Catch a Falling Star (36 page)

He leaned forward, the moonlight catching his hair, bleaching

his tan face, making him his own sort of ghost. “I’m going to take

some credit for this epiphany.”

I hoped my face showed how true that was. “You should.”

“I can hear the sounds of roots ripping up as we speak,” he

teased.

“Mr. Jakes?” Tiny Tom stood in the doorway. “They’re ready

for you.”

“I’m glad you came,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I wish I

could talk longer, but —”

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“Go,” I said, waving him on. “I totally barged in on you. Thanks

for listening.”

His body already morphing into Scott, he vanished into the

next room.

Not wanting to go just yet, I followed Adam and found a chair

near the back, watching everyone build the rest of the Christmas

fantasy. In the scene, Cheryl was home from the hospital, recover-

ing on the couch under a mound of quilts, snow falling gently

outside her dark window. Scott had already been visited by the

Ghost of Christmas Future, and had brought Cheryl a music box,

one that had been broken and he’d repaired for her as a symbol of

his new commitment to living a whole, good life. Blinking back

tears, Cheryl held the music box aloft and blessed us, every one,

the lights of the fake Christmas tree twinkling behind her, reflect-

ing in the frosted windows.

I couldn’t wait to see it when all the movie magic had been

added, the music, the glowing lighting. But even watching from

where I could see the cameras, see Hunter’s back hunched as he

directed the scene, see the crew moving silently about, I knew it

would be a beautiful scene.

There was a reason this particular story kept being retold. We

all had our own ghosts who visited us. We all had these reminders,

these spirits sent to warn us, guide us, awaken us to things in our

lives. Each of us had people who reminded us of our past or pointed

out our present, who illuminated our future path in some way. I

had them in Chloe and Alien Drake, in my parents, even in my

brother.

And in Adam.

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They guided us like night stars, nudging us, reminding us that

so much was possible.

At one point during a lull in the shooting, Adam caught my

eye, and he gave me a sad sort of smile.

After the shoot, he came to sit next to me in the back of the

room. As we watched the dismantling of the tree, I realized I’d

have to wait another five months before we built Christmas around

us again, its spirit dormant in the hot days of summer.

“Parker said the announcement went well,” he said, his eyes

downcast, picking at some loose strings on the chair’s seat. “I look

like a prince — hooray,” he added weakly.

“Yes, you’re officially single and heartbroken. The world will

love you again.” I tried to keep my voice light, but it caught.

Hearing it, he glanced up, his eyes searching my face. It sent a coil

of sadness through me. It might have been fake, what we had, but

I’d miss him for real. “Sorry, Adam.”

“For what?”

“For not understanding why you needed to do all those things

with the tabloids.” I kept my voice low, knowing anyone could

overhear us and, suddenly, the whole world would know. “I’m not

saying that I agree; I’m just, you know, sorry.”

He studied the photos lining the walls — another family,

another set of stories playing themselves out in the world. “We’re

from really different worlds, aren’t we?” His face darkened.

“That’s an understatement.” We were like two planets whose

orbits should never cross.

“Still,” he said, his gaze slipping to me. “I’m really glad I

met you.”

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“Me too,” I whispered over the thickness in my throat.

“Mr. Jakes?” Tiny Tom stood again before us. Behind him, the

room had been completely cleared. Nothing left of Christmas. Just

a house, dark in the middle of a July night. “We’re done here.”

In the small bubble of silence to follow, knowing an exit when

it opened, Adam stood. “We should go.”

I pulled a picture frame from my bag, the dark blue one scat-

tered with stars that Chloe had given me in my survival kit. “This

is sort of dumb, I guess, but I brought you this.” I handed it to him.

It held a quote I’d written onto a blank piece of cardstock. “It’s

from
A Christmas Carol
, the original novella.”

I wil  honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it 

al  the year. I wil  live in the Past, the Present, and the 

Future. The Spirits of al  Three shal  strive within me. 

I wil  not shut out the lessons that they teach.

He took it, his face unreadable. “Thanks.”

I told him how glad I was they’d filmed the movie here, how

much I loved how Dickens’s little book had been so lasting, had

been retold so many times. What I didn’t tell him was how much

he mattered to me. I knew my few weeks with Adam wouldn’t

really factor into the grand scheme of the world, but they had

made a huge difference to me.

I didn’t tell him because I was pretty sure he already knew.

“Keep watching the sky, okay?” He leaned to kiss my cheek,

his lips the quick flick of butterfly wings.

“I will.”

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yesterday’s sightings

Things Are Looking Up in Little, CA

Morning, sky watchers. In 1961, John Kennedy said that we

should explore space because it “may hold the key to our

future on earth.” It’s been two weeks since Hol ywood left

Little, and since they left, we’ve been talking a lot about why

we watch movies. Why are they and the lives of their stars so

important to us? We think it’s much the same reason as

Kennedy suggested. They might hold the key to something in

our own future, in our own lives. Whether we search for

answers in space or in the books we read, in the music we

listen to, or through the movies we watch, the essential thing

is that we keep exploring, that we keep pushing ourselves to

find our possible lives.

What possibilities will you seek out today?

See you tonight, under the sky.

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twenty-three

a few weeks later, there was no trace of Hollywood in Little,

CA. No more humming generators, no more blocked-off streets,

no more crews scurrying around with snow-hoses and annoying

the locals who found stray bits of fake snow on their cars. As much

as I felt the hollow of Adam’s absence, peace had returned to our

small town, even if it left Chloe sort of sulky.

