Uncross the Stars

  Janell Rhiannon

  Uncross the Stars

  Copyright @ 2014 by Janell Rhiannon

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage device without permission in writing from the publisher or author.

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  This book is a work of fiction. References to historical events and people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons or locales, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Kindle 1st Edition

  Cover Design by @ Regina Wamba of Mae I Design

  Edited by Melissa @ There For You Book Editing and Review

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  You can follow the author at:

  Janell Rhiannon @Facebook

  Twitter @theravenangel

  www.janellrhiannon.com

  Acknowledgments

  Whenever you sit and write for hours, days, months…you get sick of it. You get sick of your own story, of editing, of sitting…and you begin to doubt that you can finish the book. The saving grace for a writer is that precious handful of people who cheer you on any way they can. They let you ramble, vent, and send texts with sad faces. I’m sure that when I was at my wits’ end for the hundredth time, they wished I’d just finish the book. But, they let me continue the process and encouraged me along the way. So, to this little group who helped me push through Uncross the Stars, I give you my deepest gratitude.

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  Jim, Nathan, Wesley, and Verni

  And in a place of honor, for your assistance

  and a special brand of encouragement

  Joy

  Chapter 1

  At midnight, Fiona and her mother finally pulled into the driveway of their new rental. Her mom cut the engine, but not the parking lights.

  “Looks like we made it, Fee.”

  “Barely. I thought you were going to kill us a few times weaving all over the road like you were,” Fiona said.

  “It’s not easy driving and towing a U-haul trailer. It’s heavy,” her mom replied and began rummaging through her purse.

  Fiona ignored her mother and squinted through the dust and bug splats on the windshield at the dark house. She noticed the crooked light fixture on the left side of the garage, and the rain gutter hanging askew.

  “Looks like we’re the haunted house on the block,” Fiona said.

  Her mom hit the high beams spotlighting the garage door like a stage.

  “Not so helpful, Mom.” Fiona got out of the car and stretched her neck and back. She inhaled the cool fall air. Peering through the darkness, she noticed the bushes lining the dead grass yard needed trimming, the thinly branched tree in the front stood naked of leaves, and mounds of dried up flowers filled the flower bed under the front window. Shadows darkened the walkway to the front door. A pair of windows stared out at the street like rectangular evil eyes.

  “Looks sturdy and dirty. And creepy. I can hardly wait to go inside, Mom.”

  Fiona peered inside the car. Under the dim dome light, her mom had dumped the entire contents of her purse on the passenger side seat.

  “Mom, what are you doing?”

  “I think I left the key back in Watsonville.”

  “Great,” Fiona said. She glanced back at the windows. They remained staring blankly into the night. Fiona looked down the street in both directions. Every single house had a lit porch, except theirs.

  “Ahhh-ha! I found it. It was in the ash tray. I forgot I put it in there for safe keeping.”

  “Hurry up, Mom. It’s dark outside.”

  “Fine. I’m coming. Have some patience, Fee,” her mom said, as she got out of the car.

  They walked the dark pathway to the front door. A powdery dust covered everything. Fiona’s mom tried to fit the key in the lock and open the door. She jiggled and twisted the knob, syncing the internal mechanisms with difficulty, until the door finally creaked open into a darkness blacker than night.

  “Where’s the light switch?” her mom asked, as she ran her hand over the wall next to the door frame. “Ah!”

  Fiona heard the light switch click. She heard her mom toggle it up and down several times in rapid succession, but nothing happened.

  “Ummm,” her mom mumbled.

  “There aren’t any lights on outside either. Don’t tell me we don’t have any electricity,” Fiona said.

  “Well, either that or we need several dozen light bulbs,” her mother answered.

  “Figures.” Fiona heard her mother rummaging through her purse again. “What are you doing?”

  “Wait. I think I’ve got it.”

  Fiona heard jangling keys, a soft snap and a beam of blue light appeared from her mother’s hand. “There we go.” Her mom walked into the house waving the thin light in front of her. When she found the kitchen, she searched through random drawers. “There we go,” she said again.

