A Sea of Stars Read Online Free PDF

chairs. “I love birthdays.”
    We look up, trying to think of what to say.
    â€œWell, no…” says Dad, hunting for words and sending another wink to Cat. “But it is a very special day for our family. A very, very special day indeed.”
    Colouring isn’t my favourite thing in the world, but it’s better than watching Dad and Cat together, and it’s better than looking at Mum’s anxious glares. I’m busy doing an OK job of colouring in a stupid girl on a pony, when Cat’s custardy hair wafts up my nose again, the beetle-black gleam of it shimmering in the light. She’s leaning right over to look.
    â€œI’m rubbish at colouring in,” I say, quickly covering the picture with my arm. “I’m rubbishat arty things. I like surfing best and camping and outdoorsy things – adventuring and stuff.”
    â€œLet me see, though,” she says.
    I slide my arm away and feel my cheeks burn.
    Cat sniggers.
    â€œIt’s lovely, Maya,” Mum lies, picking up my poster. “It’s really beautiful!”
    We look over at Cat’s. She’s only done the pony’s face so far, but it’s amazing. I never knew anyone could make such a brilliant picture with such rubbish felt-tip pens. The pony looks almost real, like its eyes are actually glinting in the sun. And I’m so amazed by Cat’s neatness that my body stops whirring. She hasn’t gone over the black line once and the colours are so smooth and even, not scratchy and bumpy like mine.
    â€œThat’s absolutely brilliant, Cat,” says Mum, tugging the picture round to get a better view. “How do you do it so neatly?”
    â€œDunno,” says Cat. “It’s easy.”
    â€œAn artist in the making,” smiles Dad, sending her another wink.
    â€œSshhhhh,” she says holding her finger to her lips. “Stop interrupting.”
    She takes a deep lungful of air and holds her breath for ages while she colour-colour-colours. We stare transfixed at her concentration. I quietly scrunch up my page. I’m not an artist in the making. But if we were surfing I’d be better than her – or swimming, or making fires, or putting up tents.
    This is the weirdest day of my life so far. Much weirder than when we started looking at adoption websites and all those faces loomed out at us, waiting for homes. Much weirder than Alfie dying or the time I was so excited about my new bodyboard that I kept it in bed with me all night.
    When the waitress brings over our food the meat feasts look the best. They smell really yummy and the cheese is all gooey on top of big juicy chunks of salami and ham. Mum’s salad is so colourful even that looks delicious, and suddenly my margarita seems boring and normal, flat and dull. I always have a margarita. Why didn’t I have the meat feast as well? I’m really thirsty now too. The chocolatemilkshake is nice but it feels cluggy in my mouth and the Coke looks so refreshing.
    Dad stands up and chinks his glass with a spoon. The forgotten rope in my tummy tugs tight.
    â€œI’d like to raise a toast,” he smiles. The lump starts wobbling in his throat again and Mum’s eyes well up with tears. “To Cat and Maya and Mum and me; to all of us and our new life together. Cat, welcome to our family. We’re a little bit crazy sometimes, and you’ll have to forgive us for that, but we do have lots of fun and we’re very excited to have you join us.”
    â€œErrr… thanks,” Cat mumbles. Her face flushes red and her eyes dart around the restaurant, checking no one’s looking. And with all the toasting and welcoming and eyes full of tears and throats full of lumps, Dad doesn’t notice, and neither does Mum, that, quietly like the shadow of a robber on a dark, dark night, Cat slips a whole portion of cheesy bread into the bottom of her bag.
    As we’re leaving the restaurant, I slide