Dare to Fall

by Estelle Maskame

  How can Jaden be so positive? It’s unbelievable, and learning what to say around him is quickly proving to be a tough process. “Okay,” I say, nodding. I’ll try again. I’ll try harder to talk to him the way I used to. I’ll talk to him about all of the things we used to talk about together. That’s what he wants, I hope. It’s what I want too.

  Jaden’s still watching me, his eyes boring into mine as though he’s analyzing me. Slowly, I move closer and sit down on the edge of his bed next to him. My eyes find Jaden’s again, and he’s waiting patiently for me to say something. And I do have some questions that I want to know the answers to. I feel like I don’t know him anymore, even though in the back of my mind I know that I do.

  “Have you applied to colleges yet?”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, Jaden sits up. We’re at opposite corners of the bed, with several feet separating us, yet I still feel so close to him. “Yeah,” he answers after a moment. “I still have a couple more schools to apply to and then I’m done. Have you?”

  I shake my head and shrug. “I really need to get started, but I’m so undecided. I settled with Colorado State because it’s a safe bet, but now I’m not so sure.” The last thing I want to do is go to the same college as Darren, but I don’t mention this to Jaden. “I’ll probably just end up applying to half the schools in the state. I visited the Boulder campus in the summer and it was pretty nice.”

  “I’ve applied for a couple out of state,” Jaden tells me. A year ago, he didn’t want to leave Colorado. He was happy to go to school here, but it seems his mind has changed. He said yesterday that he was planning to leave Windsor, but I didn’t realize he is hoping to leave Colorado too.

  “Where?”

  “Notre Dame and Florida State,” he says, running a hand through his hair to push it back off his forehead as he drops his gaze to his lap, his legs extending in front of him. “I probably won’t get in, but it’s worth a shot. I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life in Colorado, you know?” He glances back up again. “Especially Windsor.”

  “I know what you mean. I can cope with living in Colorado, just as long as it’s not here.” I glance around the room again, drawn back to the mini football on the shelf just above Jaden’s head. “Didn’t you want to try for a football scholarship?”

  “No. Honestly, I’m not even into football that much. I only signed up because I was trying to be cool back in freshman year,” he says with a laugh, covering his face with his hand in embarrassment. “I wasn’t even that good of a linebacker,” he continues as his eyes flicker back to mine, “and the only reason I’ve actually been a decent player this season is because I discovered I tackle a lot better when I’ve got something to be angry about. I get to hit people and not be arrested for it, so yeah.” A pleased smile appears on his face and then he glances away again, grabbing the TV remote. I know what he is referring to, but I don’t want to ask about it.

  “Holden tried for one,” I say as he flits through the channels once more. “He needs one so badly, but he started messing up his chances last year. He’s not been playing as well as he used to, grades started dropping, all that shit. He gets in the worst moods about it, so don’t take the way he acted last night personally.”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” Jaden says. He settles for an old SNL rerun with Jonah Hill and tosses the remote back down again as he turns to look at me. I can see the birthmark on his neck again, but I don’t dare tell him out loud that I think it’s cute. “At practice you can tell he’s stressed out. Coach is losing patience with him. He’s got a hell of an attitude, doesn’t he?” I roll my eyes and nod in agreement, and a small smirk plays at his lips. “Funny thing is, we used to get along pretty well. He stopped talking to me last year. Have you got anything to do with that, MacKenzie?”

  Color immediately rises to my cheeks and I find myself turning red with humiliation. “I may have . . . ” I mumble, but I’m too embarrassed to admit it. Out loud, it makes me sound like the worst person in the world, but Jaden deserves the truth. Not all of it, not yet, but I at least need to make a start. “Holden and Will have stayed clear of you because I asked them to,” I admit. “I’m sorry.” My face feels so hot, and I throw my head back and cover my face with both hands, unable to look at him. Even though he’s only messing around with me, I still try my hardest to hide the shame in my eyes.

