No Place to Fall (17 page)

Monday at school, I am
all kinds of nervous. I've got six hundred dollars of drug money in my purse and I don't feel comfortable
at all
in my clothes. A group of sophomore girls looks in my direction and starts whispering. I glance down. I tug on the skirt, suddenly self-conscious, but there are at least six other girls in the commons with skirts as short as mine.

“Oh,
wow
, Amber! Look at
you
!” C.A. bounces over and gives me a big smile. She reaches behind me and tucks in the tag poking out of the back of my shirt.

“Did I do okay?” I look down at myself. It feels completely weird to have my legs showing and to be three inches taller than usual.

C.A. looks me up and down and says, “You should wear something like
that
to my party.”

“Party?” I ask.

“Party?” Devon walks up behind me. I turn around and give him a quick hug.

C.A. squeals and claps. “Yes! Party! I want y'all to come over and meet my cousin from Bristol. He is
the
best.” She loops arms with both of us. “And we can celebrate your upcoming audition.
Plus
my mom's going to be gone for the night.”

The three of us head toward the art room, arm in arm.

“You should totally ask Sean,” C.A. says to me as we pass Frog and the other burnouts hanging out by the band room. They chin nod toward me as a group.

I nod back to Frog, then stop, turning toward C.A. “What is it with everybody thinking me and Sean are together?”

C.A. cocks her head. “You're not?”

“No.” I wobble forward, working hard to keep my balance on the slick floor. “He's a super-nice guy and a great musician, but just because a girl hangs out with a guy, it doesn't mean they're hooking up.”

“Feeling a little touchy, P & S?” Devon laughs, knowing I'm still sensitive about the incident with Kush.

I punch his arm. “Look,” I say to C.A. “I think
you
should ask Sean.”

We put our book bags down behind our chairs and sit at our art table. Kush is already in the room, sitting at a new table, chatting with a couple of senior girls. I notice they both look in my direction, then look at each other when I walk in.

C.A. arranges her sketchpad and pencils in front of her. Then arranges them a second time. “Do you think? I mean, I'm not sure. He probably thinks I'm too blonde or something.”

I smile as I watch C.A. reorganize her stuff for the third time. If C.A. is worried about a boy not liking her, then who else worries? It must not matter what you look like.

“He would be crazy to say no. Right, Devon?”

Devon holds a self-portrait mirror up toward C.A. and points a gun finger at her image. “Sizzling shortie in the house.”

I groan. “Oh God, Kush has rubbed off on you.”

Devon crosses his arm, and sticks his nose in the air. “Humph. I gave him that offer, but he refused.”

C.A. laughs and shakes his arm. I guess Devon knows his secret's safe with her, too.

Just then, Kush strolls over and picks up his book bag
from our table. I avoid looking at him.

“What's up, Amber?” he asks.

“Hey, Kush. Nothing,” I say, staring at the table.

“I think I'm going to move.” He turns and strolls away.

The three of us look at each other. It's C.A. who laughs first.

“Good riddance,” I whisper.

Devon puts his forehead on the table. “And I had such high hopes.” Then he sits up and looks at us, grinning.

After class, as I'm walking up the stairs to my English class, I start to think that something's wrong. I'm getting a lot of glances and whispers today, and it can't be just because of a short skirt and some new shoes. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take a risk and pull it out. It's a text from Devon.

—Meet me by the library before lunch.

When the bell rings, I rush downstairs. My ankle is throbbing and I'm dying to go sit outside on the grass and take Whitney's shoes off. Dressing up is all right, I guess, but I think I'd be happier in my regular clothes.

Devon and C.A. are both waiting for me, and their expressions look like Pastor Early at a funeral.

“What is it?” I ask before I even get to them.

The same group of freshman girls that'd laughed when Whitney got arrested walks past, giggling. I hear
one of them whisper, “
That's
her.”

It's quickly followed by, “I heard she had sex with, like, everyone at the party.”

