Don't Fall (5 page)

“That sounds exciting. I graduate next spring, and I still can’t imagine moving out.” She cocked her head to the side and bit her lip. “Is that bad?”

“No. It’s nice that you like living with your mom.”

She looked down at her lap and brushed something off her skirt. “Yeah. She’s really great.”

“That must be where you get it from.” I knew it was a cheesy line, but it brought her smile back.

“Actually, I was adopted when I was three.”

“Oh.” Okay, so maybe it was me putting my foot in my mouth that had made her smile.

“I don’t remember much from my life before that. I have a few snapshots in my head that I suppose must be memories, but they don’t really mean anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t tell me anything about what my life might have been like. They could be anywhere, with anyone,” she explained. “Like, one is of a dog. A German shepherd. I can see him, kind of remember petting him, playing with him, but he could have belonged to the foster family I stayed with, or maybe I just saw him at a park one day.” She stopped and traced a circle on her leg with her finger, then she shrugged. “I don’t know really. It’s strange.”

“That must be weird. Having memories you can’t explain, and no one who can explain them to you.” I couldn’t imagine what that must be like. Coming from a large family, there always seemed to be someone telling you about what you were like as a baby or little kid. Be it good or bad. Especially if it was bad.

She wouldn’t have any record of her first words, first steps.

She shrugged again. “It’s not a real big deal. I have lots of great memories since then. And new ones coming all the time.” She grinned, and my stomach did a somersault.

I wanted to make new memories with her. The kind she’d never forget, whether I was still around or not. Although, I hoped to still be around. I hoped our memories from then on out would be connected, braided together like the crown on her head.

Anya

The picnic was perfect. I couldn’t believe he’d gone to so much trouble just for me. He took a little blue box tied with a white piece of string out of the basket.

“What’s that?”

“Dessert.” He untied the knot and lifted out a cupcake with pale pink frosting and a dark pink rose on top.

“Oh, it’s almost too pretty to eat.” I peeled back the polka-dotted cupcake liner and took a bite anyway. It was delicious. Unbelievably, melt-in-your-mouth, I’d-never-tasted-anything-so-good-in-my-life delicious. “Oh my goodness, what flavor is this?”

“Raspberry something. Bavarian cream, maybe? They are pretty good, huh?”

“Pretty good? It’s amazing. Where did this fluffy piece of heaven come from?”

He laughed. “They’re from the place downtown. Baby Cakes. Do you want mine, too?” He held out his cupcake, one bite missing, and looked at me with the same amused expression worn by children when they watch Winnie the Pooh eat honey. My cheeks warmed.

“Um, no. That’s okay.” I looked down and licked the last bit of frosting from my pointer finger. “Baby Cakes? That’s so cute.”

“You’re so cute.”

My eyes flew up to meet his. Even though it was only the two of us there, part of me still needed to make sure it was me he was talking to and not, I don’t know, the cupcake or something. But he was looking right at me, smiling, eyes shining.

“Um, thank you.” I quickly turned away again. I was not accustomed to beautiful boys telling me I was cute, and I had no idea what was an appropriate response. “You’re pretty cute, too,” I whispered, staring at the pile of books sitting next to me. He was silent. When I finally got up enough courage to look at him, he was grinning at me like the cat who caught the mouse.

Then my phone rang. There was only one person who ever called me.

“Hi, Mom.” I pressed the phone to my ear and scooched away from Zander. Before I could say anything else, she started to yell.

“Where are you? What are you doing? You said you were at the library.”

“I’m at the library,” I said slowly, wondering what had caused the freak out.

“Anya, don’t you lie to me. I just called and talked to Shannon, and she said you weren’t there.”

“You called to check on me?” I turned my body farther away from Zander and lowered my voice.

“Well, apparently I have to. Now where are you?”

“I am at the library, I’m just outside. I was taking pictures.” The lie came out smoothly, surprising me.

“Go inside right now and let me talk to Shannon.”

“Mom—”

“Right now, young lady.”

I turned to Zander and wrinkled my nose, giving him my best apologetic face. He gathered our little picnic and followed me wordlessly into the library.

