My future. Funniest joke I’ve heard this week. Maybe I could do this, moving from one job to another, building shit. Fixing things. Hell, I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like the kind of future you plan for, though.
“Say something,” he says, definitely annoyed now.
“Wow.” It’s all I can manage.
I breathe in hard through my nose and the sickly sweet taste of fruit blooms in the back of my mouth. Cherries, but not real ones. Cherries like that air freshener from my car. The car I had before my mom sold it to cover my bail.
Denny is pissed and his mouth is moving fast, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. It’s not his voice humming in my ears, but fragments of that night all over again.
I thought this thing was going to fall.
Get me off this bridge.
“Paige!” That last one isn’t in my head. From the look on Denny’s face, I said it out loud.
I smear the sweat off my forehead before it drips in my eyes. I’m panting and shaking worse than normal, not just my hands, but a knock, knock, knock of my knees that is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sounding strangled. “I’m not feeling great.”
“Maybe you need to call that doctor of yours,” he says, some of his anger having faded.
“I already have. Waiting for a call back. I need to adjust my meds, I think.”
“You need less of those damn pills, if you ask me.” Denny’s brows pull together under the shadow of his cap. “Look, I can’t have you like this, Theo. You’ve got to pull it together here. This is a job. It’s important.”
“I know.” And I do. He’s the only family I’ve got that hasn’t written me off. And two thousand dollars—it’s a lot of money. A hell of a nice gesture from a guy who’s got a blue tarp covering a hole on the back slope of his roof. “Look, I know you don’t like my meds, but I need them. They keep me in check.”
“Hate to say it, but you don’t look like you’re in check.”
“Give me a little time. A couple of days, and this will all be sorted out.”
I say it like it’s a guarantee, but in truth, I have no idea. I don’t know if what’s happening to me can be blamed on a drug, but what else can I say? I think the bridge might be haunted, and we should call an exorcist? Sounds ridiculous.
Too bad it also feels like the truth.
Paige
Mom knows me best. We all had lunch at Anita’s—me and my parents, Melanie and her mother, and the beloved boyfriend, Joseph. Melanie’s parents, who’d driven us, left after lunch, so Melanie suggested walking back across the bridge.
That part tripped my parents up. They stuttered over half sentences, well aware I wouldn’t want to discuss our location or my incident in front of Melanie. So we didn’t. We walked across without a hitch. If I had something to prove, I proved it. And if I felt like throwing up over the side of the bridge, I thought I hid it well. I was wrong. Mom’s lips have gotten thinner by the hour. She knows something is up.
Now we’re back in my room. Melanie’s off with Joseph, so we’re alone. Dad’s flipping through my experiment book. I’m trying to direct my mom to my syllabus, but she’s not biting. She’s watching me.
I automatically start pulling my hair into a ponytail. My mother’s eyes drift to my fingernails. Bitten raw. Scabbed. I know what she sees, but I also know I’m too late to hide them.
“Samuel, would you run down to the vending machine to get us something to drink?” My mom smiles, but the look doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s hot up here.”
Dad doesn’t even ask what she wants. I’m not sure if it was a marital pact or what, but a long time ago they established roles in this sort of situation. Mom’s job is to talk to me about the anxiety. Dad’s job is to take me to the appointments. I guess you have to split up the work if you have a kid who’s been having panic attacks since third grade.
“You’re struggling,” she says. “Can you tell me what’s happening? Is it your schedule? Being away from home? Are you sleeping?”
I take a breath, deciding. Mom always lays out enough questions to give me options. I’ve often wondered if she picked that up in a parenting book. How to trap your anxious wreck of a kid into giving you answers.
“I’m sleeping,” I say.
“You’re not sleepwalking again, are you?”
“No, Mom, I’m not.” She always stresses about my sleep. My trouble sleeping upset her so much when I was little that she delayed my start in kindergarten a year, hoping I’d grow into more normal patterns. Good thing she gave up on that or I’d still be learning my ABCs.
She takes a step closer, so I know she’s not done. I should have come up with a story, maybe the workload. A bad grade to a test would work, but there isn’t one to report.
“Did something happen?” she asks. This time there isn’t much way around her question.
I shrug. “I ran into Theo.”
“When? How?”
“On the bridge. It was nothing. He was polite.”
My mom’s sharp breath is followed by silence. It’s like being back at the beginning again. Right after the party. I’m in our living room, Dad silently holding my hand. Mom sits on my other side, listing all the reasons to stay away from Theo. He’s dangerous. Unstable. It’s an unhealthy friendship. Probably codependent.
The bad part is that I knew she was right. Being away would probably be best.
Mom rests her hands on my shoulders, her eyes dark and soft. The pain unfurls in my middle, an old wound picked open. It’s fear. I know that. Fear of not having Theo in my life? Or is it fear that I might let him back in?
“You have choices here, Paige.”
“I know.”
“You have options.”
I nod, but I’m holding my breath. I know where she’s going.
