Page 59 of We Are the Stars

9

Carsen

We skippedboard games and opted for a movie in the living room instead, because according to Nate, “Monopoly ruins friendships.” I’m certain there’s a story there.

Nate and Blake abandoned us, announcing they needed to get back to theirownmovie. Right. Sure. I knowexactlywhat that means, and it has nothing to do with a movie.

“So, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate this movie?”

“Solid twelve and a half.”

“Want to ditch it?”

“Yes!”

I click off the television and reach out for her hand. She doesn’t hesitate for a second as she slips her hand into mine. I lead her up the stairs, past the boys’ room, and down the hall to the master bedroom.

I flip the light on once we step inside, and she gasps.

“Holy hell. This is your view? Why do you ever even leave your room?”

“I usually only ever leave for work. I’m kind of a hermit.”

“You? No way. I don’t believe it.”

“Tease all you want, Mathers.” I shrug. “It’s nice sometimes, having this space.”

“It’s beautiful, Carsen. This view of Lake Q and the bedroom…it’s massive yet cozy. There’s something about it that’s…peaceful.”

There’s a wall of windows and a balcony that look out over the lake; it’s the reason I chose this room as my own. I’m certain it’s the reason Ma did too. Painted a serene light gray, the room—along with the view—is the epitome of calming. If I ever had to choose to be locked away somewhere, I’d opt for this room in a heartbeat.

“This was her room.”

“Her bedroom?”

“Her painting and photography room.” Her eyes light up when I say photography, and something clicks for me. “Those pictures in your bedroom, the black and white ones alongside your bookshelf—those were yours, weren’t they?”

Her cheeks tint red and she tucks a chunk of her silky blonde hair behind her ear. “Guilty.”

“You’re very talented.”

She rolls her eyes and begins to lazily amble around the room. “You’re only saying that to be nice.”

“Or as a genuine compliment.”

“We’ll go with mine,” she says on a flirtatious wink—or at least that’s what I think she does. “So, you read.”

She stands in front of my small bookshelf and peruses the titles on the shelf.

“Nah. Decorations.”

“You like music.”

She gestures to the various floating shelves throughout the room.

“Heavens no.”

She stops her tour of my room in front of my desk where my computer and random scribblings sit. “And you”—she shudders—“study.”

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