No Place to Fall (6 page)

Thursday afternoon, Sean
meets me on the path leading up to the soccer fields. He's sitting on a low cement wall, staring off at the mountains.

“You ready?” I ask.

He flinches like I caught him off guard. “Yeah. Hey.” He hops down and drags his book bag to his shoulder.

“Dang. What are you taking?” His bag is solid and stretched to full-size.

Sean blushes. “Nothing special.” Pause. “The library here . . . is better than my old school's.”

I'm glad I've had a lifetime of listening to my slow-talking great-uncle Jim. I've learned sometimes, you have to slow down and listen hard to find out what you want to know.

Sean drops the pack to the road and unzips it. Inside is what looks like every graphic novel on our library shelves. “See?” he says.

“I'm not a huge reader,” I say. “But let me know if one of those is really good, and I'll read it.”

“Okay.” Pause. “Sure.”

Mrs. Early's manning the ticket booth today.

“How's your mama, Amber?” Mrs. Early's wearing a MHHS polo over crisp guidance counselor khakis. On Sundays, she tends to go for floral patterns.

I appreciate her not coming out with the details of the question she's really asking. “A little overwhelmed right now,” I answer.

She nods and tears off tickets when we hand her our money. “Tell her to stop in if she needs a friendly ear.”

“I will.”

Mrs. Early looks at Sean. “Young man, how are your first couple of days going?”

Sean tugs at the hem of his shirt. “Pretty good, I guess,” he says quietly, and looks at the ticket counter.

Mrs. Early sizes him up. When she notices the guitar pick around his neck, she asks him, “Do you sing? I could always use more boys for chorus.” She pivots her head toward me and taps her index finger on the counter. “And more girls.”

It's been a sore point between us. I'll sing for her at church, but hanging out with my preacher's wife at school is a whole different kind of inbred. You start bringing all your friends and acquaintances together into every part of your life and soon you've gone all cross-eyed and you can't breathe. Plus, it's an extra hour and a half of school every day.

Sean hunches his shoulders. “No, ma'am. I can't carry a tune. I just play the guitar.”

“Well, band, then?” Mrs. Early asks.

“Yes, ma'am, I'm taking it.”

She smiles, and I notice that this time, Mrs. Early has Sean's attention. “Good. I'm glad to hear it.”

As Sean and I walk toward the stands, I see Will sitting with Amber-o-zia out of the corner of my eye. I try not to look at him, but I can't help it. He's sprawled out against the risers, arms spread wide. His hair's falling in his eyes and he's laughing, like always. Amber-o-zia turns around to say something to him with her hands waving and he lifts his chin and smiles at her. What does she have that makes her good enough to be Will's real girlfriend?

C.A.'s waiting for us in the stands, and I'm surprised to see her sitting with Frog.

“Hey, girl!” C.A. pats the bleacher seat next to her. Then her voice softens slightly. “Hey, Sean.”

“Hey,” he mumbles. But he never looks at her directly.

“Sit here,” I say, and point next to C.A. I sit on the other side of him.

C.A. shakes her head no and I shake my head yes. Sean seems clueless and sits down where I pointed.

“Are y'all watching this?” Frog says as he stares at the field.

Devon's in the goal box, his hands on his knees, waiting. I'm kind of surprised, because normally he's always swarmed with the other team. He has to work hard to make up for the lack of defense out on the field. But today it's different. It's the away team's goalie who's working overtime and it's Kush who's handling the ball like a pro.

“Damn. Would you look at that?” I sit up.

“I know, right?” C.A. starts cheer clapping. “If they keep it up, we may just need a soccer squad.” Her eyes light up. “I know. You could cheer this year!”

I roll my eyes. “Not going to happen, C.A.”

“You don't want to be a cheerleader?” Sean asks.

I start to explain that I'm sort of a klutz when I hear Amber-o-zia laughing loudly at something. I look her way to see Will leaning in, whispering something in her ear.

“Booyah!” Frog yells, and starts jumping up and down.

We all turn to look at the game unfolding on the field.

