Star-Crossed Page 2

  “But of course they can,” I argued. “It’s Willow’s party; she can invite whoever she wants. Or not invite, like me.”

  “Mattie, you have to stop saying that, all right? You’re going! Just start planning your costume. Text me if you’re stuck.” Tessa blew kisses. “Ta-ta, mes amis. Till we meet again.”

  We watched her walk to her doorstep, turn and wave like a Hollywood starlet at a movie premiere, then pivot and go inside.

  Lucy exhaled. “Mattie, you have to come to that party. I refuse to watch her all by myself.”

  “Ah,” I said. “So you mean we’re Tessa-sitting. I thought you wanted me there so I could notice someone else. Besides Elijah, I mean.”

  “Yeah, that, too. Absolutely that. Both.”

  We began walking to Lucy’s house, which was four blocks from mine. Lucy seemed weirdly quiet, and she was twirling her ponytail, which was usually a sign that she was thinking hard about something. I wanted to ask her about it, but I knew her well enough to wait. She’d let me know when she was ready.

  All of a sudden, then, she was.

  “Mat, can I tell you something?” she blurted.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Your mom called me yesterday. She said she’s worried about you.”

  “She did? Why?”

  “She said you seemed a little out of it lately. She asked if I knew what was going on.”

  “With me? What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing. I mean, nothing about Elijah. I just said that eighth grade is hard, it’s our last year of middle school, all that kind of stuff.”

  “Okay, good,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Lucy looked at me. Her black eyes were full of concern. “It is the whole Elijah thing, right? Nothing else?”

  “Why? Do I seem weird to you?”

  She thought about it. “No. Just a little spacey, maybe.”

  “But I’m always spacey.”

  “Okay, spacier than usual.”

  I kicked some dried brown leaves as we walked. “Yeah, it’s really about Elijah. I don’t know, Lucy. Nothing I do makes a difference. He just ignores me.”

  “Well, maybe he’s wrong for you,” Lucy said gently. “Anyway, at the party you’ll see how he acts when you’re in disguise. You’ll see the real Elijah, the one everybody else sees. And then you’ll decide if it’s time to forget him.”

  Lucy was a great friend, but sometimes she made too much sense. It was like her brain organized things into pro-and-con lists, or flowcharts, or PowerPoint presentations. Everything went from A to B to C, sometimes with little subheadings, and always with a conclusion. She’d never get a crush on a hopeless boy who ignored her. She was too logical for that.

  But I had to admit she had a good idea with this party. Because maybe Elijah would show up in a cheesy costume, maybe as a Smurf or a seventies disco guy, or, I don’t know, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. And I’d take one look at him, and ping. My crush would just pop, like a giant soap bubble.

  Which would be kind of nice, I had to admit.

  Although if that happens, then what?

  3

  “How long is’t now since last yourself

  and I were in a mask?”

  —Romeo and Juliet, I.v.34–35

  You might think that after what Lucy told me about my mom calling, I raced home to have a tantrum.

  I mean, I knew that I had every right to burst into her office and shout something like, Mom, if you were really worried about me, why didn’t you ask ME if I’m okay, instead of going to Lucy behind my back?

  But I didn’t, because there was no point. My mom saved her messy, emotional scenes for my big sister, Cara. With me, everything was a calm conversation about concrete nouns.

  For example, this one, from just this morning:

  Her: Mattie, I’m going to a client meeting this afternoon. (She’s an architect.) Supper’s in the fridge; if I’m running late, can you heat it up for you and the boys? (“The boys” are my brothers.)

  Me: Sure.

  Her (kissing my cheek): You need a haircut.

  Me: Maybe just the bangs. I like it long.

  Her: It’s six inches longer than it was at your last cut. I’ll schedule a salon appointment for tomorrow morning.

  Me: Not too early, okay? I want to sleep.

  Her: You’re sleeping too much lately, Mattie. You shouldn’t sleep more than nine hours, you know. I read an article.

  Me (smiling at lame joke): Well, maybe I need more than nine hours. Because my hair is growing.

  Her (not smiling at lame joke): Set your alarm for eight a.m., and don’t stay up late. Love you, honey. Bye.