Shannon looked up from behind the desk, saw my face with my cell pressed to my ear, and mouthed “sorry” while scrunching down in her seat. I just sighed and handed her the phone. Shannon was a couple years older than me and went to the community college. She practically grew up at the library, her mom being the head librarian and all, and knew the place better than anyone.

“Hi, Mrs. Stone,” Shannon said to my mom. “Yep, sorry. She’s here now.” She laughed and gave me a “yikes” look. “Yep, I’ll keep an eye on her. Okay. Here she is.” She handed the phone back to me.

“Okay now?” I looked up at Zander, who had ever-so-politely wandered to the far end of the library, out of earshot.

“Give me a call when you leave.”

“Okay. Bye.” I couldn’t believe she’d checked in on me. I’d texted her and let her know I’d gotten there. Did she think I’d lied? Why? I’d never given her any reason not to trust me. I’d never lied to her.

Until now. Guilt and anger spun at each other, creating a tornado in my gut.

“I’m just looking out for you.” Her voice was stern and tired at the same time.

“I know.”

I hung up and sighed, leaning against Shannon’s desk.

“Hey, sorry about that.” Shannon twirled one of the blue highlights in her dark brown hair.

“It’s fine,” I said, waving my hand like it could erase the awkwardness.

“I just didn’t even think about it when she called. Normally you’re already here when she checks in and—”

“Wait, does she always call when I’m here?”

Shannon shrunk a little farther into her seat, biting her bottom lip. “Well, sort of. Mostly. Yes.”

I turned that over and over in my head. I thought she trusted me enough to come at least this far by myself. My stomach turned and tightened inside of me. Of course, I tried to tell myself it wasn’t me she didn’t trust.

“Your books are in.” Shannon broke the silence with a smile, reaching behind the desk to get them.

Shannon was the closest thing I had to a best friend, other than Zander. If Zander counted. Could I count someone as my best friend when I wanted to kiss him all over?

Either way, Shannon and I spent plenty of time doing best friend things, like gossiping. Except all the people we talked about were fictional. She loved to give me her critique of every book I checked out, sometimes before I’d read them. When we were kids, we hung out with our moms, but now I mainly just saw her at the library.

“Oh, this one is beautiful.” She handed me
The Book Thief
, sighed, and put her hand to her heart. “Oh, the end—”

I covered my ears with my hands. “No! Don’t tell me anything!” I said in as forceful a whisper as I could manage.

“Oh all right,” she said, laughing. “But you’ll love it. This one, too.” She held up another book. “I know it’s not one you requested, but the guy in this one is so sexy. You have to read it. Oh, and speaking of sexy guys…” She glanced at the back of the library, then looked at me with raised eyebrows. “What’s up with you and Zander?”

“Nothing,” I stammered, shaking my head.

“Well, if I was you, I’d change that.” She winked at me.

“Do you know him?”

“Not really. I hung with his cousin some in high school. She was really nice, and he seems like a sweet guy. Very swoon-worthy.”

I glanced back at him. He was standing in one of the aisles, sliding books off the shelf and reading their back covers. Some he put back, and a few he tucked under his arm. The corners of his mouth turned down as he assessed each one, then he’d tap the back cover before deciding which way they’d go.

Shannon was right. He was very swoon-worthy.

He looked up and saw us watching him. He gave a little awkward wave that seemed to say, “Why are the two of you staring at me?”

I spun back around, and Shannon laughed. She added the book to my pile and slid them over to me. “Have fun with your sexy guy.”

I didn’t know if she meant the book or Zander.

Chapter Eight

Zander

Blake sat next to me on the couch as we scrolled through apartment listing on my laptop. “This one looks cool.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure I want to move out of town.”

“What are you talking about? I thought we agreed we wanted to be closer to the college.”

“It’s only a twenty minute drive.” I stared at the screen, but I could feel Blake’s eyes on me.

“All right. Who’s the girl?”

“What?” I asked, making a face. “Where did that come from? There’s no girl. I just thought it would be nice to stay in town.” I did my best to pretend it was a ridiculous accusation. Apparently my best was still pretty lame.