“Did you guys even try to talk?” she was asking as she stacked

cups above the espresso machine. “I mean, I know he screwed up,

but maybe you guys could have given it a real chance. You really

liked him, Carter. Like,
really
liked.”

“And how exactly,” I asked her, “would we do that? It’s not like

my mom and dad would let their high school daughter fly off to

Australia with a movie star.” I wiped the counter with a rag.

“Maybe they would have let you,” Chloe insisted. “They did

tell you to keep your options open, to look for something for your

life outside of Little. Well, Australia is outside of Little.”

Over the past couple of weeks, I’d been sharing my ideas

about post–high school plans with Chloe and she’d been sharing

hers with me. No surprise, she was looking almost exclusively at

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communications majors in Southern California, Hollywood draw-

ing her like a moth to its neon light.

“I’m pretty sure becoming part of Adam Jakes’s entourage was

not what they had in mind. It’s not going on the list.”

To my surprise, with Alien Drake’s and Chloe’s help, the list

was getting longer and longer. There were plenty of schools near

and far with programs in dance therapy as well as social work. I

even found a few gap-year programs that would let me take some

of the work I’d done with Sandwich Saturdays and expand it to a

bigger level.

My eyes caught on something through the window. Cars piled

up in a line, snaking up the street. A stalled SUV blocked the way,

angled so cars couldn’t pass. “Hold on, Chlo — we might need to

call a tow truck,” I said as I pushed through the door and out onto

the patio.

The SUV wasn’t stalled.

Adam Jakes lounged against the Range Rover, which he had

parked crookedly in the middle of the street. Drivers leaned out of

their cars, trying to determine the cause of the holdup.

All air escaped me. So much for Hollywood not blocking any

more of our streets.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him over the fence separat-

ing our café from the sidewalk. The café diners paused. The man

playing jazz guitar in our patio stopped. Silence leaked in around

me. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Australia?”

The patio door banged open behind me. “Carter, what —” I

heard Chloe gasp. “Oh,
WOW
!”

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Adam waved a sheet of paper in the air. “We have some unfin-

ished business.”

My face reddened. I waved a sort of apology at Mr. Murdoch,

who was fuming in the car behind Adam. “What are you talking

about?”

“Well, we were talking about how stories need to be retold,

right? What about love being a risk worth taking even when it

makes no sense? I’d like to discuss
that
story more.” Two women

diners in the patio gave out a simultaneous “Woo-hoo!” Adam

grinned in their direction, then let his gaze fall back on me. “Take

a risk, Carter. It’s an old story for a reason. I know you’re consid-

ering all your possibilities right now, and I’d just like to throw my

hat in the ring.”

Feeling all sorts of light-headed, I tried to fasten my mind to

exactly what Adam was saying as Mr. Murdoch was attempting

to push around him. Finally, an old-timer in a beat-up Chevy made

a seven-point turn and sped back up the hill, giving Adam a not-so-

friendly finger. I tried to hide my smile. “You need to get out of the

street. People have jobs. You know,
real
jobs? They need to get to

work.” I nervously twisted the rag I was holding.

He held up the paper again. “I repeat: We have a tour to

finish.”

I realized with a start that it was my handmade Little Star

Map. I couldn’t believe he’d kept it.

Mr. Murdoch leaned on his horn. “Hey, Carter, can you get

this jerk to move his vehicle?”

“I’m trying,” I called to him, my heart thumping. To Adam, I

said, “You have to move your vehicle, jerk.”

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He didn’t waiver. “You’re kind of raining on my grand roman-

tic gesture.”

I grinned. “Grand? You don’t even have a sound track.”

He knew he had me. “I was going to have your dad’s band play,

but I thought that might be a bit over the top. I know you like your

privacy.”

“Yes, and this is so subtle.”

He took a step forward and pushed his sunglasses into his hair.

“I think people from two worlds sometimes just have to meet in

the middle.” He gestured to the car. “You coming?”

Mr. Murdoch made the turn like the Chevy had and sped away,

but most were clearly enjoying the show, had gotten out of their

cars to watch.

I chewed my lip, not answering, my body electrical, buzzing.

Adam didn’t take his eyes off me. “You need to come kiss me,

and then we need to finish our Star Tour. That’s how this works.”

“Carter, go to him!” Chloe hissed behind me. “You’re ruin-

ing this.”

I looked at her. Alien Drake stood next to her in the doorway.

“Well, go on; don’t drag it out. Some of us have things to do.” He

grinned.

Adam tossed the map into the rolled-down window of the

Range Rover, then came to the fence. “People like a Hollywood

ending, Carter.”

“Not all people.”

“But you do.”

He was right. I did. I loved a Hollywood ending. Loved the

montage where they figured everything out to the swell of music,

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the scenes from the beach or skyscraper where everything worked

out the way it should. Simple, lovely — hopeful.

The way I wished the whole world could be.

If this moment were a movie, this would be the part where he

kissed me, where the music would rise over the press of our lips,

where the shot would pan away into the yellow light of afternoon,

the credits starting to roll.

But this wasn’t a movie. In life, we didn’t get to have credits

roll to tell us when we’d come to the end of our epiphany arc. To

know when to applaud. In life, there were no credits, no sound

tracks. In life, things often didn’t work out. My brother might

never get better. I might make the list for my parents but not

choose the right answer. Because there were no right answers.

That was the great thing about growing up. We got to write

our own endings, thousands of them, over and over. That
was
life.

It was a million little endings. But it was also a million little begin-