If I Fall (8 page)

“
You think your dad feels guilty?” Aidan asked. “For running off and leaving you and your mom, for kicking you out of your house?”

My gaze settled on the bulletin board mounted above my desk. There was a bare patch of cork in the bottom corner, a spot that had housed a photo of me and my dad from two Christmases ago, a picture of us leaning towards each other, smiling, sharing a dessert at our holiday brunch. I'd ripped it down months ago.

“God, I hope he does—”

“
Whatever.” His voice held a note of impatience. “The point is, even if he did feel any guilt, he still did what
he
wanted. Right?”

I didn't answer and he continued. “If you want to run, join the fucking track team. But if you don't, then don't. Don't do it because someone else wants you to.”

“I know. And I don't.” I closed my eyes. I was tired. “Want to do it, I mean.”

He sighed. “That's actually kind of a bummer.”

“Why?”

“
I would have loved to see your ass in those black spandex pants they wear.”

“
Puh-leeze,” I said, doing my best to sound nonchalant despite the fact that my eyes had flown open and my heart was beginning a jiggety-jog of its own.

“
Actually, I prefer to see you wearing nothing at all.” His voice dropped lower, to almost a whisper. “I'm falling for you, Meg. Hard.”

*

Lunch on Tuesday was a disaster. Logan and Carter shot ominous looks at me as I ate while Jada babbled on about how great track was going to be, insisting I should stop by after school to see if I could still try out. Even if I hadn't already made plans, I wouldn't have gone. Aidan was right. I needed to do what
I
wanted.

Case was the only one who acted as though nothing was wrong.

“You ready for the quiz today?” he asked. He'd already finished his sandwich.

“
No.” I smiled. “You?”

He shook his head. “I hate Spanish.”

I nodded in agreement.

He unzipped his backpack and took out his textbook. “Wanna quiz each other?”

We spent the remaining fifteen minutes of lunch taking turns asking and answering questions and sharing my package of chocolate chip cookies. If Carter and Logan continued their murderous glares, I didn't see them.

I told Aidan about it that afternoon. We were in his room. “I don't know why Logan and Carter are so mad at me.”

“Maybe they're jealous.” He trailed his fingers down my bare back.

“
Of what?”

He stared at me. “Of this,” he said, his eyes roving over me and the bed.

“No. It's definitely not that.”

“
How do you know?”

“
For Logan, it's always been Jada. At least that's what he says. And Carter...” I tried to imagine him being interested in me and smiled. Carter wasn't interested in anyone except himself. “No, he's not jealous, either.”

“
What about the other guy?”

There was a knock on the door then and my hands flew to the sheet, pulling it tight around me. I looked at the torn foil wrapper on his nightstand
—a condom he'd produced of his own accord—and the ashtray next to it, the shriveled stump of a joint squashed in the center. A pile of discarded clothes—mine and his—littered the floor next to his bed. Glaring evidence of how we'd spent the last hour surrounded us.

“
Aidan, honey?” His mom's voice. “I'm running out. You guys need anything?”

He grinned, his eyebrows raised and I shook my head. “Nope, we're set.”

“Alright.” There was a pause. “You two be good.”

I swallowed a horrified laugh. His mom was either totally clueless or in complete denial. Today was the first time she'd been home when I was there. I saw immediately where Aidan had gotten his coloring, that white blond hair and those cool blue eyes. Like me, she was tiny and thin. Dressed in white pants and a silvery, cloud-like blouse, she'd looked like an angel. Aidan had breezed past her earlier, planting a quick kiss on the top of her head as he led me back to his room.

“Is this OK?” I'd whispered as he led me down the hall. “Is she going to freak out?”

He'd smiled at me. “About what?”

“About me? Us? In your room?”

He'd nudged me into his bedroom and locked the door behind us. “Nah. She's cool.”

And she'd left us alone.

“
So the other guy,” Aidan prompted, bringing me back to our conversation. “Brown hair...”

“
Case?” I shook my head. “He's the only one who's acting normal. Besides, Jada has the hots for him.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Little Miss Virtuous? I thought she was headed for the nunnery.”

I frowned at him. “Why would you think that?”

His hand moved lower, to the small of my back and I shivered. “Stories,” he said. “Lots of guys who've crashed and burned, who haven't even made it off the tarmac with her.”

I knew I should be upset. I should spring to the defense of my former best friend. But I felt something else stab at me. Jealousy.

“
Including you?” I knew the answer, of course. Jada would have told me in a heartbeat if he'd ever expressed interest.

He wrinkled his nose. “Not my type.”

“Oh?” His hand moved lower still and I was suddenly having a hard time remembering to breathe. “What is your type?”

“
You,” he whispered.

THIRTEEN

Aidan rescued me the next day, an unlikely knight in ripped jeans and a black Rancid t-shirt. He intercepted me on my way to the bench.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Jada and Case were already sitting down. Jada was bent over her backpack, rummaging for something, but Case's eyes were on me, watching.

“
Finding a nicer place for you to eat.”

Holding my hand, he led me past groups of students sitting on the grass, weaving through the maze of bodies and backpacks to one of the senior benches.

I held back. “Here?” I whispered. I'd been hoping for a smaller, secluded spot, a place for just me and him.

He pulled me forward and sat me down on the bench. “Why not?”

He made quick introductions. Most had been at Scotty's party and they greeted me with reserved smiles and tentative hellos. I didn't blame them. I was just some random sophomore barging in on their territory. If Aidan noticed, he didn't let on. He sat down next to me and positioned his arm on the back of the bench behind me, so his hand could brush my shoulder every so often. I knew what he was doing. Laying claim. And telling his friends to be cool.

