The Girl Who Fell (37 page)

I press.

“Zephyr? Is that you? Are you all right?”

The immediate push of his concern startles me but I gather purchase. “N-no. Not even close.”

“What can I do? I never meant for that to happen, you just made me so jealous. See me. Let me apologize in person. Please, Zephyr.”

“Alec.” A beat. A slice in time. “This is over.”

“Don't say that. I love you, Zephyr. Can't you see that's why this happened in the first place? Don't do this to me. To us.”

I take a deep breath, stand. Steel my nerves. “There is no us.”

“Forgive me.”

A shudder mangles me.

“Give me another chance. Things can be perfect again.”

Things were never perfect.

“It is so too late for that.” I lean against the door, begging it for strength.

“Zephyr, don't do this.”

My mind bends to the day on the swing set and then to the park. His car in the woods. The past. I press my thumb hard into the bump on my skull and a lightning bolt scorches, reminding me of the now.

“Don't come near me again.” I flick off the call and there's an unyielding pain in my chest that has nothing to do with my bruised ribs.

A second later, Cee Lo. Lizzie grabs the phone from my hand, mutes the ring. “I was thinking you should come over to my place. Get your shit together before school tomorrow.”

School? Tomorrow? Monday.

“You'll be safe there. Besides, I don't think you're ready to face your mom.”

“Oh shit, my mom.”

“I texted her from your phone last night. Everything's cool. She'll be back tonight around dinner.”

She returns my phone and I see the seventeen missed calls. Seventeen voice mails. All from Alec. I block his number, delete the thread of our texts. It's not much, but it's a start.

“Get dressed. Eat something if you can. I'll clean up the kitchen.”

I don't ask whether she's talking about the dishes from this morning or the chaos of last night. What I do know is that it's not her disaster to clean up.

“I need to stay here.”

“Alone? No way. You were a mess when I got here and there is no way I'm leaving you alone so he can come over here and finish what he started.”

“He won't, Lizzie.”

She spurts disbelief. “How can you say that?”

“I know him. He flipped last night because of Gregg and the wedding, but he won't come back.”

“I won't leave you.”

“You can't stay with me forever.”

“We're not talking about forever, Zee; we're talking about the day after your ex went psycho on you.”

I peel my back from the brace of the wall. “I need some time alone. To figure shit out, get my head straight for tomorrow morning when Olivia and I call Boston College. I can't focus on anything else, Lizzie. I can't fuck this up again.”

“Shit, Zee. That's tomorrow? Could it be worse timing?”

“No, it's perfect. It's exactly what I need. I need to move on. Put this behind me. Trust me.”

She finally concedes. “But I'm calling every hour to check on you. Maybe every half hour.”

“Deal.”

Lizzie moves to hug me, wrapping her arms gently over me. She is careful with me, and not only because of my external bruises. “I love you, Zee.”

“I know, and I'm sorry for letting you down.”

“Never apologize. None of this is on you.”

As Lizzie leaves, she tells me, “Keep your door locked.” I do. I bolt the door and humiliation's undertow drags me down. I slink against the wall and lower my core until my bottom connects with the floor.

I curl my knees up and hold them close, the position bringing comfort. And that's when the scene plays out. Me and Alec. Just a few feet away, in the opposite corner of the kitchen. Alec branding me a whore. His elbow jammed into my head. His shoe splitting my ribs. Him begging for forgiveness.

And before. How he loved me.

Cooked for me.

Brought me my acceptance letter like a gift.

Held me closer than I thought one person could wrap another.

Mom and I sit at the island the next morning linked by a suspended hope. Me, too aware of my hidden bruises, determined to move beyond all my mistakes. Mom with her need to protect me, fix what went wrong—the parts she knows about, anyway. I want this second chance with Boston College so badly it hurts more than my physical wounds. We listen to the clock tick and neither of us talks about the wedding or Dad or anything other than this goal before us. And when it is five minutes past nine o'clock, Mom picks up the phone, dials the number printed at the top of my acceptance letter.

