Secret Star Read Free

was what kept her sane, kept her from thinking too much about things. About anything.
    The next day instead of hiking home from school Tess hiked to the IGA at Hinkles Corner to see if she could get a job. And she lucked out—some woman who wrapped produce had quit in a huff that day. Tess filled out some forms and lied about her age, said she was sixteen, so she could work more hours. She was big enough; they believed her. A woman named Jonna showed her the stockroom and her locker and told her she could start the next day, Saturday.
    When she walked out the back door from the stockroom, feeling slightly dazed, there in the gravelly delivery lot stood the stranger boy, headband and homemade eye patch and all, waiting for her by the Dumpster.
    Tess wasn’t afraid of him this time, just heartily annoyed to see him there because things had been going so well for a minute. She strode up to him. “You’ve been watching me!” she accused, leaning close to his scarred face. “Following me.”
    â€œOnly because I have to.” His voice stayed soft and low.
    â€œI told you to let me alone.”
    He lifted his left hand in a kind of appeal, and she noticed something: that hand was stiff and almost useless, as if it had been mangled. “Look, Tess,” he said, gently for such a hard-looking person, “I was stupid, I spooked you. Let me explain why I’m here. Please.”
    She was indeed spooked, but for reasons he didn’t know. She knew this Rojahin thing was trouble—she just knew it. Because of the way she couldn’t remember. Because of the way Daddy’s face went gray. She didn’t want to mess with it.
    She glared. “I’m late getting home.” This was true, and she had a good four-mile hike ahead of her, and from Hinkles Corner it seemed all uphill. The frame houses hung onto hillsides so steep people parked their cars at the bottom, down by the gas station and catalog store and video rental and the IGA. And the rusted railroad line and the creek.
    Tess turned uphill and started trudging. But the dark-haired stranger walked along beside her, and when she strode faster so did he.
    â€œLook,” he said, “Tess, for starters, I never introduced myself. My name’s Kamo. Kamo Rojahin. Pleased to meet you.” He stuck his right hand toward her.
    She rolled her eyes, but then she went ahead and shook his hand. Okay, something about him made her think he might not have a permanent address, but it wasn’t like he smelled bad. His hair had a shine to it, even though it looked wild as a black pony’s mane in the wind. His clothes were nice enough—plain jeans, plain faded-blue pocket tee, cleaner than hers. He didn’t look like he had head lice or fleas. But Tess made her handshake quick and halfhearted and kept walking.
    â€œI’m looking for my father,” he said, businesslike, “and I’m here because your name’s Rojahin, like mine.”
    How did he know? He must have tracked her down through courthouse papers. “It’s not,” she said. “It’s just the name on my birth certificate.”
    â€œOkay. But you got to admit it’s not a real common name. I’m wondering if we’re related some way.”
    She stopped walking and turned to face him. Hinkles Corner was not exactly a metropolis, and they had reached the edge of it. Tess was ready to turn off the road and cut across country, and she didn’t want to walk any farther with this Kamo Rojahin person by her side. What the hell kind of name was Kamo anyway? And who the hell was he? He didn’t look a thing like her. She was as pale as a person can get, and he was dark. She could have played fullback for Penn State, and he was slim and lithe. He was crazy if he thought they were related.
    Although—there was something alike about the shape of their faces. Straight brows. Square jaws. Chins that meant business. And