Each passing day was easier. After a week, I could stroll right past my old lunch spot, usually without so much as a glance in that direction. Aidan was always waiting for me with a smile on his face and, pretty soon, his friends were, too.

One week turned into two. And then another. Jada and I didn't talk much anymore. The only time we did speak was in English class. At first, our conversations were friendly. We tried to feign a sense of normalcy, to pretend that our friendship was the same despite the fact that we never spent time together and that our phone calls and texts had become nonexistent. I'd come to class and she would ask about my weekend and I'd ask her how her latest meet had gone. But even that began to change. More often, she would turn the other direction, toward Emma O'Rourke, and chat about practice and time trials. Emma was on the track team, too. I tried not to care. After all, it had been my decision to cut her out, to not share with her. She wasn't the one to blame for our withering friendship.

Logan and Carter acted as though I no longer existed. They stared down at the ground as I passed them at lunch, whispering loudly as soon as I ambled by, still within earshot. Words like “stupid” and “slut,” words intended to hurt me. So much for a kind, Christian attitude, I thought. They were never rude to my face; Logan would even smile at me in Geometry if I glanced in his direction. But our friendship was gone. Finished.

At least Case remained friendly. Even though I didn't sit with him at lunch anymore, he always managed to chat for a couple of minutes in class, before Mrs. Lopez arrived, spewing rapid-fire Spanish at us. I was glad we'd become friends and that he still treated me like one. None of my other friends did.

He was waiting for me by my desk a few weeks after my lunch defection. I noticed his hair was growing out a little; soft brown wisps flirted with his eyebrows and curled over his ears.

“Hey,” I said as I slid into my seat. “Where were you yesterday?”

“
Some doctors appointments,” he said. “I texted you. I wanted the homework assignment for today.”

I frowned. “I didn't get a message.”

He nodded. “Yeah, 'cuz I couldn't send it. I tried to call, too, but it said your phone was disconnected. Not in service or something.”

I pulled my phone out of my backpack. I'd spent the night at Aidan's
—had told my mom I was at Jada's—so I hadn't used it. I punched through my recent calls, clicking on Aidan's number. The line stayed dead.

“
What the hell,” I muttered.

“
Bueños dias, mis estudiantes.” Mrs. Lopez stormed in, her black hair swirling around her as she plowed up the aisle to her desk. She didn't waste a second of class time. “Phone away, Miss Calloway.”

I shoved my phone back in my backpack and headed to my seat. I'd have to deal with it later.

There was a message blinking on the answering machine when Aidan dropped me off later that evening. I poked around in the refrigerator, searching for something—anything—to eat. We'd munched on a bag of chips and some salsa while we hung out in his room but that felt like hours ago.

A carton of milk sat on the top shelf. I opened it and sniffed and quickly wished I hadn't. Sitting below this was a wilted head of lettuce and a bag of shriveled grapes. I opened the deli drawer and found a package of dried-out veggie hot dogs and a block of cheese covered in fuzzy white mold. Disgusted, I slammed the fridge shut and opened the pantry cupboard. This was where my lunches came from most days
—chips, granola bars, pudding cups. But we hadn't been grocery shopping in a while and the pickings were slim. I shook my head as I scanned the half-empty shelves. What the hell was wrong with my mom that she couldn't even get herself to the store to go shopping? I'd have to do it, I realized. I knew Aidan would take me if I asked; I just didn't want to.

I grabbed the last granola bar and hit the play button as I tore open the package.

“Megan.” My dad. Stern. Angry. “Call me. You'll have to use the house phone. I canceled your cell service.”

The granola bar slipped from my hand, breaking into pieces, crumbs scattering across the kitchen floor as I played the message again. Disbelief gave way to anger as I listened again. I slammed my fist down on the machine and the blinking light died.

What was he thinking? Wasn't it enough that he'd already left me and my mom, that he'd moved in with his girlfriend and was selling my house from under me? Now he'd turned off my goddamn phone? What was next—did he plan to start pawning off my possessions, sneak into my room and strip me of everything I owned, everything that belonged to me? Would he shut down the bank account, too so that, even if my mom wanted to buy groceries, could actually get herself together enough to restock the cupboards, there wouldn't be any money to do it? I stalked the kitchen. I wanted something to smash, to rip apart, to destroy. I wanted to destroy
him
.

I stormed down the hall to my mom's room and pounded on the door. I didn't know what I expected her to do but I needed to vent to someone. And she was the closest target.

“Mom?” I knocked louder. “Mom!”

She didn't answer and I barged in.

Her bed was empty. Made. The blue comforter was smoothed over the mattress and the pillows, a pile of pretty blues and browns decorated with embroidered flowers, were artfully arranged. The blinds slanted downward, allowing the dusky twilight to seep through, throwing pink and orange rays against the walls.

“
Mom?”

“
In here.” Her voice was faint. It was coming from the bathroom.

A tiny sliver of fear edged out my anger. “Are...are you OK?”

The door to the bathroom clicked and opened. She came out dressed in her navy blue robe, the belt tied loosely over her ample stomach. She'd wrapped a taupe-colored towel around her head, turban-style. All cleaned up, her face scrubbed and her hair hidden, she looked even more fragile, even more breakable.

Her eyes were clouded with worry and sadness. “Is everything OK, Meg?”

My mouth hung open. It was the first time she'd asked about me—about how I was doing—since my dad had left. Probably longer than that, I realized. She'd been a mess for months. I tried to think back to a time when she'd been a normal mom and realized that I couldn't remember. She'd always drank, but usually it was at night, after dinner. A bottle of wine as she sat on the couch, watching TV, a bottle of wine that disappeared as the night progressed.