The Fallen Star

She started rummaging through the clothes again, every once and awhile tossing something onto the bed. Covering the walls was an array of photos. I got up and walked around, looking at them. One in particular caught my attention. It was of Laylen, standing out in the desert, his arm wrapped 334/695

around Aislin’s shoulder in an affectionate way that gave the impression they might have been a couple once. Next to Laylen, stood Alex, and cuddling up him was a pretty blonde-haired girl. All of them were smiling.

They looked so happy. It made my heart hurt a little. Happy. Had I ever felt it?

“That was taken a couple of years ago,” Ailsin said.

I tore my eyes off of the photo and found her watching me.

“I think I was about fourteen or so,” she said. “So about five years ago.” I did the math and something didn’t add up. “Wait. How old are you?”

“Nineteen.” She tossed a skirt onto the bed. “Alex is actually twenty. We lied about our ages so we could enroll in school.”

“Oh.” The saying Liar, liar, pants on fire ran through my head. Everything was a lie.

Even something as simple as their age. It made me question how many more lies I was 335/695

in store for. “What about Laylen? How old is he?”

“Well, he would’ve been twenty-two, but after he got…um….” She drifted off and then shook her head. But I knew what she was going to say. Before he got bit. “But yeah, he’s stuck at nineteen now so...” She tossed a shirt onto the bed, then came over and stared down at the pile of clothes with a look of sheer determination on her face. “Okay, let see if any of these fit you.” Spotting a black t-shirt at the top of the pile, I snatched it up immediately.

Aislin sighed. “Gemma, would it kill you to wear colors that aren’t so depressing.”

“It might.”

She sighed again. “Fine. But could you at least wear a skirt or something?” I shook my head. “I hate skirts.”

“You know, when you were little, you used to run around in dresses all the time.” 336/695

I stared at her, confused. “I don’t remember this?”

Her bright green eyes went wide. She’d said something she wasn’t supposed to.

“What?” I asked. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She quickly shook her head.

“It’s nothing.” She started to search through the pile of clothes again.

“It’s something.” I stood up, hugging the black t-shirt to my chest “Whatever it is, you need to tell me. It’s not fair that—” She cut me off, shoving a pair of denim shorts at me. “Gemma. Please just drop it.”

“How do you expect me to—”

“Please,” she said in a quiet, but firm, voice.

I grinded my teeth and snatched the pair of shorts out of her hand. “Fine.” I turned for the door, but stopped just short of it. “Where should I change?”

“There’s a bathroom down the hallway.

Third door on the right.” 337/695

Dazed, and a little out of it, I ended up passing the bathroom and had to retrace my steps. But eventually I found it. Aislin’s strange behavior, after she’d said that I used to run around in dresses, had me puzzled. I couldn’t figure out why she’d freaked out.

Why was it so bad for her to mention I liked wearing dresses when I was a child? For now, though, all I could do was wonder.

So that I didn’t tear my stitches open, I had to be careful as I slipped out of my blood-stained shirt and pulled on the black tee. But when I went to tug the shorts on, I realized the “shorts” Aislin had given me weren’t shorts at all, but a denim skirt. By accident, I think not. I might have loved to wear dresses when I was little, but that didn’t mean I did now. I stuck my tongue out at the skirt before reluctantly putting it on.

When I’d finished getting dressed, I splashed some cold water on my face in a 338/695

pathetic attempt to bring myself out of this dream I was sure I was stuck in. Vampires, witches, and secret groups who saved the world weren’t supposed to exist. They couldn’t exist. There was no way. It was all too unreal —too science fiction. They key word here being “fiction.” But after I’d patted my face dry and opened my eyes, the same navy blue walls of Laylen’s bathroom still surrounded me. I glanced into the mirror hanging above the sink and sighed at the sight of my freakishly violet eyes staring back at me. I wondered if it was the star’s energy that had created the color. How was I supposed to know how much of my reflection was me? And how much of it was the stars?

A knock at the door startled me.

“Gemma, are you ready to go?” Aislin asked.

I blinked one last time at my reflection before turning away from it.

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Chapter 17

Laylen drove a 1960’s Black Pontiac GTO

with white racing stripes streaming down the middle of the hood. Apparently, he and Alex had this thing for classic cars. Something I picked up on during a very brief guy bonding moment between the two of them, when Alex had first seen the “beautiful” car.

I was starting to figure out that guys were kind of weird.

But anyway…

Their bonding moment quickly came and passed, and a few minutes later, we were driving down the dirt road with nothing more than the roar of the tires to fill the silence.

Laylen’s house was located in the middle of nowhere, so it took awhile just to get to 341/695

the freeway. I was sitting in the back seat, watching the stars streak across the sky in shades of violet and silver. Alex had insisted that no one else could sit beside me but him, muttering something about it being safer that way in case the Death Walkers tried to ambush us or something. But being in the back seat of a two-door vehicle during an ambush—I could see no advantage to the seating arrangement whatsoever.

To make things even more complicated, being confined in the car was causing the electricity to crackle like a wildfire. My skin was getting hot and sweaty, and I felt like I was burning up with a fever. Fortunately, I discovered that, even in the desert, the air cooled during the night and chilled the windows.

I had my cheek resting against the glass, on the verge of falling asleep, when Alex asked, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to sleep,” I mumbled crankily.

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“You look like you’re burning up,” he remarked.

I heard him shift in the seat, and the next thing I knew he’d pressed the palm of his hand to my forehead. It sent a shot of heat through my already burning up body, causing me to jump. Great. It was so freaking hot—the last thing I needed was for him to touch me.

I turned my head to look at him. He’d narrowed the distance between us so drastically that, even through the darkness, I could see his eyes assessing me over.

“What are you doing?” I asked, raising my face away from the window.

“Checking if you have a fever.”

“I don’t have a fever,” I argued, sliding my forehead out from under his hand.

But his hand followed me. He dragged it gently along my temple, letting it come to rest on my cheek. “You’re skin feels really warm.”

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“That’s because I am warm,” I said, my voice sharp. “And you touching me just makes it worse.” I tilted my face and his hand fell to his lap. “You’re too hot.” As soon as I said it, I immediately wanted to slap myself on the forehead. You’re too hot. What it wrong with you Gemma?“I-I didn’t mean it like that,” I stammered. And I really didn’t. I swear.

It didn’t matter, though. It was too late.

The damage had already been done. The corners of his mouth tugged upward into a beautiful, yet smug, smile. “I’m too hot, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.” Through the darkness, I fixed him with my angriest glare. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Do I?” His eyebrow teased upward.

I shook my head, frustrated. The last thing I needed was for him to think I had some kind of crush on him. Because I didn’t.