Made of Stars (3 page)

Ash screams.

I leap down the steps and tear into the woods. My heart is in my throat. Ashlin isn’t where I left her, which means she’s wandered one way or the other up the creek and I have no idea where.

“Ash!”

“Over here!” Her voice is distant but not panicked. I push through the pale trees just in time to spot both of them: Chance slogging through the water with Ash clinging to his neck. My breath catches as he looks up with those too-green eyes and smirks.

“Rescue operation,” he says, breathless. “Saved Barbie from drowning.”

I push a hand through my hair, trying not to laugh. The banks are muddy and steep; Chance helps Ash up high enough to grab my hand so I can haul her out. She looks like a drowned cat, blond hair plastered to her face and neck, clothes clinging to her body. Her boots squish when I get her up on solid ground with a shake of my head. “I really wish you’d stop and think things through before you get yourself into these situations.” Chance waves off my extended hand and pulls himself out effortlessly using exposed roots and rocks jutting from the dirt.

I wonder if I look as different to him as he does to me. Gone are his Coke bottle glasses, which I’m glad for, because those eyes? You could lose yourself in them, but I try not to think about that because it’s weird and totally not okay. He’s dyed his hair black, cut it short, haphazardly spiked it. His black cargo pants have more pockets than I can count and drip steadily. Chance used to be half my size. He’s still shorter than I am, but not by much. A couple of inches, maybe.

“Hello?”
Ash says. “Earth to Hunt. I need the house key!”

I blink, breaking eye contact with Chance in order to fumble the keys from my pocket. She snatches them out of my hand and rushes off. It takes me a second to realize she must be heading inside to change.

And now it’s just us. For some reason, the way Chance smiles so lazily at me results in a faint heat creeping into my face. I try to think of what to say and come up with nothing witty or charming. Instead I’m stuck with, “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Wetly.” Chance shrugs.

This time, my blush isn’t nearly so subtle. “Oh, crap—sorry, let’s get you inside.” Were it summer, we could stand ten minutes in the sun and be bone-dry again, but not in this weather. Besides that, he’s filthy from climbing up the embankment.

As Chance follows me back to the house, I keep stealing glances at him. We’ve spent all this time waiting for him to show up and now that he’s here, it doesn’t feel real. In the back of my brain, I stored up all these thoughts and questions to say to him, and now every one of them is lost to me. “We went to your house a few weeks ago.”

Chance nods. “Yep. I was told.”

“We were starting to worry you’d moved away or something.”

His laugh is sharp. “Are you kidding? I’ve got a life sentence to this town. I was beginning to think
you
ditched
me
.”

“Our moms didn’t want to let us visit while Dad was recovering.” We tromp up the back steps to the porch, careful not to slip on the icy wood. “You heard what happened to Dad, right?” No need to say we did come out to visit Dad a few times over school holidays but didn’t know how to contact Chance. Besides, Dad might have been pretty hurt if I came for three days and ditched him to spend time with friends.

I feel kind of guilty knowing that I probably would have. Even if only for a few hours to spend with Chance. I could e-mail Dad or talk to him on the phone. But if I wasn’t looking right at Chance, able to reach out and touch him if I wanted, then we had zero contact. And I missed him.

“Of course. How’s he doing?”

“Better. A lot better.” We let ourselves in through the back door. Chance lingers in the kitchen while I get him a towel. When I come back, he’s staring up at some of the family photos on the wall, drip-drip-dripping on the floor but not seeming to notice. I chuck the towel in his direction. He catches it one-handed.

“We don’t need a swimming pool in the kitchen,” I say. Chance shrugs and steps aside into the laundry room, letting the door fall half closed. I can hear him shimmying out of his clothes. Shirt, pants, socks. I lean against the doorframe, staring at nothing in particular. “You can toss those in the washer.” I hear him do just that before emerging with the towel draped around his shoulders, the only thing covering him from the waist up. He’s managed to locate a pair of my sweatpants in the laundry, apparently, and I can’t help but grin at how terribly they fit him. We’re closer in height, but I still outweigh him by a fair amount.

“You’ve gotten taller,” he observes. “And…muscle-y. What’ve you been doing, bench-pressing trucks?”

