Every Soul a Star Read online

  With one last backward glance, I hurry into the van and shut the door quickly behind me. In order to fit on the seat I have to push aside one of the many cardboard boxes filled with copies of Mom and Dad’s book, Dark Matters, which they store in the van for when they do speaking engagements. I glance in the back to see why the boxes aren’t in their usual spot and discover the back is filled with folding tables and poster boards.

  “What are those for?” Melanie asks, following my gaze. It always surprises me that she is interested in what my parents do. They and I have an unspoken agreement: I don’t pry into their lives, they don’t pry into mine. Works out just fine.

  My parents share a glance as Dad pulls up to a red light. Then Mom says, “That’s what we need to talk to you girls about.” Another glance. I swear my dad’s eyes are twinkling. I’m starting to get nervous. Mom continues, “We’re having a garage sale. In two days.”

  I relax into the seat. My parents get excited about the strangest things. “What’s the big deal?” I ask. “We’ve had garage sales before.”

  “This one is going to be a little bigger,” Dad says after a pause. Before I can ask what he means, he pulls the van into the park near our house and turns off the engine. It bangs and sputters before quieting. I cringe.

  “Are we going on the merry-go-round?” Melanie asks, bouncing up and down in her seat like a little kid. I roll my eyes.

  “Let’s go sit in the gazebo,” Mom suggests, only it’s more like a command. I can always count on her not to make us sit on the grass. She’s very squeamish about bugs. I don’t like them either, but for me it’s about the dirt. I’ve very anti-dirt. Especially in white.

  Melanie jumps out of the car and I reluctantly follow. How did my first day of summer vacation turn into Family Day? Mom has a thick blanket tucked under her arm, which she spreads out on the floor of the gazebo. She gestures for us to sit.

  Mom takes a deep breath and says, “Your father and I have some big news.”

  “I knew it!” Melanie yells, and pops up. “We’re moving! It’s finally happening.”

  I hear the words coming out of her mouth, but they honestly don’t register. A really cute guy with the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen has started jogging on the path around the gazebo. He’d be a total ten if his shorts weren’t quite so short. They’re so last summer.

  Dad puts his arm around Melanie’s shoulder and squeezes. “Yes! And the best part is, we’re going to be staying at a campground. Managing the place, in fact, for the next three years while we’re doing our research nearby. You’ll love it there. You’ll learn tons of things you could never learn here in the suburbs. It’s going to be wonderful.”

  Something about a campground trickles into my brain. “Huh?” I ask, turning my head back to the group. “Did I miss something? Are we going on vacation? Because my job starts next week and I —”

  Melanie plops down next to me. “Bree! Didn’t you hear? We’re moving! To a campground! Isn’t it great? You used to love camping when we were little, remember? You won that nature trophy in camp and —”

  If I wasn’t already on the ground I swear I would seriously faint. I yell so loudly my voice echoes in my head. “We’re WHAT???”

  JACK

  2

  “Are you gonna stay in there all night?” Mike calls up to me from the bottom of the tree. I wish I actually could stay up here all night. Mom never lets me sleep in the treehouse. She thinks I’ll sleepwalk right out into the air.

  I pretend I don’t hear him over the loud chirping of the crickets. I focus on my book. I have two pages left of a Ray Bradbury short story. It’s about this girl who lives in a world where the sun almost never shines. She hasn’t seen it in five years. Then these bullies lock her in a closet when the sun is about to come out. I have to find out if they let her out in time to see it.

  “Jack!” Mike calls up again. “I can see you up there!”

  For the zillionth time I bemoan the lack of privacy. SD2 (Stepdad number two) left before we built a door to the treehouse, so there’s just an open hole where anyone can look in. I know my way around a toolbox, but I can’t build things from scratch. SD3 was more of a deep thinker. He couldn’t tell a hammer from a nail, but I can thank him for teaching me how to wake up in my dreams without waking up for real. He called it lucid dreaming. It’s because of him that I can fly. He taught me how to tell the difference between the real world and when you’re dreaming. And when you learn to recognize the difference, you can control your dreams. You can do all sorts of things, but I like to fly. When I’m flying, I don’t weigh anything at all.

  So far there’s been no SD4. I wonder what he’ll be like, if there is one.

  “Just ten more minutes!” I call down. “Hold your horses.”

  I turn back to the book. The girl misses the sun. I can’t believe it. I feel so angry and sad for her. I wish I could write stories like that, where you feel something after you finish reading them. I’m no good at writing though, but I’m really good at drawing spaceships and little green men. Not that I let anyone see them. If Mom knew I could draw she’d sign me up for art classes to “build my confidence” or “raise my self-esteem” or one of the other phrases I’ve overheard the guidance counselors say to her over the years.

  I close the book and stick it in the corner next to my stash of Ranch-flavored Doritos and Orange Crush. Mom doesn’t let me eat junk food since the doctor said I should watch my weight. But she never comes up here. Fear of heights, which works out well for me.

  I’m about to pop the top off a can of soda when I hear Mike climbing the rickety stairs to the treehouse. I’m surprised he hasn’t given up bugging me. Usually at this time his girlfriend Suzy is over and they’re in his room “studying.” Of course he’d be dating the pret-tiest girl in school. Who else? I’ll probably never get to “study” with a girl.

  The stairs give a final creak as Mike reaches the top. “Yo. I’m giving you a heads-up here. One of your teachers is on the phone. So whatever you did, you might want to think of a good excuse before you go back into the house.”

  I sit up at this news, almost hitting my head on one of the hard wooden beams. My mind races with things I could have done wrong. Yesterday was the last day of school. Did I skip gym? Well, sure, but it was the last day. A lot of kids skipped. Did I pick up my report card? Yup. My homeroom teacher handed it to me, and I chucked it in the garbage can on my way out. Then when I remembered how mad Mom was last time I did that, I went back in and dug it out. Ray Smitty had already thrown gum on it. Did I leave an old tuna sandwich wedged in the corner of my locker? No, but I know the kid who did. Did someone see me drawing that spaceship on my desk? I don’t think so. I had my Earth Science notebook up the whole time. Plus it was in pencil, so it’s not really a big deal.

  So why was one of my teachers calling me?

  I scramble down the ladder, narrowly avoiding the bottom step, which has a large crack running through it. It’s going to break under my weight any day now. I find Mom in the kitchen, holding the cordless phone toward me. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look mad. There’s a mixture of amusement and surprise on her face. Weird.

  “It’s your science teacher,” she says. “He has a question to ask you.”

  Okay, so if it’s Mr. Silver that means it’s about the spaceship after all. I wonder what the punishment is for drawing on school property. He already failed me, dooming me to summer school—what more can he do? Although to be fair, he really did give me a lot of chances to bring my grades up. If only I’d remembered to include Saturn in my model of the solar system, I might have squeaked by with a D. If only science wasn’t right after lunch. I get so tired after lunch. When I don’t make a move to take the phone, Mom pushes it into my hand. Bracing for the worst, I say, “Hello?”

  “Hello, Jack,” Mr. Silver says.

  It’s very surreal hearing a teacher’s voice on the other end of my phone when school is out for summer. Well, out for the kids