Made of Stars (8 page)

It’s easier, I guess. Having other people around. Breakfast isn’t bad, because Dad and Isobel—who came by with donuts for breakfast, and to meet Rachael—keep Rach occupied the entire time. While Ash continually nudges my foot with a tilt of her head, mouthing,
Are you okay?

Even though I nod in response while shoving food into my mouth, Ash knows me better than that. I don’t know what I would do without her. Her suggestion of going to the mall has nothing to do with wanting to shop and everything to do with making things easier on me. Rachael hesitates, but I swallow a bite of chocolate-and-sprinkle goodness to say, “Yeah, sure,” before she can figure out a way to politely decline. We wolf down the rest of our breakfast, thank Isobel, promise Dad we’ll behave (ha), and head out.

I could hug Ash. Here, in a public setting, there won’t be as many awkward pauses and uncomfortable silences. Here, it’s more neutral ground. Plus I can lead Rachael away from Chance if things start to take a wrong turn between the two of them.

I don’t know why I’m still nervous. I don’t know why the looks Chance keeps giving me make my chest tighten. This guilt is drowning me, and I don’t know what the hell I have to be guilty
for
. He’s my best friend, and Rachael is my girlfriend. A little anxiety about them getting along is normal, but what I’m feeling? Not so much.

As we climb out of the car, Ash catches me by the arm and leans in. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Why would something be going on?” I smile, draping an arm around her shoulders. She jabs a finger into my ribs, which, thankfully, I barely feel through the padding of my jacket.

“Don’t start, mister. You were giving these pathetic
save me
looks all through breakfast. Shouldn’t you be devoting what little time your girlfriend is here to…I don’t know, spending time with her?”

Guilt nibbles at my insides, and I shove it back. “Things are a little weird right now, Ash.” I sigh. “Just…give me some time to get my head right. Please?”

There’s no time for protesting. Rachael and Chance are already footing it for the front door to get out of the snow, and Rachael keeps casting furtive looks over her shoulder. Like she knows I’m talking about her. Ash is the same way. How do girls always know when you’re trying to have a conversation that involves them?

We’re here early enough that most of the people inside are those who come in for a daily walking club. Mostly old people in tacky track suits who do a few laps around the perimeter, where it’s not too hot or too cold and there are plenty of places to stop for a rest. Shops are still in the process of opening. The food court has barely cracked its shutters and turned on its stoves.

I like this time of day. No crowds, no lines, fewer noisy kids squealing or shoving past.

God, that makes me sound old.

After browsing the stores—correction: after the
girls
browse a few stores while Chance and I trail around patiently after them—Chance buys himself a hot pretzel that he shares with Ash, while Rachael gets a smoothie for her and me to split. I’d rather have some of the pretzel. Chance is licking salt off his fingers when he says, “Hey, Hunt.”

Rachael’s all-natural smoothie tastes like pureed grass. Guess it’s a good thing we ate right before coming here, so I’m not starving yet. “What?”

“Didn’t we tie last time we were here?” He hands the remainder of the pretzel over to Ash, who gladly shoves it into her mouth. Rachael glances at me, questioning, and I can’t help the silly grin pulling at my mouth.

“No. I won. You just wouldn’t admit it.”

It’s a challenge, and Chance never backs down when I say I can do something better than he can. Probably a stupid idea. The last time he and I raced through the mall, we were fifteen years old and people kind of expected that sort of stupidity from boys our age. We could’ve hurt someone, or ourselves. Besides that, security tossed us out after we crossed our imaginary finish line. We’re lucky they didn’t call Dad.

When did I get old enough that I started worrying about stuff like this?

It was years ago, but the memory of how it felt is still so vivid. That’s how it is with my summer memories; they’re all about
sensation
rather than details of who said or did what. But that was then, this is now, and I can only imagine how Rachael will feel if she sees me acting like a kid in the middle of a public place. She doesn’t like to be embarrassed.

“Did not,” Chance counters.

“Did too.”

Rachael looks between us, confused, and Ash says warningly, “Guys…”

Chance isn’t listening. He’s watching me with a glint in his eyes, coming to a halt and bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s limbering up. “Come on, then. Rematch.”