I give him a small smile, rubbing the back of my neck. “Swimming and track. Mom likes to keep me busy so I don’t do something stupid with my free time, I guess.”

Chance lounges with one shoulder to the wall, like it was built to support him. “Joining gangs, robbing banks, that sort of thing?”

“Pretty much.”

“I can totally picture it, you criminal, you.” He tips his head, looking behind me. Ash has decided to grace us with her presence and— Oh, cute. She’s wearing a dress, and she took the time to put on lipstick and mascara. She’s pulled her wet hair up into a twist with clips and pins. No wonder she was so quick to run inside.

She sidles up beside me, flashing Chance her brightest smile. “Guess I owe you for saving my life and all that.”

“Any time.” Chance doesn’t even try to be discreet when he drops his gaze and lets it wander up the length of her legs. And Ash really is all legs. I can’t figure out if the little knot in my stomach is because he’s checking her out—even if he’s only playing around—or because she’s checking him out. Either way, I feel momentarily out of place. Doesn’t help that Ash leans forward, touching a fingertip to his chest, and asks, “What’s that on your back? Let me see.”

Chance lifts his eyebrows, but he does as asked and twists around. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it. There, on Chance’s back, is the constellation of Draco, each star done with intricate detail and a pale line traveling from one star to the next, forming the dragon he loves so much. With Chance’s lean frame, every breath, every movement makes a muscle or bone somewhere in his back shift and ripple the little stars.

“Did it hurt?” Ash asks, fascinated, looking like she wants to trace the tattoo from top to bottom. I kind of do, too.

Always one to soak up attention, Chance smiles. “Not really. You like?”

“It’s awesome.” She grins. “Mom and Dad would flip if I asked for a tattoo before I’m, like, thirty.”

Chance rolls his shoulders into a shrug. “If you’re asking your parents for permission for
any
thing at thirty, you’ve got bigger problems than them saying
no
.”

She smacks him on the arm and he laughs, catching hold of her wrist and taking care in the way he twists her arm around her back and holds her there. Ash giggles, calling for me to rescue her, and I snake an arm around Chance to get him in a loose headlock.

And I think how incredible this is, that we’ve been together less than twenty minutes but things are already slipping into how they’ve always been. How they should always be. We’ve fallen into this easy pattern of teasing and laughing, and I like it.

I’ve missed this familiarity. I’ve missed being
home
.

Ashlin

I go to sleep afraid I’ll wake up in the morning and find myself back in California. Away from Dad and Hunter and Chance. But Chance is there again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. Waiting for Hunter and me just like he used to when we were kids. Sometimes we find him at the creek, sometimes on the back steps staring up at the sky. Sometimes Dad spots him and invites him in, and he’s eating breakfast at our kitchen table when we come downstairs, still in our pajamas.

Today, Chance is at the creek, which is trying to ice itself over again. It’s freezing outside, but he still isn’t wearing a jacket. He isn’t trying to skip stones so much as throw them at the water, and I wonder what the creek ever did to him.

“How are you not getting hypothermia?” I ask. Chance graces me with a smile.

“I’m not a wimp like you Californians who’ve never seen snow.”

“Hey, we
get
snow. Just not where I live.”

He shrugs. “Whatever. Where’s your brother? We have places to go.”

I can’t help but grin, eager to see where Chance is leading us. Even the most mundane of places is made exciting with him along. After day in and day out of dealing with Mom trying to control every aspect of my life, being out here and going on adventures with Chance and Hunter is a breath of fresh air. “Probably talking to Rachael. He’ll be here soon.”

Chance arches an eyebrow. “Rachael?”

“Yeah. Girlfriend.” We turn to wander back to the porch. “He didn’t tell you?” It seems weird Rachael wouldn’t have come up once in conversation, when we’ve spent the last several days catching up.

“Nope.” He looks away, expression unreadable. “Must not be anything serious.”

“No, it is.” I frown, feeling oddly defensive on Rachael’s behalf, since she isn’t here to defend herself. “They’ve been together for, like, a year now.”

“Uh huh.”

“Carol adores her.” Not that Hunt has ever cared what his mom, Carol, thinks about his relationships, but whatever. “So does Dad.”

