Starstruck by Cyn Balog Read Free Book Online Page B

knew it.
    I stand there for a moment, holding my breath. Then I pick up my books and run into the bakery, only to throw them down again on the linoleum. Then I scream. Scream like there’s no tomorrow. Scream every curse word, in every odd combination I can think of, until I’m red in the face and want to puke. Christian just watches me, squinting.
    Finally, I calm down. I’m still breathing hard, but my voice lowers a few octaves. “Sorry,” I say. “You see, that guy out there … I sort of … ‘Hate’ is too nice a word.”
    I don’t know, was I expecting a reaction from a guy who has yet to utter more than three syllables to me? Because he just stares at me, looking confused.
    “That girl out there. She’s my sister. And she’s only fourteen. And obviously stupid.” I clench my fists and let out a growl. “Is English your second language? ’Cause you’re really starting to get on my nerves.”
    It kind of just slipped out. I guess that fear I harbored, the one of his maybe stabbing my heart with the butter knife, has been trumped by the fear of having to sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” to a little Rothman niece or nephew.
    He clears his throat. I wait eagerly for his words, though I’m not sure why. Was I expecting this stoner dude to hold the key to the universe? “She’s your sister?” he finally asks, clearly shocked.
    I sigh. “I know. It goes against the laws of nature that two completely opposite-looking creatures can be related by blood. I get that.”
    He shakes his head. “What the hell is a scumbling screwfinger?”
    I stare at him, dumbfounded. I vaguely recall those words escaping my lips during my vent. My inventory of expletives could probably use some work.
    He’s still looking out the window. “Are you jealous?”
    “Of course not. That guy’s a jerk. And I have a boyfriend.” At least, for the time being. “He’s been in California for a few years, but he’s …” My voice trails off when I realize I’m explaining something to someone who should not matter. Why is it that suddenly all the things that never seemed to matter in my life do?
    He nods, looking unconvinced.
    “What?” I demand. I mean, what did he mean by that? It’s her right to spend time with jerks if she so chooses. Okay, yeah, maybe I was a little bit sore about having to take the bus home while my younger sister got a ride, but I was not jealous of who she had to spend that entire ride home with. It would be like riding home with nails screeching across a chalkboard. “Why would I be jealous?”
    He shrugs. “Because I am. That’s a sweet ride.”
    I think I liked him better when he didn’t talk.
    I growl again, then gather my mountain of books and run upstairs. My mom is nowhere to be found. I’m so eager to get my sister in trouble that I call, “Ma?” over and over through the apartment. I hear a faint “Hi, hon” echoing, but can’t tell where it’s coming from. Sounds like she’s stuffed in a closet, under a pile of clothes. I throw everything in my arms onto my bed and turn on my computer. There’s an email from Wish that must have come last night, after I’d gone to sleep. More of his goofy countdown: 00:20:04:36! CAN’T WAIT!!!
    Then I find my mother lying on the floor of the living room. At first I think she’s trying to do push-ups, which is something my mother never, ever does, since she runs around like crazy all day baking and has the physique of a matchstick. Then I realize she’s Swiffering under the couch. She cleans like a madwoman.
    “Ma, did you see what Evie is doing—”
    She picks her head up. “Hi, hon. How was school?”
    I hold up my hand and beckon her to the front window. “Glorious. Mom. Look. Look what Evie is doing.”
    She pulls the cloth off the Swiffer and smiles at all the dust she’s collected, then dips one of the slats of our metal blinds and peers outside. “Wow. Nice car.”
    “Ma, that’s Rick. He’s way older than her. And a jerk to the