Star Shine by Constance C. Greene Page A

to skate in this movie?” Tina decided to change the subject. “I can understand why they picked Scott Borkowski on account of he’s a super skater. But Jenny skates on her ankles. Doesn’t she?” Tina turned to the others. “You know she does. She always has. Every time we go skating at the pond, we have to wait for Jenny because she’s always tagging behind, skating on her ankles. Wait’ll they find out! Just wait!” She and Susan went into gales of laughter. “They’ll take one look at Jenny skating on her ankles and they’ll throw her out on her ear!” They fell on each other’s shoulders, overcome with glee.
    â€œAll right, people. Let’s get the show on the road.” Norm Dubie spoke through a little megaphone. “With your cooperation we’ll get this scene shot in jig time. The sooner we start, the sooner we’re done. So let’s all pull together, please.”
    Jenny was glad to get away from Susan and Tina. But she wished Mary were with her as she joined the crowd pushing its way toward the skating rink. Scott Borkowski had star shine, like Mrs. Carruthers had said, she thought, wishing she had some star shine of her own. Scott Borkowski could do no wrong. People thought of him as a star. Even if he drank beer and threw it all up, he was still a star. It was an odd thing.
    She hadn’t skated since last winter. Maybe her ankles had gotten stronger. She certainly hoped so. And although she was still outside in the blazing heat, she shivered. She should never have said she could ice-skate. Because she couldn’t.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    â€œNo refreshments on ice,” the sign said. Underneath, someone had written in a big red scrawl, “N O H ORSING A ROUND E ITHER .”
    Jenny sat down and began to put on her skates. With a pang, she realized she’d forgotten socks. That was dumb, really dumb, but she hadn’t worn socks all summer and it was hard to remember everything. If her mother had been home, she would’ve remembered socks.
    I’m going to have to tough it out, Jenny told herself. I wish I wasn’t even here. That wasn’t true; she was glad she’d been chosen. But right now she felt small and alone. If only Mary was here. Mary would help.
    Jenny rummaged through the Lost and Found, looking for some socks. She stuck her head down deep inside the large grimy gray bin and decided it was better not to breathe until she got out of here. The smell was overpowering. There were plenty of socks in there, all right. Gingerly, she fished out a couple of beauties that smelled like low tide. One was too big, the other too small. They would have to do. She crowded her feet into the socks, then into the skates, hoping for the best.
    Again she wished for Mary’s comforting presence. Lacing her skates had always been a problem. Mary usually helped. She could never seem to manage to lace them tightly enough by herself.
    I think I can, I think I can, ran through Jenny’s brain as she tugged on the stiff laces. They didn’t seem to budge. She could feel the borrowed socks lumping up inside the skates. Jenny pulled and tugged and, having done her best, stood to get the feel of things. Which was not good. She sat down and, chin in hand, stared out across the rink. Skaters crowded the ice, skating somewhat self-consciously, carrying on animated conversations with friends or turning wooden faces toward the cameras that were set up at various intervals.
    â€œWant some help?” It was Scott Borkowski, a.k.a. Harpo, sitting beside her on the bench for all the world to see. Despite her dislike of him, Jenny was pleased he was there.
    â€œI can do it myself,” she said, and untied the laces, preparing to start all over.
    â€œHere, let me.” He knelt, and with one pull on each, the laces tightened obediently.
    â€œTry them now.” She stood. Things were much better. “Thanks,” she