Page 8 of We Are the Stars

Dad makes a face. “You don’t fold underwear, Elliott. That’s just weird.”

I shrug. “Whatever. I met Jase there and we hung out. We tried to go to lunch but he had a dick attack and I stormed out.”

My mom glances up from putting sandwiches together and catches my eye. A small frown, this time real, appears. “You stormed out? On Jase? What happened?”

“I have no clue,” I say, throwing my hands up in defeat. “He was fine and then he wasn’t.”

Dad grabs a beer from the fridge, skirting the stern look Mom gives him since it’s barely noon, and sits opposite me at the table. “Between fine and wasn’t, what happened?”

“Him? Me? Frowny Face Boy?”

“Frowny Face Boy? What sort of people are you hanging out with?”

“I’m not. He’s a guy I saw at the diner.”

“Vern’s? Did you already eat lunch then? I have one sandwich left to make but I can save the mixings for tomorrow or later.”

“No.” I grimace. “I left before our food came out. I’m starving.”

Mom scoops the sizzling concoction from the pan and places it on the plate already loaded down with six other Reubens. “Youturned down food? Are you sick, child? Youneverturn down food.”

She’s not kidding. I love food, especially when it’s smothered in nacho cheese sauce. Someone could dip cotton candy in it and I bet you ten bucks I’d still eat it. It’s a sickness, really.

“I didn’t turn it down per se. I left before it came out.”

“Why the rush?”

“Well…”

“Does this have to do with that sad kid?”

“He wasn’t sad, Dad. At least I don’t think he was…I don’t know.” I tap my finger to my chin, trying to find the right word. “Burdened? Yeah, he seemed laden with something heavy. It was beyond sadness. It was almost like that’s who he is.” I reach forward and grab the salt shaker from the center of table. Dumping out a small pile, I begin to swirl it around, writing random words and drawing small pictures. “Does that make sense at all?”

“Who was this guy?” my dad asks.

My fingers hesitate over the salt drawings for only a moment while I debate telling him Carsen’s name. I’m worried my parents will have the same reaction Jase did, and I don’t think Carsen deserves that. There was something troubled about him, but not in a menacing, murder-your-own-mother sort of way.

“Carsen?”

“Huh?”

Dad nods toward the salt pile. I glance down, seeing that I unconsciously wrote out Carsen’s name.

“Is that his name?”

“Yeah,” I answer, almost in a whisper. “Carsen Wheatley.”

I’ve never seen my parents react so noisily and quietly all at the same time. Mom’s head whips up and her eyes clash with my father’s. Their conversation is loud and severe, yet they don’t utter one word.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Dad says without delay.

Looking between him and my mother, I say, “That wasn’t a ‘nothing’ look. What’s wrong? Have you heard of him too?”

“Too?”

“Yeah, Jase had a few choice words to say about himin front of him.It’s why I left. He was being cruel, and I wasn’t having any of it. So, I bailed.”

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