Falling Out of Place

by M. G. Higgins

“Hey, are you twenty-one?” a guy asks me with a snicker. He barely looks older than I am.

  “Shut up, Andy,” Jo says. She goes to the couch and sits across two laps—a guy’s and a girl’s. Okay.

  I head to the kitchen, stepping over legs and a torso. Evan is in front of the refrigerator. He opens it and hands me a beer. “Want a shot with that?” He points to the bottles of hard stuff on the counter.

  “No. That’s okay.” I grab the beer and take a long swig. Then a couple more.

  “In a hurry?” he asks.

  “Um …” I let out an awkward laugh. “Maybe.”

  He squints. “So how old are you?”

  “Eighteen.” I don’t miss a beat. I’m getting good at lying. As long as he brought it up, I ask, “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two. Think that’s too big an age difference?”

  I shrug. “For what?”

  Grinning, he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You are incredibly cute.” He’s staring at my face like I’m an ice cream cone and he wants to lick me.

  I don’t know what to say. Or do. This is so strange. I just met him a couple days ago. It took Tony years to make his first move. Evan wraps his hand around the back of my neck. My skin tingles where he touches me. My toes curl. He pulls me to his lips and I let him. It’s just a brush of a kiss. The barest of touches. Then he lets go.

  I don’t realize my eyes are closed until I open them. He’s smiling down at me. “Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your beer drinking.”

  “That’s … okay.” I take another gulp. I finally start to feel the alcohol. The room floats a little. It’s a nice feeling. I smile at Evan. I smile at the girl who tugs Evan’s wrist and leads him away. I smile when I take a hit off the bong and drink a shot of tequila. I smile when Lance, a friend of Jo’s, drives me home. I even smile when I see Tony waiting for me on my front steps.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Lance is just pulling away from the curb when I see Tony. At least, I think it’s Tony. My vision is a little blurry.

  I stand there a second, waiting for the walkway to stop moving like water. It doesn’t. I’m going to have to cross a cement ocean to get to my house. I wonder if there are fish swimming in the sidewalk. I take a wobbly step and laugh.

  Hey, it is Tony. He’s walking toward me. Why is he here? And doesn’t he know he might drown? “Careful,” I say.

  “What?” he whispers.

  Why is he whispering?

  He grabs my elbow.

  I pull it back. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you to the house.” He hisses the words through his teeth. He sounds like a snake. He doesn’t look like a snake. But he’s frowning. His eyes are narrowed.

  “You’re pissed off,” I say.

  He takes a deep breath. “I can help you to the house. Or I can leave you here. Which do you want?”

  Why is he making me choose? I don’t like choosing. “I don’t know,” I tell him.

  He slowly takes my elbow again. He’s gentler now. I don’t pull back. He tugs a little. I go with him. Like a little old lady. Like a grandma. I see us in the future, two old people walking home.

  “Do you love me?” I ask. We’re halfway to the steps.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “Why?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Hey!” I blurt out. Throw my arm around him. “Want to make out behind the shed?”

  “That’s not a good idea.” He whispers so low I barely hear him. “If you aren’t quiet, Raul and Yolanda will wake up.”

  Raul and Yolanda. My parents. If they wake up … If they wake up, they’ll kill me. Do I want them to kill me? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I really hate choosing.

  We’ve reached the first step. I stop. It’s a long way up to the porch. Then I remember. This isn’t how I left earlier. I left through my window. “I have to climb through my window,” I say.

  Tony shakes his head.

  I unwrap my arm from him. “My window, Tony.”

  “You’re too drunk. You might hurt yourself.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll help you up the steps. But I won’t help you through your window.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  He throws his hands up like he’s done with me. Walks away.

  I stagger to the side of the house. My stomach heaves and I throw up in the bushes.

  Early morning sunlight wakes me. I’m lying on my side in the dirt next to the house. I get to my feet. Pushing my window open as quietly as I can, I climb inside.

