Starfall Read Online Free PDF Page A

fridge,” Arla replies, her mouth full of gushy froatola. “Step two, figure the rest out for yourself.”
    When Barnaby and I first moved in with the Bergerons, even though we’ve known them our whole lives, we felt more like guests, completely wanted, but with an expiration date. I kept having the feeling that Louis was going to greet us at the door one day after school with all our bags packed, announcing that we were going to be shipped off to some Dickensian locale like the Weeping Water Orphanage. Unwarranted thought, because he and Arla have shown us nothing but kindness and patience and support during our transition from someone’s child to someone else’s ward. Now that Barnaby and I have been living here for well over a year, we’ve matured into someone’s family, which is an incredibly comforting feeling. Just as comforting as Arla’s borderline snarky comment.
    Sitting next to her at the kitchen table, my own health-soaked cereal in a bowl in front of me, I take advantage of our alone time and start to tell her about last night’s escapade.
    â€œSounds buzzworthy,” Arla jokes without smiling.
    â€œMore buzz than worthy,” I add. “Especially since Jess didn’t show up.”
    Scrunching up her forehead, Arla tilts her head and looks at me. Even first thing in the morning, even with no makeup on to cover the faint scar over her left eye, even with a super-short, close-cropped Afro, Arla is beautiful. Her words, however, are not as pretty.
    â€œMaybe your relationship with Jess is changing,” she suggests. “Just like ours.”
    So she senses it too! The problem is while my relationship with Arla is changing in a good way—we’re moving closer to being sisters than being just friends—my relationship with Jess is moving in the opposite direction.
    â€œBut I don’t want things to change with Jess,” I say.
    â€œDominy, haven’t you realized by now that there is very little in this world that we can control,” Arla replies. “And since Jess is technically part of another world, the chances of your being in control of anything that includes her are automatically cut in half.”
    Hmm, that’s quite profound so early on a Saturday morning.
    â€œHence the reason I wear my wigs,” she adds.
    Hmm, from profound to perplexing.
    â€œI may not be able to control my future,” Arla says, “but I can control my futylesensiny.”
    â€œYour what? ”
    â€œSorry, my future style sense,” she clarifies. “I’m not good at making up new words like you are.”
    â€œWe all have our strengths,” I say. “You should’ve gone with something like fufashionista.”
    â€œSubarashi!” she cries.
    Jess may not be around, but her Japanese slang remains.
    Slurping up the last bits of her breakfast, Arla asks me if last night’s transformation held any more surprises, other than it turning into a remake of Attack of the Killer Bees . Before I can elaborate on how the evening ended, the front door slams. Either Barnaby’s finished shaving and has gone out to partake in some manly Saturday morning activity or Louis really has finally come home after partaking in his all-night hunt for the Full Moon Killer. Four seconds later when Louis bounds into the kitchen we know Barnaby is still preening and Louis is pissed.
    Grunting something that resembles a “good morning,” Louis yanks open the refrigerator door, grabs the container of orange juice, and bangs the fridge shut. Next, he opens up the cupboard over the sink and slams that shut too, only to open another cabinet door that houses what he’s looking for, a glass. He pours it full of OJ and takes a huge swig, swallows, and repeats.
    The refrigerator door is abused once more as Louis opens it, rummages around inside for a few seconds, grabs some yogurt, and slams the door shut yet again. A kitchen drawer