A vacuum pulls all the air out of my lungs. Devon and C.A. reach for me from across the hall but I freeze, suspended in a bubble of disbelief. When it pops, I turn around and take off running, away from the cafeteria, away from everybody, and away from Kush and whatever vicious rumors he's started. Tears well up in my eyes. I don't see the book bag blocking my escape route, and I go sprawling.

I grab my ankle. It shoots pain and I'm sure I look like an idiot lying on the ground, tears in my eyes, skirt too short for school. Eight feet appear. Four faces stare down at me.

“Are you okay, Amber?” Mrs. Early asks me, her eyebrows drawn.

“Here, we'll take you to the nurse.” Devon and C.A. squat down and pull me up, my arms around both of their shoulders.

Then I see Will. “Are you okay?” he asks me. His eyes are concerned.

I look away from him. There's no telling what he's heard.

“I'm okay.” I put tentative pressure on my ankle and
buckle. I squeeze the tears tight in my eyes.

“Oh.” C.A.'s hands go to her mouth as I crumple.

Will steps in for C.A. “Here, let me help.” Will pulls my arm around his shoulder and presses my hand tight.

Devon and Will practically carry me to the nurse's office, Mrs. Early and C.A. right behind us.

Will helps me climb onto the examination table while Devon explains to Nurse Barb in her office how I'd sprained my ankle on a trail. Mrs. Early excuses herself, something about lunchroom duty, but promises to check in with me later.

“I've got a cheer meeting. I have to go,” C.A. says, looking around, and then at me. “Text me, okay? Love you, girl.”

I nod. She gives me a quick hug and it brings up a new round of tears.

“So what happened back there? Why were you running?” Will whispers, sliding onto the table next to me.

He hasn't heard. I look toward Devon, who's walking over to us again with the nurse. “Kush is talking trash about her.”

“Why would he do that?” I ask, blowing into the Kleenex Will hands me.

Devon shrugs. “Maybe because you rejected him? Because he thinks you picked Sean instead?”

“Thinks?” Will asks, looking back and forth between the two of us.

Nurse Barb takes my ankle in her hands and presses along the side of it.

I start to answer, but Devon continues in a whisper to his brother, “Yeah. It's my fault. I asked for her or C.A. to kiss Kush. You know, as a test.”

Then Nurse Barb hits a spot on my ankle and I inhale sharply—because of the sharp pain, and because of what Devon's just told Will.

“Did you?” Will asks me. “Kiss him?”

I look over at him. “Yes. I did. But it's not what you think.”

“But you kissed him.” Will's Adam's apple bobs, just like Devon's does when he's not saying everything he wants to.

I bristle. “It's not like I have a boyfriend, even if I
had
been into it. Which I wasn't.” I glare at Will.

Devon starts to say something, but the nurse interrupts us. “You boys need to go to lunch.”

Devon winks at me before he leaves, but Will just slides off the examination table and walks right out.

Nurse Barb shuts the door, and then starts pressing on my ankle again. “Hon, when did you do this?”

“A week ago, Saturday,” I say. “It was getting better
until I fell just now.”

“Have you had X-rays?”

“No, ma'am,” I say.

She purses her lips and her brows knit into one deep furrow appearing behind her glasses' frames. “You need X-rays, dear. I'm pretty sure this is more than a sprain. You need to call one of your parents to take you to the doctor right now.”

“Oh, they wanted to take me before,” I say. “But, I told them not to, that I was fine.”

“That's not really your decision, though, is it?”

“I guess not.” I dial Mama while the nurse helps me prop up my ankle with an ice pack.

Mama shows up so fast she's still in her dollar store slacks and gardening sneakers when she lumbers into the nurse's office. I see the looks the other ladies on staff give each other when she walks in. Judging her like Kush's friends judge me. Like people judge Whitney.

Mama's rattling on about how sorry she is she didn't insist I go to the doctor earlier, but my phone buzzes. I glance at it. It's Will.

—Practice?

Will still wants to play music with me.

—Yes.

Then:

—That kiss wasn't real. I swear.

—You don't owe me an explanation.

Then a second text.

—But I believe you.