I have this image in my head of what Rachael and Hunt’s relationship must be like. What it
should
be like. This perfect high school romance that stretches out into college and leads to marriage and kids. Like I’ve always wanted for myself and never managed to find. I mean, I haven’t met Rachael, but I’ve never heard a bad word spoken about her.
She’s sweet and very smart
, Carol told me once on the phone.
She’s the perfect kind of girl for Hunter. She’ll keep his head out of the clouds.

Chance smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The
parents
love her. But does he?”

My face flushes. I shouldn’t have said anything, but then again—why shouldn’t I? Rachael isn’t some fling. They’re serious, and Chance shouldn’t brush it off. For that matter, neither should Hunter. He should have mentioned her. Rachael’s feelings would be hurt. I know mine would be, if I were her.

Just as we reach the bottom of the steps and before I have time to respond, Hunter shuffles outside, dressed and messy-haired.

“Sorry,” he says, voice still a little rough from sleep. “What’s going on?”

All the life seems to rush back into Chance’s face, and his eyes light up. “We can use Mr. J’s truck, right?”

Hunt runs a hand through his hair. “Uh…yeah.”

“Super. What about shovels?”

Hunter and I exchange looks. There’s really no point in questioning Chance. He’ll tell us what we’re doing when he feels like it. That’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Going along for the ride.

We bundle into the Toyota, and Chance navigates. At first, I think we’re heading in the direction of Chance’s house, but he instructs us to drive right on by. We’re still following the creek; I think I can spot it here and there when the trees are at their thinnest. Eventually, he has Hunt pull over to the side of the road, and we get out.

“Middle of nowhere.” I zip up my coat. “What are we doing, burying bodies?” Admittedly, this would be a place to do it. Isolated, off any main roads.

“Nope. We’re going to war.” Chance grabs the shovels from the back of the truck, one for each of us.

There’s no real discernible path leading through the trees, but Chance seems to know where he’s going, and the truck shouldn’t be hard to spot when we find our way out again. A half a mile into the woods, we come to a clearing. Not just a patch, but a wide stretch of land, maybe forty feet from one side to the other.

What’s more, the snow has fallen perfectly here with no one to disrupt it. Just a white blanket over the earth. I have to resist the urge to throw myself into it and roll around. We stop on the outskirts of the clearing, each with our shovels in hand. Chance puffs out a breath, exhales on his bare hands, and rubs them together. His face is flushed, but he’s smiling.

“So, Hunter takes that edge. Ash, you’re here. I’ll be right over there.”

That’s all the explanation he gives us before circling around the perimeter. Hunter hesitates but eventually makes his way to his assigned spot while I stay put. We watch Chance, curious as to what we’re supposed to be doing. He thrusts the shovel into the snow, starting a pile beside him. It takes a few minutes before we realize he’s constructing some kind of wall. Occasionally taking a handful of snow, packing it neatly, and setting it aside. Snowballs.

Hunt leans on his shovel, arching an eyebrow. “Really? Aren’t we a little old for this?”

Chance lifts his head, lips drawn thin. “Says who?”

“Says…us. And most of the population?” Yet I’m getting started on shoveling some snow into a pile to make my own wall. There’s no point in arguing. We can participate in his game, or we might as well go home and leave him here. He’ll do it with or without us.

“That’s stupid.” Chance crunches another snowball together, turns, and pitches it at Hunter. It smacks Hunt’s arm, shattering into a mess of white slush and making him yelp in surprise. Chance dusts off his hands. “Get a move on, ’cause there’s more where that came from.”

Hunter opens his mouth, closes it again, scowls, and starts shoveling.

Even through the gloves, my fingers are starting to go numb. When we’re done, I’ve built the tallest wall out of the three of us. It circles halfway around me, keeping me safe from the front and both sides if I crouch down a bit. Hunter is fighting with his—I’ve seen it topple over more than once. Chance finishes before we do, and I see him building his collection of snowballs while we struggle to raise our defenses.

He isn’t nice enough to wait, either. The first snowball zings past my head, startling me into stillness. Chance throws his head back and laughs. Hunter makes a valiant attempt to toss one at Chance, but he doesn’t pack it right and the snow crumbles to pieces halfway through the air. My attempt is a little better; the snowball stays together, but it flies too low and hits Chance’s wall instead.