Star-Crossed Read online

  I walked past the stereo corner. Someone had turned up the music really loud, and now I could see Tessa hopping around, her arms flailing. Liam was dancing too—not with Tessa, exactly, but she was definitely part of a girl circle surrounding him. Lucy was dancing with Bennett Park; she didn’t appear to still be on Tessa duty, but maybe acting like she was having fun was part of her surveillance technique. Anyway, it was fun to watch her; all her years of ballet and tap had made Lucy an incredible dancer.

  Too bad I can’t join them, I thought. And what was I supposed to do for more than an hour, if I couldn’t dance, couldn’t eat pizza, couldn’t even talk to people? Maybe Ajay was out of the bathroom by now. If he was, I could lock myself in there until 9:29. If only I’d brought a book with me.

  I sighed. The voice-changer wheezed.

  Then I thought: What if I snuck upstairs to the kitchen and found a straw? At least I’d be able to sip some water through my mask. Willow’s parents had firm rules for her parties—they’d come downstairs every ten or fifteen minutes to check on us, and we weren’t allowed upstairs for any reason—but I’d be quick. It was really kind of an emergency situation: With all the sweating, I was desperately thirsty. And Willow’s parents were a pretty big deal in our town; they wouldn’t want negative publicity (Party Girl Banned From Kitchen Perishes from Mask-Induced Dehydration).

  I waited for a superloud song to make my move, then tiptoed upstairs, once almost bashing the banister with my lightsaber. The Kaplans’ huge white kitchen was empty, except for someone getting ice cubes from the freezer.

  It was a girl.

  5

  “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

  It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

  As a rich jewel.”

  —Romeo and Juliet, I.v.46–48

  She turned when she heard my boots. Gemma Braithwaite, who for some reason wasn’t in costume.

  “Oh,” I said.

  She grinned. “Hullo. It’s Darth Vader, isn’t it? Ace costume.”

  “Uh, thanks,” I said. Then I wheezed.

  Okay. Now I’m going to say something that may sound a little weird: I’m a pretty girl. My hair is long, thick, and a nice color (medium brown with blond highlights); my eyes are hazel; my nose is straight. My skin is zitless; I tan in the summer. I’m tall, but not crazy tall, and clothes fit decently on my body. So yes, pretty, by normal girl standards.

  But there’s me-pretty, and there’s Gemma-pretty.

  Gemma-pretty was more like storybook-princess-pretty, if the princess got regular exercise. She had shiny chestnut-brown hair that she wore in a messy braid over one shoulder, large brown eyes with feathery eyelashes, a heart-shaped face, naturally red lips. Gemma played goalie on the girls’ soccer team, so obviously she was strong and quick, but she didn’t dress in a Look at me, I’m so athletic sort of way, like how Willow did. Often, Gemma’s clothes were in clashing patterns that made her seem chic and European. I’d heard she was from London, living in town with her dad since last spring. And I’d heard her speaking with a posh English accent, although she didn’t seem to be a snob; she said Britishy things like Sod off and bollocks, and her laughter was rowdy.

  But that was all I knew about her. Not only because she wasn’t in my classes, but also because as soon as she showed up in town, Willow and her friends swooped in on her. Swarmed her in the lunchroom, on the bus, at recess. Sometimes I spotted Gemma’s shiny chestnut hair in the middle of a crowd, but it was never a crowd I wanted to join, or that would have welcomed me, if I’d tried. Gemma Braithwaite wasn’t just a sporty, popular girl; she was a prize Willow’s team had won, and they’d made it clear they wouldn’t be sharing.

  So it was extremely weird that here she was, all by herself, sneaking ice cubes.

  And now it was my turn to say something. “Why aren’t you in a costume?”

  She winced. “Didn’t realize that I should wear one.”

  “You didn’t? But it’s Halloween.”

  “Yes, but we don’t celebrate it in the UK. Not the way you do in the States.” She went to the sink, adding water to her glass of ice cubes. “So of course tonight I look like a complete scruff, which is why I’ve been hiding in the kitchen.”

  “We’re actually not allowed up here,” I said.

