The Girl Who Fell (20 page)

“You scared out here all alone?” I slip behind the wheel and scratch his head. “You'll feel better when we get home,” I tell him.

And I want this to be true for both of us.

I bring Finn into my bedroom and set him onto a nest of blankets on my bed. He folds lazily, curls into himself. I fetch water, but he refuses it. I crawl onto the bed, wrapping his body with my own, and stroke him along the white patch that marks his breast. An occasional gurgle spills from his insides.

“Did you get into something, boy?” I nuzzle against his soft head. “You'll be okay. I promise.”

I stroke his legs, down to his snow white paws. His fur is so soft and soothing that I close my eyes. When I do, I think of Alec.

It's impossible to stop picturing Alec in his room, his defensive posture turned away from me. He was so honest about feeling threatened by my friendship with Gregg. So vulnerable and trusting. Why didn't I just tell him I was going to Gregg's and that he had nothing to be jealous of? Why didn't I tell him Thanksgiving night on the phone? Tell him everything?

But I know. I know and I don't want to know. That parts of Gregg live in that deep, secret space within me too. Last night made me realize that.

I text Alec:
Please talk to me.

An alert from HOCKEY BOY pops up almost immediately and that's something. It is a fragile wisp of hope and I cling to it like a lifeline. Then, I read his response.
I need time
.

How much?

Crickets build a symphony in the silence. I refresh my phone maniacally, this whole thing making me mental. It's a miracle I fall asleep, but the morning doesn't bring me the text I'd been hoping for. I am greeted only by the sun, strangled by sadness.

I roll over in bed, lacking the energy to pull myself vertical, let alone shower or get dressed. I feel hollowed and vow I'll never keep the truth from Alec again. If I haven't lost him already, that is.

Finn shares my agony; he remains as mopey and withdrawn as I am.

Until I hear Alec's engine, thick with power as it approaches the house slowly over our rutted driveway. Even Finn's ears perk. Alec's car sounds like forgiveness. Like a second chance. I jump up, pull on a clean hoodie, and smooth my hair. I run to the kitchen. The engine purrs louder. Closer.

My pulse races faster than I can make my limbs move. I'm breathless by the time I reach the door, an apology wrapped in a promise hanging from my lips. I hear the cut of the engine, the whine of the heavy car door opening and then the slam of it closing. I grab at the kitchen door handle and yank it wide as a bloom of cold air rushes in.

My muscles freeze.

My head scrambles.

My heart drops.

“Gregg?”

“Zeph.” He gives me a wink. “Nice bed head.”

My brain empties. I'm only vaguely aware I've stepped aside to welcome him in when he crosses the threshold. I stare at the car in the driveway, Gregg's father's old truck. The engine too much like Alec's.

Fading hope shrivels me.

I close the door slowly, taking a deep gulp of the winter air. Finn greets Gregg with a slow but eager tail wag.

“What are you doing here?” My words are tight. Because he is not Alec. He's not the forgiveness I crave.

“Thought we could go for a drive up into the mountains like we used to.”

“I can't,” I say, too quickly.

He holds up his hands, surrender style. “Whoa, it was an invitation, Zee, not an attack.”

My head is a mess. “I know. It's just . . .”

“What's going on?”

“I'm kind of in the middle of this thing with Alec.”

“Alec's here?”

I shake my head.

Gregg pulls up a seat at the island. “Then I fail to see how your ‘thing' with Alec affects me and you hanging out. You and I aren't complicated, Zeph. I thought we established this on Thanksgiving. That was you at my place, being my friend again, wasn't it?”

“Yes, but I made this stupid mistake and Alec and I got into this huge fight and we're kind of at a critical place right now.”

“How does your ‘critical place' ”—he makes air quotes—“have anything to do with me?”

“Because you were the mistake.” I stride along the edge of the counter hearing how awful that sounds. “I mean, not
you
, exactly, but hanging out with you. I didn't tell Alec and he's so hurt.”

“Wait. What? You're not allowed to hang out with me?”

