Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

I sigh, not feeling up to it. All I wanted to do was queue up the latest episode of Supernatural. I had letters from all the boys and package from Lee Vines on my bed. Celebrating with my mom in the middle of a hurricane was a far stretch from how I actually wanted to spend my night.

Mom senses my hesitation. “Come on, Starlee, it’s your eighteenth birthday! It may be the last one we’ll spend together.”

I raise an eyebrow. What’s that? She’s considering that next year I may not live at home? That perks up my spirits enough to grab my rain boots and jacket.

It takes forever to find a parking place, which is surprising due to the rain. The wind blows it sideways, making our umbrella more dangerous than helpful, and by the time we get to the bookstore, my hair is a red nest of curls.

We get inside the shop, dripping water all over the floor. I hadn’t been reading as much lately, instead watching Supernatural and writing letters. I’d even taking to baking a little on my own—trying out little recipes, hoping to surprise Dexter with a package of his own.

Despite the pretty colors and attractive displays, none of the books appeal to me. I roam aimlessly, feeling nothing but the weight of this day. Eighteen should be a big one. An exciting one, and here I am spending it like I’d spend every other birthday since I was six years old.

I feel my throat close up, suffocating.

“Starlee, look what I found!”

She holds up a copy of the Secret Garden, a book we’d first read together when I was in elementary school. At the time, I thought it seemed magical that this little stubborn, badly behaved girl blossomed once she found a friend. Later it just seemed kind of cruel—too similar to my own life in a way

.

“I think I’m going to get it,” my mother says, clutching the new edition. I feel the strings of the past holding me down, like my mother truly doesn’t realize I’m growing up. She looks over the stack of books at me. “Did you pick out something?”

I glance around. Nothing catches my eye. “No, the Secret Garden is fine.”

I wait while my mother pays, ignoring the rows of young adult books with couples on the front. I miss the guys so much—the little things like holding hands or hiking with them. I miss the bigger things, like the time I spent with Dexter in his family’s cabin. We only had that one night before I had to leave. What if he felt differently now? What if someone at school caught his or one of the other’s eyes?

“Ready?”

“What?” I blink, lost in my own world of insecurities. My mother looks at me expectantly.

“Are you okay?”

“Just tired or something.”

She links her arm with mine. “Well, let’s go get some amazing curry and sticky rice and get your blood sugar up.”

We step back out into the rain and down the block to the Thai place. The owners recognize us, we come often enough, and my mom gushes about how it’s my birthday. With every moment I feel more detached, like she just doesn’t understand how I’m feeling, what I’m going through. I want to be anywhere but here. I want to be in the warm California sun, the clean air, near the smooth, glassy lake.

We sit at the table closest to the sidewalk, a large window giving a view of the rainy night. We order: massaman curry for me, Pad Thai for mom. We eat, making basic conversation, nothing we haven’t discussed before, while staying clear of a million other, more relevant topics. After we eat and before the sticky rice comes, my mom reaches into her purse and pulls out an envelope. She removes the Secret Garden from her bag and places the envelope on top, then slides both over to me.

“Happy Birthday, Starlee.”

I frown at the table. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

The strangest sense of dread tugs at my navel. I pick up the envelope and run my finger under the flap. Peeking out the top is a ticket. An airline ticket. I remove it—them.

There are two.

I look up at the beaming grin on my mother’s face.

“I figured since you’re graduating early and you’ll have six months before college, we should take a trip. A big trip. All over Europe. We can see all the things in your favorite books, like this one and Anne Frank and anywhere else you want to go.”

I stare at the ticket. The date is January 1st. New Year’s Day. I’ll finally be eighteen and free from home-schooling, but my mother just twisted the noose a bit tighter.

“Starlee?”

“Uh…I’m just..” A surge of panic fills my chest, one I’ve felt before but not in a long time. Everything seems out of control. Out of touch. I struggle to catch my breath.