Read Online Books/Novels:
Rewrite the Stars
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
Evangeline Thorne is privileged.
Sebastian McAllister is cursed.
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THE COOL BREEZE SWIRLS AROUND me, trees swaying in the twilight sky. Blonde strands from my once-perfect Dutch braids lash at my tear-streaked cheek, and the bottom of my tight, white, button-down linen dress flutters against my thighs. I don’t know how long I’ve been walking—must be close to an hour—or where I’m going, but I’m close enough now to realize that the lights I’ve been walking toward belong to a Ferris wheel in the distance. I see big rig trucks and trailers in a dirt lot and big top tents behind them. Harmonized screams come in waves, and the scent of something sweet and cinnamony fills my nostrils.
A carnival. Or maybe a circus. What’s the difference between the two? I’ve never been to anything of the sort, except for my high school’s annual fair for charity. It’s not like my parents would ever be caught dead at this type of thing.
I slow as I approach the hip-height metal gate, not wanting to draw attention from any of the people milling around, but no one seems to notice my presence. The profile of a guy in a black leather jacket catches my attention as he prowls across the patchy grass in front of me. He scratches at the stubble on his sculpted jaw and flicks his cigarette to the ground before he disappears behind a black and white striped tent.
Something flutters to my feet, and I look down to see a piece of yellow paper pressed against my once-white leather tennis shoes that are now coated with dirt. Bending over, I peel it off my ankles, reading the words:
Jessup Brothers Carnival Presents the Sons of Eastlake
Freak Show * Games * Rides * Food * Fun
This weekend only!
Eastlake. Why does that name sound familiar?
I shouldn’t be here. I left after an argument with my parents got particularly nasty. Insults were slung, and feelings were hurt on both sides. Ignoring the nagging guilt inside my head, my feet move in the direction of Leather Jacket Man. I glance around, making sure no one will see me sneaking in, then swing one leg over the gate. I scurry toward the tent, looking over my shoulder in a way that screams guilty. When I’m finally inside, I’m shocked to see how many people can fit in here. There are rows upon rows of excited spectators of all ages with an aisle in the middle that leads to a giant ball-shaped cage of some sort.
“There he is, ladies and gentlemen! Sexy Sebastian has finally decided to grace us with his presence!” The announcer’s sardonic voice echoes throughout the tent, and the crowd starts to go wild. All eyes swivel to look past me, and when I turn to see what the fuss is about, I find Leather Jacket Man prowling in my direction. The leather jacket is gone, leaving only a black tank top with open sides, allowing for a perfect view of his sculpted stomach. Blazing green eyes roll at the nickname before they flash to mine for half a second. My back straightens under his gaze, and he lifts an eyebrow at me, as if he knows I don’t belong, before breaking the connection.
“Watch the Sons of Eastlake defy gravity in one of the oldest and most dangerous stunts in history!”
He—the one called Sebastian—makes his way toward two other guys on motorcycles, not stopping to acknowledge his fanfare. One of the riders wears a ribbed white undershirt—the kind my dad wears under his button-up shirts—and the other one has on a flannel with the sleeves cut off. The announcer hands Sebastian a helmet right before he gets to a third motorcycle. He nods to the other riders in greeting before securing his helmet and swinging one leg over the black bike.
I slip into one of the few open seats and watch, mesmerized as the lights dim, and “Dragula” starts playing from the speakers—a song my parents would be horrified to know that I like, let alone have heard of. The three riders make their way to the metal cage, and the announcer pushes on it, revealing a trap door. They file inside, Sebastian being the last one to enter, and then the door is closed, shutting them inside.
My foot taps to the catchy beat, shoving all thoughts of my parents to the back of my mind, and my stomach twists with nerves. Sebastian starts rocking back and forth on his motorcycle, the tires effortlessly gliding across the curved floor of the cage in a half-moon pattern. The other riders follow suit, but my eyes are glued to him and him alone, and I suspect the same is true for every other person in the audience. It’s clear he’s the leader, even though he’s done nothing to indicate that. It’s just something that can be felt.