiding from the rest of the world.

Her throat stung. She wouldn’t have had to be so alone.

“Chhokri,” said Dad from his recliner, calling her “girl” in the angry tone he almost never took with her, “what did I tell you about boys?”

Radhikafoi bustled into the room, set down three cups of masala chaa on the coffee table, shooed out Akshay and Kumar, and commenced hovering.