Free Stars So Sweet by Tara Dairman Page A

with the first slide of a multimedia presentation. Hamilton, a clicker in one hand and a microphone in the other, moved off to his right so as not to block the screen, bringing him to stand literally right in front of Gladys. Grateful now for the cover of darkness, she was able to observe her former friend as he clicked through pictures of himself signing books and droned on about following your dreams.
    There was a picture of him at the Tipsy Typist restaurant, showing off the “Ham Herb” signature sandwich they had named after him. Gladys thought back to the ham-and-herbs sandwiches he had demanded from the Camp Bentley kitchen, and how she had gone out of her way to make some especially for him. Had he just used her to gain access to the camp’s arugula supply?
    Suddenly, her melty swirl of feelings crystallized into one single emotion: rage.
    By the end of the summer, Gladys really had thought Hamilton had become a less selfish, more thoughtful person. But as she watched him now onstage, cocking his head to show off his stupid fedora and basking in the attention of his audience, she saw that she’d been wrong.
    Hamilton Herbertson was still number one in his own book.
    The lights came up after he clicked through his last slide—a shot of him alongside several foreign editions of his book—and the boy strode back to the center of the stage. “In conclusion,” he said, returning his microphone to its stand, “you should strive hard toward achieving your goals and not let your young age stand in your way. After all, if I could do it . . . well, then at least one or two of you probably can, too.”
    Hamilton bowed, but before anyone could decide whether to applaud this final, backhanded nugget of wisdom, the bell rang out. Kids grabbed their bags, leapt to their feet, and turned away from their “inspirational speaker” to stream down the aisles.
    Gladys followed, eager to be gone—but the exits were in the back of the room, and the aisles were jammed up in seconds.
Fudge.
She glanced back just in time to see Hamilton rise out of his bow, which reminded her of all the times he had swept off his fedora and bowed awkwardly to her at Camp Bentley. She let her gaze linger for a second too long, and Hamilton’s eye caught hers.
    â€œGladys??”
    At first, Gladys thought her name only sounded loud and echoey in her head, but then she realizedHamilton was still standing in front of the microphone. Her feet froze in place.
    â€œGladys!” he cried again. “It’s really you!”
    So he remembered her name, at least. And not only that, but it sounded like he was on the brink of sucking her in to his second-favorite activity: making an embarrassing scene. In fact, some of the kids who hadn’t made it out of the auditorium yet were turning around now, and Parm—who had not attended Camp Bentley—stared at Gladys. “Wait a second,” she hissed. “Do you
know
him?”
    Charissa waggled her eyebrows at Gladys, then linked arms with Parm. “Come on,” she told her. “I’ll explain everything outside.” Then, along with Marti and Rolanda, they slipped past Gladys and down the aisle.
    At last, Gladys got her feet to wake up.
I’ve got to get out of here,
she thought. But the rear exit was still too far away. Making a split-second decision, she spun around and climbed the stairs that led to the stage instead.
    The lights up there were surprisingly hot and bright; the faces of the students still in the auditorium all blurred together into one dark mass. She heard one titter rise from the audience, then another.
    Fuuudge.
Now she’d made it easier for everyone to stare at her. This had been a terrible decision.
    â€œGladys!” Hamilton said again,
still
talking into the microphone. “I’ve been dying to tell you—”
    But she hadn’t climbed up there to talk to him; he had already used,