Steering the Stars (2 page)

     
 
Whatever that meant. “Huh.”

     
 
A weighty silence stretched out between us. The snakes inside of me had calmed, but I was still nervous. I scratched my elbow. I coughed. I studied the other cars on the road for a while. Then I sifted through my bag and pulled out my phone to double check that the new SIM card was in working order. When my email loaded, there were two new messages from Caroline and one from Mom. Nothing from Owen.

     
 
Felicity cleared her throat. “You must be excited about your new school. Dad tells me you want to be a writer.”

     
 
More than anything in the whole worl
d
.

     
 
I put the phone face down in my lap and flopped back against the seat. “Yeah, Warriner is supposed to be the best. I’ve thought about it every day for the last three months and I still can’t believe it’s real.”

     
 
Last spring, I’d stumbled upon an essay competition for aspiring teenage writers based in the London area. The prize was a partial scholarship and a position at The Warriner School, a school with a killer creative writing department.

     
 
It was a longshot. It was such a longshot that I didn’t tell anyone—not even Owen or Caroline—when I sent off the essay and my application packet.

     
 
Then it happened.

       In May, I received an envelope in the mail—the big, fat, good kind of envelope—and it was time to come clean. Mom and Dad were furious for about five minutes and then they were sad and
then
they started talking logistics. I suggested looking for a boarding house or some kind of city dorm (if that even existed), but they straight-up laughed in my face. Staying with my half-sister was the only option.

     
 
I knew I had a great thing going at home, where I had the perfect boyfriend and friends and I was a shoo-in for assistant editor of the school newspaper. But, the truth is that getting into Warriner and making the move to London was an adventure. And after a lifetime in Oklahoma, an adventure was exactly what I wanted.

     
 
Yep. This whole thing felt like the plot twist I needed—like a golden ticket to another kind of life. A more exciting life.

     
 “
It will certainly be different from Oklahoma,” Felicity observed.

     
 
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the car window. I was smiling softly. “That’s the plan.”

****

To: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

From: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 25

Subject: Hello?

omgggggg!!! Not to sound pathetic or anything but, WHY HAVEN’T YOU MESSAGED ME?! It’s been well over a day. Were you whisked away by an Ed Sheeran look alike? Or better yet, Ed himself? *wink, wink*

Can’t wait to hear about what your sister is like! Write me soon. And by “soon” I mean RIGHT NOW!

Caroline

____________

To: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

From: Cecilia<
[email protected]
>   

Date: August 25

Subject: Checking in

Hi Jellybean!

I hope you’re settling in and getting to know your sister. So proud of you.

Love you,

Mom

____________

To: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

From: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 26

Subject: Earth to Hannah

Testing…

Is anyone out there?

____________

To: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

From: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 27

Subject: Hannah phones home

Sorry! I know I promised to email every day and I officially suck. My only excuse is that it’s been crazy getting settled and figuring things out. Supposedly, English is our common language but everything is confusing. For instance, cookies are biscuits, pudding seems to be more like bread, chips are called crisps, and french fries are called chips. What gives?

The city is both amazing and scary. It’s so much bigger than we even imagined and I’m almost afraid to go out and get lost. Yesterday, I did brave a bus and check off some big things like Harrod’s and Big Ben and Westminster Abbey. And, yes, I tried to distract the guards by picking my nose but they didn’t take the bait ;)

So far no Ed sightings, though I am vigilantly on the lookout as promised.

Hannah

____________

To: Owen<
[email protected]
>
From: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 27
Subject:
hi
 

I made it. Just thought you might want to know.

____________

To: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

From: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 28

Subject: Details please

Sooooo jelly!

How’s your sister? Her husband? Your nieces? The house? Your room?

Have I mentioned that I am stuck in Libby Park and am living vicariously through you???

#sorrynotsorry

____________

To: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

From: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 28

Subject: Re: Details please

My sister (that is so weird to say) seems great but we haven’t actually spent much time together. Things are a little awkward which I guess is normal considering we’re strangers. Her hubs, Michael, seems nice enough but he works a lot. Chloe and Grace are LOUD and STICKY but the cutest. You know how I wondered how I’d be able to tell them apart? Well, Chloe just got hot pink glasses so that solved that. Both of the girls are in love with my makeup case and my nail polishes and have been trying to talk me into painting Professor Pufferton’s nails.

And, the house is this really cool Georgian style walk-up, which basically means it’s like a two-story apartment.  

#yourewelcome

Hannah

____________

To: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

From: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 28

Subject: Re: Re: Details please

Ummm… Who is Professor Pufferton?

____________

To: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

From: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 28

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Details please

The cat.

____________

To: Owen<
[email protected]
>

From: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 29

Subject: Seriously?

The silent treatment is getting old. I know that you’re hurt but call me or email me, okay? At this point, I’ll take a smoke signal or even an owl. ANYTHING.

And, before you even ask, I haven’t told Caroline what’s going on. Please, please don’t talk to her until I have a chance to explain. You know how sensitive she is.

___________
_

To: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

From: Cecilia<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 30

Subject: School forms

Jellybean,

When you go in to school tomorrow, don’t forget to take that packet of paperwork I put in the zippered pouch of the lime green suitcase.

XOXO

Mom

___________
_

To: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

From: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 30

Subject: The longest year

Tomorrow is the first day of school. I know I’m supposed to be optimistic, but I have it on good authority that it’s going to SUCK. How could it not? Seriously. A year. A whole year of you living in England and me staying in Oklahoma. I still can’t believe it...

I know I sound like a sad sack but I do hope you are having a blast (even though I kinda hate you right now for abandoning me…JK…sorta).  Just promise me that when you win the Pulitzer one day you’ll remember me.

-Caroline

PS: And, don’t forget your umbrella!

____________

To: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

From: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

Date: August 31

Subject: Re: The longest year

Remember you? You’ll be my date.

And, I’m telling you that your day is NOT going to suck! You are going to walk into Northside High and show everyone who is boss (or at least who discovered an awesome frizz-reducing conditioner this summer). I’m sure by the time lunch rolls around and Derek Warren is shoving Pixie Stix up his nose, you won’t even miss me.

As I type this I’m staring with dread at my new school uniform. I was going to send you a picture but I don’t want any official evidence that I ever had so much wool and polyester on my body at one time.

TTYL

Hannah

____________

“Phew,” I wheezed as I walked into The Warriner School, twisting rain from the ends of my hair and wishing that I had paid more attention to Caroline’s email and carried an umbrella.

     
 
The heavy door fell shut behind me and I did a quick scan of the office. To be honest, it was like any school office, with walls the color of masking tape and dark brown Berber carpet and the faintly antiseptic smell of new paper and lemon cleaner. The school crest was front and center, stenciled in white, blue, and gold paint just above a large reception desk where an older woman with short grey hair was quietly typing on a computer.

     
 
Students were around. It seemed like the usual first day stuff—mostly kids waiting in chairs outside of what I guessed was the headmaster’s office. I noticed one kid in particular. He was slumped over with his head cradled in his hand, drawing in a sketchbook. From this angle, I couldn’t see his eyes, just his hair—a mess of tiny black curls—plus a bit of dark skin with the hint of broad cheekbones, and a wide, almost pretty mouth. But his looks weren’t what caught my attention. It was the drawing. It was abstract—a series of concentric circles, all layered on top of each other—and it was completely amazing.