Kush runs away from the opponent's goal box, his
hands over his head. The other guys on the MHHS team are jumping and slapping his hands. Unbelievable. Our soccer team scored a goal. Devon's doing an Egyptian strut and screaming something about “doing it right” on the far end of the field.

At halftime, Devon comes up to where we're sitting, high in the stands. “Oh my God, can you believe it?” He stretches his calf muscles on the concrete benches and points at the scoreboard.

Kush climbs up behind Devon, then Will comes over to us, loudly humming the theme to
The Beverly Hillbillies
. He throws his arm around his brother's shoulders and croons,

“Come and listen to a story about

a team that was dead,

Barely had the strength to kick the ball

above the other players' heads,

But then one day they met this dude named Kush,

Who hit the goalie's net with a great big whoosh.

City boy, soccer star!”

Sean smiles down at the ground.

Kush rolls his eyes and looks around at us. “Seriously?”

Will, still hanging onto Devon, lifts his brows and
smiles. “Yeah, what's wrong with it? That was a sick tune.”

Kush shrugs. “You'd be laughed off stage with that rhyme in Atlanta.”

“What? Are you our poet laureate now or something?” Will's laughing, but it's awkward.

Sean laughs under his breath.

Kush starts to run in place, snapping his knees to his hands, and glares at Sean. “I might pen a rhyme or two, punch out a rap,” he says, breaths coming unevenly.

“Oh?” Will asks.

Devon punches Will and stands taller, shaking Will's arm off his shoulders. “What's wrong with rap?” Then he looks at Kush and nods his head like a dashboard bobble head. “Rap's cool.”

I look at Will and raise my eyebrows. Devon's got it bad. Will flutters three fingers over his heart and I try to keep from laughing, too. The moment feels almost normal, like Monday afternoon never happened.

“Coach is signaling for us. You coming?” Kush looks over at Devon.

“Yeah, man,” Devon says.

I watch them barrel down the stairs to the field.

C.A. stands up. “I've got to give Frog a ride home, and Mom will kill me if I don't get home soon. Thursday is our movie night and she rented
Sleepless in Seattle
.” She crooks
her finger to motion for me to come closer, then whispers in my ear, “He likes you. Not me. I see what you're trying to do.”

I glance over my shoulder. Will and Sean are laughing, coming up with another
Beverly Hillbillies
rhyme. Maybe I should tell C.A. the truth. That I slept with Will. That I think I like him, not Sean. Lord knows, I'm dying to tell somebody.

But then, Amber-o-zia climbs the stairs. “Will, come with me to the concession stand.” She flips her hair and smiles at us. “Hi, Ambers.” Around Amber-o-zia's neck is a gold
A
on a delicate chain. She's wearing a fitted orange camisole, skinny jeans, and three-inch wedge heels that make her already long legs look even longer. She's the kind of girl Will can take home as his girlfriend.

“Yeah, we're going, too. I have to get home. We'll walk with you.” C.A. motions for Frog and they all take off, leaving me with Sean alone on the bleachers.

I'm tempted to fill the silence, but I don't. Eventually Sean speaks. “Kush isn't as bad as he seems.”

I can't help myself and snort.

Sean smiles. “Yeah. I know.”

We sit for another minute. “So, what's your story? Why are you living with your aunt and uncle? If you don't mind sharing.” I cross my legs.

Sean rubs his knees. “No. I don't mind. It's a simple story.”

It's probably the longest thing I've heard him string together without pausing. I wait.

Sean clears his throat and runs his hands through his messy hair. “My mom left Georgia when she was seventeen and pregnant. She tried to make an honest life and failed.” He tucks his fingers under the riser and leans forward before adding in a quiet voice, “She's in jail right now for possession and solicitation.”

I put my hand on his forearm. “It's okay, you don't have to tell me anything else. And you don't have to worry about me gossiping. My family's pretty messed up, too.”

Sean takes his arm out from under my hand. “No, I want to tell you.”

He looks at the field. The soccer players are filing back out, high-fiving, ready to start the second half. “Our neighbors saved my life.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Now I see Sean's fingers dancing on his knee and I realize he's playing it, like a guitar.

