Page 4 of We Are the Stars

“I hate you.”

“Liar.”

A shadow falls over the table, and we grow silent.

“You.” It’s like the voice is edged with sharp knives the way it twists in my gut.

Knowing it’s the boy from the window, the one I flipped off, I don’t turn to look at him. “Me.”

He says nothing else and neither do I. Frowny Face Boy stands there staring at me—I know because I canfeelhis eyes burning small holes in the side of my head. The heat his gaze is giving off is almost palpable.

I pretend to peruse the menu while sliding my eyes his way. I’m thankful I wore my hair down today because there’s no way he can see me peeking through my curtain of white-blonde locks. He’s lean, almost too lean, and standing with his hands down at his sides. He keeps picking at his thumb with his index finger, the movement filled with agitation. I move my eyes to the stains adorning his white shirt: ketchup, soda, grease…and whatever that purple shit is.

After several unsteady moments, Jase is the one to break the tension.

“I think we’re ready to order.”

“What can I get you?” Even though he’s directing his question to Jase, his eyes never leave me.

“Uh, a vanilla Coke and a double cheeseburger with fries.”

I peek over at my friend, noticing his face is turning redder by the second. He’s staring at Window Boy as hard as Window Boy is glaring at me. His knuckles are turning white from the grip he has on the table. Jase doesn’t act this way around anyone. He’s the humblest, most laid-back guy I know, but for some reason, this stranger is turning him into someone he isn’t.

I’ve known Jase since I was eight, when we met in the third grade. He said he liked my TMNT backpack. I told him his lunchbox was ugly. We’ve been best friends ever since. He’s always been the calm to my storm, always been there to help talk me off a ledge or to guide me through any difficult decisions.

Since I’ve known Jase for twelve years now, and since he knows me better than anyone else on this entire planet, his reaction should bother me, should be a red flag.

But it doesn’t, and it’s not.

Nothing about Window Boy scares me or tells me to stay away. I mean, I know I just met the guy, but I don’t getthatvibe from him. I sense sadness and anger, but despite my immature action earlier, none of it is directed at me, not in a menacing way.

“And for you?”

Daring a glance up at him, I’m surprised to find the look on his face to be blank—all his emotion is in his eyes.

His gray eyes. They’re gray, and theyaremagnificent. Woeful, but still so beautiful. Andintense.

His mouth parts the slightest bit once our gazes connect, and the action steals my attention. His lips are full, his nose a little too big, and his jaw strong. It’s lined with day-old stubble, and I can’t help but think how well it fits him. He has the smallest freckle under his right eye, drawing my attention back to his gray gaze.

“I’ll have the same, minus one meat patty and the vanilla, and add on a side of nacho cheese. Oh, and two cherries in the Coke.”

Window Boy raises a brow. “So, not the same.”

“It’s basically the same,” I challenge.

“‘Basically’ and ‘the same’ are two different things.”

“Yes, but ‘basically the same’ is something entirely different.”

He rolls his stone-gray eyes and goes to turn.

“What’s your name?” I blurt out.

Jase kicks me under the table and I glance to him, mouthingdickbefore returning my attention to our waiter.

He points to the nametag on his stained white t-shirt.

Carsen.

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