  “There we go what?” Fiona asked completely annoyed.

  “Candles. Now, all I need is some fire.”

  Fiona flipped a pack of paper matches at her mom.

  “Where’d you get these? You aren’t smoking again, are you?”

  “From the counter, Mom! Jeez. I smoke one time three years ago and you act like I’m going to die of lung cancer or some crap. Light the dumb candle already.” As her mom lit the candles, it occurred to Fiona, “Did you call ahead to get the power turned on?”

  “What?” Her mom asked.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  “Maybe I can get my old job back.” Fiona’s mom rerouted the conversation.

  “What job?” Fiona asked, rolling her eyes.

  “The one at Red Lobster. Ah. There we go. Light.” Fiona’s mom smiled triumphantly, holding up a lit candle.

  Fiona stared at her mother through the candlelight. “Are you serious? That was ten years ago.”

  “I was good at that job. The manager, oh, what was her name? Mandy?”

  “Who cares what her name was. It was ten years ago. No one’s going to remember you.”

  Undeterred by Fiona’s negativity, her mother continued, “I think it was Valerie. Yes, I’m pretty sure it was Valerie. Maybe she’s still there.”

  “Ten years ago, Mom. And nice try.” Fiona said.

  “Nice try what?” Her mom paused. “I noticed you didn’t use the F-word. I’m proud of you sticking to your promise.”

  “Nice try not answering my question. The power company. You didn’t call ahead, did you?”

  “I was so busy getting the U-haul loaded—”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Fiona said flatly.

  “I’m sorry, Fee. I’ll get on it first thing in the morning.”

  “Can we just unload some things, so I can go to bed, preferably not on the floor?”

  ***

  After an hour of wrestling the flimsy mattresses to their rooms, moving boxes, and ignoring her mom the whole time, Fiona finally had the solitude she craved. She found the box she’d packed Mr. Lion-Bear in for the trip from Watsonville to Sierra Crest. She opened it and pulled him out and hugged him to her chest, like she did when she was a little girl.

  Ten years ago, when her mother decided in her typical impulsive fashion to get married to Dominic, some guy she barely knew, two important things happened. Her mom had a huge yard sale and lion-bear became her best friend. Fiona hated the yard sale because she watched bits and pieces of her life walk away, like her little Star Wars figurines, her too small ballet shoes, and her favorite Beauty and the Beast comforter. She had cried so hard that her mom bought her a new stuffed animal. The instant she saw him she’d loved him because he promised with his fuzzy black nose to her neck that he’d never leave her. She named him lion-bear because he was a lion, but soft like a teddy bear. She had whispered all her secrets into his fuzzy ears.

  Within days of the dreaded yard sale and the purchase of her beloved companion, they had packed up the remaining pieces of wreckage from their life in Sierra Crest, crammed them into the car, and drove two hundred miles northwest to Watsonville never to look back.

  At the time, Fiona’s mother reassured her that Dominic epitomized fun and happy, and most important of all he had a job and promised to take care of them. They’d been struggling for months, going without electricity or water more than once, because her mom couldn’t keep a steady job. Her mom always made a game out of the darkness and the droughts. She said it was good to find the silver lining in the rain clouds. Usually, that meant her mom reading to her by candle light.

  “Here we are again, Mr. Lion-Bear. Back where we started,” Fiona said to the worn stuffed animal in her lap. “This time better be different. If my mom meets another guy, I swear I’ll never talk to her again. I’m so absolutely sick of moving. Sick of changing schools.”

  Moving to Watsonville was supposed to have been a fresh start for Fiona and her mother, but once they got there the beautiful dream quickly eroded into a familiar disaster. Dominic turned out to be as flaky as all the rest of the men her mom dated. Fiona couldn’t believe anyone could be worse at holding down a regular job than her mother, but Dominic proved otherwise. Dominic also turned out to be some kind of moody jerkwad. Weeks before Fiona’s mom had decided to leave for good, he had been diagnosed as bi-polar—which answered a lot of questions, but the damage had been do
ne. Her mom packed them up to move again. She promised Fiona life would be different this time if they went back to Sierra Crest and recovered the life they dumped years ago.