  I’m not complaining. She wasn’t a Crazy Mom, like Tessa’s, who was always ranting about politics and food additives, or a Germaphobe Mom, like Lucy’s, who squirted you with hand sanitizer every time you walked in the door. My mom worked hard, never missed parent-teacher conferences or band concerts, made decent food, helped me with my homework (well, she did when I was younger), and drove me places. I was really grateful for all that stuff, believe me. But I just couldn’t talk to her—not about feelings topics. Because the few times I tried, I could see the flashing lights going off in her brain: Oh no, is Mattie turning difficult now, just like Cara did at this age?

  Truthfully, it didn’t surprise me that she’d called Lucy to ask how I was. Lately, I’d been answering Mom’s questions with a shrug or a joke—and she knew I told Lucy everything. Plus, Lucy always sounded so sane and logical. Mom probably thought the two of them spoke the same language.

  “FREEZE!” shouted my brother Kayden. He was seven; Mason was eight and a half, and they were both obsessed with Star Wars. Their bunk bed was the Millennium Falcon, their rug was a TIE fighter, and their backpacks were BB-8 (Kayden) and the Death Star (Mason). That day they both were wearing Stormtrooper outfits, running around the house with lightsabers, chasing Jedi, or whatever.

  “I’m not playing,” I informed them. “Where’s Mom?”

  “In her office,” Mason replied. “You are beaten, rebel. It is useless to resist!”

  “I said I’m not playing, Mason!”

  “Rebel, speak when you are spoken to!”

  Sometimes their games drove me insane.

  “I’M REALLY NOT PLAYING,” I shouted. “Can’t you hear? Doesn’t that mask have ear holes?”

  “Yeah, of course it does; you don’t have to shout,” Mason said in a hurt voice. He took off his mask and showed me. “Be careful with it, Mattie. The plastic’s not as good as the Darth Vader one.”

  Oh, right, I thought. My brothers have a Darth Vader costume.

  The complete thing, head to toe, with a mask that had a built-in-device-thingy that gave you that wheezing sound and made your voice sound deep and scary. And it was kids’ size extra large, because all the other sizes were out of stock.

  I’d never worn a store-bought costume, or even a movie-themed one. But I was sick of people not getting who I was. The party was tomorrow; I didn’t have time to come up with something original. Plus, the most important thing this time was being in disguise. Sounding in disguise.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, changing my tone to Nice Big Sister. “I need to ask you both a huge, huge favor. Can you lend me the Darth Vader costume?”

  “It’s not a costume,” Kayden snapped.

  “It’s not? What is it, then?”

  “He thinks it’s real,” Mason told me.

  “It is real,” Kayden yelled. “It’s a real Darth Vader suit!”

  Mason rolled his eyes.

  I smiled sweetly. “Yes, and it’s so cool, Kayden. That’s why I need it for this Halloween party I’m going to.”

  “It won’t fit you, Mattie,” Mason said disgustedly. “You’re too tall.”

  “Can I please just try it on?”

  “But what if we need it?” Kayden yelled.

  “I’ll give it right back, I swear. I’m only going to borrow it for tomorrow night. You can h
ave it back on Sunday morning.”

  “Um,” Kayden said. He looked at the ceiling and tapped his foot.

  “Kayden, fine. I’ll be Princess Leia for an hour. Then can I try on the Darth Vader suit? And borrow it for the party?”

  Kayden whispered something to Mason, who grabbed his mask from me and slipped it over his head again.

  “As you wish, rebel swine,” Mason sneered.

  * * *

  The Darth Vader costume was perfect. A little tight in the crotch, a little short in the pants—but if I wore black boots, no one would notice. My long hair had to be crammed inside the helmet, but I would be getting a trim tomorrow morning, so that would help. The costume came with a lightsaber, of course. And the best thing about it, the breathing device transformed my voice into a not-bad Vader imitation.

  Which I practiced over and over in front of my bedroom mirror. “I’ve been waiting for you, Obi-Wan. We meet again at last.”

  Also, the Vader breathing thing: “WHEEZE. You underestimate the Power of the Dark Side. WHEEZE.”

  A couple of times that night, Tessa and Lucy texted to ask if I needed help coming up with a costume. I told them I was “all set,” and that I wanted to surprise them. I also told them I’d meet them at the party, because I figured that if the three of us arrived together, everyone would instantly realize Darth Vader was me.