When he says it like that it sounds impossibly horrible. “No. It's just that Alec's really jealous.”

“Of what?” His stare is laser sharp.

“Of you. He's jealous of you.”

Then Gregg's face breaks open in a laugh. “Me? That's a good one. He's the one who got the girl, Zephyr, not me. Maybe you need to remind him of that.”

I'd remind him if he'd talk to me. “It's just that you and I have all this history together. Alec feels . . . well he's not totally comfortable with us hanging out since I told him how you kissed me.”

I should have just slapped him; it would have been kinder.

“Since you told him I kissed you? Huh. Well, all right then. There's that.” Gregg stands, his palms pressed against the edge of the island. He taps the side of his thumb on the counter the way I've seen him do countless times before.

“Well you can tell Alec that my visit was an innocent one. I just came to tell you something but now I'm afraid it falls under the traitorous
too much history
category you two have so deftly established. I thought—stupidly it seems—that you might like to know a letter came from the coach at Boston College, basically offering me a spot on the team.”

“What?” A shocked puff of air. “I didn't know you were accepted.”

“I'm not, technically. I have to apply. But it looks like they want me. That's why I came over. Because you're still the first person I want to tell news like this to.”

I pace my side of the island, trapped. I smell the fresh earth in the room with us, freshly potted rosemary, too happy.

“I guess it was too much to expect a congratulations, maybe even a hug. Or, I don't know, let's just think wild for a minute and maybe, just maybe, you could choke out an ‘
I'm happy for you, Gregg
.' ”

“I am.” I am. But Gregg here now, Gregg in Boston next year. It's all just bad timing. “I'm so ridiculously happy for you and I want to celebrate with you, but it can't be today.”

“Why not?”

“I just . . .” God, I don't even know. “I just need a little space right now.”

He plants his thumb at his chest. “You need space from me?”

“I know it doesn't make any sense and I promise I'll work it all out and everything will be fine, but for now . . . do this for me. Please.”

“If that's what you want.”

“It's just the way it is. For now,” I add quickly.

Gregg neatly tucks the chair under the lip of the island before walking to the door. “I'd try to duck out with dignity but I think we both know that's not going to happen.” He reaches for the doorknob.

“Gregg . . .”

“Bye, Zephyr.” He disappears outside before I can take another breath. Finn whimpers at the closed door, Gregg on the wrong side.

I slide my back down the length of the wall and Finn comforts me as my bottom finds the floor. I'm grateful dogs never know when we don't deserve their affection.

When the sound of Gregg's truck disappears, I run down our road. I reach the mailbox and the weight of this moment siphons oxygen from the atmosphere. I flick my fingers over the door and open it quickly as if the metal is hot.

I remove the contents. Two items.

A cable bill.

And a letter for me.

But not the one I've hoped for. This square envelope is thick with weight. There is no return address so I know the sender instantly. I rip at the flap, tear the card free as the envelope falls to the ground, a scattered leaf among pine needles.

I gobble up Alec's words. In his handwriting. All for me.

There is never enough time with you, Zephyr Doyle.

Love, A.

I scramble for the envelope, inspect the postmark date. Three days ago.

Before I disappointed him.

I bolt into the house, find my phone. I pace my room as Alec's voicemail picks up. Just hearing his outgoing message is enough to shatter me.

Then, the beep.

“Alec, it's Zephyr. Your card came today and it's perfect. You are perfect. I don't want to leave this on a voice mail, but needed to tell you that Gregg stopped by this morning and I told him we couldn't hang out. That was it. I wanted you to know it happened, even though nothing really happened because I don't want to keep anything from you ever ag—” A heartless
beep
severs my call and I am not entirely sure if the message was sent and cut off or if rambling-long messages don't get sent at all.

I am too full of cowardice to redial.

But in this moment I know why Mom let Dad back into her life. I would do anything to have Alec back.

Lizzie calls me early Monday morning, before I'm even dressed for school. “I have news. Meet me before homeroom.”

