The Stars Will Shine Read Online Free Page A

completely contrast his. She smiles politely, and I suddenly feel as though I’m looking back at myself—proper hair and dress aside—at a girl with no knowledge of how cruel the world can be. I try to smile back at her, but I feel it slip, and I drop my eyes.
    Don’t grow up too soon , I want to tell her, even though I know we all learn the hard way.
    “It’s been too long, Charles” Aunt Miranda says to Dad, reaching her hands out to him. He welcomes them in his and crosses the threshold to kiss her cheek.
    “Really, it has been,” he agrees. I roll my eyes at how formally, how distantly, they speak to each other, as if they are merely old acquaintances instead of siblings. “How’s your family been? I hear your business is booming.”
    Next to Aunt Miranda, Uncle Jim gives a laugh, one that I’m sure is meant to be a hearty laugh, but that comes out much too forced. I can tell my dad tries to stand taller, to lift his chin higher, maybe tries to plant his feet better for the flaunting of wealth and success we know comes next.
    “That it is, Charles, that it is,” Uncle Jim rumbles. “We’ll have to take you on a tour of the winery before you leave. Our wines are flying off the shelves. And did Miranda tell you our winery was rated the top in the region for wedding and reunion venues?”
    Dad’s smile turns stiffer. “Yes, she did. And I would very much love to check it out, but my flight leaves tonight. I have work early tomorrow morning.” He glances at his watch to emphasize the time constraint.
    “Ah, c’mon, Charles,” Uncle Jim says, waving off his excuse as though Dad’s work is surely less significant. “Cancel the flight. You can take the next one back in the morning.” My dad responds with an unenthusiastic grunt.
    Aunt Miranda’s smile turns a little tight, and she says, “How about we let our guests inside. What do you say, Jim?”
    I grip the handle of my suitcase too tightly and pull it into the foyer, passing through Dylan and Uncle Jim, both of whom hardly move out of the way for me.
    “Dylan, why don’t you show Delilah to her room while Dad and I catch up with Charles for a bit,” Aunt Miranda suggests.
    Dylan moves past me and starts up the staircase without a word, and I want to say something sarcastic like, “Thanks for helping me with my bags.” But I don’t. I roll my eyes and make a face at him behind his back instead.
    After strapping my duffel bag across my chest, I grab hold of the handle of my suitcase with both hands and tug, step by step. The suitcase follows with a thud, thud, thud all the way up the stairs. I reach the landing, which looks out over the foyer and is level with a large crystal chandelier that scatters the light elegantly. Dylan leans against the white railing, watching me now with a smirk.
    “Eat any caterpillars lately?” he asks. I want to punch him. I can feel my face turn hot, and he laughs at me. “You look like a teapot ready to whistle.”
    “I can’t believe I have to deal with you all year,” I snap.
    “Right back at you,” he says, pushing off the railing to step in front of me with crossed arms. He dips his head so he can look me right in the eye. “You see, I have a routine here, and I don’t want you messing with it. Especially my senior year of high school.”
    “You think I want to? Newsflash asshole: I don’t.” He blinks, looking slightly taken aback by my name calling, but when his lips twitch as if he’s about to laugh again, I talk on so that he doesn’t have a chance. “I don’t want you messing with me as much as you don’t want me messing with you, alright?”
    His stare turns more severe. “No tagging along with me and my friends.”
    “Gladly,” I reply with a shrug. “No going through my things.”
    “Please. Like I want to catch a disease.” He steps forward, voice an octave lower. “No telling my parents where I sneak off to.”
    “Only if you don’t tell your parents where I sneak off to.”