Free A Sea of Stars by Kate Maryon Page A

apart from Dad actinglike a total dork, I was the happiest girl alive. Now that I could surf properly and safely and I knew all the rules, Mum’s fears would fade away. She’d get back to how she used to be and start bursting with exciting ideas. But then she scuttled across the beach with a picnic basket in her arms, and panic heavy in her eyes.
    â€œI’m still not sure about this,” she said, clutching my arm tight. “I know you’re a strong swimmer, love, and a safe surfer now, and I do trust you, but I just don’t trust those waves. Every time you’re out there, I’m scared to death you’ll get sucked out in a rip tide. I need you to promise me, Maya, that you’ll never go surfing alone. Not ever! OK?”
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    Later, when Cat’s back at foster care, Mum, Dad and I get talking.
    â€œIt’s very unusual,” says Mum, “for a ten-year-old not to love the beach.”
    â€œProbably can’t swim very well,” says Dad, making us a cup of tea. “Maybe no one got round to teaching her. Give her time; it’ll work out.”
    He hunts in the cupboard for chocolate biscuits.
    â€œJane, love,” he says to Mum, “any idea where those chocolate biscuits have gone?”
    I know exactly where they’ve gone, but I don’t squeak one tiny word.
    â€œWhat’s happening to Cat’s little brother?” I say. “To Jordan? Can’t we adopt him too?”
    Mum runs her hands through her hair.
    â€œNo,” she says, “The adoption agency did think about placing them together, but they decided against it. Cat’s been like a mum to him for too long and it’s not healthy. She still needs to be parented herself; it’s not fair for her to feel responsible for a child. And Jordan – well, he needs to be parented by an adult, not Cat.”
    Dad takes hold of my hand.
    â€œBut we will keep them in contact,” he says, “and the people adopting him are in agreement. She won’t lose her brother like you had to, Maya, I promise.”

M um, Dad and I have our last dinner together. Mum lays the table in the garden and picks pink roses from Alfie’s shrub number three. She makes crème brûlée for pudding because it’s one of my favourites and barbecued fish because it’s Dad’s top most favourite dinner. While we’re waiting for the food, Dad’s cleaning up the patio. He sweeps the dust and stacks the pots, then starts mowing the lawn, strimming the edges, and pulling up the weeds.
    â€œThere,” he says, when he’s finished, wiping a muddy hand across his brow and glugging downa huge glass of juice without breathing. “That’s better.”
    I don’t think Cat will care what the garden looks like. I wouldn’t even notice things like weeds and pots if I was about to be adopted and leave my little brother behind. But Dad feels it’s right somehow to make the place nice for her. Mum says it’s like when you’re expecting a new baby and you start nesting and getting everything clean and ready. Then we imagine Cat like an enormous baby all wrapped up in a big pink blanket and us carrying her home in our arms. We start giggling at the idea of it and our giggles get so out of control we can’t stop the tears streaming down our faces.
    â€œStop it!” says Mum, wiping her cheeks. “It’s not funny!”
    And for a moment a bit of the Mum I remember peeps through as her cheeks go all pink, her eyes shine bright.
    I decide to start nesting too, like a big birdy sister. I run up to my room, pick up my dirty clothes and put them in the wash. I tidy my desk, make my bedand even get the vacuum cleaner out to clean up the floor. Then I creep into Cat’s room. It’s still there, untouched. It’s a peaceful holy place, like a church, waiting for Cat, like Cat’s been waiting for us to be her new family. I rest my face on