STARS

Prologue

I remember all the stories my mother told me when I was just a little girl. I must've been like two or three years old when she started telling me them.

"Come over here, Ann," she used to say, as she sat outside on the picnic table on our front lawn, the chilly summer night wind blowing softly. I would go over to her quietly and sit next to her on the table, hugging my favorite teddy bear for warmth.

"Mommy," I had asked, looking up at the night sky. "What are those twinkling things in the sky?" I rarely went outside or even looked outside the window at night, but even when I did, it was usually cloudy.

"Ann, you're two years old," my mother had said. "Don't you know what stars are?" I had shaken my head. My mother smiled down on me. "You probably wouldn't. I guess I should tell you now."
I had looked up at her excitedly; I was ready to hear some kind of story, thoughts buzzing about in my head. "Stars are actually suns, lots and lots of suns, in other galaxies far, far away. But most people don't like to think about stars like that. They want to find the beautiful in them. Some people say that whenever one person dies, another star appears in the sky, and that all the stars are there to show the people we've lost."

"So you're saying that Daddy's up there?" I had asked, stretching my far little arms to the sky. My mother had done the same after me.

"Yes, somewhere up there, Daddy's watching over us." She had sounded sad yet happy when she said this. "And one day, we will be up there with him, but let's hope it's not soon."

"Which star do you think is him?" I had asked, bringing my arm down.

"I think it's that one," my mother had pointed to a star that looked like any other star, no significance in it – at least, that's what I thought at that time. "I started to see that one the same night Daddy left us." Her voice had seemed like it was cracking from sadness, but I didn't know what I could do to make her smile again. The only thing I could think of was a funny face.

"Look, Mommy, look!" I had stretched my mouth and stuck out my tongue, but the only thing she did was smile a little cover-up smile. Of course when I was two, I couldn't tell that she wasn't really happy, so I smiled and laughed along, seeming to have no more cares in the world under the stars.

"Your smile is what gave me the purest joy," my mom's voice rang in my ears five years later. Those were the last words I heard her say the night before, when she tucked me in for bed. Her heart had stopped beating in the night.

"Not you, too," I sobbed, my voice muffled by the blanket when I had shoved my face into the bed next to my mother's body. It was all I could do. I felt that I should just die. Is this heartbreak? I didn't know; my heart's never been broken before. Not even when my dad died.

It's the talk of the area; seven-year-old girl loses her mother. This may be a small town outside of Detroit, but the gossip was huge. Some people said it was because of cancer, but my mom never had cancer. She hasn't even been to the hospital ever since I broke my arm when I was five. Others said that I was the one that killed her, that I put too much stress on her that she either committed suicide or just died of too much stress. Was that last one even possible? Some of the people that thought I killed her, well, some thought it was just that. That I had murdered my mother. Why would I do that? So that I could be alone for the rest of my life? Do people think that I would want that? That I would enjoy that? I'm the only one that knows the real truth, the real reason why she died, and, yeah, I did blame it on myself for not doing any better. But, technically, it wasn't my fault.

"Poor thing," I've heard people say. "She doesn't have anywhere to go. She's an orphan now."

"I feel so bad for her."

"She's got no family left to go to now."

"Actually, I heard that she has a family out in Oklahoma, her mother's sister lives out there with her husband and three kids."

"But why would she wanna go there? She probably doesn't even remember them."

"They're very nice folk. I'm pretty sure that they would take her in."

"What, so that she can kill them off, too? You said she already has three kids. Should we really give them even more stress? She'll kill them off just like she did for her own mother!"

"Nonsense! She didn't kill her own mother!"

"Oh, well then, how did she die?"

"They say only the girl knows, but she won't speak. She hasn't spoken since her mother's death. It's really hard for her."

"I say we yank the truth out of her!"

"I say not!"

This really made huge arguments whenever this topic was brought up between people who disagreed all the time, and it just so happened that everyone always hung around people who always disagreed with them, just to make discussions even more fun.

It did end up I was going over to move in with my aunt and her family over there. It was the only part of my family that would decide to take me in. I flew my first plane ride alone when I was seven years old, and that was really one of the experiences that I would never forget.

I was picked up at the airport almost as soon as I got off the plane. I couldn't bear to stay in the town where my mother died any longer, so I had left quickly. Not only was I always blamed there, but the presence of my mother still lingered, and it suffocated me.

"Hey!" this was my twin cousin as soon as I got to my new home. It was bigger than my last one; two stories, lots of rooms, or at least compared to the last house. What I meant by "twin cousin" was that he was born on the same day and almost the same time as me. It was amazing.

When I just stared at him, he frowned. "Don't worry, G-man," the middle child, Alexa, assured. "It wasn't your fault. Ann's just really sad about what happened." I felt bad that I wouldn't talk to anyone, not even my twin cousin. I sighed, which was probably about the most I would "talk", and then I was shown where I would be sleeping.

I stayed in my room until it was time for dinner, and then went straight back to my room. I don't know how late I stayed up, staring out the window as the full moon washed silver light into the room, but I knew it was pretty late when I heard the doorknob rattle and my twin cousin walked in. He came in as I was crying silently to myself.

"Are you okay?" he widened his eyes, and then closed the door, ran across the room and up onto the bed next to me, wrapping his arms around me, like an older brother would. I sat there for a little bit, not knowing what to do, and then buried my head into his shoulder, imagining if I had a big brother.

"I'm sorry!" I sobbed. "It's all my fault, Greyson, I killed my mom!"

"Shh," Greyson tried to calm me down, rocking me back and forth slightly. I just continued to sob in his shoulder, and I wished that Greyson could really be my brother instead of my cousin. I've always wanted siblings. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is!" I sobbed again. "It was my fault! She died because of a broken heart! She really loved my dad, and after five years her heart finally broke! It's my fault for not loving her enough to make up for Daddy! I killed Mom!"