Don't Fall (12 page)

“I love it.” I looked up him, at his huge smile, his whole face beaming. He helped me fasten it onto my wrist, then we cleared the picnic away and snuggled up together on the blanket. I laid my head on his chest, his arms wrapped around me, and listened to his heart beating. I snuggled closer to him, lifting my face to his, and kissed his neck. My hand slid across his chest and up to the side of his face. I pulled his lips to mine. He rolled onto his side, so we were pressed together.

His hands on my back were warm through my thin nightshirt, his lips hot on mine. My heart raced and for a second I thought about when I was a kid, running down the sidewalk ahead of my mother. She’d call after me, “Slow down! Don’t fall!” Eventually I learned to slow my pace and walk in stride with her, where it was safe.

I could hear her voice in my head again.
Slow down. Don’t fall.
But it was too late. I had already fallen for Zander. I wanted to race ahead, to keep falling.

We were pressed together, and still it wasn’t close enough. I wanted to melt into him, become one in the darkness and never be torn apart.

He whispered into the summer air, “Are you sure?”

I kissed the soft skin of his neck, just below his ear, and whispered back, “Yes.”

It was slow and frightening and careful and awkward and exciting and
wonderful
. And then it was over, and we wrapped the blanket around ourselves, regaining our breath as the darkness lifted around us, hinting of morning.

As the first light of day started to chase away the mist, we reluctantly separated and got dressed. He held my hand as we carefully made our way back down the path to my house. I felt like I was leaving behind a fantasy world to rejoin civilization. I kissed him, pressing as close to him as I could, and said goodbye before climbing the ladder and slipping back through the window into my room. I untied it from the windowsill and it fell to the grass, where Zander scooped it up. He waved then hurried out of the yard.

Shannon rolled over in my bed and looked up at me. I’m sure I was a mess, leaves in my hair and a giant smile I couldn’t tame.

“Good night?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“A perfect night.” I sighed and plopped down on my over-sized chair, closing my eyes and letting the night unfold again behind my eyes.

Chapter Nineteen

Zander

I struggled to hold in my excitement on the way home. I wanted to jump up and down and fist pump the air. Somehow I managed to contain myself enough to sneak back into my house without waking my parents. Although they probably wouldn’t have cared that I’d been out all night.

They were anxiously waiting for me to get my own place so the house could be only theirs again. My dad made barely concealed references to being able to walk around naked again. It was enough to make me run from the room, which was maybe the whole point. It wouldn’t be long now. Only two more weeks until I moved into my own apartment.

Once I got to my room, I fell backward onto my bed and closed my eyes. I knew I should be tired, but sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. Thankfully it was a Tuesday, and I would get to see Anya again later that morning at the library.

Images of her filled my brain. The curve of her body, the feel of her skin against mine. Her breath on my neck, her laughter in my ears. Things had gone further than I’d expected, but I sure wasn’t complaining. She was amazing. I fell asleep and dreamed of her.

Several hours later when I woke and looked at the clock, I was torn between running to the library to see her, or taking the time to shower and make myself presentable first. When I stood and stretched the right decision became clear. I stunk.

I showered quickly. I couldn’t wait to see her again, although I wished we could meet somewhere more private than the library. I threw on my clothes, accidently grabbing mismatched socks. I didn’t bother to fix them. I grabbed the cologne Anya liked, sprayed it on, and ran out the door.

She beat me there, of course, and sat at a desk in the corner. Her hair was back in its crown of braids, circling her head. I preferred it loose and full of leaves, her face flushed and her lips ready for mine.

She saw me staring, jumped up, and skipped over. “My mom was gone already when I woke up, so I haven’t talked to her yet, but I will. Today, when she gets home. Okay?” Her eyes were questioning, checking to see if I’d be angry.

I pulled her to me. An older guy looking through the gardening section coughed loudly and gave us a disapproving glare. I didn’t let her go, but I resisted the urge to kiss her.

“It’s fine,” I told her. “I know you’ll talk to her.” Although, really, I didn’t. She’d told me before she would, and she’d chickened out over and over again. But I didn’t want to think about it.

“Does this mean you’ll come meet my friends soon, too?” I asked as we headed to the back of the library and sat on the couch.

She bit her bottom lip and crinkled her nose. “Do I have to?”

“Why don’t you want to meet my friends?”

“What if they hate me?”

“They won’t hate you. They’ll think you’re amazing, and they’ll all be jealous of me. Which is going to be great after two months of hearing that I’ve been making you up.”

“They think you made me up?”

“Blake calls you my imaginary girlfriend.”

Her mouth formed a perfect “o” before she quickly snapped it shut again. “I’m sorry, that’s awful,” she said, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. “Okay. Yes.” She sat up and put on her serious face. “I will meet your friends. But you are going to have to meet my mom.”

Somehow I hadn’t thought of that, and I was suddenly terrified. I ran my hand down my face and gulped. “She’ll hate me.”

Anya, always so helpful, laughed. It did nothing to alleviate my concerns. When I’d thought of things changing, I’d always thought of Anya in my world. Meeting my friends, my parents. I’d forgotten about having to enter hers.

Anya

Two minutes after I stepped through the door, I got a text from Zander.

Zander:
I miss you already.

I laughed, standing in the open entryway.

Me: I miss you, too, silly.

It only took a second for the phone to start buzzing and chirping in my hand.

Zander:
I’m silly? Know what you are?

Me: What am I?

Zander: Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

“Who is that?” my mother asked. She stood in the doorway, her eyebrows drawn together, looking down at me.

“I didn’t know you were home.”

“I came home early. Who is on the phone?”

“It’s no one,” I said, far too quickly. “I mean, it’s Shannon.” My voice shook with the weight of the lie, but the truth could be the end of everything.