“I'm not going to school.” It's a lie. Sort of.

“Why? Avoiding your coach?”

Shit. I forgot about Coach. She'll want to ream me for missing the trophy presentation and I can't take someone else hating on me right now. “Not feeling great.”

“Okay, if I can't tell you in person, the news must slip over the wire: I got the internship.” She waits a half beat before adding, “At the
New York
freaking
Times
!”

There is a skip somewhere deep in my chest. Like this accomplishment of Lizzie's has happened for me too. “Lizzie, this is huge!”

“My dad's the one who got it for me. I asked for a favor from one of the guys he worked with . . . over there.” Lizzie's father was an embedded reporter in Afghanistan. Lots of guys from the platoon he was assigned to still keep in touch with Lizzie and her mom. “It's not like I earned it.”

“Of course you did! Anyone can do a favor, Lizzie, but you're
worth
doing a favor for. Don't believe for a second you didn't earn this.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” I swallow hard because Lizzie is leaving me. And because I have no idea where I'll be next year. That's when it hits me that her accomplishment isn't mine at all. “You better not turn into a Yankees fan or anything.”

She laughs and it sounds different, like parts of her are already gone.

“So, when does it start?” I almost choke on the next part. “When do you leave?”

“Right after graduation.”

“In
June
?”

“Change is all around us, Zee.” The line falls quiet—but not the comfortable quiet of years together. The air, along with our future, has shifted. “I plan to do a feature story on you discovering some insanely relevant aquatic life form someday. That is, after I spend quality time fetching coffee for the
actual
writers.”

“You're going to be a rock star.” I hate the jealousy creeping in, filling the cracks carved by my growing insecurities.

“I'll settle for being employable at the end of the internship.”

“You'll never have to settle. You'll see.”

When will
I
see? When will I know what my next years will look like? It physically hurts having this little control over the outcome of my life.

I wish I were a better friend, someone who could feel joy for Lizzie without thinking of what I want for me. But I'm not. My head clutters with this new trifecta of abandonment: Lizzie in New York, Alec going to Michigan, and Gregg bound for Boston. Quicksand tugs at my feet. I'll be stuck in this town with no future. No friends. It will be as lonely as I am now. Or worse, and that I couldn't stand.

We say our good-byes and my bedroom walls breathe in, shrinking. How can four years of careful planning and calculated extracurriculars result in my entire future hanging on the decision of one school's acceptance board? How did I give over so much control?

I move to the bathroom to splash water on my face, brush my teeth. I coil toothpaste onto my brush and a hint of mint rises. It settles inside me, waking that part of me that Alec owns. The part he brought to life. Maybe I can't control the Boston College admissions board, my friends leaving, or even what will happen with my parents, but I can affect what happens between me and Alec.

I dress precisely and slip into school after homeroom, keeping my attendance off the radar. Alec has free study first period and I find him in his usual spot in the library. He's tucked into the overstuffed chair that is hidden on two sides by obsolete card catalogs. The toes of his Converse peek out from where they rest on the ottoman just beyond the barrier. I steel my breath, brace myself against the wooden wall of Dewey for strength.

I can't do this. I hate eyes on me.

But then. No, I need to do this. Because I can't imagine what my life will be like if I don't do this.

The librarian's desk faces the nook where Alec sits, but she has her back turned, her attention focused on her file cabinet. Then she gets up, disappears into the records office.

I pull my coat tighter around me and move into Alec's space. He looks up, his face opening with surprise before his features withdraw into the memory of why he's mad at me.

I stand, wordless. I raise my fingers to the top button of my peacoat, unbutton it with a twist. Then the next button and the next. My coat falls open. I tug at one side, pull it down slowly. I let my coat slip along the length of my arms, its wool weight collapsing to the floor at my feet, exposing me in an enormously tiny black dress, every curve outlined. I steady, step out of the pool of fabric, stride toward him, making sure to rub my knee against the knob of his. He swallows hard, speech humming on his lips.