Rewrite the Stars

“Yeah?”

“Are you hurt?”

“No…” I frown in confusion.

“Is anyone armed?”

“No.” I scoff like it’s out of the question before considering my company. “I mean, not that I know of.”

“Hands where I can see ’em.” The officer shines his flashlight on the broken glass around our feet, then up to the window.

Suddenly, it’s abundantly clear what’s going on here. I’m not sure how they knew I was here, but I know they’re here for me, and whatever happens next is my fault. I turn to Sebastian, trying to apologize with my eyes, but he confuses my guilt for fear and reaches down to squeeze my hand in a comforting gesture.

All five officers approach, and Sebastian, Eros, Lathan, and Tres reluctantly put their hands behind their backs, as if they know where this is going and they know better than to protest.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my panic building as one of the officers comes for me.

“Call her parents,” he says over his shoulder to another officer, ignoring me. “Let her know that her daughter is safe, but she’ll have to come down to the station to pick her up.”

“Parents?” Tres asks, eyebrows pulled together like he’s somehow confused.

“Yeah. Parents. The kind that track their kid’s phone. Something to think about the next time you decide to involve a minor with wealthy parents in your delinquent ways.”

“Minor,” Sebastian states—not asks—cutting his eyes at me, but thoughts of my impending trip to jail override any embarrassment about disappointing him.

“Fucking awesome,” Eros says, giving a humorless laugh. “If we get some kind of bullshit charge for harboring a runaway, I’m beating your ass.”

And for the second time tonight, I’m placed in handcuffs.

“HONESTLY, EVANGELINE. WHAT WERE YOU thinking? Running off with carnival people?” Mom asks from the passenger seat of the car they rented as my dad drives in stone-cold silence. As the daughter of the state treasurer and one of the top orthopedic surgeons in the country, I don’t get out much. Image has always been important to my mother. My dad is more laid-back when it comes to appearances, but he’s a little overprotective. I roll my eyes, my forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window.

“They’re people, Mom. Like you and me,” I say tiredly, too exhausted after a night in a holding cell to care that I’m mouthing off to her. “They didn’t do anything. I was just having fun.”

Apparently, when I turned my phone on, my parents were able to track my location. My parents called the police, knowing they could get to me sooner. I should feel bad for scaring them. And I will. Once I’ve slept.

It could’ve been worse. I was able to get off with a measly hundred-dollar fine for trespassing and no community service seeing as how I’m an out-of-state minor—one with pushy, rich parents who kept threatening to sue everyone at that. Mom even wanted to press charges on Sebastian and company for kidnapping, despite the fact that I repeatedly told them I was there of my own free will. I’m pretty sure the police just wanted us to go away at that point.

Somehow, I don’t think Sebastian and his family got off as easy. I heard something about their bikes not being street legal, whatever that means, on top of the breaking and entering on private property. My stomach curls with guilt. If it wasn’t for me turning my phone on, none of them would be there.

Once we pull up to the hotel, I grab my purse, dead phone, and Sebastian’s leather jacket that I wasn’t able to give back—but kept me warm in the freezing holding cell—and head up to the room, walking ahead of my parents. I should be kissing their feet, begging for forgiveness, but all I can think about is sleep. They catch up to me at the elevator, and silence stretches between us for eight floors, my gaze pointed straight at my dirt-covered shoes.

The elevator dings, and wordlessly we file out. My feet pad against the plush, over-perfumed carpet, until we come to our room. I dig into my purse, but I don’t find my room ke

y. I must not have grabbed it after my purse fell.

“Thomas canceled our flight and booked the first flight out tomorrow. We’ll talk about this later. Get some sleep,” Mom says once we’ve stepped inside, her voice stern but somehow soft. That remorse? It’s starting to set in now as I take in the dark circles under her eyes that not even the best makeup could hide, and her usually perfectly coiffed hair that hangs limply around her shoulders. I look to my dad. His loosened tie and stretched out collar. Red eyes that refuse to meet mine and an empty bottle of scotch on the nightstand. I knew I was safe—mostly. But they didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” I say, this time with sincerity. I wrap my arm around my dad’s middle, and he squeezes me back. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I’m your father. I’ll never not worry about you.” He kisses the top of my head, and I know all isn’t forgiven, but it’s a start. I make my way into my mom’s open arms next. She’s overbearing, but she means well.

“You sure you don’t want to shower first, honey?” she asks, holding my cheeks in her palms, rubbing her thumbs across them, as if I have dirt on my face. I probably do. Mom has a way of insulting you sweetly. Like how she tells me I’ll grow into my Brooke Shields eyebrows. Image is everything when you’re a Thorne. She eyes the leather jacket draped over my arm with disgust, knowing full well it isn’t mine, but doesn’t say a word about it.

“A shower can wait,” I say, withholding my eye roll. “I just really need that bed.” I point to the adjoining room where I’ve been sleeping during our stay. She nods, and I walk through the door that separates our rooms, closing it behind me.

I catch my reflection on the decorative mirror on the wall. My braids are a disaster—rogue strands of blonde hair have come loose, and I do have smudges of dirt on my face. My makeup has worn off, exposing the freckles across my nose, and I bring my fingers to my lips—the lips that you’d never know by looking at them just had their first kiss—and a small smile spreads across my face at thoughts of kissing Sebastian.

I make my way to the bed and toss my stuff down onto the other side before I slide under the blankets, never feeling anything more comfortable in my life. I drift to sleep, replaying the first half of the night in my mind before everything went wrong. The carnival, the Globe of Death, riding on Sebastian’s motorcycle…the kiss, and I keep coming to the same conclusion.