Rewrite the Stars by Christina Consolino (books for 8th graders .txt) 📕

“So you just decide to find whatever it is you’re looking for elsewhere?” Theo rolled his eyes and looked out over the water again.

“You make no sense, Theo. We’re separated, so I can go look elsewhere if I want. But this is a relationship, even if it’s unconventional. There are two of us in it. It worked for a few months, but it’s not working now. Not for me at least.” I tugged on his sleeve, wishing to look at the face I used to read so easily.

“I’m not sure that’s true. We haven’t changed that much.”

My anger blazed, and I rose from my seat again, staring down at Theo with a glare I hoped would fluster him. We’d had heated conversations like this in the past, and I usually found myself agitated and furious at how I ended up with someone so hard-headed and literal, someone who wasn’t willing to consider my perspective at times.

“Theo, it’s not always about you, is it? I’m trying hard not to be selfish here, but I just tore open my heart, the heart that has been twisted inside and out over the last couple months, and now we’re back to you and what you think or don’t. As if I don’t have the right to anything besides what you condone. I’m sorry you have this, this, PTSD. I’m sorry about everything that happened to you. I’m sorry I’ve been the way I have been.” Sobs overtook me. “But yes, something’s not right and even though I’m fucking up big time, there might be a reason that hinges partially on you. Your future health and happiness are important, but mine are too.”

Nothing more needed to be said, so I stood from the bench and walked away.

.    .    .    .    .

One of the persons most closely involved in my story finally knew the details, and in a way, a great relief settled on me, allowing me to sleep that night. But the next morning, I stumbled out of bed and opened the bedroom door. The cushions in the living room sat empty. The bathroom stood cold and dry. A still-fluffy pillow, a smooth comforter, and cool sheets greeted me in Theo’s room; he hadn’t slept in his bed, and reality hit me. Perhaps I deserved this treatment—him leaving us—after walking out of the argument, but the fact still stung more than I thought it would.

Sadly, I wasn’t surprised when I plodded through to the kitchen where a note reclined against the coffee maker, which was as barren as the couch. Empty coffee pots signaled turbulence in our house, the red flag denoting unrest. I flicked open the envelope and read the note, written on a thick piece of ivory stationery.

Dear Sadie.

I need time. I’m headed to the Inn since they’re close, and they have an available room. I’ll tell Lena where I’ll be. I promise to take care of myself for the next couple days, but I need space to think.

Theo

I flipped the paper over, looking for more words on the back that didn’t exist. Theo needed time and space, so he ran away; I needed time and space, too, and had performed an escape act by putting together a vacation to Walloon Lake. The kids were sure to be disappointed. Had he even thought of them before making his decision to leave?

In a move that surprised me, I slammed my fist against the countertop, pain slicing through and rippling up my arm upon contact. Mentally weary, I slumped to the ground. Taking in a deep breath through my nose, I counted to ten and sighed, letting out all the air caged inside my lungs. What to do? The sun slept on, as did the kids and Mom, which meant I had enough time to make breakfast for everyone and figure out how to tell them Dad had left. That he needed time, space. But how do you phrase those words to children? More lies would wear me out, but burdening Charlie, Delia, and Lexie with all our garbage wasn’t an option.

My life’s issues had never solved themselves before, so I rose from the floor and threw open the cabinet door. The bag of sugar Andrew had brought the day before stared me in the face. He’d lined it up in a row with the other staples, much like I would have attempted at our house. “Keep the order,” I mumbled to myself with a shaky voice. “Keep the order. You can do this.” I reached for the flour, the baking powder, the sugar, and the vanilla extract, plucked two eggs from the refrigerator, and started on a batch of pancakes. If my life was indeed a novel, then from-scratch pancakes could at least help this dilemma.

The aroma of the hot, steaming griddle must have woken my mom, because within the quarter hour, she padded down the stairs in her fleece bathrobe, looking rumpled and small, an astounding image. When had she changed from the woman I knew? Had I been so selfish and only aware of my life I hadn’t noticed anything going on in hers?

Lines feathered out from the corners of Mom’s eyes and across her forehead, and her gray hair had lost its luster. I considered how this visit would go and whether she and I would survive. But Theo was gone—who knew for how long—and I ought to be grateful she had decided to visit. As much as I didn’t want her to think I’d be using her, someone would need to watch the kids if Lena wasn’t available while I attempted to make progress on my projects. And God dammit, despite her faults, despite all the grievances I held for her and the way she raised me, she was my mother. I loved her. If nothing else, Mom deserved full honesty.

“Morning, Mom.” I reached into the cupboard above my head for two mugs. “You want coffee?”

“Do you