  “I hope Mom’s being honest with herself. I want to finish my senior year at the same school. I don’t think I can take moving one more time.” She plopped Mr. Lion-Bear on her bed. “We need some blankets, little friend.” She opened another box marked FIONA’S ROOM and pulled out a well-worn quilt. “This’ll do.” Fiona smoothed it on the top mattress, blew out the candle and lay down exhausted. “God, I hope she’s being honest with herself.”

  Chapter 2

  Ryan turned the alarm off and stared through the dark at the ceiling. He hated O-dark thirty wake-up for morning weight training. He kicked off the blankets, swung his feet around to the edge of the bed and sat up in the cool air. He leaned over digging his elbows into his knees, and placed his head in his hands. This wasn’t how he wanted to start his senior year…another year of chasing Dario around the field. Ever since they were kids, he’d been trailing Dario. He was always good, but never good enough to surpass Dario’s natural talent.

  Their football rivalry developed into a decade long friendship. They’d been practically inseparable for most of their childhoods. It was a comfortable fit until they hit high school. He’d trained himself to love Dario for his athleticism, his easy going manner, and his mom’s cooking, but secretly he envied his best friend’s entire life. Lately, he’d felt that envy cooling his friendship for Dario.

  Ryan walked into the polished black and white marble bathroom. The slick floor was cold under his bare feet. He turned the light on to brush his teeth and shave his face. He squeezed a small glob of hair gel into his palm and rubbed his hands together. He spiked his blonde hair and flashed a smile at himself. Ryan knew he was good-looking and he used it to his complete advantage. He’d become a master at lining multiple girls up, and juggling them so smoothly they never suspected they weren’t the only side girl he had. Love and sex ended up being the only arena he dominated and Dario lagged. Every chance Ryan got to harass Dario about sex and girls, he took. He enjoyed watching Dario squirm about something.

  When Ryan got to the kitchen, his mother was already dressed and working with her phone glued to her ear. She acknowledged his entrance with a slight nod but didn’t stop her conversation.

  “Look, Sam. I have to have those documents on my desk by nine…I don’t care if your wife is out of town. I suggest you call her and find out where she filed them.” Ryan’s mom turned toward him and shook her head about her client.

  He walked over to the coffee pot and poured a cup. He stood leaning with his back against the counter, waiting for his mom to get off the phone.

  “Sam. Sam. Holy shit. Would you stop talking? If I don’t get those financials, then I can’t prepare the response the judge requested. Look, I’m not kidding. I’m not accepting your excuses…I understand…you need to understand the ramifications…is that a baby crying in the background? Hire a nanny, Sam. It’s worth it to keep the squalling brats out of your hair.” She paused long enough to mouth to Ryan, “Make me some eggs, would you?”

  Ryan nodded. She indicated over easy with toast, while her client Sam rambled on in her ear. He wished he was at Dario’s house getting breakfast made for him, instead of slaving away taking care of his mother’s breakfast. He hated that she was an attorney. He got the pan out and the eggs and began making her breakfast.

  She ended her phone call. “Sorry, baby.”

  “For what, Mom?” Ryan flipped the eggs and pushed the bread down in the toaster.

  “For not being a Susie-Homemaker.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She laughed. “You got me there. I’m surprised I even had kids.”

  Ryan winced a little, but his mom didn’t appear to notice. He slid the eggs onto a plate. The toast popped up. “You want butter?”

  She sat at the counter. “No toast, baby. I need to cut down on the bad carbs. Bread is bad carbs.”

  “Sure.” Ryan served her plate.

  His mom held her cup out to Ryan. “Hey, can you warm up my coffee?”