When I read those four words, the anxiety I'd had since seeing Devon's and C.A.'s faces before lunch vanishes. Will believes me. So does C.A., and so does Devon. Sean knows the truth, too. And they are the only ones who matter.

Mama pulls up to the emergency room entrance, where an attendant meets me with a wheelchair.

The doctor examines me and the results are in. My distal fibula has a hairline fracture. My ankle's broken.

The doctor gives my mother a stern speech.
Should have brought her in sooner. Will take longer to heal now. Important to get medical attention.

Mama looks like a beaten dog and I realize it's my fault she's enduring this doctor's lecture. I try to tell the doctor it was because of me we didn't come in sooner, that the insurance was too expensive, but she waves me off and leaves to find a nurse to take me to get my cast.

Mama drops me off at the McKinneys' on the way home. She'd tried to argue, telling me I needed to rest, but I'd
told her that this practice for my audition was way too important to miss.

When we pull up, Will's waiting for me on the front porch. I'm on crutches again, at the doctor's insistence, hobbling up the walk. When I reach the front steps, Will comes down to help me.

“Purple cast. I like it,” he says. He gives me a once-over. “How come no overalls today?”

I'm still wearing my clothes from school. I tug at the skirt as I sit on one of the white wooden rockers. “Just felt like a change.”

“You look nice. Not like you, but nice.” He smiles sideways at me, then starts to flat-pick a tune on the banjo.

I could watch him play the banjo all day long. He starts into “Ave Maria,” and his fingers fly across the strings.

When he finishes, he looks up. “Well?”

I let go of the rocking chair's arms and bring my hands to my face and press to keep from squealing. Finally, I spread my fingers and whisper, “Amazing.”

Will sits back against another rocker. “Yeah, it's why I decided to go tell my dad that I'm going to East Tennessee State University instead of Carolina. I can actually minor in bluegrass there.”

Tar Heel memorabilia lines their family room. Judge
McKinney is a proud alumnus and a huge basketball fan. “Is your dad upset?”

“He wasn't real happy. He worries that I won't study something serious, and I'll end up hanging out with an unsavory bunch.” Will rolls his eyes and pulls his chair closer to mine. “If I get into big trouble again, like I did before, the Judge will force my hand. And that means Carolina. It's not like I have a big scholarship to either one.”

“What happened?” I ask, curious. Devon had hinted about something earlier this fall, but I just figured Will got caught baking with alternative ingredients and that's why he'd quit being the brownie guy.

Will starts “Ave Maria” again, a little more slowly. “I traded Sammy an old prescription for some weed. Kind of a dumbass move, since my name was on the bottle. Somebody in the sheriff's department gave Dad the heads-up, so I didn't get in real trouble. It was stupid.” He plinks a banjo string. “But at least getting caught helped me finally tell Dad the truth about next year and what I really want. I'm still on thin ice with him and Mom, but it's all good.”

My stomach constricts. Sammy said there was no way anything could trace back to me, that the bottle was gone. I can't stand Kush, but it doesn't mean I want to get him in trouble for what I did.
Why did I give Sammy that bottle?

Will looks at me and starts playing the song again from
the top. “Time to sing.”

It's hard to let go of everything I'm holding inside. But eventually, the singing takes my mind and clears it of all I'm holding on to. Will plays his banjo so confidently, so sweetly, and I let my voice soar and mellow and soar again, following Will's song.

After a while, Mrs. McKinney and Devon come out and sit on the porch swing with a bowl of popcorn, watching me and Will like we're the latest film at the little theater in the next town over. We run through all three songs again and again until I don't think I can even open my mouth to speak.

“Won't you stay for dinner, Amber? We're having lasagna,” Mrs. McKinney asks me.

“Thank you, but Daddy's picking me up soon. It was all I could do to talk Mama into letting me come over after we left the hospital.” As I'm saying it, I hear the sound of my dad's truck coming down the long driveway.

When I get up to leave, after thanking Will and Mrs. McKinney, Devon follows me down the steps and to the truck. “So . . . what's going on with you and Will?”

I stop mid–crutch swing. “What do you mean?”

He rocks back on his heels and whistles, a smug look on his face.