Chapter 1
"Look at this!"
The barking demand was succeeded by two things: the first, the glossy magazine that fell with a resoundingslapright into my lap; the second, my younger sister's beaming expression, quivering at the seams with the effort of holding back the full extent of her glee.
I should've known what was coming.
I didn't even really need to let my eyes trail downward, skimming over the features of the bold cover image, to know what Matilda was so excited about.
But I found myself doing it anyway.
"Dalton Coleman!" she squealed.
That much had been evident, of course, the moment my eyes fell upon the swooping blonde hair and baby features of the boy in the photo, charm oozing from the very pixels of his printed smile.
We didn't need to be on first-name terms for me to know exactly who he was; anybody who'd set one foot inside Matilda's bedroom in the past year would find themselves able to discern that this was the same boy who appeared on all thirteen of her posters, not to mention her impressive assortment of Dalton-related merchandise.
Wristbands, hoodies, printed post-its: you name it, Matilda owned it.
In fact, my twelve-year-old sister was a super fan to the extent that I was certain I could now recognise any given song from his debut album within the first few beats of the intro, reel off personal details like his height and favourite food like some sort of mantra, all while humming the acoustic accompaniment to his most popular song,Closer Than Before.
She was in deep.
And, consequently, so was I.
"What is it this time?" Though I did my best to keep the bored tone from seeping into my voice, I found its essence trickling in anyway.
I couldn't help it.
Since the foundations of my sister's obsession had been laid into place, my brain had developed a tendency to switch off at the first mention of the D-word.
Nevertheless, my lack of enthusiasm wasn't about to deter Matilda.
"Read it!" she insisted, pushing the magazine closer to me.
Her fiery red ponytail, secured with her favourite sparkly hair band, bobbed fervently with the movement of her head.
"Read what it says!"
I could think of a number of situations in which I'd have been considerably more tolerant towards my sister's incessant hyperactivity; it just so happened that here, right now, was not one of them.
Stationed at the check-in desk on an afternoon that was set to mark the beginning of a spectacularly busy tourist season, baking in the sheer humidity of the confinement, I couldn't find it in myself to muster up a display of false enthusiasm.
Mumhadpaid attention when I reminded her to get somebody in to fix the broken air conditioning in the reception area of our family-owned hotel – Sunset Bay,the only hotel in Larkfield-on-Sea with a clifftop ocean view!
– and the repairmen were due tomorrow morning.
But saying this was forgetting the small matter that we lived inLythoria,and putting even the tiniest slither of faith in that any freak heat waves would hold off until tomorrow was, really, just foolish.
The weatherman had predicted highs of thirty-two, the air con kept up its stubborn refusal to function, and I was being roasted alive.
Still, never one to enjoy disappointing my sister, I forced myself to look back at the magazine, picking it up and letting my eyes run across the headline beneath Dalton's sugary expression.
"He's filming his new music video," I read aloud.
Then, I looked back up at Matilda, feigning a weak smile.
It was something of a difficult feat, however, when I'd spent the last two hours stuck in the same sweltering spot, checking in clusters of guests abuzz with anticipation for their upcoming summer break.Whyexactly they still trekked to Larkfield, a town with shockingly little going for it, remained a mystery, but the fact remained that they did, and also required a place to crash for the duration of their stay.
Enter Sunset Bay.
"That's great, Matilda."
"No, no," she insisted, jabbing a finger at a smaller wad of text further down the page, "read it.
Lookwherehe's filming it!"
Running a hand through my blonde hair, dragging its stray strands away from my sweaty forehead, I complied.
My mind fumbled messily through the text, lingering on words of importance swimming between exaggerated tween slang, before I drew to the end of paragraph in time to wince at my sister's ear-splitting squeal.
"Isn't itsocool?
!" she screeched.
"He's filming in Caverdale!
That's, like, fifteen minutes away!
Dalton Coleman is fifteen minutes away fromLarkfield!"
"Wow," I told her, delicately pushing the magazine to one side to make room for the computer keyboard I was already tugging back to me, "that's... exciting, huh?"
"ButElise!
Do you evenunderstandwhat this means?"
My attention had already been diverted towards the screen; only a minimal fraction remained on my sister.
It wasn't that Ihatedmy position as the front desk woman for the afternoon, filling in while my parents took care of admin upstairs in the office, listening to Matilda talk my ear off about all things Dalton.
But the fact stood that it was a summer job, and the least I could do to help my parents over the most stressful time of the year.
While tourists brought cash, they also brought problems – and these could stretch anything from not having enough fresh towels laid out for them upon every return, to broken loo roll holders, to complaints of the ocean view not being sufficiently ocean-oriented.
Summer might've been a holiday for most, but this definitely didn't apply to hotel owners.
Now, with Matilda, I answered distractedly.
"What?"
"Itmeans," she explained, hopping up on the front desk, "that allIhave to do is convince Mum or Dad to drive me up there one afternoon, and I might even get tomeetDalton!"
I didn't want to crush her hopes.
Really, I didn't.
But sometimes, especially in situations like these, there was a distinct lack of alternatives.
"Look, Matilda," I began gently, swivelling my chair to face her, "I know how important this is to you, but you have to remember that summer's just starting.
Mum and Dad are going to be swept off their feet with work for the next few weeks.
You know how crazy things get around here at this time of year.
It's not fair to be bothering them."
Her already drooping expression sent a pang of guilt niggling at my chest; my next half-hearted suggestion constituted my attempt at salvaging what was left of her good mood.
After all, she was the one giving up a day on the beach to sit here with me, in this baking sauna, just to keep me company.
"But I'll tell you what," I added, "if I get some time, and Dalton's still in town, we might be able to take a trip up to Caverdale.
No promises, but I'll try.
How's that?"
She yelped in excitement, the squeal escaping from the face-wide grin that materialised across her expression instantly.
"Thank you!" she gushed.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!
You're the best sister ever, Elise!"
I let her envelope me in a bone-crushing hug, though my body temperature was already sky-high, my skin uncomfortably sticky with a layer of perspiration.
Blowing air from my cheeks, I dragged a hand across my forehead, making a mental note to dig around in the store cupboard sometime later in search of a fan.
My gaze had found its way back to the computer screen when a dormant thought popped into my head.
"Oh, hey, Matilda: could you do me a favour?"
She looked up, ever attentive, the freckles splayed across her cheeks more noticeable than ever against her pale skin.
"Room twenty-five were asking for a fresh batch of towels earlier, but I never got round to sending them up.
Could you grab a pile from the laundry room and deliver them for me?"
"Sure!"
She vanished in a flash, disappearing swiftly through the door that tailed off into the main corridor, her eagerness to assist coupled with a desperation to escape the unpleasantly stagnant air of reception.