  “Sure.” Ryan refilled her mug and handed it back to her.

  She took a sip. “You’re on your own again for dinner. I left a twenty on the refrigerator. Sally won’t be by to pick up the shopping until tomorrow, so—”

  “Thanks. I’m used to it. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay, baby.”

  “Mom, stop calling my baby. I hate that.”

  “I’ve been calling you that your whole life.”

  “I hate it.”

  “Well, I don’t.” She cut into her eggs. “These are perfect, baby.”

  Ryan wanted to throw the spatula at her head. She never listened to him. In the end, she always ignored whatever he wanted, unless of course it required money. She threw money at him out of guilt. It pissed him off that even her guilt at not really wanting to be a mother had a price that she set and paid.

  His mother wiped her mouth, took one last swig of her coffee and left her dirty plate and mug on the counter. “Do you mind, baby? I have to get going or I’ll be late for the conference call.”

  Ryan shook his head. What did it matter to answer? He knew from repeated experience that she was going to leave her dishes there regardless of his answer.

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks, baby.” She picked up her briefcase sitting on the counter and swept herself from the kitchen like it was on fire.

  Ryan stood in the empty kitchen staring at nothing. “Damn. What a bitch.” He cleared her dishes, finished his coffee and headed off to school.

  ***

  Fiona hated the first day at a new school, and having to change schools for her senior year felt particularly brutal. She checked her schedule against the room number on the door: D-5. “Here we go,” she said to no one. She opened the door and walked into the room hugging her binder against her chest. The teacher was riffling through some papers at her podium. To her horror, her feet and her head began to argue.

  Feet: Just turn and run.

  Head: No.

  Feet: She’s not looking!

  Head: No.

  Feet: It’s going to be boring. Look at all the lame school boys and girls in here.

  Head: Don’t judge.

  She backed toward the door. Fiona’s feet were winning the debate. The bell rang, and Fiona nearly jumped out of her skin. Her binder hit the floor. The teacher looked up, and so did everyone else in the room—all of them zeroed in on her. She wanted to die on the spot.

  “Miss?” the teacher drew out the question, indicating she required an immediate answer.

  “Lavender.”

  “Miss Lavender, please take a seat. That was the tardy bell.”

  Fiona nodded her head, picked up her binder, hugged her books a little closer and surveyed the room. There was one empty chair in the second row behind a broad shouldered guy.

  “Miss Lavender, I’m waiting to begin class.”

  Pockets of laughter erupted around the room. Mercifully, the girl directly left of the empty desk waved her over. Fiona took the seat.

  The girl leaned over, “Hi. I’m Meagan.”

  “Fiona. Thanks.”

  “No sweat. It’s hard being the new kid.”

  “Truth.”

  The teacher rudely cleared her throat, “Ah-hem! Ladies, do you mind?”

  Meagan spoke, “Sorry, Mrs. Shandy.”

  “Let’s get to it, shall we? The first assignment this semester is a partner performance piece on a Shakespeare play.”

  The class erupted in groans and noisy protestations. “Come now, everyone. The first step to understanding any Shakespeare piece is to perform it. Then you will write a—”

  The class cut the teacher off with a firestorm of no-crap-not-Shakespeare-again.

  “Now, let’s get down to partners, shall we?” the teacher said.

  Fiona dreaded the idea of being partnered with someone she didn’t know.

  Meagan raised her hand. “Can we pick our own?”

  “No. I’ve already assigned pairs and plays for the project.” Mrs. Shandy began reading the list of names. Fiona listened for her name and prayed it would be someone who liked Shakespeare.

  “Mr. Martinez aaaand…Oh, what did I write?” Mrs. Shandy looked up and said, “Ah, Miss Fiona Lavender. You both have Romeo and Juliet. Try to do it justice.” Fiona’s heart sank. Which guy is Mr. Martinez? She was afraid to look around the room. But she didn’t have to bother. The broad shouldered guy in front of her turned around.