“We could take you home,” she says. “There’s no shame in it.”
“No.” I pull away from her. My smile might be too quick, but I have to try. “No, I want to stay.”
“Paige, it’s okay if it’s too much. It’s okay if you’re too afraid.”
Sure, now it’s okay. Anxiety is handy if it’ll keep your only daughter close to home.
Is that so they can make sure I stay away from Theo?
I keep my mouth shut and my breathing steady. I know better than to ask her any of that. She wants me home and I want a life on campus, and we’re not going to see eye to eye on the subject.
As for the Theo stuff, I don’t know what to think. I hate him a little. I love him a lot. I’m feeling plenty of emotions I probably shouldn’t be, but I don’t want to talk about them. Not with her.
Dad comes back in with two bottles of Dr Pepper, and Mom blurts it out.
“She ran into that boy.”
“What? Here on campus?”
“I don’t know much, because she hasn’t filled me in.” She gives me a pointed look. One that says My patience with your silence will not last much longer.
“Honey,” Dad says. He comes close and hugs me until I feel suffocated.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Really. He works here with his uncle every summer.”
Mom’s gasp is soft. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
“There wasn’t a reason to think of it.” I cross my arms. “It doesn’t matter. It was a totally chance encounter.”
At least I think it was. There’s still that awful, nagging question. What if it wasn’t chance? What if he was waiting for me?
Dad sighs. Mom watches me, her gaze long and searching.
“I told her she could come home,” she says, her eyes never leaving mine.
I cross my arms. “And I told her I can do this.”
Dad frowns. “Of course you can. You’ve come a long way from Girl Scout camp.”
Whi
ch would feel a whole lot better if he didn’t mention that camp at every turn. I was terrified back then. Afraid of the bottom bunk. Afraid to walk through the cave. Afraid to climb the rope ladder. Afraid, afraid, afraid.
From third grade to eleventh, my fear was a war and my parents were generals. Counseling, group therapy, medicine, workbooks, aromatherapy—you name it, they tried it. Then Theo hit me. For the first time, my parents didn’t mind that I was terrified.
Ironically, it was the first time I did.
I pull my shoulders back and force myself to make eye contact. “I am a long way from Girl Scout camp. I’m not afraid anymore.”
“But you’re upset,” Mom argues.
“What that boy did to you would frighten anyone,” my dad says, sitting down.
That’s what they call Theo now. That boy. He lost his name when I lost my teeth.
“Theo didn’t mean to hurt me,” I say. “And please don’t start, because I’m not trying to defend him. I’m only saying he’s no one to be afraid of. Especially now.”
Mom crosses her arms. “What do you mean?”
I close my eyes and see him, gaunt and sunburned, lips so chapped they’re cracked. His hands shook terribly. “I think he’s medicated better.”
Better isn’t the right word, but it’s the one they’ll like.
“Well, if you really think—” Dad cuts off midsentence, in the middle of crossing one leg over the other. He plucks at something glittery in the tread of his shoe, tugging it free. When he holds it up, I can see it. Silvery and looped and mangled.
“That’s my earring,” I say.
Dad frowns. “What earring? It looks like a wadded-up paper clip.”
“It’s not,” I say, sounding breathless. “It’s one of the earrings you brought me from Spain.”
“It is?”
“Are you sure?” Mom squints, then waves it away. “Oh, I don’t have my glasses. How on earth did you wind up with that in your shoe?”
“I must have picked it up on the floor,” he says, looking around.
He didn’t pick it up on the floor.
Mom and Dad are lightly arguing about the other earring, looking around the dressers, chattering about where the matching one could be. My ears hollow out, a steady ringing muffling my father’s next words. And then my mother’s reply. Mom checks the small jewelry box on the top of my dresser, and my palms go slick with sweat.
She won’t find it there or anywhere else. Those earrings don’t exist anymore. The first was lost somewhere at the party—or maybe in the back of the ambulance. I don’t know exactly. I had two earrings when I arrived at the party. I had one when I reached the hospital.
While the nurse filled a pink, plastic tub with soapy water, I slid that single earring out of my ear and bent the thin silver in half. And in half again, pinching each delicate loop of metal until it was an ugly, wadded-up thing. A mangled paper clip that I swept onto my untouched lunch tray.
That earring can’t be here unless it’s the one I lost. And that’s not possible. Not after all this time. I take a breath that gets stuck halfway in. How? How is it here?
Unless Theo found it. Would he do that? Just leave the earring on my floor? How would he even find my room?
It’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t.
“Paige, what is it?” Mom asks. “You look pale. Are you all right?”
I don’t know what to say. I could tell them he might have returned it. But then they’ll be terrified. They might call his parole officer or look into a restraining order again. Some part of me thinks it might be best. Another part thinks of Theo’s hollow cheeks and shaky hands.
“Actually, I’m so hungry that I feel sick.” I laugh. “Can we go down to the cafeteria before the assembly this afternoon?”