  “That’s not cool, you know,” he says gently, his tone changing. Suddenly the mattress beneath me shifts and a moment later, Jaden’s hands are gently grasping mine. Carefully, he moves my hands away from my face, his skin calloused but warm against mine. My breath catches in my throat as my eyes flicker open again. Jaden is on his knees in front of me, his blue eyes smoldering down at me. My gaze mirrors his as I look up at him, then glance down at our hands, and back up. “I just want to ask one thing . . . ” he murmurs. “Why? I . . . I needed you, Kenz, and you weren’t there.” He shakes his head at me, letting go of my hands.

  I feel my heart breaking and cutting through my chest when he says this out loud. I knew he needed me, which is why I have felt so guilty and so awful that I couldn’t be there for him, but actually hearing him tell me this himself is gut-wrenching. All of the oxygen in the room seems to disappear. I knew eventually I would have to answer this question, but I’m still struggling to put it into words.

  How do I tell Jaden that I was scared everything would be different? How do I tell him that grief terrifies me? How do I tell him that it was easier to step back than to step up? How do I tell Jaden that I know what it feels like, in my own way, and that I didn’t even know how to make my own mom feel better, let alone him?

  A lump rises in my throat and I swallow hard. I reach for Jaden’s hands again, feeling desperate now, and intertwine our fingers tightly, then squeeze, searching for reassurance. Our eyes are still locked and Jaden doesn’t break the intense contact, but he does rub his thumb over mine as he waits. Finally, I exhale and with great trepidation, I whisper, “I didn’t know what to do or what to say to make it okay. I didn’t know how to make you feel better. I didn’t know if you would still be . . . I didn’t know if you would still be Jaden. This Jaden.” I give him a small nod, but my voice feels weak. Admitting what I’ve done wrong is hard. “It was easier to just stay away. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have avoided you for so long.”

  “Kenzie,” Jaden murmurs. He lets go of one of my hands again and then moves his to my shoulder, delicately brushing his thumb against my neck as he tilts his head down toward me, looking back at me. “It’s okay. I get it,” he reassures me, though I’m not entirely convinced that he’s forgiven me. “You’re here now, right? That’s what counts, so please don’t disappear on me again. I can only deal with the girl I like cutting me off once.” He laughs a little to lighten the mood, then he retreats, releasing his hold on my hand and my shoulder. With his back to me, he slides off the bed and walks over to his TV. “Hey, I know,” he says, grabbing one of the games from next to his Xbox. Spinning back to look at me with a playful grin on his face, he holds up the game and winks. “How about a good old traditional game of Grand Theft Auto since you love stealing cars from innocent civilians?”

  I laugh out loud and it feels so good to laugh alongside Jaden again. Quickly, I nod in agreement and shift forward into position on his bed as he sets up the game. It feels just like old times, sitting in Jaden’s room, staring at the emboldened vein that runs down the side of his neck as he slots the GTA disc into the console. I’ve missed how carefree everything felt with Jaden, how playful and spontaneous and easy everything was, and the only thing running through my mind as I watch him right now are the words that escaped his lips only a minute ago.

  I can only deal with the girl I like cutting me off once.

  Present tense, and enough for my lips to curve into a smile.

  It’s after midnight by the time Jaden and I quietly sneak back downstairs and he shows me out. I didn’t intend to stay so late, but it’s not exactly like
we were watching the time. One game rolled into another, and then another, and then another. It wasn’t until Jaden’s phone vibrated with a text from Dani asking us to shut up because she was trying to sleep that we realized just how late it was, and that I should probably get going.

  The house is in darkness and the candles in the hall have been blown out, but the scent of cinnamon remains. There’s complete silence too, and it seems Terry and Nancy have turned in for the night, so I follow quietly behind Jaden down into the hall. When we get to the foot of the staircase, Jaden reaches back to gently grasp my wrist, and then his hand slides down into mine. He leads me over to the front door and the glow from the streetlights outside shines through the glass, illuminating his face as I turn to look at him one last time before I go. He lets go of my hand again and I have to force myself not to care too much about it.