  I lay my head on my pillow. Images from the party swirl behind my eyes. Drinking. Laughing. Kissing Evan. I kissed somebody else too. Kirk … Kevin? Whoever he was, I think he felt me up. Tony was here last night. He helped me get to the house. I should have kissed him good night.

  I fall asleep kissing Tony.

  There’s a knock on my door. I quickly pull my blanket up to my chin to make sure my clothes are covered. Mom walks in. “Half an hour to Mass.”

  I groan. The vibration of my voice hurts my head. “I’m not going. I’m sick.”

  “You’ve been sleeping over twelve hours.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  She’s silent.

  “I was sick during the night. I think it was something I ate.”

  “We all ate the same dinner. No one else is sick.” She stands over my bed and stares at me. My hair is probably matted. I must look pale, because I feel pale.

  “Okay,” she says with a sigh. “Just this once.”

  I try to doze as the Herrera household gets ready. Do they have to be so loud? The front door closes. It’s so quiet I can’t sleep. Half an hour later I’m in the shower. Then I’m in the yard, hosing away my puke.

  By the time the front door opens again, I’m sitting at the kitchen table. Trying to work my way through a bowl of cereal. It’s not easy.

  “How are you feeling?” I look up. It’s Tony. He’s come in with the rest of my family.

  “Not so good,” I answer.

  “Can we talk a minute?” His lips are smiling, but his eyes aren’t.

  I leave my bowl on the table and lead him out the back door. We sit on the kiddie swings. I hold the chains. Start to twist my swing like I always do. But the movement makes me feel sick. I face forward, slumping my shoulders against the chains.

  Tony says, “I want to ask where you were last night. Who you were with. But I know it’s none of my business.”

  “I was with the guys from work. Joelle and Evan. They invited me to a party.”

  He shuffles his feet in the dirt. “Okay.”

  “I didn’t invite you because they didn’t say I could. They only invited me.” This is a lie. And lame. Unless it’s a slumber party, no one cares if you bring a boyfriend to a party. I know it. Tony knows it.

  He stares into the yard. “I’m wondering if we should break up.”

  I lean my head against the chains. It’s going to be another weirdly hot day. It’s only eleven and heat waves are already shimmering above the lawn.

  “Did you hear me?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “So?”

  “So … okay,” I say softly.

  He pauses. “Okay we should break up?”

  I slowly nod again.

  Tony sits there a few seconds. Then in a flash of movement he’s up and gone.

  His swing clangs against the metal support post. I watch as it wavers back and forth, back and forth until it finally stops.

  I want to sit out here forever. I want to get really hot and sweat out what’s left of the alcohol, the drugs, Kurt or Kevin and his traveling hands. But it’s just too painful. I walk into the house.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Of all the crappy changes in my life, the one crappy constant is homework. It never goes away.

  I’m sitting at my desk Sunday night. I’ve taken a billion pain relievers. I think my hangov
er headache is finally giving in. I’m finishing up my literature paper that was due last week. At first I feel good it’s getting done. I print it out and read it over. I’m not sure I covered all the points I was supposed to. It might be worth a B. But since it’s late, Mrs. Mosley won’t give me full credit. So it’s probably a C paper. Crap. So much for raising my grade. I shove the report into my notebook.

  I pull out my geometry book and worksheet. Well, what do you know? The worksheet is full of triangles. Friggin’ stupid triangles. I don’t give a crap how many degrees each corner has. Pythagoras is a stupid name, anyway. Pissy Gord Ass.

  Hah! I reach for my phone to text Randi.

  Crap.

  I rest my elbows on the desk. Then press my head in my hands. I grab handfuls of hair and tug. Tug. Tug. It’s like the hair-tugging releases the latch on my brain room. There’s Tony. He’s reaching out to me. With his puppy-dog eyes. Get back, Tony. Breaking up was the right thing to do. We’re not good together. You’re as exciting as an avocado pit. I’m serious. Get back. I see him slowly turn around and walk through the door. I slam it shut.

