The Stars Will Shine Read Online Free Page B

I take a step forward, as well, so we’re nose to nose now.
    “No bonding with my little sister.”
    “No putting— whoa , hold up. What does that even have to do with you?”
    He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not a good influence from what I hear.”
    “And you are?”
    “It’s debatable.” A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I try to be.”
    “Just show me to my room,” I say, annoyed.
    Dylan points down the hallway then hooks his hand to the left. “That way.” And then he adds, in a tone that displays great displeasure, “Right next to my room.”
    “Joy, we can be best buds.” I take off at a stomp down the hall, and I hear him follow me, but not too closely.
    “Don’t even think about rearranging anything in the bathroom,” he calls after me.
    “I wouldn’t dream of it!” Jesus, they’ve only got one bathroom up here?
    “Because if there are two consistencies in my life,” he continues, as if he hasn’t heard me, “they are the durations of my showers and the durations of my shits—”
    “Too much information—”
    “And I don’t want you rushing either.”
    I turn around and curtsy—“Alright Princess.”—then pick up my speed, wanting nothing more than to reach my new room and collapse onto the bed. I pass by an open door on my right and can’t help the curious glance inside. It’s clearly Dylan’s room. An electric guitar is perched on a stand in the corner, and band posters line the black painted walls. I don’t remember Dylan being all into music—purely because I don’t remember us having anything in common—but then again, that was six years ago.
    I push open the door to my room and gasp in horror. Only three words come out next, and they’re not very pretty.
    “What. The . Fuck .”
    Everything is pink—the walls, the bedspread, the bathrobe hanging on a hook by the door. I want to scream and claw my eyes out at the same time. I hear a snicker as Dylan’s heavy steps come up and stop right behind me.
    “I told Mom I remembered it being your favorite color.”
    I slowly turn and drag my eyes up to his, piercing them into him in a way I hope resembles a dagger slowly penetrating his skin.
    It has absolutely no effect on him.
    Lips pressed tight, blood vessels in my temples on the verge of bursting, I step into the room and slam the door in his face. First thing tomorrow: paint job. No way will I torture myself for an entire year with the sight of this monstrosity.
    I fall backward onto the bed and cover my face with my hands.
    It’s another thirty minutes before I hear a soft knock on the door. “What?” I say.
    “It’s Dad.” Dad’s voice is hesitant, like maybe he thinks I won’t open the door for him.
    Well, he’s goddamn right.
    “What do you want?” I ask, turning onto my stomach and planting my face into the puffy pink pillow.
    “To say goodbye.”
    The moment is there. I feel it in my breath that catches and in the stillness before the belated beat of my heart. And in that brief moment the outside world goes on—the sun flickers through the crack between the curtain shades, and the birds chirp too happily beyond the glass. I could open that door and hug him and tell him that while I don’t understand why he did this to me, I still love him.
    But then the moment passes, and I move on, too.
    “Bye,” I tell him.
    It’s silent on the other side of the door for about twenty seconds, and I wonder if Dad has left. But then he says, “Bye, Delilah,” and I know he’s sad. His voice is small in such a way that his head must be drooping. I feel a jolt through my core, a sudden sickness, but I smother it in the same way I bury my face further into the pillow.
     
    ***
     
    A door slams outside my room, and it jerks me awake. I shoot up, back straight, eyes like saucers and a gasp still being sucked through my windpipe. I’m sweating, and I don’t know where I am. My mind hasn’t quite adjusted to reality yet, so I’m suspended in that in-between