  “Thanks for today,” I murmur in a hushed voice as I step into my shoes. “The bowling and everything . . . I had fun.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replies, and I’m reminded of just how raspy and attractive Jaden sounds when he whispers, especially when he’s smiling his signature crooked smile at me the way he is now. I can appreciate it again now that I’ve realized it’s as sincere and real as it’s always been, and not just some fake grin he’s putting on to fool everyone into believing he was okay. He is okay.

  We stand opposite one another for a moment. Everything is so still and quiet that I’m afraid to move, afraid to shatter this silent connection between the two of us. I can just about make out all of his features as I wonder what I’m doing here, standing in front of Jaden Hunter in the dark. I thought I came here because I felt guilty. I thought I came here because I owed it to him. I thought I came here because I was wrong about him being different. I thought I came here because I enjoyed being around him earlier.

  But I don’t think that’s why I came. I think I came because somewhere at the back of my mind, I’m wondering: What if? I’m only realizing that now as I find myself unable to wipe the smile off my face simply because Jaden is staring back me with those damn blue eyes. I can almost feel the weight of the question pressing down on me.

  What if we could still be something more?

  I’m feeling reluctant to leave, a wave of confidence hits me and I just can’t hold myself back. Reaching up, I place my hand flat against the warm skin of Jaden’s neck, slowly brushing my thumb over his birthmark. “Cute,” I whisper.

  Embarrassed, he quickly places his hand on top of mine and moves it away, blushing. He tilts his chin down in an effort to hide the birthmark, then he looks back across at me as silence forms around us. My pulse begins to race as the gaze we’re sharing intensifies and I swallow, parting my lips slightly. I wonder whether or not Jaden is going to make a move.

  But he doesn’t. He lets go of my hand and steps back, then quietly murmurs, “Goodnight, Kenz,” as he unlocks the front door and pulls it open. The cold night air immediately drifts over us and the sudden chill brings me back to reality.

  “Goodnight, Jaden.”

  We exchange one final smile and then I head outside onto the porch with Mom’s car keys jingling in my hand. The wind has also picked up and it blows my hair across my face, so I keep my head down and half jog to the car, but I stop as I’m passing Brad’s boat. I look at it for a second, but it looks even sadder abandoned out here when it’s dark, and then I turn back around to face the porch. Jaden’s still at the front door, leaning against the frame, watching me as I leave.

  “Do you ever take the boat out these days?” I call out to him across the lawn, holding my hand over my eyes to shield my face from the wind.

  Jaden’s quiet for a second as he glances over to the boat in the corner. Expression blank, he stares at it for several seconds before his eyes move back to me. “Not anymore,” he says with a small shrug.

  I nod once and then turn back to Mom’s Prius, running down the driveway, throwing the car door open, and sliding into the driver’s seat. I start up the engine, desperate to turn on the heating. I’m not wearing a jacket, so I’m pretty cold. I just want to get home, so I give Jaden one final wave. I don’t want to leave, but I know I have to.

  And as I drive home, I can’t decide whether I’m disappointed or relieved that he didn’t make a move, because I’m not sure whether or not I would have allowed him to.

  I think, just maybe, I would have.

  13

  I wake suddenly to the sound of Mom banging her fist against my door, calling my name and threatening that this is my last chance to get out of bed before she drags me out on her own. I’m confused at first as I try to peel open my eyelids, but I’ve slept with my makeup on and my mascara has clumped together, sealing my eyes shut. I force them open and sit up, squinting at the sunlight that’s streaming in through a gap in my blinds. I feel more tired than usual, and when I rake my hand under my comforter in search for my phone to check the time, I’m shocked to see that it’s almost noon.

  Groaning, I tilt my head back and run my hands through my hair, but I immediately feel a painful strain in the back of my neck. I carefully massage the area, wondering what the hell I’ve done to myself, until I remember . . . I twist my body around and grab my pillow, lifting it up to reveal the bottle of red wine that I hid there last night. Ugh. The bright side is that Mom hasn’t discovered it, but the downside is that I slept on it.