  I take a deep breath. Close my book. Leave my room. In the hallway I yell, “Mom, can I use your car? I want to go to Abuelita’s.”

  “Is your homework done?”

  “Yes.”

  Five-second pause. “Take your sisters.”

  “What? No!”

  Silence.

  “All right!” I say. “Crap.”

  “Gabriella!”

  Rosie and Marta fight all the way to Grandma’s. They’re so noisy I want to scream. I was never that loud when I was ten and twelve. They park themselves in front of the TV when we get there. Fine. Good riddance. Grandma is in grandkid heaven and trots into the kitchen to make popcorn.

  I knock on Uncle Mike’s door. He opens it. His eyes widen when he sees me.

  “Hey,” he says. “Are you okay?”

  I shake my head, already crying.

  He wraps me in his arms. I sob.

  I wake up on Uncle Mike’s bed. I must have talked and cried myself to sleep. There’s a blanket covering me. He’s sitting at his desk. A couple of textbooks are open on either side of his laptop.

  “Hi,” I mumble. “Was I out long?”

  He swivels his chair around. “Hi. Close to an hour.”

  “What are you working on?”

  He glances at his desk. “Pharmacology.”

  I sit up, wrapping the blanket around me. “That sounds hard.”

  He shrugs. “It is. But I can’t graduate without it.”

  Uncle Mike is in a community-college nursing program. It took him three years to finish all the prereqs. Then another couple years on the program’s waiting list. All that time he’s been working as a practical nurse in an old folks’ home. He’s got the Herrera family ambition. But he’s not preachy about it.

  He grabs a pencil off his desk and pokes into it with his thumbnail. “Gabs. I know the last thing you want is a lecture. But you need to be careful with the alcohol and stuff.”

  Okay. Maybe he’s a little preachy. “I know.”

  He stares at me.

  “I said I know.”

  “Even if you’re not on the basketball team anymore, can you go to some of the games? Maybe do stuff with Randi again?”

  I pull the blanket snug around my chest. “We’re not friends anymore.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe if you were, you know, nicer—”

  I glare at him.

  He smiles. “You don’t always think before you talk, Gabs. I’m telling you this because I love you.”

  If this was anyone but Uncle Mike, I’d be walking out. I’m hot all of a sudden and throw the blanket off.

  “Do you hate me now?” he asks.

  “No.”

  We’re both quiet for a minute. Once I’ve cooled down, I look over at him. He’s slouched in his chair, studying the pencil again and frowning.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He shrugs.

  I sigh. “I told you my crap. Your turn.”

  He seems to think about it. “I’m not doing so good with my classes this semester. I have to keep a B average or they’ll kick me out. And I’m getting mostly Cs.”

  “What? But you always work so hard.”

  “Yeah, well … sometimes hard work isn’t enough.”

  “But you’ll turn your grades around, right?”

  “Sure.” I can tell he doesn’t believe it.

  “Uncle Mike, you have to! So you can move out of here.”

  He nods and flips the pencil onto his desk. “That’s not all.” He sighs. “I got into a thing with Alex. The local newspaper interviewed him about the campus LGBT club. Alex mentioned me by name. I’m not officially in the club, but I go to their events. Alex told me the story was published this morning.”

  Alex is his boyfriend. I instantly get why Uncle Mike is worried. “I don’t think anyone in our family reads that paper.”

  “I don’t think so, either. But what if one of their friends or someone they work with does?”

  “Oh. Right. What are you going to do?”

  “I may have to tell everyone. Officially come out.”

  I can’t imagine what will happen. But if the family finds out from a newspaper article, it could be worse. “That may be the best.”

  “Think so?”

  I nod.

  “You’re probably right. Guess it’s time to step up and be brave.”

  “You might feel better about yourself.” But when I think about it, I’m not sure that’s true. I have no idea what he’s going through. Poor Mike. No wonder he’s struggling with his classes. I walk over and press my hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

  “Yeah.” He pats my hand.

