Page 9 of Ticket to the Stars: Part One

“You don’t look like you’re packing.”

“I’m not. I’m going through your stuff—you have terrible taste, you know—and sorting them.”

I rubbed a hand along the side of my face. “I only see one pile.” I was on Cleo duty for the day, which meant I had to text Alexa and have her come over so I could break the news to her. Ramona was coming for the contract and NDAs later today, but I wouldn’t be leaving until Monday morning.

Meaning: I had plenty of time to pack.If it wasn’t already obvious, I liked to put things off.

“Yeah, that’s because that’s thenopile,” she stated matter-of-factly, totally unaware that she shouldn’t be in my room at—I checked my phone—eight-fifteen in the morning. It was summer. Come on. What time did this kid wake up? “I don’t know why you weren’t bullied more.”

That was the last thing I expected her to say, and I couldn’t fight the laugh that bubbled its way up my throat. “You’re so annoying. Get out. I need to get up and get dressed.” I swung my legs off the side of my bed, stretching as I stood.

Cleo let out a huff, but in the end she didn’t argue with me. She started for the door.

“I’m telling Alexa to come over,” I called after her. “You know you’re not allowed to tell anyone about the whole Black Sacrament thing, right? Mom signed that NDA on behalf of you, so if you go blabbing your mouth to all your friends, Mom can get in trouble.”

She was only eleven, but even Cleo knew that Mom didn’t need any more money trouble.

Cleo groaned, folded her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. “I know. Mom said it like twenty times last night. I’m not stupid, Mags. I can keep a secret.” I’d never heard her sound so serious before.

“Why did you tape me singing and send it in?”

My sister’s dark blond eyebrows furrowed, and she said, “You have a good voice. You’ve always wanted to be a singer.” Her thin shoulders went up and down once as she uncrossed her arms. “Besides, it isn’t like I really thought you’dwin.”

So much for a sisterly moment. With seven years between us, those moments were pretty much nonexistent. “Thanks, brat. Now get out.”

She blew me an exaggerated kiss and bounced away, shutting my door behind her. I picked an outfit out of the no pile and changed out of my pajamas, and then I texted Alexa and asked if she could come over.

And then it was a waiting game.

Mornings were a time of waffles in the toaster or cereal in bowls. Lunches in the summer were a time of pizza rolls. Cleo and I pretty much lived on those bite-sized pizza bites. Alexa was over most of the time in the summer, or when Cleo had playdates with her friends, I went over her house.

All that was about to end. Things were going to get very different for each of us.

Alexa came around ten-thirty, after she’d rolled herself out of bed and showered. Her short black hair was still a little damp. We sat facing each other on my bed, and she noted the pile of clothes I’d tried to push toward my closet immediately.

“What’s going on? Your room looks like mine now,” she spoke with a wide grin. “Weren’t you just making fun of me for that?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, lowering my eyes to my lap. “That’s… sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.” My stomach was in knots; I didn’t want Alexa to be mad at me for this. The lack of details might just aggravate her to no end.

The smile fell off her face. “What is it?”

“I… won’t be able to room with you after all. I have to pull out.”

Alexa blinked. For a while, that’s all she could do: blink. Over and over, like if she blinked enough, her brain would finally register the words I’d said. Finally, she shook her head and asked, “What the heck are you talking about?”

“Something happened last night—”

“Does this have to do with that weird lady who was here? Who was she?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Alexa once again fell into a bout of blinking. “Uh, what? You can’t tell me? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Mags, we tell each othereverything.”

“I know, and I’m dying to tell you—you have to believe me—but I can’t. I literally can’t. We had to sign NDAs.” I paused. “Like, all of us. Even Cleo.”

“Cleo had to sign an NDA? For what?”

“I mean, my mom had to sign it for her, but still. If I could tell you without someone suing us into the ground, I would.” I bit my bottom lip, feeling uncomfortable and wishing things were different. “Please don’t be mad.”

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