Shooting Stars (11 page)

Maybe not everything can be seen through a lens.

“Hey, are you Jo Taylor?” a guy’s voice calls out from the corridor that leads from the offi ce to the communal living room. Ned and I both turn to look at him. I’ve seen him 95

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before, working in the offi ce area. He’s youngish and is wearing one of the retreat’s staff polo shirts.

I nod, and when I do, his gaze fl icks over to Ned. Instantly, I know this is about work. “Sorry,” I say to Ned. “I’d better see what he wants.”

“Sure,” Ned answers, and turns back to the TV.

I get up and go over to the guy— his name, embroidered on his T-shirt, reads “Rowan.” “Yes?” I say when I reach him.

He nods with his head, indicating that we should step farther down the corridor, completely out of earshot. After we do, he glances around before he speaks. “If you need to use the, um, facilities in your room, you can do that to night from nine to ten p.m.”

Ah, right. I’d wondered how Melissa was going to arrange for me to e-mail through her shots— it looks like Rowan is going to be doing that arranging. I check my watch; it’s eight thirty. When I look back up again, I inspect Rowan with a frown. I don’t think he’s used to this kind of thing— he’s sweat-ing. Beads of perspiration are dotted all over his top lip. Maybe he’s not as familiar with the dark side as I am.

“Thanks,” I tell him. “Try not to have a heart attack, okay?” And with a shake of my head, I go back to the communal living room. Ned’s still there, sitting on the couch. He glances up at me when I drop back into my seat.

“The bureaucracy here,” I say, and shrug, “it’s never ending. I mentioned on one form that I was lactose intolerant and everyone suddenly seems to think I’m going to go into 96

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anaphylactic shock if I’m in the same room as milk.” This was close to the truth— I am lactose intolerant, and every time I enter the cafeteria, one of the staff makes sure to let me know which items have dairy in them and provides me with my own soy milk. Which is really nice of them, but I’m kind of used to fending for myself when it comes to dairy.

Even so, I feel bad about lying to Ned.

Yet again.

“That must suck,” Ned replies. “I don’t know if I could give up milkshakes.”

I nod absentmindedly, not thinking about milkshakes, but thinking that it does suck. Lying to Ned sucks. Big- time.

Especially because I know that I’m going to have to keep on doing it.

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8

I can hardly believe I have the guts, but at 9:47 p.m., during my time with the “facilities,” I decide to play Melissa. I e-mail and tell her getting decent shots is harder than I thought it would be. Because I leave it till the last minute, Melissa doesn’t have time to reply, and, for a while at least, I’m off the hook.

By lunchtime the following day, I’ve taken only a few more shots of Ned and they’re all terrible. I tell myself that there hasn’t been much opportunity, that the lighting has been bad, that I’ve been interrupted. And all those things are true, but I also know there’s another reason: I’m stalling. I don’t want to take some spectacular shot that Melissa will feel she has no choice but to run asap.

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As I sit with my half- eaten lunch, I know there’s really something wrong with me. I could have taken hundreds of shots if I’d wanted to. If I’d wanted to get them badly enough.

Even if they turned out to be useless, I should have been taking them.

The trouble is, something’s stopping me.

I take a swig from my bottle of water and glance at that something, who’s sitting across the room from me: Ned.

This morning, after group (where, thankfully, the focus had been on Seth and his emotional breakthrough), I’d asked around about Ned, hoping to get that staccato- style story in three phrases or less. But no one knew all that much. A couple people thought it was father issues, a couple thought it was fame issues, no one thought he was here for anything like drugs or alcohol (which, again, confi rmed Melissa’s promise about the facility). Father issues would fall in line with what he’d told me last night, but everyone knew Matthew Hartnett left a lot to be desired. It was hardly breaking news.

“Jo?” an inmate I don’t know taps me on the shoulder from behind, making me jump halfway to the ceiling. What is wrong with me? I’m never on edge like this.

“Yep?” I try to act something close to normal as I look up.

“There’s a phone call for you. At the front desk. I think it’s your mom?”

My eyebrows raise sky high when I hear this and I resist 99

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the urge to jump up on the table and yell, “It’s a miracle!” because I’m guessing it’s my “other” mother— Melissa. And I’m sure she’s right about ready to put me in the naughty corner.

I make my way out to the lobby, and the woman manning the front desk gestures to the phone I’m looking for.

“Hello?” I say, picking up. I try not to sound too worried that she’s calling.

“Jo. I need an update,” a voice barks at me.

Oh yeah. That’s Melissa, all right.

“The opportunities haven’t been great,” I say, by way of explanation. At least that’s half the truth. There’s no way I’m giving Melissa the other half— that my ability to point and shoot hasn’t been all that great, either.

“Never stopped you before,” Melissa answers.

“Well, I’ve got a couple of good . . . um, life- skills ideas,” I suddenly change my wording at the last second as Katrina, Ned, and a few others pass by me and head for the front door. Katrina gestures toward the lake and I nod and hold up a “one- minute” fi nger.

“What?”

“Sorry, people around,” I say. “I got a couple passable shots this morning,” I lower my voice to a whisper. “I’m hoping for some better ones this afternoon.”

“That’s a start, then. I’ve decided we’ve got to run with this soon, so the pressure’s on. You have another day. Maybe two.

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Three tops. I’m following up some leads on the story, which will buy you some time. But make it snappy. You’re not there to fi nd yourself.”

I should have known that nine days didn’t mean nine days when it came to Melissa. “We’re . . . ,” I start, but then hear the dial tone. Guess that’ll be it for our conversation. I end the call and pass the phone back. I’d been about to say we were set to go canoeing on the lake this afternoon, and I might be able to get a few more decent shots.