“Yes, I'd like to speak with the dean of admissions, please. Tell her Olivia Doyle's calling in regards to an acceptance packet my daughter received.”

In no time, I listen to Mom go into professional argument mode. No blame, no presumptions. Just facts spread out between two adults. There's been a mistake, she says. We'd like to remedy it, she says. She's careful not to reveal why this mistake occurred, but so articulate in providing options, solutions. She is powerful and believable and I think she could get anyone to see our way. But it is the silence when Mom's not talking that kills me.

When Mom hangs up, she brushes the front of her wrinkle-free suit. “I think it's good. The dean asked that you come for an interview a week from Thursday.” Mom sets the date and time in her phone and I do the same. “This will be your opportunity to reaffirm your commitment to the school.” She studies me for that commitment. “She's doing you a huge favor, Zephyr. Most kids don't get one chance at this school.”

“I know. You won't regret this, Mom.”

“But don't count on anything, Zephyr. She said this is highly unusual and it sends up some red flags.”

“I know.”

“So we'll need to prepare you, no different than how I prepare a defendant. We'll get you ready to handle questions from any angle. You'll need to prove you're capable of the social and academic challenges Boston College will demand. And that you regret declining their offer of acceptance.”

I do. “I will, Mom. I've never been more ready. I've already contacted the field hockey coach. I want to see her when we're on campus.”

She pulls on her coat. “Good.” She fastens her last button. “These are good first steps, Zephyr. Strong steps.”

And I feel it, the tidal wave of Mom's help and how she reached the dean. Maybe before my packet did.

But as I drive to school, I almost bail a hundred times.

Because I can't see him.

I won't see him.

I inhale deep abdominal breaths and exhale through my nose, a calming technique Coach taught me that is having zero effect on my spiraling nerves.

But I can't run away. Can't let Alec take more.

I walk across the parking lot and through the halls, kaleidoscoping glances in every direction, searching through the crowds.

But it's not Alec waiting at my locker.

Gregg points to the slight limp in my gait. “You hurt?”

“Twisted my ankle running.” Lie.

“Not dancing?” He winks.

“That I escaped injury free.” Half lie.

“So are you going to tell me why you left the reception without saying good-bye?”

“Headache.”

He looks at me hard, suspicious. “Feeling better?”

“Much.” A lie trifecta.

“Can you hobble over there?” He signals toward the front lobby. “I want you to see something.” I walk beside him, an imposter faking health.

The red entry doors approach. I could leave. It is a bossy temptation. But I refuse to run.

Gregg halts in front of the award case. There's a new, three-tiered trophy, gleaming silver:
SUDBURY HIGH SCHOOL FIELD HOCKEY STATE CHAMPIONS
. A female figure stands on top, a field hockey stick in hand, the wind in her immortalized hair.

The playoff game meets me here. The lights. The crowd. The green of the grass. I search the team picture propped next to the trophy, me smiling with victory. I feel that girl in me still.

“Cool, right?” Gregg says. “That trophy should have your name on it.”

“As if.”

“Oh right. I mean, you're lucky your team let you sit on the sidelines while they brought home the championship.”

I smile, try to play along with his joke. But it is just that, a joke. The truth is that I played my ass off. For four years. And I want to be that girl again. “I'm not going to Michigan.”

Gregg's posture bolts with the surprise.

“I'm going to try to play for Boston College. If they'll have me.”

“I thought you said—”

“I did.” I straighten, ignore the twist in my side. “It was a mistake.”

“And what about Alec?”

“No Alec. No Michigan. It's Boston College like we always talked about.”

“So did you guys . . . ?”

“Break up? Yeah.”

“Damn!” Gregg looks all impressed with himself.

“What?”

He shrugs like it's nothing. Then, “That must have been some kiss at the wedding.”

It's impossible not to laugh at his idiocy. “Yep, you got me. That's why we broke up. Oh, except for the fact that we split up before the wedding.”

“Huh, so it wasn't because of me?” He winks.