“They lived in the apartment down the hall. Arthur and his wife, Virginia, fed me, took me in when I left the apartment scared shitless because of whatever guy my mom had brought home that day.” Sean looks up at the
sky, then at me. “Arthur was the one who taught me to play. Found me my guitar and made me do stuff like take out the garbage to pay him back. Virginia made sure I never went hungry.”

“They sound like great neighbors,” I say.

He swallows hard. “I'd hoped I could live with them, but the state couldn't look beyond the difference in our skin color, and Arthur had a felony from when he was in his twenties. Then they moved to Florida.” He pauses. “But I had my guitar. Playing it was my lifeline. Let me block out the pain.” He picks a fleck of paint off the riser and flicks it down a row. “And the sound.” Sean looks up and meets my gaze. His mouth settles into a line and his eyes narrow. “Then my mom sold it. Not long afterward, she got locked up.” There's something hollow in his voice. A gaping hole left by his lost instrument.

Tears well up in my eyes. “Wow, Sean. I'm so sorry.”

He shrugs and glances skyward. “Arthur died last year. Cancer.”

I feel the punch in my gut. A tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it off before Sean notices.

We sit and watch the game silently.

“Sorry to lay all that on you,” Sean says after a bit.

I want to wrap my arms around him and hug him, pull his head to my shoulder and stroke that crazy hair, tell him
everything's going to be all right. Instead I grab his hand and squeeze it.

Sean looks down at my hand on his and smiles.

“Thanks,” he says and tentatively squeezes back.

I let go when I see Will and Amber-o-zia return to their seats. Sean leans forward with his elbows on his knees and taps his fingers together. We watch the game for a while in silence, and then Sean starts to fidget.

“Do you smoke?” he asks me.

“What?”

“Cigarettes. I really need one. Is there someplace I can smoke without getting caught?”

I look around. There are a few teachers down near the field, but they seem occupied by the game. I'm not in a big hurry to get caught in the smoke hole, but after the way Sean opened up, I figure I can at least help him out.

“Come on, I'll show you.”

We slip down the stairs, past the concession stand, behind the concrete bleachers. There's a little nook hidden by bushes in front of the maintenance room door.

Sean lights up and takes a long draw. I take a step back away from the smoke. He takes a few more draws, then throws the cigarette to the ground. Before he can stomp it out with his foot, I hear a familiar voice.

“Who's back there? I can smell you.” Vice Principal
Smoker. Where the hell did she come from?

“Shit,” Sean says. “My aunt's going to crucify me.”

I look at him and see terror in his eyes. Like he's going to get way more than a week of being grounded.

Smoker's face pops into view over the bushes. “Miss Vaughn. Mr. Whitson.” She looks down and the cigarette lies between us, a curl of smoke rising up in the air. “Do you care to explain yourselves?”

Sean starts to open his mouth but I take my arm and whack it across him like Daddy used to do to me when he came to a stoplight. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Smoker. I tried to wait till I got home but I couldn't. Sean was only keeping me company.”

Mrs. Smoker looks at me over the bridge of her glasses, weighing my words. “Miss Vaughn. This seems to be a new development over the summer. Your in-school suspension for Friday is now out-of-school. This is a tobacco-free campus, young lady. I'll be calling your mother.” She lifts her nose and gives Sean the inquisition eye. “And I'll be keeping an eye out on you.”

Sean stands next to me with his mouth hanging open and edges closer.

“Do you have a way to get home?” Mrs. Smoker asks me.

“I'll give her a ride,” Sean says.

“Good.” Smoker glances between us once more. “I think it's time for both of you to leave campus.”

“Yes, ma'am,” we say together.

She follows us out from behind the bleachers. A real executioner's march. Sean excuses himself to jog over to the fence where the team waits to go on the field. I see the coach call time-out and Kush runs off the field to the fence.

Sean says something to him and Kush's face goes even redder than it already is from playing. He says something back, his hands gesturing like he's telling Sean off. Then he looks in my direction.

I don't meet his eyes. When I look up, Kush is fishing keys out of his gym bag. He throws them to Sean before running back onto the field.