  She smiled. “Yes, I know. If we were, it would be stupid to hide here, wouldn’t it?”

  I wanted to confess that I was hiding too. But Gemma was friends with Willow; it would’ve been insane to trust her with my secret.

  Instead, I asked if she knew where they kept the straws.

  “Straws?” Her mouth made a small O.

  “To drink with,” I explained. “Because of my mask.”

  She peered at my face. “Yes, drinking must be difficult. Hang on.” She opened a small drawer to the left of the sink and started to rummage. “I’ve been doing a little snooping, but don’t tell, please. They keep all sorts of fascinating things—ooh, here we are.”

  She held up a straw in a paper wrapper. “Shall we have a duel?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I challenge you. Trusty straw versus deadly lightsaber. En garde!”

  She lunged at me, slashing the air with the straw. I pressed a button on the lightsaber. Nothing happened, so I pressed again, then a third time.

  “Dang,” I muttered.

  She lunged at me again, poking my stomach with the straw. It tickled. “Dang? What sort of a word is ‘dang’?”

  “American, you uppity British invader.”

  “Uppity? How dare you call me uppity.” Poke.

  “Snooty. Snobby. Stuck-up. Condescending.”

  “Those are fighting words, Imperial fiend!” Now she poked me in the armpit.

  It was then that my weapon glowed a sort of hazy pink, buzzing like a wounded mosquito before fading out completely.

  “Dang,” Gemma said, grinning. “The Dark Side needs new batteries, I see. Well, cheers.” She handed me the straw.

  “Thanks.” I grabbed a glass from the drying rack, filled it with water, ripped the paper off the straw, and sipped. The whole time I drank, I felt her eyes on my face. On my mask, I mean.

  And then, without thinking, I un-Velcroed the black cape from my shoulders. “Here, why don’t you take this?” I said. “You can use it as your costume. It’s kind of all-purpose.”

  Gemma looked horrified. “Oh, but I couldn’t! It’s your cape.”

  “It’s not mine; I just borrowed it. And you can borrow it for tonight. My costume’s fine without it.”

  “Are you sure?” Gemma tied the ends around her shoulders like a shawl and twirled. “Oh, but it’s brilliant! I love it! It’s my Cloak of Visibility!”

  She threw her arms around me in a hug. “Thank you, Darth Vader! Even though you were vanquished in our duel, I’m forever in your debt.”

  “You are most welcome, Princess Gemma,” I said.

  Over her shoulder, I could see Willow’s small black labradoodle, Pixel, scampering toward us. Probably the swordplay had sounded like dog fun to him; he was barking enthusiastically, as if he wanted to be included.

  “Be quiet,” I begged him, as I pulled away from Gemma. “We’re not playing with you.” But he just kept barking.

  “Give him the straw,” Gemma suggested.

  “Are you nuts? Dogs don’t drink—”

  She giggled. “No, no, to chew on. Or carry. Whatever dogs do with sticks.”

  I placed the straw at his feet. His barking got even louder. Also now he was growling and showing teeth.

  “I think he may be frightened of your costume,” Gemma said. “It is rather alarming. You could take it off, you know.”

  “Actually, I can’t.”

  “Why not? You mean it’s stuck on? I could help—”

  “No! Not stuck.”

  “What, then?”

  Suddenly, there were running footsteps. Willow, the Queen of Hearts, was racing into the kitchen, followed by Isabel and
Charlotte, the pair of dice.

  “Pixel?” Willow called. “Where are you? In the kitchen? You know you’re not supposed to—Oh,” she said, finally noticing Gemma and me.

  “Hullo, Willow,” Gemma said, smiling calmly. “Charlotte and Isabel, what brilliant costumes. You’re a pair of dice?”

  “Yeah,” Isabel said. “We can’t sit down, but otherwise—”

  “Excuse me,” Willow interrupted. She picked up Pixel, who immediately started licking the white makeup off her face. “You know, you guys shouldn’t be in here. My parents have a very strict rule about party guests upstairs.”

  “We’re so sorry, Willow,” Gemma said. “But it’s all entirely my fault. I came upstairs because I stupidly showed up tonight uncostumed, but Darth”—she gestured toward me—“has just now gallantly come to my rescue. Look!” She twirled again, and the cape billowed around her.