Mom closes the lid on my jewelry box and then touches my jaw. It’s the side of my face that was such a mess. A mix of worry and fear feathers over her features. It’s a look that tells me that she loves me, and that she still thinks I’m broken.
• • •
The rest of Family Day is a careful dance, and I know all the right steps. I smile broadly and keep my chin lifted. I talk about the Miriam Sutton Foundation that sponsors both the program and an amazing clean-water program in South America. I show them the taco truck and point out my favorite benches on campus. And I do not think about that earring shut away in the back of my jewelry box.
In the parking lot, they are quiet. Mom cries a little and I laugh, telling her it’s only three more weeks. Reminding her that next year she’ll have to say good-bye to me for real.
She doesn’t reply, and I square my shoulders. She won’t challenge me here with Melanie—Joseph left with a friend before assembly—but at home it will be different. She’ll push hard on me staying home for college. I’ll have to be strong enough to fight for what I want.
For now, it can hold. I’ve got other things to do.
Mom and Dad tell Melanie it was nice to meet her. Two more hugs, and they’re loaded into the car. I blow Mom a kiss from where I’m standing. My arm snakes around Melanie’s waist. Because I want them to see me with a friend. Happy. I want them to drive away seeing nothing but success.
Melanie turns to me the minute their car is out of sight. “So, what gives with the super huggy, touchy stuff?”
“My parents don’t want me to go away to college.”
“Ah. Want you to live at home, huh?”
“Probably until I’m thirty.”
“Huh.” She frowns a little. “Well, they seem really nice. Some students love being at home for those first couple of years.”
“Well, I’m not one of those students.”
“Okay. So, are we headed to the park or what? Keaton has grilled brats.”
“I don’t think I’d trust Keaton to hand me a can of soda.”
She nudges my shoulder, laughing. “Don’t be fussy. C’mon, let’s go.”
My fingers press at my phone. “Go on. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”
I watch her walk away, thinking somehow I’ll change my mind about what I’m about to do. Because calling Theo is not a good plan. I should let it go, ignore the earring and the weird, maybe-not-accidental bridge meet-up. The only smart choice is radio silence. No contact.
But no matter how many times I say it in my head or run my tongue across the slick white implants that sit where my real teeth used to be, I can’t forget the rest of it. Theo making me laugh and helping me breathe through a thousand anxious moments. Reckless as he is, he usually made me feel safe.
He isn’t safe anymore. Nobody safe looks that hollowed-out and awful.
My fingers tug out my phone. He doesn’t pick up the first time. No surprise. He probably lost his phone in a couch cushion. Or left it in bed. Or dropped it in the river.
I call again, and his voice croaks through on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
His next breath shudders against the speaker. An ache blooms in my chest as I picture him, clear as day, face open and hopeful. I can feel the way he misses me. It sits heavy in every beat of silence that passes.
“Hi,” he finally says.
“Hi.” The pause reminds me that this isn’t normal for us anymore. We don’t call each other at random. I need a reason.
“Um, I need to ask you something,” I say.
“’Course.”
“Have you been to my dorm?”
A sigh. He sounds tired, disappointed. “I wouldn’t do that, Paige.”
I feel a push and pull in my chest. Maybe finding the earring was coincidence. It could be. He could be lying to me too.
“I really need to know, okay? Did you come to my room?”
“Paige, I don’t know where your room is.”
“But you could find out.”
; There’s a rustling noise. He’s adjusting the phone. “Why would I do that and not talk to you?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“I wouldn’t… I’m not—” He cuts off with a sound like a dresser drawer slamming closed. “I’m not here to make you uncomfortable. I’m working.”
“I know.”
“I’m on probation,” he says. “I’m not looking to get into trouble.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why are you asking me this? Why do you think I was in your room?”
I bite my lip, trying to think about who else could have possibly found that earring. Trying to calculate the odds of another earring like it winding up stuck to my dad’s shoe.
“I found something in my room. Something I lost at the party.”
“Something you lost at the party.” There’s something about the way he says it that makes me grip the phone a little tighter. “Paige, about that night—”
“No.” I exhale. “Theo, please don’t. I don’t want to talk about what happened. I …”
“I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m not… I know what I did, but I didn’t mean—” He cuts himself off with a sharp breath. “I’m not making sense. Look, I know what happened, and I don’t think it’s okay, but I would never intentionally hurt you.”
“I know,” I say, because suddenly I do. He wouldn’t leave something like that, leave a possibly traumatizing piece of jewelry for me to bump into. Theo is a lot of things, and some of those things aren’t great. He’s not that guy, though.
But I can still see the metal gleam of that earring in my dad’s fingers.
“It’s weird,” I say. “I know it’s from the party. I’m sure it’s mine.”
“Have you seen anything else from that night?”
My eyes narrow on a corner of the science building where Noah and Keaton’s partner are talking. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve…heard some stuff,” he says. “On the bridge. From that night.”
“What kind of things?” Worry prickles up the backs of my arms. “Are people talking about what happened?”
We All Fall Down Page 6