“Not because of you.”

“You doing okay?” Gregg asks.

“Are you?”

“Me? I didn't break up with Alec.”

“No, but I think I owe you a million apologies. For pulling away like I did. I just didn't see it. I couldn't see it, you know?” I feel that lump rise in my throat, the unwelcome reminder of how much emotion I invested in a boy. The wrong boy. “That's not true. The truth is I didn't want to see how my relationship with Alec was driving all this distance between you and me. I never wanted that. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Done.” He bends to shove at my shoulder. He bites back on all the other stuff he wants to say and I am grateful.

“Let me make it up to you?”

“No need,” Gregg says. “We're cool.”

We walk to French class and I grab his forearm as we enter the room. “Sit with me.”

Gregg claims his old seat and Alec never arrives. It adds a layer of torment, trying to calculate when he'll show.

Gregg nods toward Alec's empty chair. “Guess he doesn't want another shiner.”

I can't think what Gregg would do to Alec if he knew the whole story.

But I don't tell him. I'll never tell him.

When class is over I shuffle off to English, my books already tucked under my arm in an effort to avoid my locker. My elbow forms a hard pointed angle and somewhere, somehow, Alec's blow hits me again. So hard I have to steady myself against the lockers. My breathing turns shallow and I wonder how long it will take until I forget. If I'll forget.

Someone asks me if I'm all right and I wave them off. I'll be fine, I tell myself. Just fine. And I will be. I can't doubt that.

I head to the bathroom and my phone rings. A number I don't recognize. I squeeze out a tentative, “Hello?”

“This is Atlantic Veterinary. We've been notified by the credit card company that a Mr. Alec Lord contested the charges for Finn Doyle so we'll need someone to come to the office with a check.”

Anger rises in me.

But, then . . . maybe this is a good thing.

Alec's pulling away from me.

“I'll be by tomorrow.” I flick off my phone. I'll talk to Mom about the vet tonight. Right now nothing matters beyond Finn being home safe, and me arriving that way too.

I splash water on my face. I can finish this day.

I rejoin the crowded halls and head toward English until I stop short, my lungs firing.

Because Alec waits at the stairwell.

I turn sharply to avoid him but he races to me, hooks my waist. Pulls me beyond the crowd.

“I need to tell you how sorry I am.”

“You said that already.”

“But you didn't hear me. It's killing me not to be with you, Zephyr.” He ducks his head close to mine, whispers. “Yesterday was unbearable. I'd do anything to make you forgive me. Take me back, give me another chance.”

“I can't.”

“You can. I know you want to.” His hand lowers onto the slip of my back. “Don't give up on what we had. I love you.”

But I don't see love. I see the moment when my fingers calculated the distance from the knife set. My heart quickens, reliving it. Again.

And I think I won't survive months of this. Him skulking out of corners, tugging at my sanity. “If you come near me at school, I'll get a restraining order.” I don't know if orders of protection are granted to teenagers but the threat is enough to make his hand drop away.

“Zephyr, please.”

I leave him and his pleas in my wake, but I am still haunted by shadows.

In the library, I bury myself in the stacks until it's dark, until I know Alec's at practice. I call Lizzie when I'm in my car. “I'm heading home.”

“You want me to come over?”

I buckle in, turn on the defroster. “It's been a long day.”

“Call me when you get there.”

“Promise.”

I pull out of the parking lot and the dark asks me to remember the abandoned building site with Alec, our forest bed. I wonder how long flashbacks of Alec will bubble up. The good memories hurt more than the welts. I'm assaulted by all the things I wanted. All the ways I messed up.

And I wonder how a heart can hold so much pain when it is a fist of an organ. Yet it throbs. It
feels
torn and shredded. It hangs dense in my chest, remembering its wounds.

I turn off the main road and the Ashland Drive pole has a cap of ice at the top, like the snow cones Dad would drizzle with maple syrup. I slow, the road frozen and rutted. My car bounces over the deep channels, spaghetting my spine.