“You are so full of crap. Who’s the girl? Is she cute? When did you meet her?”

I sighed, closed my laptop, and leaned back against the couch cushions. There was no getting out of it. “I met her at the library. Her name is Anya. She’s beautiful and sweet, and I think she likes me, but moving out of town would probably screw the whole thing up.”

“Why? It’s not far. Like you said, it’s only twenty minutes. Couldn’t you guys just drive back and forth?”

“She doesn’t drive.”

Blake leaned away and looked at me through narrowed eyes. “How old is she?”

I rolled my eyes. “Why do people keep asking that? She’s seventeen, she just doesn’t have a license.” I shifted in my seat, wondering how much I should tell. “And, well, she’s not exactly allowed to date.”

“She’s seventeen and she’s not allowed to date?”

“Her mom’s super protective. It’s a whole thing. It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly, shaking my head. I really didn’t want to get into it. “The point is, it would be a lot harder for me to see her if we moved out of town.”

After a pause, Blake finally said, “Fine. We can look in town, too, but I’m not ruling it out completely. It depends on what we can find. Deal?”

“Deal.” I started to reopen my computer when Blake slapped it shut again.

“Wait. When do I get to meet her?”

“You don’t.”

“What do you mean, I don’t? If this girl is going to be hanging around, she needs to get approved by the roommate.”

“Well, smartass, you’re not my roommate yet.”

“Touché.”

I flipped open the computer and limited the search to just our town. Blake raised an eyebrow at me. “What?” I asked. “It doesn’t hurt to look here first.” A bunch of listings popped up on the screen.

“What does she look like? Is she hot? If we’re changing all of our plans for her, she better be hot.”

“You’re kind of an ass, you know that?”

“I’m nosy. Sue me.” Blake shrugged, then started elbowing me in the side. “So, what does she look like? Blond? Brunette?”

“Blond. Long blond hair that she wears in braids.”

“Like a milkmaid?”

I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Yes, like a milkmaid. And she has big blue eyes and a great smile.” I pictured her sitting next to me, the curve of her waist and the smooth skin above the neckline of her sundress. “And yes, she’s hot.”

Anya

When I got home, I wandered around the empty house, looking at the beautiful paintings that filled our home. My mom loved art, and she was an expert in it. It’s what she did, help rich people with more money than taste acquire pieces she thought they would enjoy, or more importantly, that would go up in value.

She had a small, posh office in town but did most of her work in the city. Whenever she found a new up-and-coming artist, she would come home and tell me all about their work. The way they used color, or light, or brushstrokes.

She loved all different styles: expressionism, impressionism, realism, abstraction. She appreciated them all when they were done well.

Her favorite artist though, the one who took up the most wall space in our house, was Lauren. Even at a young age, her work was impressive. She’d had a gift. My mom said it often, although usually to herself, staring at her paintings. Sometimes, when she thought she was alone, she’d reach up and gently stroke the canvas, tears sparkling in her eyes.

I hated to see her sad. Even when I was little, I noticed the way she looked at Lauren’s paintings and the photographs of her, by herself or with the two of them together. Back then I would sing and dance, act like a clown or a ballerina, anything to get her attention and make her smile. When it worked, I felt like a fairy queen, a wielder of magic that could make my mother’s face transform from sadness to joy.

When it didn’t work, when she simply turned her sad eyes on me and faked a smile, my heart would sink. More often than not, I found myself drowning.

As I got older, I tried in different ways to make her happy. I thought I could be the perfect daughter. Make up for the loss of Lauren. I never disobeyed, never did anything to make her worry. I sat up straight, did my homework, and studied art in my spare time. At age twelve I knew more about art than most adults. Mom assumed I’d major in art. We’d talked about opening a gallery together when I was older. She’d even started looking into online colleges with art programs.

I enjoyed art, but I wasn’t sure it was what I wanted to focus my whole life on. Surrounding myself with the works I loved, works Mom loved, knowing she wished I could have been an artist, too.

But I could never recreate the images we admired. When I got into photography, I thought perhaps I could finally impress her.