Every Soul a Star Read online

  “What was that about? Who was on the phone?”

  She looks like she’d rather not say, but I don’t budge. “That was someone from some class they said you went to on modeling?”

  I redden, then press on. “And?”

  “They were just calling to offer you a place in a course they’re giving.”

  “Really?” I KNEW that woman had noticed me!

  “Don’t get too excited,” Mom says, putting out the last of the bagels. “I’m sure they call everyone who attended. It’s probably a scam.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but what if she’s right? I can’t even ask Claire if she got the call, because if she didn’t, it would be awkward.

  “Can I still do it?” I ask, holding my breath.

  “What do you think?” Mom says.

  “I think this whole thing bites!” I say, and storm out. My iPod remains on from the moment we leave the house to the moment the flight attendant says to turn off all electrical devices. I’m squished between Mom and Melanie, who is chomping loudly on honey-roasted peanuts and pointing out each type of cloud as we fly overhead. When we first came on the plane we had to walk through first class and it was soooo nice. Roomy leather seats. Foot rests. And a cute guy in a college t-shirt checked me out. I might be the best-dressed person on the plane in my strappy sandals and pink cami and wraparound skirt. Everyone else looks like slobs in sweats or jeans or shorts. I firmly believe one should always look their best, no matter what the circumstances are. If I wasn’t being sent to Purgatory, I might have flirted with College T-shirt Guy.

  Melanie keeps poking me and reading passages from a book about eclipses. “Listen to this one,” she says, not waiting for a response. “In the middle of watching a solar eclipse, this woman says, ‘If it could be repeated every day for a year, I would never budge from where I stood.’ That must mean it’s pretty amazing.”

  “Trust me,” I say, closing my eyes, “I’ll be able to budge.”

  Dad is waiting for us in baggage claim when we arrive. He looks tired, but he perks up when he sees us. Melanie goes running into his arms. I grunt a hello. I look for College T-shirt Guy when we land, but I don’t see him. Flirting would at least be something to do. Even the airport is in the middle of nowhere. Cornfields and distant mountains and cows. It feels strange to see Dad’s van parked in front of such an unfamiliar place. It bucks and grunts as he turns the key, but it feels a little like home.

  After a few hours we arrive in a little town that as far as I can tell consists of two streets with a diner, a video store, a Laundromat, and a tiny market. We pull into the diner. I’m surprised to see the parking lot is full.

  “We’re about fifty miles from the Moon Shadow,” Dad says as a little bell rings to announce our arrival inside.

  “What’s the Moon Shadow?” I ask hoarsely. Then I clamp my mouth shut, remembering my vow of silence.

  “That’s the name of the campsite,” Melanie says, bouncing on her heels. “Because during a solar eclipse the moon’s shadow covers the earth. Isn’t it a great name?”

  “Fab,” I mutter.

  A waitress appears and leads us to the one empty booth. I bet they don’t even have bottled water here. I’ll die of thirst before I drink a soda. I can’t help wondering who all these people are. Some old, some young, some even speaking foreign languages. They can’t possibly all live out here. As if reading my thoughts, she waves her arm around the room and says, “Eclipse chasers. Come a few weeks early. I ’spect you all doing the same?”

  Melanie and I slide into the booth as Dad says, “Actually we’re here to take over the Moon Shadow Campground.”

  The woman hands me a plastic menu and then pauses. “Really now? I didn’t know the Summers family was leaving. Where they goin’ then?”

  “We’re not sure,” Dad says, looking to Mom, who shakes her head.

  “The Midwest, I think,” she says. “This all happened very suddenly. In fact they’re not even expecting us for another week. We figured we’d come a little early so we can learn how things are run before the eclipse.”

  Another WEEK? We didn’t have to be here for another week? I fume into my menu, which is sticky with ketchup.

  Once the waitress leaves, Dad nudges me and says, “You might want to try the meat loaf with gravy fries. It gets cold up here in the winter. You need to put some meat on your bones.”

  I stare at him as if he’s just suggested I sprout wings and fly through the air. I can’t put meat on my bones and expect to be ready to model when we get back to civilization. Then it hits me. Maybe being in Purgatory is, like, my test. It’s not easy being a model. You have to watch what you eat all the time; you have to compete with all the other girls; you have to stand really still while bossy designers nip and tuck clothes around you. Plus you get really jet-lagged flying around the world. If I can handle this, I’ll know I have what it takes to put up with all the hardships that go with life as a supermodel. Maybe it won’t be so bad. After all, I can appreciate natural beauty. It will give me plenty of time to practice my runway strut. And without the smog from the city, I bet my complexion will be totally clear.

  Oh, who am I kidding? It’s gonna suck.

  JACK

  3

  The ride to the bus is quiet. I’m in the backseat of Mom’s Toyota, staring out the window. Most of the town is still asleep. Mike is in the front seat as usual. You’d think that since we’re in the car because of me, he’d let me sit in the front. But no. He never thinks of things like that.

  “I’m not pushing you into this, right?” Mom says, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “It’s your choice to go?”

  Mom has asked me this three times since Mr. Sil-ver’s call. “Yes, Mom, it’s my choice. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not worried,” she says. But she clearly is. I don’t have a great track record with school trips. In sixth grade she had to come pick me up from Six Flags because Timmy Johnson bet me I couldn’t eat ten hot dogs. I ate eleven, and threw up all over the tilt-a-whirl and half the riders. Then last year my history class went to a museum, and I thought a piece of modern art was a trash can and spit my gum into it. That didn’t go over well either. But I’m older and wiser now. I plan on keeping a low profile and staying out of trouble. Plus Timmy Johnson—or anyone else—wouldn’t bother to bet me anything now since they don’t notice me at all.

  We pull into the town hall parking lot and I see the bus idling in front. I feel a little flutter in my stomach, followed by a big flutter. Mom gets out, but I don’t move from my seat. I pat the pockets of my jacket to make sure my book and sketch pad and Game Boy are still there. Mr. Silver is standing by the side of the bus, checking people in with a clipboard. Am I crazy to be doing this? What if I’m totally useless and Mr. Silver fires me and Mom has to drive hundreds of miles to pick me up? I don’t want to let her down again. I don’t want to be grounded again. For me being grounded means I can’t go into the treehouse.

  Mike gets out of the car, and I have no choice but to follow. He’s already grabbed my duffel from the trunk by the time I reach it. He plops it on the ground in front of me. “I have something for you,” he says, handing me a red folder. “I thought you might want to learn a thing or two about eclipses before you got there. You know, so you won’t feel left out.”

  I open the folder and flip through the pages. There are three articles: “Elements of a Solar Eclipse,” “What to Look for During a Total Solar Eclipse,” and “Three Thousand Miles for Three Minutes of Totality.” There are diagrams and photographs, too. I couldn’t be more surprised. “Where did you get these?”

  “I downloaded them early this morning.”

  We stand there awkwardly for a minute, looking around the parking lot. Mike was right, most of the people taking bags out of their cars are over fifty. But there are a few younger groups, and one family with a kid who looks around six years old. Mom approaches with Mr. Silver. I’ve never seen him in shorts and