They The Pretty Stars (Court High 1)

He hadn’t asked me about a job, nor had I said I had any desire for one. If anything, I’d be too busy once school got in the thick of things considering the curriculum.

“Why?” I dared to ask, and when my father looked at me the way he did, I thought to rethink the question. “I just mean, I just started school and—”

“This will keep things balanced for you,” he said, nodding with it and his sports jacket over his arm. “Keep you focused and out of trouble. We’re not going to have a repeat of what happened out in LA. Not while you’re under my roof.”

I fought myself from cringing at the statement, one mistake branding me for life when it came to him. It’d been a big one, one I owned up to but still. Did he have to hold it over my head? I’d already done that enough to myself in the past.

I rubbed my arm. “Dad, I really don’t have time for a job.” On top of starting at a new school, I’d already dealt with a mini crisis. I had no idea if Royal stepping in would work for me, but I knew I’d still be dealing with some type of repercussions from it. Whatever that may be, I really didn’t feel I needed another thing in my life.

Dad barely acknowledged what I said, flicking through pieces of mail one by one. “You’re starting a job, December, and maybe, unlike your sister, you’ll actually keep one. It’ll also give you some spending money. I don’t mind giving you money for the things you want while you’re here, but if you work, I won’t mind giving it to you even less.”

Giving up, I nodded. What he said was fair enough, and I would need things for Hershey if she was staying with me. I mean, if he said yes to her staying here and all that.

I didn’t like how he’d basically made this decision for me, but it was fair, and back home, I did have a job. Usually, I just did a bunch a bullshit at the convenience store I worked at because the owner had been a joke and the employees did whatever they wanted. It had allowed me spending money, though, and a place to smoke out of my aunt’s house. She didn’t particularly enjoy that I smoked weed, but what aunt would?

“When do I start?” I asked, gripping a chair at the bar, and his mail filtered through, my dad tossed it on the counter.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “First thing.”

*

Tomorrow morning consisted of the butt-crack of dawn, Hershey licking me awake in the end after I ignored my alarm for the snooze button three times. Saturday mornings shouldn’t be like this, early, but for the sake of avoiding the wrath of my dad, I got my ass up and got going. I took a shower, got dressed, and after getting my dog set up with breakfast in the guesthouse, I left Hershey to her own devices. I shot a text to Rosanna to poke in on her from time to time since she’d be coming in later today and prayed to God Dad didn’t decide to do something rogue like go out there. He’d have no reason to do so, but stranger things…

I stood in front of the pegboard that held the keys to my dad’s cars, a piece of Pop-Tart from my secret stash clamped between my teeth. Dad said I could take any car outside of his Rolls to work this morning.

Plucking a set of Range Rover keys, I headed to the garage and opened the door, closing myself inside the brand-new vehicle. Dad had just bought this car last year.

I saw it in my sister’s pictures.

Frozen by the information, I smoothed my hand over the wheel, the ghost of my sister, Paige, in this car. This was her car, something she didn’t even take with her.

Gosh, I wish you’d come home.

She had to be staying with friends or maybe just traveling. My sister sent me photos from all over the place when she was in the thick of it from something Dad did or Dad said. She was good at staying off the radar and if she didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be.

Sighing, I opened the garage door. I got myself buckled in, then started the car. Once in gear, I let the car’s navigation take me to the community center and was on autopilot virtually the whole way. I kept envisioning my sister in this car, my sister driving these streets, and my sister in this life. It was like I was playing placeholder for her, here in her place until she came back. Turning the wheel, I continued playing the game. I was determined to stay here until she got her shit together. She couldn’t run forever, hide, and I knew this from personal experience. My father reminded me I once had my own shit to deal with and I had dealt with it. Paige had been there for me way back when, and this was me being there for her now.

The car’s navigation literally took me out to the middle of farm country, but when traffic picked up, I knew I was in the right place. Cars everywhere, the roads leading up to the community center were a complete cluster-fuck.

What the hell?

When Dad said “community center,” I figured he meant a busted-down YMCA smack-dab in the middle of downtown, not some glass-encased fortress in the middle of cornfields, but that’s exactly what I found. I followed the traffic flow to the back, the lot just as jam-packed.

Jesus.

The inside wasn’t any different, a crystal palace of wide windows and open space. People rushed around inside, some in uniforms, others not, but all raced to get to various activities, some of which I passed as I wandered the place aimlessly.

I nibbled a Pop-Tart, catching games of basketball, volleyball, and even bowling at one point. Virtually all the rooms were filled, the stands as well with who had to be parents.

I shook my head, the culture completely different.

What else is new?

I felt like a fish out of water at the school, so why not in the community too? I gripped my bag, thinking I needed to find some kind of information

center like when attending a concert at an arena. This basically the same thing, I stood on my tiptoes in search of one. My gaze stopped immediately on extended height, a boy coming directly at me through the crowd. I knew this boy from school or at least knew of him. LJ, Royal’s friend LJ, was a tall blond of extraordinary height and the same went for his build. Arms thick and shoulders bulky, he currently had that long blond hair of his cinched at the top of his head, a red shirt over his arm that matched the one he wore. He came right at me, stopping me in my path. The name Lance J. was embroidered in yellow thread on his right pec, one that very much twitched when he stopped.

He frowned right at me. “You’re late, Lindquist.”