Rewrite the Stars

Worth it.

The hot shower beats down on my back, doing nothing to wake me up, despite sleeping all day. I got back to my room before sunrise and slept until well after sunset, but I still feel drained. Part of me is dying to get home, and the other part is almost sad at the thought of never seeing Sebastian again. I’m under no illusion that anything could come of whatever last night was, even if I didn’t get him arrested. Boys who kiss like Sebastian aren’t interested in being long-distance text buddies or pen pals with inexperienced high school girls.

I’m just massaging conditioner into my hair when I hear it. A loud thud. I pause, my hands stilling in my hair as I listen closer. I can’t be sure if it’s coming from our room or someone else’s. When I don’t hear anything for another twenty seconds or so, I finish rinsing my hair. I turn off the water and step out of the shower, my wet feet landing on the cold, hard floor as I reach for my towel.

“Gavin!” I hear my mother’s scream, and my blood runs cold. I freeze for half a second before my body catches up with my thoughts, and I run out of the bathroom, sliding on the slippery floor, but I right myself before I go down.

As quietly as I can, I crack the adjoining door open just far enough to see into my parents’ room. It’s in shambles—chairs tipped over, broken glass on the floor—but my parents are nowhere to be seen. I run back to my bed, scouring the blankets for my phone before remembering that it’s dead.

Shit!

I don’t know what’s happening, but my gut tells me it wasn’t a lovers’ quarrel. My parents don’t fight. And I’ve never heard my mom sound so…terrified.

I quickly turn for the desk, remembering the hotel phone, and dial the police.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“I think someone’s broken into our hotel room. I’m at the Legacy Inn, room eight-oh-two.” I slam the receiver down before she asks me any more questions, then I dig through my suitcase, throwing on the first thing my hand touches.

My heart pounds in my chest as I dart out of the main room and into the hall, searching for any sign of my parents. I look down the expansive hall to my left, then right, not knowing where to start, until I hear my dad’s voice yell out.

I follow the sound to the end of the hall and push open the door to the stairwell. I look over the railing to see my dad a few floors down, sprawled out with his leg bent at an unnatural angle, and my mom on her knees next to him.

“Dad!” I scream, my sweaty palms gripping the railing for dear life.

“Call nine-one-one,” my mom instructs with urgency in her voice.

“They’re on their way,” I explain, hurrying down the stairs. “Is he okay? What happened?”

“Evangeline, go back to the room.”

I ignore her pleas, rushing toward them. My bare foot catches something sharp, but the pain doesn’t even register.

“Dad?” I ask. My voice sounds uncharacteristically small, even to my own ears.

“I’m okay,” he groans, reaching for his leg, but my mom tells him not to move.

“Someone broke into our room,” my mom explains.

“Did they hurt you?” I ask, assessing them both for damage. My dad’s leg doesn’t look too hot, but other than that, they appear to be unscathed.

“He got away with a good chunk of cash. Your mom’s jewelry. We won’t know what else until we go through everything.”

“How did he get in?” I wonder out loud. It doesn’t make any sense. How did this guy get in undetected?

“We were asleep. We didn’t even hear anyone come in,” my mom says, sounding dazed. “It’s almost like…” she trails off, and I hear a familiar sound. One I heard for the first time last night. A dirt bike. It’s loud at first, then it fades as it gets farther away.

“Almost like what?” I ask, as the pieces of the puzzle start to lock in place.

“Almost like they had a key.”

My purse spilling. My room key with the room number written on the envelope that boasted of The Legacy Inn Resort. Sebastian handing me my things.

This wasn’t random. This was revenge.

One year later

“GROSS, EVAN. I KNOW YOU’RE too cool for us anymore, but you couldn’t have at least changed out of your pom uniform for the end-of-the-year party?” my friend Savannah, better known to her minions as Savvy, asks with her nose scrunched up in disgust. And I use the word friend loosely. She’s dressed in an ankle-length flowy skirt with a slit clear up to her thigh, a bandeau top that exposes her lean stomach, and gladiator sandals.