  And being discovered? That was the one thing I couldn’t risk.

  4

  “You have dancing shoes/With nimble soles;

  I have a soul of lead/So stakes me to

  the ground I cannot move.”

  —Romeo and Juliet, I.iv.14–16

  On Saturday night, Mom drove me right to the Kaplans’ front door, which was decorated with a giant cobweb spelling WELCOME. I hadn’t mentioned to her that I wasn’t, in fact, welcome; it wasn’t the kind of information I’d been sharing with her lately. And anyway, what would have been the point? She’d just tell me I shouldn’t go, and I knew that already.

  “Pick you up at ten,” she said, as I got out of the car.

  “How about nine thirty?” Darth Vader whispered.

  “Really?” Mom looked surprised. “Well, sure, Mattie, if you want. Call me if you change your mind.”

  I watched her drive off. Then I Vader-marched into the house and downstairs to the basement, which was where Willow had her parties. Right away I spotted Tessa flirting with Liam Harrison, who’d come dressed as Thor.

  Uh-oh, I thought.

  Liam was the unanimous vote getter for Cutest Boy. He was nice enough, I guess, but conceited; I couldn’t figure out what Tessa saw in him, other than the extreme cuteness. Oh, and the fact that Willow made no secret about liking him. But maybe those two things were enough for Tessa, who could be really competitive. Fortunately, Lucy (Tinker Bell), was standing nearby, keeping an eye on her while chatting with Keisha Bromley (A jellyfish? A squid? Some sort of mutant combination?). And what was Tessa supposed to be, anyway? She was in black, with black envelopes stuck randomly all over her body.

  Okay, got it: blackmail.

  I almost guffawed. But, of course, Darth Vader never guffaws, so I turned it into a choky cough.

  Suddenly, Lucy looked right at me. Then Tessa must have said something funny, and the four of them—Lucy, Tessa, Liam, and Keisha—started laughing. That was when I realized they had no idea who I was. And it felt a little creepy—because Lucy and Tessa were closer to me than anyone else on the planet, closer than my family, almost—and here they were, seeing me but not knowing me. I almost ran over to them and pulled off the mask and yelled, Hey, it’s me, guys; aren’t you surprised? But, of course, not being recognized was the whole point of this costume. And anyway, I’d come here to see Elijah.

  I left the room and wandered around a bit, finally spotting Elijah in the corner of the basement, where the Kaplans kept their old stereo stuff. He was standing by himself, checking his phone, and he was wearing a suit and tie. Weird costume, I thought. Maybe he was supposed to be a senator. Or an undertaker.

  “So we meet again,” I boomed. “The circle is complete.”

  He looked up at me and grinned. “Hey, cool. Ryan, right? Wait—no, it’s Ajay. Or Jake.”

  “Your limited imagination arouses pity, rebel scum.”

  Elijah laughed. He really does have a great laugh, I couldn’t help thinking. “Dude, that’s so awesome. You sound just like Vader.”

  “Thank you. I am glad your ears are functioning well today.”

  “My ears?”

  “Never mind. I see you are wearing a suit and tie.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I couldn’t think of a costume. So I’m Alfred.”

  “Who?”

  “You know. From Batman?”

  “Ah, yes. The butler. Of course.”

  “I know it’s stupid. You don’t need to rub it in, Jake.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Forget it, okay?” He sighed. “I don’t know why I even came. I hate big parties. All these people we never hang out with at school.”

  I wheezed. “Some of the girls look pretty good, though, right? In their costumes?”

  “Yeah, I guess? I hadn’t noticed.” Elijah’s dark eyebrows rose hopefully. “You want to get out of here? Get a pizza, play some Xbox, or something?”

  “Me? Now? I can’t. I mean, I would, but I told my mom—”

  “Hey, you’re not Jake.” Elijah got up close to my face, so close I could smell pizza on his breath. “Okay, who are you?”

  “I am your father,” I said quickly. “So there’s pizza? Where?”

  “Exercise room. But you’ll have to take off your mask to eat.” All of a sudden, he grabbed the edges of my helmet, as if he wanted to yank it off. “It’s Ajay, right?”

  “Unhand me, rebel swine,” I thundered. “You don’t know the power of the Dark Side.”

