The Brightest Stars

It wasn’t that long ago I had moved into my new place, but this room already seemed like a time capsule. I hadn’t slept there since the day I moved out. Come to think of it, I hadn’t even been in there. Sometimes it felt like I had moved out years ago—other times it felt like days. I wiped my finger in the dust on my dresser. Estelle made sure every room in the house was clean, except this one. What about Austin’s room, I wondered. Did she do her Martha Stewart thing in there? Probably. She had different rules for males and females.

I realized that I hadn’t changed any of the furniture since seventh grade or so. I remembered sitting in that purple beanbag chair when Josh, the guy who thought it was a good idea to give me cornbread for a birthday gift, broke up with me. His mom had told him that he needed to work on his grades, so if he wanted to pursue his supposed football career, he needed to keep his head clear and away from girls. I was fool enough to believe him. But he started dating one of the popular girls the very next day. Word around school was that he had dumped me for her. Seventh grade on really did a great job at progressing my insecurities.

That beanbag chair was the indoor equivalent of the porch swing, full of drama and dreamy memories. I bet there were a lot of teenage tears in that purple fabric.

My nightstand was stacked high with books. My econ textbook from my senior year of high school and the hardcover of You by Caroline Kepnes were collecting dust. I had bought another copy of You when I realized I’d left my copy at my dad’s and didn’t want to go back for a few days. Dad and Estelle hadn’t been married very long then, and I hated being around the newlyweds—I left every chance I got. That made two copies, three if you counted the audio. I bought that to hear the characters come to life in a voice other than my own. It was one of my favorite books and I always wanted to keep a copy at both houses. It was one of the few stories that my dad and I both loved. I reached for it and cracked open the spine. I could use the distraction.

YOU walk into the bookstore and you keep your hand on the door to make sure it doesn’t slam. You smile, embarrassed to be a nice girl, and your nails are bare and your V-neck sweater is beige and it’s impossible to know if you’re wearing a bra but I don’t think that—

When I heard the knock on the door, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Shit!”

“Karina?”

“WHAT?!” I sounded angry, like you do when you’re scared.

“Karina, are you all right?” It was Kael. “Can I come in?”

“Come in,” I said. I nodded too, though he likely couldn’t see me through the crack in the door. He entered slowly and, once inside, gently closed the door. The little click sounded so loud. So definite.

“You okay?” he asked as he walked toward me, stopping a few feet away from the bed.

I sighed. “Yeah,” I said, shrugging, closing my book.

“So do you always read at parties?”

When he said that, it reminded me of a book I’d read last year. I had a love-hate relationship with those books, but was currently waiting for the next one in the series. So, I was in love at the moment.

“I just … I don’t know. I got overwhelmed? That girl—” I raised my hand in the air, holding the book. “She heard me say that stuff and now Austin’s being a dick and she probably feels like shit.”

Kael nodded his head just a little. “You didn’t know she was going to walk up.”

“Still.”

“Try not to worry about it. I know you’re going to beat yourself up over it, that’s just who you are—”

“You know what?!”

Now he was the one who looked caught. It was clear that he hadn’t meant to say what he had. Or maybe he’d meant to word it differently. His mouth hung open a little.

“What do you mean that’s just who I am?” I accused. He better not have meant what I thought he did.

He took a breath. “I just meant that I know you worry about a lot, and you put a lot of pressure on yourself. A lot of blame.”

I wanted to stand up, to tell him to get the hell out of my room, but I sat there, holding tight to my book, keeping my legs crossed underneath me.

“And you know that how?” I asked, not really wanting to know what he was going to say. I had already become this girl to him, the one he needed to check in on, maybe take care of. I despised the idea of that.

No way was that going to be me.

No way was that me.

“Come on,” he pressed me. He no longer looked unsure about what he had said or would say; he looked annoyed.

“You’re acting like you know me. You’ve been around for what—a week? And half of that time you were MIA.”

“So it did bother you when I didn’t come back?” he asked.

Why was he talking so much all of the sudden? And how could I get him to stop?

“That doesn’t matter. My point is that you don’t know me, so don’t say that I’m doing something or being a victim or whatever.” My voice sounded screechy and dramatic.

“That’s not what I’m doing.” He sighed, rubbing his cheeks with both palms. “And I sure as hell didn’t say anything about you being a victim.”

“You said, ‘You put a lot of pressure on yourself.’”

“Never mind,” he said, defeated. “Forget I said anything.”

I felt so angry, so embarrassed and upset. I didn’t know I was directing all my feelings toward Kael. He came up to my room, I assumed, to check on me at the very least. That was a nice thing to do.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just frustrated and I’m taking it out on you. I guess this fits since I’m”—I hooked my fingers into air quotes—“always pissed.”

“I don’t think you should be too hard on yourself. People do shitty things. It’s what we’re made for,” he told me.

He was trying to change the subject and I was grateful because I felt like crap. Any sort of buzz that I was feeling was basically gone at that point, but Kael still looked different than he had before tonight, even without my vodka glasses.

“Humans are made to do shitty things? That’s depressing,” I told him. But I kind of liked the way it sounded, cynical as it was.

He sat down next to me on my bed and the metal frame creaked. He was too big for my bed. He looked like a grown man in a dollhouse. I felt like he was going to lecture me about something, maybe ask if I did my homework. His knowing eyes were focused on me, and in a rare occurrence, he didn’t look away or stare at the floor.

“That’s life,” he said. His eyes were still on me.

“Life is depressing?”

“Every life I’ve come across,” he replied.

I couldn’t disagree with him, though it made everything feel so heavy.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” I was the first to look away.

“You’re the one who told me that when the stars burn out, the good in the world dies.” He chuckled softly. “That’s the most depressing thing I’ve heard and I’ve seen and heard a lotttt.” He drew out the end of the word.

I laughed at that and looked into his eyes. He was a good head taller than me sitting down, and his black jeans and dark skin looked so nice against each another.

Kael’s hands moved to his leg and my tummy flipped, thinking that they’d move to me next, that he was going to touch me. But instead, he rubbed at the top of his leg.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” I asked him.

For all the voices downstairs, I couldn’t hear anything except the slowing of Kael’s breathing and the sound of the air conditioner vent blowing from the ceiling.

“It’s …” he started to say. I watched the words hesitate on their way out. “It hurts sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“Can I ask about it?” I asked while asking.

I remembered his first massage and how he kept his pants on the entire time, the way I thought I saw him limping, but couldn’t be sure.

“You don’t have to tell me. I could just … ma

ybe I could help, you know?” I told him.

He closed his eyes and didn’t say anything as the seconds passed.

“You don’t—” I started to tell him I was sorry for asking in the first place, but he leaned down and grabbed the bottom of his jeans and started to roll up the fabric.