  Willow returned Pixel to the floor. “He gave you his cape? Yeah, that was very nice. Whoever he is.” She narrowed her eyes at me, the way she had at Verona’s.

  And before I could jerk backward, before I could lift my hands to stop her, or zap her with my dying lightsaber, or simply flee down the stairs, she lunged at me, yanking off the mask.

  So there I was. Unmasked.

  Sweaty head. Matted hair. Red face.

  Charlotte and Isabel began to giggle nervously.

  Gemma’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said.

  “Oh. My. God,” Willow declared, loud enough for everyone to hear, upstairs and downstairs, even over the blaring music. “Omigod. I do not believe it! Everyone, you have to see this! Guess who’s Darth Vader. Mattie!”

  6

  “My only love, sprung from my only hate!/Too early

  seen unknown, and known too late!”

  —Romeo and Juliet, I.v.140–141

  I can’t tell you exactly what happened after that, because my brain spontaneously combusted.

  But I do know that somehow I managed an apology (although not an explanation), fled downstairs, made it outside onto the front lawn, and phoned my mom from behind the shrubbery. Tessa and Lucy ran out the door after me—Tessa shouting, “What? She took off your mask? That’s so aggressive!” while Lucy was patting my back and making soothing noises and reminding me to breathe.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she kept saying. “It’s not so bad. Breathe, Mattie. Who cares what Willow thinks. Or what she says. Try really hard not to overreact, okay? Take another deep breath. . . .”

  But the combination of the heat from the Vader costume and the humiliation upstairs tumbled together with the realization that I’d have to face Willow, if not Gemma, in school on Monday. That’s when I vomited. Not a massive amount, but what there was landed on Willow’s mini-pumpkins.

  “Oopsy,” Tessa said. “Mattie, why don’t we take a little stroll down the street?”

  “We’ll help you walk,” Lucy said.

  “I can walk just fine,” I muttered.

  “I can’t believe you were Darth Vader,” Tessa said, grinning. “Where did you get the costume?”

  “Where do you think? Little brothers.”

  “But why didn’t you tell us?” Lucy asked.

  I groaned. “To surprise you. And so you wouldn’t give me away.”

  “You think we can’t keep a secret?” Tessa said.

  “No. I was just scared you’d look at me a certain way, or I’d look at you, and people would realize who I was. It was stupid of me. Sorry.”

  Finally, my mom drove up to the corner of Willow’s street and spotted the three of us.

  “What happened?” she asked immediately, as soon as she saw my face.

  “Nothing,” I said, wiping my nose with Vader’s glove. “Do you have a tissue?”

  She opened the glove compartment. “Here. Don’t say ‘nothing.’ I can see something happened.”

  “You should just tell her, Mattie,” Lucy said. “Okay?”

  I looked at Lucy in horror.

  “Or I could, if that would be easier. You want me to?”

  “Tell me what?” Mom demanded. “What happened?”

  “Go ahead, tell her,” I mumbled. Whatever Lucy would say, it wouldn’t be the whole story, but at that point it would be a better version than anything I could come up with.

  Lucy patted my arm. “Mrs. Monaghan, Mattie has a crush on someone, but he hasn’t been very nice to her—”

  “He’s been a total malt-worm,” Tessa said. “Truth be told.”

  “—so she came to the party to give him a sort of test. Which he failed, didn’t he?”

  I shrugged. I could barely remember. “I guess.”

  “You guess?” Tessa demanded. “You guess?”

  “Anyhow,” Lucy continued, “Mattie needed him not to recognize her tonight, which is why she wore the Darth Vader costume. But someone at the party took off her mask, and now she feels embarrassed. And mad.”

  Nice job, I wanted to say. Lucy had told Mom a sensible story, tactfully omitting the bit about my not being invited in the first place, and getting unmasked by the hostess, of all people.

  Not to mention the whole kitchen scene with Gemma Braithwaite, which, of course, Lucy didn’t even know about.

  Although if she did, what would she say about it? Mattie was embarrassed in front of a new girl from England who’d probably assumed she was a boy?