I make a valiant effort to stop grinning, and fail. “We’re not kids anymore. We’ll make a scene.”

“Then admit I won.”

“You didn’t,” I say. “But I’m not running.”

“Come
on
.”

“No.”

Chance spins, and with a squeak of his sneaker on linoleum, he’s off.

Rachael emphasizes this with a startled
“Oh,”
and then “Hunter!” because without another thought, I take off after him.

We sprint through the mall, the thumping of my pulse and Chance’s breathless laughter a duet in my ears. We weave in and out of the occasional mall-walker. Chance rounds a bench, and I hop right over it to gain the lead, just by a few feet.

Suddenly, it’s summer and we’re fifteen again. Chance is all ungainly limbs and freckles with a shirt too big on him and sneakers that are falling apart. It’s one of those moments where everything else in the world fades to a dull hum in the background because all that exists is Chance and me, and I want to take his bright-eyed, exhilarated face and bottle it up for safe keeping.

At the end of the mall, a play area has been installed since the last time I was here. Little tunnels, a slide for toddlers, and a ball pit that can’t be any more than two feet deep. I slow down out of fear I’m going to trample some poor kid or his unsuspecting parent, but Chance plows right into the ball pit headfirst, laughing, but so out of breath not much sound is coming out.

My chest burns. My legs are jelly. But, God, what a fantastic feeling, and I’m laughing, too, as I stumble over to the edge of the pit and brace my hands on my knees while I try to reintroduce air into my lungs. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this.

“Did I win?” Chance pants, squirming onto his back in the array of red, blue, and yellow plastic balls.

I grin around my labored breathing and extend my hand, which Chance takes. “Yeah. You won that one.”

Instead of crawling out, he yanks, and I find myself sprawled out half on him, half sinking into the pit, with Chance laughing in my ear.

We lay there for a minute or two, relearning how to breathe. Or maybe waiting to see if security is going to boot us out. Rachael and Ash find us first. My sister looks amused, but Rachael’s pretty face is offset by a deep frown, and her arms are crossed. Chance and I get to our feet, only the vague residual burn in my lungs a reminder of our fun. Too bad Rachael’s disapproval is kind of a buzzkill.

I haul myself out of the pit. Chance snags the belt loops of my jeans to drag himself out along with me, nearly sending us both right back where we started.

“I won,” Chance announces proudly.

Rachael’s gaze never leaves my face. “What was
that
?”

“What?” I push a hand through my hair, feigning innocence. “We were just playing around. No big deal.”

“You could’ve run right into someone,” she says. “What if you’d tripped over a poor little kid?”

“There are never kids here this early,” Chance cuts in. “We wouldn’t have done it if I’d seen any the entire time we’ve been here.”

Rachael casts him a sour look, clearly displeased at having our conversation interrupted. She’s not used to that. When she’s unhappy with me, it’s usually just her and me. No one else to interject his opinion.

I hate Rachael’s lectures. They never fail to make me feel like I’m five years old. I cram my hands into my pockets and hunch my shoulders, torn between wanting to apologize just to appease her and not wanting Ash and Chance to see that this is how our relationship works. Rachael gets upset, I do what she wants to smooth things over.

“I’m sorry,” I find myself saying.

It’s all she’s getting out of me, but it seems to be enough. Rachael sighs, shoulders slumping, but at least her irritation is short-lived. Her tone is mild as she says, “Let’s just get out of here.”

I will myself to relax, grateful that’s—hopefully—over and done with. And I try to ignore the way Chance rolls his eyes before putting his arm around Ash and walking away.

…

We have lunch at a diner across the street. The girls sit on one side, and Chance crowds in beside me, squishing me effectively against the wall when I try to put some distance between us. His elbow is digging into my side. He had asked the waitress for a kid’s menu so he could draw on it with the crayons they provide while simultaneously sipping at his drink.

I busy myself by picking at my chicken and fries. Ash and Rachael delve into their own conversation. School and boys. Go figure.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Ash is saying, swirling her soda with her straw. “I mean, I’ve had a few. Off and on. But they’re kind of— How many guys have you dated through high school?”

“Two others,” Rachael says. “Not sure if the first one counts. We only dated for a few weeks.”

