Read Online Star Shack by Lila Castle - Free Book Online Page A

girls?” I ask. “Maybe in Uganda guys are gentlemen and support their children and marry their girlfriends and don’t leave them in the rain to go off with tattooed skanks.”
    Vanessa giggles but quickly clears her throat. “I didn’t read the whole article, but you’re totally missing what I’m saying. You’re lucky to have found out about Pete now, before he ruined the summer and possibly the rest of your life.”
    â€œMaybe,” I say. It doesn’t feel lucky. It feels like a nightmare that I can’t wake up from.
    â€œI know it hurts right now,” Vanessa says softly. “But believe me, you’ll move on and have a great summer without him.”
    Why is it so completely impossible to imagine that? I can’t picture anything in my life without Pete, especially not a summer in Gingerbread.
    â€œIt’s a fresh start, a new and improved independent you,” she says, sounding uncannily like Ms. Hearst, the mousy guidance counselor at my school.
    â€œIs it bad that I hate being the new independent me?” I ask.
    Luckily (or not), she doesn’t hear me because she’s off talking about how great it is for a girl to be standing on her own two feet with no guy to prop her up.
    I guess I like props.
    â€œWe can be bitter shrews together,” she concludes. “Maybe we can start an advice column in the Gingerbread Post .”
    â€œNot the New York Times ?” I manage weakly, rolling over on my side and burrowing a little under my comforter.
    â€œIt’ll be so popular it’ll be picked up by papers all over,” she says, using that mildly scary tone she uses when I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. “Though obviously not the Times . They only do serious stuff.”
    Becoming a bitter shrew seems serious to me. And honestly, I’m not even sure I’m feeling it. Depressed bunny or some other defenseless animal…that feels more like it. But maybe the bitter will come. “I should probably go,” I say.
    â€œNeed to wallow in bed for a while?” she asks.
    Man, she knows me well.
    â€œThat’s allowed,” she continues, “especially the first day. But tomorrow if you’re still in bed in the same pajamas, I’m coming over and hauling you out and making you play volleyball with me at the Y.”
    There’s nothing I hate more than playing organized sports with hardcore jocks like Vanessa’s volleyball crowd, a fact she well knows. “Okay, okay—believe me, I’ll get out of bed.”
    She laughs. “Good. I’ll call you later to see how you’re holding up. Oh, and Annabelle?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œLots of ice cream is allowed on day one. Chocolate too.”
    I almost manage a smile. “I’m so glad to hear it.”
    But when I click off the phone and fluff the comforter over me, the last thing in the world I want is to eat. Or to do anything really. Just lying here feels utterly exhausting. My insides feel like they’ve been hollowed out.
    The thing I don’t get is how the communication just…failed. Pete was the person I called when our dog Louie got hit by a car. When Gabe and I fought. When I blew my audition for The Wiz freshman year and was cast as “scenery” rather than the witch. (Which was actually funny in hindsight, but Pete was the one who made me see the humor in the situation.)
    Pete listened to me cry and laugh; he said all the right things to make me feel better. Honestly, just knowing he was there, his voice soft and deep on the other end of the phone, made bad things bearable. Like saying good-bye to Gabe when he left for college. Or visiting Grandma Hillary in the hospital when she had a scare with her heart last year.
    Pete is— was —my lifeline, my home base, and (yes, it’s cheesy) my knight in shining armor. Knowing we could talk at anytime was like a shimmery coal I carried