  Sliding out of bed, I stretch my legs, and then my neck in an attempt to relieve the strain. I can already smell Mom’s cooking wafting upstairs and I know I should be downstairs helping before the family arrives so I quickly grab the bottle of wine and carry it over to my window. I lean out and dispose of it by pouring the liquid out onto the roof. It dribbles down the roof tiles, into the gutter, down the drainpipe and is gone forever. It’s not something I do often, but I do it whenever I get the chance. Mom would be furious if she knew, not only for wasting her wine, but for throwing away money. But so far she hasn’t ever caught me.

  I pull my window shut again and hide the empty bottle at the back of my closet, then make a quick dash next door to the bathroom. I’m trying to be as quick as I can before Mom truly gets fed up, so I throw my hair up into a messy bun and jump into the shower.

  I end up being in there for way longer than I plan on, because I spend the entire time thinking about last night, thinking about Jaden. We spent the evening together, just the two of us, for the first time in a year, and it was amazing. The awkwardness was gone. It was exactly like it used to be, and I am full of hope now that we can do it again. I miss him already. I feel giddy when I do finally get out of the shower, making my way downstairs, following the smell of ham into the kitchen, where Mom is frantically flitting between dishes. There is also a whiff of wine in the air, but I pretend not to notice it.

  “Can I help with anything?” I offer, feeling a little sheepish that I’m only now arriving to help. Usually I give her a hand with the vegetables, but by the look of the mess in here, it seems she’s already done it all on her own.

  “It’s fine. I’ve got it,” she fires back over her shoulder without missing a beat. As always, she’s a little stressed out, and she exhales loudly and rubs at her temple while stealing a peek inside the Crock-Pot. “Just set the table, please.”

  I do as she asks, heading for the cupboard to search for the placemats that were last used a month ago when we had the family over. For as long as I can remember, it’s been a tradition in my family that we all get together one Sunday each month. Mom always goes all out and cooks a big meal, so it’s a nice change from our usual burgers or takeout.

  With our backs to each other, I set the table for eight while Mom continues to prepare the meal behind me, and just as I’m arranging all the knives, she clears her throat and asks, “How was your night with Jaden?”

  I don’t answer her immediately, and I definitely don’t turn around to look at her. Truthfully, last night was a lot better than I ever expected it to be. “It was good,” I answer casu
ally. I don’t want to tell Mom everything, and luckily she doesn’t ask anything more on the matter, so I finish up setting the table in silence.

  Once I’m happy with my neat arrangement of the utensils, I shift over to Mom’s side and open the top cupboard to fetch eight glasses, but as I’m setting them down along the countertop in front of me, I spot the wine glasses and champagne flutes up on the top shelf. Frowning, I glance sideways at Mom, but she’s too busy staring into the oven to notice. “Can I ask you a favor?”

  “Which is?” she says without looking over. She tilts her head to one side as she studies the tray of sweet potatoes she’s trying so hard not to burn like last time, but her balance sways a little.

  “Please don’t drink today,” I say, though I think it’s too late.

  The moment the words leave my mouth, Mom heaves a sigh and slams the oven door shut, straightening up and spinning around to face me. Her features tighten in disapproval. “I can have a glass of wine with my food, Kenzie,” she tells me in a stern, matter-of-fact voice. “The same way your dad will have a beer with his.”

  “But it’s never just one, is it?”

  Mom stares at me with widened eyes as though I’m verbally attacking her, but the truth is, I’m just telling it like it is. It’s a simple request for her own good. I’m getting real sick of her sneaking into the kitchen to pour herself another glass late at night, sending me to the store to buy another bottle, and for sincerely believing that there’s nothing wrong with drinking as much as she does. It’s even worse when the rest of the family is here, because I see the pitiful looks they give her across the table whenever she reaches for the bottle to top up her glass.

  “I don’t have time for this right now,” she says, waving me away as she turns back to the oven, bending down to peer inside it again. “You know it’s just a comfort thing.”