Second Star

20

I’m not in the backyard anymore. I’m not anywhere. Or maybe I’m everywhere. Was my skin always this soft? There is a set of stairs beneath me. Not cool tiles like the floor at Pete’s house on the cliffs or in the glass house on the hill. These stairs are soft and plush, and so hot I think they must be on fire.

Fire is so beautiful. Really, it travels in waves, just like the ocean.

I’m not alone. Someone is holding on to my waist, pulling me up, up, up over the hot stairs. Carpet. These stairs are covered in carpet.

“You’re gonna be fine, Wendy,” Jas says, his voice deep and rich. He’s so close, I can still smell him.

Wait: it’s quiet. So quiet. There’s no music, no party. The house is awash with light: the sun is shining brightly through the windows. It’s daytime. The party must have ended hours ago.

But not for me. I spin away, dancing in the sunlight, the carpet warm and soft beneath my feet. Funny that Jas’s house is carpeted. Houses by the beach usually have bare floors. Carpets can be ruined by sand and salt too easily.

Jas laughs. “These new pills stay with you for a long time,” he says.

I shake my head. What does he mean, these new pills? Oh, that’s right, the dust. For some reason, this seems insanely funny, and I start laughing so hard that I think I’ll never stop, so hard that I can feel my abdominal muscles wince at the effort of taking my next breath, but I can’t stop.

Wendy Darling is not the kind of girl who takes drugs. Wendy Darling doesn’t even stay out past curfew. But there’s no curfew anymore, not where I live now, not with Pete in the house on the cliffs. In Pete’s house, they can stay on the beach all night just to make sure that they’re there when the waves peak first thing in the morning.

I shake my head. I don’t live in the house on the cliffs anymore. Do I live here, with Jas? No. Jas is bad. I don’t like Jas.

“I don’t like you,” I say, but there’s still laughter in my voice. “It’s all your fault,” I add.

My words must surprise him, because he drops my arm, and the next thing I know, I’m running, running away from him. Out of his house and down stairs that are wooden and rickety, dirty and covered in sand. And then I feel the sand beneath my feet. I’m on the beach. The sun is shining yellow and red and pink on my back—wait, it’s sunset, not sunrise, when did that happen? I have the whole beach to myself, and I spin around, spin around, dancing to music that only I can hear.

But then he is beside me again, dancing right along with me.

Why did he follow me here? Why won’t he let me out of his sight?

“Come back to the house please, Wendy.” And he says it so politely, so softly, with such a smile playing on the edges of his lips, that I say okay and let him lead me back up and over the cliffs. A cool breeze rises off the ocean, following us back to Jas’s house, making me shiver.

I wonder just how long we were dancing on the beach, just how much time we’ve spent together. Wait, I’ve been on the beach with Jas before.

“What did you mean when you said I looked different?”

“What are you talking about, sweet girl?”

“On the beach. You said living in Kensington agrees with me.”

Jas’s teeth are so white when he smiles, I bet he scares the sharks.

“I meant that you looked beautiful, Wendy.”

I laugh. What a funny word. “Bee-yoo-tee-full!” I shout, each syllable making me laugh harder.

I’m in a bed. The softest bed in the entire world, softer even than the bed in the house on Brentway. I start laughing again: did I really help rob a house? The sheets in this bed are cotton, but they’re silky as satin, and the pillows are fluffy beneath my head. The room is dark, but my eyes are wide open. Suddenly, I’m thirsty, thirstier than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I open my mouth to ask for water, but my throat is too parched to say a word. But then I roll over and a tall glass of water is here on the floor beside the bed, waiting for me.

And sitting beside the glass, he is still there. Refilling my glass, offering me coffee and tea, crackers and Popsicles.

Oh my god, a Popsicle would be so delicious right now. How did he know that?

Well, of course he knows that. He knows exactly what a person high on dust would want. Which reminds me of why I came to him in the first place. Why I took this drug in the first place. I open my mouth to ask my questions, but instead of speaking, I’m coughing. He hands me another glass of water, so cold, so delicious, that I wonder why I ever wasted time drinking anything other than water in the first place.

I sit up. I stand. I shout question after question, and I swear I can see my words hitting Jas like bullets, sliding down his body like ink.

I drop the empty glass on the floor and collapse into the bed. His hand reaches out for me, brushing my hair away from my face. I coo like a baby. His touch feels so good. He drops his hand and slides across the floor, backing away from the bed, putting some distance between us. But he stays where I can see him, disappearing only to bring me more water, an orange-flavored Popsicle, a plate piled high with crackers and cookies.

Why is he still with me? Why does he care?