Catch a Falling Star Read Online Free PDF Page A

horizon of pine trees
    like a halo. Even from the crappy Fast Mart, our town could be so
    beautiful. No wonder they wanted to shoot a Christmas movie
    here. Maybe they came just to film that sky. I held up the salad.
    “Have you eaten? I brought you some extra.”
    He relaxed his shoulders, tapping out another cigarette but not
    lighting it. “I can eat something here.”
    “Nutritious.” I chewed my lip, already feeling the air loosening
    between us, and held the salad to him. “Come on, despite the obvi-
    ous appeal of a Ho Ho and Funyuns dinner, you love Caesar salad.”
    He pulled his free hand from his jeans pocket. “Thanks, sis,”
    he said, taking the bag. “I do love me some Caesar.”
    The phone began echoing inside the Fast Mart, its trill muffled.
    His eyes darted toward the sound. “I gotta get back.”
    I didn’t stick around to watch him answer it.
    I preferred my brother’s fake face.
    The light in my closet had burned out. I ran to the basement,
    grabbed a box of bulbs, and, returning, scooted a chair close enough
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    so I could replace it. Extra Pickles watched me intently from his
    perch on my bed, his tail thumping. “There,” I told him, the closet
    flooding with light. He wagged his approval. I searched the shelves
    for the old quilt I wanted to bring for star watching tonight. As I
    pulled it from the top shelf, a pale satin bag slipped out with it,
    landing first on my head, and then on the floor beside me. A
    familiar tug pulled at my chest. Reaching down, I picked it up, the
    fabric slippery in my hands.
    My dance bag.
    I’d shoved it back there over a year ago, not wanting to throw
    it out with some of my other dance stuff. I turned it over, running
    my fingers over the frayed dark blue stitching of my name in the
    bottom corner. Inside, I could feel the rounded lump of my first
    pair of pointe shoes. Mom had made the bag out of the costume I’d
    worn in The Nutcracker the first time I danced Snow, the ice-blue
    satin almost white. She’d stitched my first name and appliquéd a
    lemon slice of moon next to that, a few bright stars pocking the
    fabric around it. I’d carried it to class almost every day for five
    years.
    I tried to push the ache back down, away from where it pawed
    at my heart, remembering Mom’s suggestion about checking in
    with Nicky. When I’d quit, I’d filled two black garbage bags with
    leotards, costumes, shoes, and posters, and told Mom to donate
    them, but I couldn’t get rid of this bag or those shoes inside it,
    so I’d pushed them far and away and forgotten about them behind
    the quilt.
    “Carter? You coming?” Chloe called up the stairs. “What’re
    you doing?”
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    “Nothing!” I hid the bag between some hanging clothes. “Be
    right there.” Extra Pickles cocked his head, his ears alert. “Don’t
    look at me like that,” I told him, clicking off the light.
    “How’s John?” Alien Drake settled down next to me on the quilt.
    Chloe peeked out from behind the telescope he’d positioned for
    her, eyebrows raised.
    We didn’t usually talk about my brother, but they knew I’d
    just seen him. I studied the stretch of dark sky above me, my eyes
    soothed by the dim twinkle of stars, the cool bath of night air. “It’s
    been pretty mellow for a while, which worries me. You know
    John. He goes through waves.”
    Alien Drake gave my arm a squeeze, then moved on to dig
    through the grocery bag we’d hauled onto the roof. After extract-
    ing a bag of Doritos, he popped them open, the air infused with
    sudden nacho cheese. Next door, the neighbor’s sprinklers went
    on, drowning out the sound of the creek behind the house. “Did
    he end up seeing that counselor? That one your mom found?” He
    chewed a handful of chips. Alien Drake always seemed to devour
    food rather than eat it, huge quantities disappearing in seconds.
    “He did. At least we think he did.” My parents didn’t go with
    him to the meetings anymore. “He said he