“Not unless you ask me to.”
He laughs. “I’ve got a good feeling about you, Rosie Thorne.” Then he turns and shuts the library doors after him, leaving me alone with all of these old, whispering novels.
And I can’t even.
Like, at all.
Words are—there aren’t any words, really.
There’s only silence, and shelves of plots and possibilities and pages, and looking at them all makes me feel so small. When I make sure I’m finally alone, I go over to the desk, and pick up the waterlogged Starfield novel that I almost destroyed. The cover is curled and crinkly, and the pages have drawn into themselves, but I can still read the name of the author, and I trace my fingers across the title.
The Starless Throne.
I know my mom isn’t really there. She doesn’t exist anymore. Most of the time, I try not to think about it, but sometimes grief comes in waves. It laps against the sandy beach of your soul, again and again, soft and rushing and impossible to escape.
She’s gone, but I miss her.
She no longer exists, but the words she loved still do.
I return the book to the shelf and get to work.
* * *
—
VANCE DOESN’T RETURN UNTIL I’M GETTING IN MY CAR, ready to leave for the weekend. My eyes are tired and my contacts are dry from staring at titles for two hours. He’s coming down the road with his dog trotting at his heels. The rain seemed to have held off after all. Lucky him. He glances up at me, just for a brief moment, and once again I get that feeling that I’ve met him before. It bugs me.
A second later, Sansa sees me and her ears perk. She tests her leash, but Vance pulls her back and leads her into the house instead.
“See you Monday!” I call after him, and when he—surprise!—doesn’t respond, I get into my car and mutter to the steering wheel, “Asshole.”
MY CHARACTER GETS A LASER-BULLET TO THE FACE.
GAME OVER.
With a groan, I toss my controller onto the couch beside me and lounge back. In my headset, Imogen says, “Starflame, Vance, you usually aren’t this bad.”
“I’ve kinda got other things on my mind.”
“Well, get them out of your mind. I’ve got to get that trophy.” She revives me, and my character picks himself back up. We’re trying to get our team—who’re all lagging behind—to enemy territory and steal their flag. I’ve always hated this mini-game, but Imogen needs the loot from the win today, and I am bored enough to entertain her.
Her character jumps over the ravine between us and takes out two enemy aliens before she squats to try to claim the flag. I jump over beside her and start to pick off the reinforcements.
“So have you decided what you’re going to do about your mom?” she asks. I fail to dodge a bullet, and half of my health gets blasted away.
I quickly take out the sniper on the tower. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
“Seriously? Vance.”
“I’ll figure it out eventually.”
But the truth is, I’m just hoping that she’ll just stop calling if I keep ignoring her. I only have a few short weeks until I turn eighteen, and once I do my stepfather can’t keep me here. I can do whatever the hell I want, and the first thing I’m going to do is fly back to LA and pick up where I left off.
“Have any of your friends texted you back yet?” she asks. I can hear the air quotes around “friends.” She means the people I go clubbing with on the weekends.
“They’re probably busy,” I reply.
“Mm-hmm, I’m sure,” she replies. Her character ducks behind cover to dodge a hail of bullets. “You know how I feel about those people. Aren’t they the only ones who knew where the wrap party was?”
I know what she’s insinuating. “They didn’t tip off the paparazzi.”
“They’re sharks, Vance.” She spins out from behind cover and fires a shot right into the enemy’s face, and grabs their flag. She makes a run for the other side of the map to win the game.
“And I’m not?”
“Not in that way—on your left,” she adds, passing me in the game.
I hurry to follow her as we make our way back to home base. “Even if they did, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have taken Elle home, anyway.”
She jumps a ledge and catapults herself onto our base. The second her character reaches it, the timer runs out—and the game ends. “You know that’s not true. It was shitty of them.”
I purse my lips. Maybe it was, but I can’t blame them. What do rich kids (at least these rich kids) do when they’re bored? They make drama. I’m sure they thought it’d be harmless fun, and besides, they’re the only kind of people who I know understand me. They’re the progeny of tech philanthropists and executive producers and Wall Street wolves and high-profile lawyers. They don’t bat an eyelash when I say I’ve lived in a mansion in the Hollywood Hills beside the likes of Carrie Fisher and Leo DiCaprio. I’ve always had a bodyguard, a valet, anything and everything I ever wanted at the tip of my fingers.
It’s normal to them. They don’t want to be my friend because I can give them something—they’ve got everything already.
The one exception to my group of friends is Imogen, but our friendship is a bit diabolical in and of itself.
“Heck yeah! Got the loot trophy,” she cheers from her end as the game deals out our winnings. We’re about to queue into the next session when my phone lights up in a silent ring. Speaking of which.
“My mother’s calling,” I mutter.
“You still haven’t talked to her?”
I silence my phone and shrug, even though she can’t see it. “What’s there to talk about? She sent me here to get me out of her and my stepfather’s hair for a while. She picked a great place. Nothing around for miles. I could die and the tabloids wouldn’t find out for at least a week. I don’t see how anyone stays in this town.”
She laughs. “Maybe it’ll grow on you. Anyway, I should probably get off. Gotta go help with dinner.”
“Same time tomorrow?”
“Oh, not tomorrow—I have a hot date.”
“Ugh, with him still? What are you two going to do—go Pokémon hunting again?”
“Don’t pretend like you aren’t jealous, Vance Reigns,” she tsks.
I’m not. I don’t understand her infatuation with Jess’s assistant, Ethan Tanaka. They met at ExcelsiCon last year, and against all odds, they’re still going. “Fine, whatever. Have a great date—and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”