Maybe I can drown my guilt out there while I’m at it.

★ ★ ★

I can’t risk taking my real camera down to the lake, even in my backpack, so I pat my fauxPod, still in my pocket from lunch, and follow the others outside.

It’s a gorgeous day again— crisp, with a huge blue sky and white clouds drifting lazily past in the breeze. Perfect for canoeing. If you don’t fall in, of course (I’m guessing there’s probably no time of the year in Boston that you want to fall out of your canoe).

When I get down to the lake, everyone is already life jacketed, paired up, and in the water. After a second or two, Brad spots me and calls out. “I’ll do a lap to get everyone going and then come back and swap with you, Jo.” I nod and wave. Fine by me.

I sit down on the bank and watch. Katrina and Ned have 101

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paired up together, and despite all the splashing and laughing going on, they’re actually doing really well. Katrina seems to have gotten her coordination together on the water just fi ne, and she and Ned have practically lapped some of the other people. In our room last night, in the dark, I’d started to add a few things together— Katrina telling me not to be “weird” about Ned when she was giving me the tour of the retreat, her tendency to be around him so much, the fact that she seemed to talk to him a lot more than many of the other people here— and I’d asked her if she was interested in him.

A pillow had gone fl ying across the room. I took that as a defi nite “just friends.”

As I watch them, I note the difference between Ned’s expression last night and the one on his face now— he looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world out there in that canoe.

But last night, during our private talk, well, he’s obviously pretty unhappy with his life right now. I wonder what’s going on with him that’s made his dad send him here.

Sitting in group today, I’d thought a lot about Brad’s question— what would I change about my life? It’s been haunting me. I can’t seem to get it out of my head. What would I change? If I could, would I wish for a mother and a father and a brother, all housed behind that white picket fence? Maybe even a dog and a wood- paneled station wagon to really complete the look?

No, I don’t think so.

Everyone seemed to think it was so weird that my dad is 102

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away a lot when I don’t have a mom around to look after me, but I’ve never questioned it that much. It’s just how things are.

Like they were the day before and will be the day after. That’s Dad’s big take on life: it is what it is. He’s a literal kind of guy.

Things are black and white in his world. It’s all point and shoot. Anyway, it’s hardly like anyone else here is “normal.” If anyone is “normal” at all, even out in the real world.

What I’d told Ned was true, though. Spending just a small amount of time with him has made me realize I need to stick to my plans to get out of papping eventually and do my own thing. And I do have a plan that I’m following. Even though, right now, it isn’t a plan I truly agree with.

Still, one thing’s for sure— I’m not going to let Brad ask me any more questions that I don’t have solid answers to.

He’s messing with my brain, bringing up things I don’t need to be thinking about right now. And my brain doesn’t like it.

My brain had its nice little plan all worked out and . . .

Oh.

“Gotta run!” Katrina jumps out onto the bank and sprints past me with her long legs. “Too much soda at lunch!” I watch her go.

“Jo! Come on, give it a try,” Ned calls out, and I quit watching Katrina and turn back to look at him.

So much for that stellar “plan” of mine. Not one more shot taken.

★ ★ ★

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I slip my shoes off and make my way down to the canoe, where I put on Katrina’s vest. Before I know it, we’ve pushed off and are out on the water.

“Hey! I didn’t fall in!” I say to Ned’s back.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised.”

“I am surprised!” I tell him. “Sports and me . . . let’s just say we don’t mix well.”

Ned stops paddling for a second and glances back at me.

“But you did great at the circus workshop. You know, after you got down with dealing with us dirty, untrustworthy types.” I take my paddle out of the water now and give Ned a bit of a push in the back. I leave a satisfyingly large wet mark on his life jacket and even manage to get a few drips down his neck.

“Hey!”

“Watch it, or I’ll tell Brad you’ve been bullying me. I’m delicate, you know.”

Ned laughs. “I think you’re the least delicate person I’ve ever met, Jo.”

I snort. “Ha! I’ll have you know I can be delicate.” He turns around slowly and gives me a look. I stick my tongue out. “Okay, so I can’t be delicate. Actually, I kind of realized that the moment I got

here, opened the shared

closet, and saw Katrina’s clothes.”

Ned laughs again when I mention Katrina. “Did you see her run? She has really got to lay off the soda. She hasn’t had any for years, and now she can’t stop. Seriously, they should 104

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have halfway houses or something for ballerinas. She’s lost touch with reality.”

“Because of Sprite. That is a pretty sad teenage version of ‘lost touch with reality.’ ”

“I’ll say.”

I pause for a second before I ask the question. “I guess you’ve seen a few people really lose touch . . . ,” I ask.

In front of me, Ned’s shoulders visibly tense up. “I guess.” He doesn’t turn around.

I decide to let it go. I don’t think I’ll be getting a whole lot of information out of Ned. Probably best to avoid the fame bit from now on.

“So, you’ve got a brother . . . ,” I say, trying a different line of questioning. And now Ned doesn’t tense, he whips around, almost dropping his paddle in the water.

“How do you know I’ve got a brother?”

I freeze. He’d mentioned him. Last night. Hadn’t he? I think back, fast. Oh, man. He hadn’t. Think quick, Jo. Think quick. Or just lie.

“You mentioned him,” I say. “Last night. When you were talking about your dad.”

Ned pauses, his eyes fl icking to the side, remembering.

He doesn’t look convinced. “Did I?”

I shrug, as if it’s no big deal. “How else would I know?” Gee, I wonder . . . years of stalking the stars, maybe? “Katrina talks about her sisters all the time. I thought you could tell me about your brother. I don’t have any siblings, so it’s fun to 105

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