The The Name of the Star Read Online Free PDF Page A

people moving in.
    â€œDon’t worry,” the girl said. “My dad hasn’t come in. I don’t want to disturb you. You keep sleeping. Aurora, isn’t it?”
    â€œRory,” I said. “I fell asleep in my . . .”
    I let the sentence go. There was no need to point out the obvious.
    â€œOh, it’s fine! It won’t be the last time, believe me. I’m Julianne, but everyone calls me Jazza.”
    I introduced myself to Jazza’s mom, then headed down to the bathroom to brush my teeth and try to make myself generally more presentable.
    The halls were swarming. How I’d slept through this invasion, I wasn’t entirely sure. Girls were squealing in delight at the sight of each other. There were hugs and air kisses, and lots of tight-lipped fights going on with parents who were trying not to make a scene. There were tears and good-byes. It was every human emotion happening at the exact same time. As I slithered down the hall, I could hear Claudia’s voice booming from three flights down, greeting people with “Call me Claudia! How was your trip? Good, good, good . . .”
    I finally got to the bathroom and huddled by a window. Outside, it was a bright, clear morning. There were really only three or four parking spots in front of the school. The drivers had to take turns and keep their cars in nearly constant motion, dropping off a box or two and then continuing around to let the next person have a space. The same scene was going on across the square at the boys’ house.
    I had planned much better entrances. I had scripted all kinds of greetings. I had gone over my best stories. But so far, I was zero for two. I brushed my teeth and rubbed my face with cold water, finger-combed my hair, and accepted that this was how I was going to meet my new roommate.
    Since she was actually from England and able to come to school in a car, Jazza had way more stuff than me. Way more stuff. There were multiple suitcases, which her mom kept unpacking, piling the contents on the bed. There were boxes of books, about six dozen throw pillows, a tennis racquet, and a selection of umbrellas. Her sheets, towels, and blankets were all nicer than mine. She even brought curtains. And the cello. As for books, she easily had two hundred of them with her, maybe more. I looked over at my cardboard boxes and my decorative beads and ashtray and my one shelf of books.
    â€œCan I help?” I asked.
    â€œOh . . .” Jazza spun around and looked at her things. “I think we’ve . . . I think we’ve brought it all in. My parents have a long drive back, you see, and . . . I’m just going to go out and say good-bye.”
    â€œYou’re done?”
    â€œYes, well, we’d been piling some things in the hall and bringing them in one at a time so we wouldn’t disturb you.”
    Jazza went away for about twenty minutes, and when she returned, she was red-eyed and sniffly. I watched her unpack her things for a while. I wasn’t sure if I should offer my help again because the things looked kind of too personal. But I did anyway, and Jazza accepted, with many thanks. She told me I could use anything I liked, or borrow clothes, or blankets, or whatever I needed. “Just take it” was Jazza’s motto. She explained all the things that Claudia didn’t, like where and when you were allowed to use your phone (in your house and outside), what you did during the free periods (work, usually in the library or in your house).
    â€œYou lived with Charlotte before?” I asked as I made up her bed with a heavy quilt.
    â€œYou know Charlotte? She’s head girl now, so she gets her own room.”
    â€œI had dinner with her last night,” I said. “She seems kind of . . . intense.”
    Jazza snapped out a pillowcase.
    â€œShe’s all right, really. She’s under a lot of pressure from her family to get into Cambridge. I’d hate it if my