  “Well, Mattie, that does sound awful,” Mom said. “We could go out for some fro-yo to cheer you up?”

  Tessa, Lucy, and I exchanged looks. Probably we were still banished from Verona’s; even if we weren’t, I didn’t want to risk Verona telling Mom about yesterday’s fight. Plus, the thought of eating fro-yo—especially watching Tessa with her molten lava creations—was a little sick-making so soon after barfing on Willow’s lawn.

  “Lucy and Tessa need to go to Tessa’s house to finish eating Halloween candy,” I said, wiping my nose. “They promised Tessa’s mom. Otherwise, she’ll eat it all herself.”

  “Huh,” Mom said. “That’s surprising. Tessa, I thought your mom was into nutrition.”

  “Oh, she is,” Tessa said. “But I guess everyone has a private Dark Side, right?” She winked at me as we arrived at her house. “Thanks for the ride, Mrs. Monaghan. Mattie, we’ll talk tomorrow. Parting is such sweet sorrow!”

  She blew a kiss and then my friends got out of the car.

  * * *

  As soon as Mom and I pulled into our driveway, all I wanted was to get out of the Darth Vader suit, wash my hair, and crawl into bed. Mom, of course, wanted to have a whole conversation first—Who was this crush? Did she know him? Did she know his parents? What was this “test” all about? Et cetera. I answered as briefly as I could, giving her just enough information to satisfy her curiosity.

  Then I took a steaming-hot shower for twenty minutes, letting the water pound on my scalp as a sort of punishment. How was it possible to have messed up so horribly? It was bad enough being unmasked as a party crasher, earning the scorn of Willow and the Willow-ettes; but now Elijah certainly knew I was Darth Vader, which meant he may have figured out why I’d been talking to him.

  As for Gemma—the whole thing was just excruciating. Because the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced she’d been sort of flirting with me, assuming that the gallant kid underneath the Darth Vader costume was an actual boy. Of course, I couldn’t have told her who I was; and I’d never lied, or pretended to be a boy, so it wasn’t my fault if she’d made that assumption. Besides, it was obvious that the “Vader voice” wasn’t really how I spoke. She couldn’t have possibly thought that’s how I sounded, could she?

  And if she did—well, it didn’t matter. I’d probably never talk to her again, anyway.

  Although the thing was, she went to my school. Even if we didn’t have any other conversations, I’d run into her somewhere or other. It was inevitable. No way that wasn’t going to be awkward.

  “Awkward”—what an awkward word. It sounded like the cry of a
giant scraggly bird. AWK. WARD. AWK. WARD.

  I blow-dried my hair, brushed my teeth, and then hid myself under my covers.

  7

  “The orchard walls are high

  and hard to climb.”

  —Romeo and Juliet, II.ii.63

  Sunday morning I awoke to my little brother Kayden screaming.

  “Whaa—Kayden? Why are you in my room?” I croaked, my throat still parched from the night before.

  He pointed to my desk chair, where I’d draped the Darth Vader costume so that it could air out. “Where’s his cape?”

  “What?” I asked, sitting up.

  “His cape. Darth Vader’s cape!”

  “Oh, shoot.”

  “Mattie, you lost it?”

  “No, no. I just left it behind. At the party.”

  “You left his cape behind at the party?”

  “Yes, Kayden, I did. Don’t scream. I’ll get it back this morning.”

  “You’ll get it back this morning?”

  “And stop repeating. Yes, I will, I swear. Don’t worry, okay?”

  He burst into tears.

  Dang. Now I would have to talk to Gemma, but under the circumstances, I had no choice.

  As soon as I got my brother to stop crying, I threw on some clothes, brushed my teeth and hair, gulped down some OJ, and looked up Braithwaite, Gemma in the school directory. She and her dad lived on the opposite side of town in one of those ugly pink apartment buildings near the train station. I probably should call over there first, to be sure she’s home, I thought, but then I’d have to have two conversations with her: one on the phone, explaining the situation, and one when I went to her apartment to get the cape. Better to just walk over there and be done with this whole thing. As fast as possible.