Catch a Falling Star Read Online Free PDF Page B

Hollywood.”
    “Yeah, we do,” Alien Drake said. “I love movies, too, but
    Hollywood and movies are not the same thing.” He reached for
    Chloe’s hand. “But we definitely adore you.”
    Chloe popped open another bag of chips, keeping it just out of
    his reach, but then she slipped her hand into his and tilted the
    chips toward him as a peace offering. “I know.”
    “So Adam Jakes is clearly in phase four?” I asked.
    “Obviously,” Chloe said, grinning at Alien Drake’s bemused
    look. “What? Even I have to admit, it’s a pretty good theory.”
    “And what’s phase five?” I sipped my water, waiting.
    Alien Drake hesitated, twining his fingers tighter around
    Chloe’s. “Phase five has two branches. Either they figure it out, or
    they burn out, supernova style. In which case, the only place we’d
    ever see them again is on some third-rate reality TV show.”
    “So phase four is kind of the key, sort of determines if the star
    burns out,” I said, and Alien Drake nodded, staring up at the dark sky.
    30
    I thought about Adam Jakes, emerging like a zoo animal from
    the shop today, barely blinking away his bored expression; thought
    about all his bad press, his strained face all over the magazine cov-
    ers. “Given the particular movie star in our sky right now, I think
    it’s a great idea for the blog. The life cycle of a star.”
    Was that what we saw today? The fading embers of Adam
    Jakes?
    31
    four
    the next day, Hollywood returned. Only this time, they caused a
    bit more of a stir, shutting down two main streets and blocking
    access to a stretch of shops. I could see the flurry of activity from
    where I stood in the patio of Little Eats. I knew our locals and it
    wouldn’t be long before they started getting grumpy.
    Little was named after Daniel Little, a miner who’d struck it
    rich on gold in the 1800s. The Daniel Little house, now a hotel, sat
    like a sky-blue Buddha at the top point of Main and Pine Streets,
    the arms of the Little triangle meeting Gold Street at the bottom.
    Each year, tourists flooded Little, taking pictures of it, painting it,
    or just wandering through its restaurants, shops, the winery’s tast-
    ing room, or Mountain Books. “Where are the billboards?” they
    would wonder as they sat in our patio, stabbing at a Cobb salad.
    “It’s so cute,” they would sigh to me as I refilled their iced teas.
    “You must love living here,” they would say.
    Thing was, I did love living here. And I didn’t mind the tour-
    ists the way some of the locals did. They were a huge part of our
    café, and they gave me a constant reminder of how lucky I was to
    live here.
    A flurry on the sidewalk caught my eye. Speaking of locals, I
    32
    watched six of them, backs straight and packed like bowling pins,
    storm by the café, their arms full of poster boards taped to yard-
    sticks. Protesters. Already?
    Then I noticed Nora Trent, thin as a birch tree and six feet
    tall. John sometimes joked that Nora could just fasten her protest
    poster to a hat and she’d actually look like a picket sign. Nora was
    a constant fixture at our house, and she often helped Mom with
    some cause or another; still, she always seemed to resent being
    second in command, and with Mom off in the Central Valley, Nora
    could run her own show.
    And now she was heading toward the movie set.
    Mom would never have wasted her time on a soft issue like
    Hollywood. Gripe about it? Sure. Roll her eyes at it. Absolutely.
    But protest it? Never. Mom wasn’t a bumpkin, and she wouldn’t act
    like it by toting a picket sign down to a movie set. Rose Moon
    would see the bigger picture, would know the kind of money com-
    ing into Little would be good for future causes like parks and
    stream cleanup. So unless Hollywood started mistreating ani-
    mals or dumping chemicals in the river, Mom would stay out of
    their way.
    It wasn’t like I was siding with Hollywood, but they didn’t
    need Nora Trent gumming up their set, and