Mom took a step closer to me, suspicion written on her face like a billboard. I started to slip the phone into my pocket, but she reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Let me see it.” Her other hand grabbed the phone; she released me and opened the text.

“She was telling me about this book she’s reading at the library. Some love story. She was just texting me about the ending.” With each word my voice became steadier.

I willed my hands not to fidget, my lips not to twitch. I needed her to believe me, to not question it. To not read the rest of my texts.

I always deleted my texts from Zander, emails too. I hated to, especially when he wrote “I love you.” But I knew they couldn’t stay. They were evidence.

I didn’t erase them text by text; I deleted the whole conversation once we were done, so that one was still on there.

I was so worried about her reading the most recent messages I didn’t even think about him texting again while my cell was still in her hand. My ringtone seemed extra loud in the silence between us. She lifted the phone to her face, her expression unreadable. I tried to make mine match.

“Get ready for dinner,” she said, handing the phone back to me. I nodded, my eyes on her instead of my cell. As soon as she turned around, I read it.

Zander: See you later.

I hurried into the bathroom and texted back.

Me: Close call. Don’t text again. See you tonight.

I deleted the whole conversation, washed my hands, and headed to the dining room.

Mom seemed fine during dinner, and my nerves settled. She told me about a new artist she’d found. I told her about the book I was reading. Everything seemed normal. Dull.

I went to bed early. Around ten, Mom stuck her head in, and I pretended to be asleep. At midnight, I got up, listened for any sound of her, then sneaked downstairs and out the kitchen door.

I could barely make out Zander’s form in the dark at the edge of the woods. I ran to him. With my lips pressed to his, I heard her scream.

“What the hell is going on here?”

I spun around. I couldn’t think of the last time I’d heard my mother swear. Even in the dark I could see her eyes were on fire and her whole face was red from the flames. I stumbled backward into Zander’s chest. He put an arm around me, protectively, but I quickly pulled away.

“Nothing,” I said. Which was idiotic, but nothing I could say would make the situation any better anyway.

“This is who you were texting with? How well do you even know this boy? What were you thinking?” Each word was louder than the last.

“His name is Zander, I met him—”

“I don’t care where you met him!” she screamed, her voice shrill. “You won’t be seeing him again.”

“Mom!”

“Get inside.” She pointed at the house behind her, which suddenly looked like a prison. I didn’t move. She rushed forward and grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh. She pulled me forward.

Zander stepped toward us. “Let go of her.”

“Get the hell off my property,” she responded, not even turning to look at him.

“You’re hurting her,” he said, and she stopped. She dropped my arm and twirled around.

“I’m hurting her?” she growled. “I don’t know what you said, or what you did, to convince my daughter to sneak around, but it’s over. She’s a good girl, and I won’t let you hurt her. Go. Now.” She grabbed my arm again and dragged me toward the house so fast I couldn’t hear what Zander said next. I stumbled next to her, begging her to stop and listen to me.

Even when we got inside she said nothing. She slammed the door behind her and let go of my arm to lock it. I rubbed my sore skin, my fingers trailing over the half-moon indentations from her nails.

“I can’t believe you would do this,” she said, her voice low. She turned to look at me and tears stained her face. Any defense I had inside of me disappeared at the sight of those tears.

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you have any idea what could have happened?” Her voice shook, breaking on the words. “Go to your room. I can’t even look at you.” Her face fell into her hands as she sank down onto a kitchen chair.

Tears burned my eyes as I forced my thousand-pound feet to take me to my room. I sat on my bed and stared at the wall.

Chapter Twenty

Zander

I stared at her house not knowing what to do. My parents had been mad at me plenty of times over the years, but I’d never seen the kind of anger that was in Anya’s mom’s eyes. I was scared for her.

Part of me wondered if I should call someone. I’d never forgive myself if Anya’s mom hurt her and I’d done nothing to help her. But with all the things Anya had told me about her mom, she never said anything about her being abusive. She loved her mom, and even though she’d been scared of getting in trouble, she’d never seemed scared of her mom. Not like that.

Finally I left, walked home in the dark, hoping everything would be okay. Anya’s mom couldn’t stay mad forever. Could she? Things would blow over, and now at least it was out in the open.

I sneaked back into my house and fell into bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about what she’d said.
“She’s a good girl, and I won’t let you hurt her.”
Hurting Anya was the last thing I would ever want to do, and yet, I already had.

I eventually fell asleep, but the look on Anya’s face as she was pulled away from me filled my dreams. I woke in a sweat.

The morning went by in a blur. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Blake called to tell me about some crap with our new place, but the words barely registered. Whether or not we had a dishwasher in our apartment was not really my main concern.

“Hey, what’s with you?” Blake asked, bringing me back into the conversation.

“What?”

“I just told you the rooms were painted pink with blue butterflies and you mumbled ‘okay.’ You are totally not listening to me.”

“Sorry, I’m just distracted.” I stared at the ceiling in my room and thought about starry skies and Anya’s lips on mine, the warmth of her body in my arms. It was already feeling too far away.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your imaginary milkmaid, would it?”

I sighed and sat up, swinging my legs over the side of my bed. “She’s not imaginary.” I pressed my fingers into my temple, hoping to alleviate some of the pain.

“Yeah, okay. Want to tell me what happened?”

“Not really.”

“Fine. But then you need to actually participate in this conversation. You’re going to be living there, too, you know.”

“Fine.”

“Wow. You are just a bundle of joy tonight. You know that?”

I didn’t respond. Silence stretched across the line for a minute, then I heard Blake sigh. “Look, whatever it is, if it’s meant to be, it’ll work out. Okay?”

What will be, will be.
I had to believe that Anya and I were meant to be. If I didn’t, there was no way I was going to get through this. I just kept hoping she’d call, or text, something to let me know things would be all right.