  The door flies open and Marta barges in. “Mom called. She wants to know why we’re not home yet.”

  “Hey, douchebag. Ever heard of knocking?”

  Uncle Mike gives me a look.

  I smile at him. “Okay. Be nice. I get it.” I take a deep breath. “Call me on the home phone. You know, if you need to talk or something.”

  “Same to you,” he says.

  I pet Marta’s head. “Come along, darling sister.”

  She looks up like I’m crazy and runs off.

  I shrug at Uncle Mike as I leave. But he’s not looking. He’s grabbed the pencil from his desk. Rolling it between his fingers. He’s bent at the waist, arms on his knees. It’s like a huge weight is pushing him down, down, down. Crushing his shoulders. The sight makes me so sad.

  CHAPTER

  12

  I’m still thinking about Uncle Mike when I head for school the next morning. Then, as I get closer to campus, I start thinking about me. About being nice and reconnecting to Randi. Part of me believes being nice is bull. If I’m not nice to someone, they don’t deserve it. But I know I’ve hurt people’s feelings. And it’s because of what Uncle Mike said. Stuff comes out of my mouth before my brain figures out the best thing to say.

  So should I try to make it right with Randi again? I’ve just gotten to the main hallway. I see her in front of her locker. I hesitate. Start to make my way through the crowd. But when I look up again, she’s already leaving. I don’t bother trying to catch up.

  When lunch rolls around, I stand at the checkout counter for a second. I glance at our table. The same guys are sitting there. I grab my burrito and juice off my tray. Go outside. Sit by myself under a tree. I know Randi is at the team table. I know they’re talking about Saturday’s tournament. The awesome three-pointers. The amazing blocks and rebounds. The bitches on the other teams.

  I bite into my burrito and figure something out—why only team members sit at that table. For one, outsiders don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. It’s basketball talk, all the time. And two, the Crusaders like it that way. They don’t like outsiders. I connect the dots. The picture it makes is me, sitting alone under a tree.

  What the picture doesn
’t show is the burrito knocking around inside my stomach. Like a sneaker in a washing machine. I wrap up what’s left and throw it away.

  I find my timecard: Herrera, Gabriella.

  Ka-chunk.

  My official third day of work has begun. Is it lame when your job is the only thing you look forward to? I’m not even going to answer that.

  Beep-beep-beep.

  Big Bird backs out of aisle three. Jo is driving. She’s carrying a pallet of boxes, Campbell’s printed on the sides. Soup, row D. Hmm, I guess this isn’t rocket science.

  Jo looks over and sees me. Smiles and waves. I wave back. I see Evan pushing a handcart through the double doors into the store. I admire his lanky build and muscly shoulders. He’s got a nice butt too. Don’t know as I noticed that before.

  I remember our kiss. The barely there lip touch that curled my toes. I don’t think it meant anything. A few seconds later he hooked up with another girl. Someone older than me. And prettier.

  But the thing about barely there kisses? They leave you wanting more. A completely there kiss. I shove that kiss back where it belongs. In the room in my brain that hides things. I shut the door. Only it doesn’t close completely. Like there’s a foot stuck in the jamb. I shove the door a few times. Give up.

  I take a deep breath. There’s a light on in the office. Jake is sitting at his desk, staring at his computer.

  “Hi,” I say.

  He looks up. “Hey. How’s it going? I notice you didn’t clock in or out Friday.”

  “I was here—”

  “Yeah, Hutch told me. Just make sure you always use the clock. The paperwork is a hassle if you don’t.”

  “Okay.” I don’t add that a-hole Hutch didn’t tell me about the clock.

  Jake is staring at his computer screen again.

  “So, um, what do you want me to do?”

  “Ask Jo or Evan. Or Hutch, when he’s on the floor. Late afternoons and Saturdays are the busiest times for the store. You’re here to back them up.”

  “Okay.” I head off to find Jo or Evan.

  I run into Evan first. He’s returning to the store with the empty pushcart.