  I jerked backward and turned away from him, swishing my cape. As I did this move, it occurred to me that I didn’t remember if Darth Vader actually did any cape swishing, but what was the point of having a black cape if you didn’t use it for emphasis?

  Then I marched away in purposeful Vader steps. What had I just accomplished? Yes, I’d proven that Elijah’s ears worked fine, which meant that when he “hadn’t heard” me in the library, he was just being a dirtbag. On the other hand, he seemed kind of sweet just now—awkward about costumes, awkward about the party. We had more in common than I’d even realized.

  Although what did it mean that he “hadn’t noticed” any of the girls at the party? Was that a good sign, or a bad one? I desperately needed to talk to Lucy. Except now I couldn’t find her. Or Tessa, either, for that matter. Where were they?

  I searched the crowd of kids I’d known for the last thirteen years, barely any different under makeup and masks. Besides Tessa, a few girls had made their own costumes: Willow (Queen of Hearts), Charlotte and Isabel (a pair of dice), Keisha the jellyfish squid. Most of the other girls were wearing costumes to make themselves look cute—Wonder Woman, Rey, Supergirl. But besides Liam (Thor), Nolan Pike (Rubik’s cube), Bennett Park (Captain America), and Elijah, the majority of boys had just thrown on football jerseys. Or drawn on their faces with Sharpies, messed up their shirts with ketchup and jelly, and staggered around like zombies.

  Why had I tried so hard to be clever, with all my book characters? Tessa was right: I’d definitely overthought the whole costume thing. All I’d needed was this Vader mask and cape, and I could have avoided humiliation for the last few Halloweens. For a smart girl, I could really be dumb when it came to certain topics.

  “Hey, Darth Vader,” Willow said, doing a stuck-up Queen of Hearts smile as she walked over to greet me. She’d used white makeup on her face; her lips and cheeks were maraschino cherry red. “Nice costume.”

  “It is not a costume,” I thundered.

  She laughed. “Of course not. Say a line from Star Wars.”

  “Your thoughts betray you. Your feelings are strong. Especia
lly for . . . sister. So, you have a twin sister.”

  “Ha-ha! That’s great! Say something else!”

  By then I was running out of Vader-isms, so I went for the obvious. “The Force is strong with this one.”

  Charlotte, Isabel, Keisha, and a few other kids walked over.

  Isabel was popping candy corn into her mouth. “Who’s Darth Vader?”

  “I think it’s Elijah,” Charlotte said.

  “No, Elijah’s wearing his bar mitzvah suit.” Isabel giggled.

  “It is not his bar mitzvah suit,” I boomed. “Elijah is Alfred from Batman.”

  “Yeah, he would be,” Charlotte said. She squinted at me. “It’s Jake, then, right?”

  “Negative,” I said.

  Willow poked my shoulder with her scepter. “All right, Darth Vader. As your queen, I command you: Reveal your true identity! This is my party, and I demand to know!”

  Under the mask, I could feel sweat dripping down my neck. “I find your lack of faith disturbing. Now, if you will excuse me, I take my leave. The Emperor awaits.”

  I did the cape swish again and walked away fast. Fortunately, there was a bathroom in Willow’s basement. I ducked inside, locked the door, and took off the mask. Oxygen. Yay. Then I splashed some cold water on my sweaty face.

  A minute later, someone banged on the door. Hard. And then four more times. And then kicked it.

  I was about to protest—and remembered the voice-changer, just in time. Pulling on the mask, I roared: “Stand back! I now approach!”

  I unlocked the door. It was Ajay Vehta, an obnoxious boy with pug doggy eyes who probably trash-talked his own grandma. He had pizza smears down the front of his football jersey, which meant he’d either come as a zombie or was just a disgusting eater. Knowing him, probably both.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I thought it was somebody else in there.”

  “Mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worm,” I said.

  “What?”

  “The bathroom is yours, space junk.”

  He scowled as he shut the door behind him.

  I checked my phone again; now it was eight fifteen. That meant I’d be stuck here for another hour and fifteen minutes. Seventy-five minutes of swishing my cape and running away from people who wanted to know who I was. I’d already had the conversation with Elijah, so there didn’t seem to be much point in hanging around. But if I called Mom to pick me up now, she’d ask what had happened, and where were Tessa and Lucy, and shouldn’t we carpool? Because we always did.