“Please. That’s how long most of my relationships last! Why didn’t they work out?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The first guy was someone I had been friends with for years. I guess we got it into our brains it was a great idea to start dating when we got to high school. Bad idea, let me tell you, dating a friend.”

At this, her gaze flicks to Chance and lingers. What the hell was that for?

“The other one I really liked, but he dumped me for someone else. Which crushed me at the time; he was a great kisser.”

I don’t know if Rachael is doing this on purpose to bother me or to make me jealous, but it doesn’t matter because it
doesn’t.
At least, not for the same reasons it probably should. It only bugs me because it’s one of those situations where I don’t know if she’s
trying
to get a reaction when I don’t feel like giving one.

“That makes you lucky.” Ash sighs, jabbing her salad with a fork, skewering a tomato and popping it into her mouth. “Anyone I’ve dated has been severely lacking in the kissing department.”

My spine stiffens. Note to self: get a list of the boys my sister has been making out with and break their legs.

Chance, who I didn’t think was even paying attention, doesn’t look up when he says, “That’s because I set the bar too high, being your first kiss and all.”

Ash throws her head back and laughs. “I don’t know. Hunt, how would you rate Chance’s kissing on a scale of one to ten?”

My stomach flip-flops and I can feel my face burning. I’m going to crawl under the table. Maybe stab a fork into my jugular. Rachael can’t stare at me with such intense horror if I’m bleeding all over the place, right?

The last summer we spent here—in fact, right around the time we raced at the mall—Dad dropped the three of us off at the lake for a few hours, armed with water guns, a raft, and some hot cinnamon buns from a snack bar up the road. At some point, the subject of Ashlin and a boy she liked at school came up, which led to talk of dates, then kissing…and Ash said, “I wouldn’t know how to kiss a boy anyway.”

“It’s not like rocket science. Watch.” Chance scooted over, cinnamon bun in hand, and leaned in close. I tried to pretend I was more interested in blowing up the raft, but I watched them from the corner of my eye. Ash couldn’t stop giggling nervously even as Chance pressed his mouth to hers.

It was only a moment later that Chance pulled away with a pleasant laugh. “See? Just like that.”

Ash caught me looking, and my expression must’ve been less than impressed, because she blushed and pointed accusingly. “What’re you staring at? It’s not like you’ve ever kissed anyone.”

“Yes, I have,” I lied. In truth, I could have…if I’d wanted to. There was a girl in my English class who cornered me in the halls one day, told me she liked me, and leaned in for a kiss. She never got one. I panicked and ran away. So, by all technicalities, I
could have
and chose not to. That still counts.

“No, you haven’t,” Ash insisted. Chance took a slow bite of his cinnamon bun, polishing it off. I plugged the stopper on the raft, turning away, determined not to get into that argument because it would end with me either having to admit she was right or making up some lie that I would undoubtedly be found out on later.

I didn’t see Chance coming. One second, I was preparing to head into the water, and the next—he was on me.

His body was wet from swimming, slick and cool against me, his chest to my chest. And his mouth caught mine, every inch insistent and eager. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t react. Couldn’t form a coherent thought beyond the fact that his fingers were sticky where he grabbed my waist to hold me still, and he smelled like cinnamon. When his tongue slipped into my mouth, he tasted like it, too.

It was only when Ashlin squealed and clapped like we were putting on some kind of show that I thought to jerk back and did so, gasping. Chance grinned.

“There. Now you don’t have to lie about it.”

If there were ever a moment in my life I wish Ash hadn’t witnessed, it was that.

And it dawns on me, as Chance is reaching over to steal one of my fries, that I wish Ash hadn’t seen it. Not that it hadn’t happened.

God. What is wrong with me?

“Wait a second.” Rachael lowers her fork. She doesn’t for a moment take her eyes off me. “You and Chance—”

“It was just a peck on the cheek,” Chance interrupts with a curt laugh. “I was goofing around. Trying to embarrass him. Granted, it’s not that hard to do.”

Ash is looking between Chance and me around bites of her food, and her flat expression seems forced. Rachael is trying to smile, but her frown is overpowering it, and that means she isn’t happy but she realizes she has no reason to blow this up into a bigger deal than it needs to be. I could kiss Chance for saving me.