The Art of Falling

by Jenny Kaczorowski

  “I went to the football game with Abby and Dolores. Then Dolores and I met up with a friend and went to Denny’s while Abby went with Ben to the hospital. I have the receipt if you need proof.” Not exactly a lie.

  Dad drew his brows together. “I have to trust you a lot. Without your mom to back me up, I’m doing the best I can, but I can’t be everywhere.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” She twisted the ends of her hair around her finger. “You’re doing fine. My grades are up this year. I actually went to a school event. I’m practically normal.”

  “You’ve never been normal, Pumpkin Pie. We always wanted you to be strong and independent, able to think for yourself.”

  “Dad.”

  “Sorry.” He gave her a watery smile. “Anyway. I have to go to New York tomorrow. I need to know I can trust you on your own. I can ask Consuela to stay if you need her.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Her own smile felt forced. “I always am.”

  “I’m sorry you had to grow up so fast.”

  “I’m sorry you had to raise me so fast.”

  She waited until he closed the door and then grabbed her phone, dialing Abby instead of texting.

  “Where’ve you been?” Abby said, picking up just before her voicemail usually kicked in.

  “My rigger was off. What happened last night?”

  “I was going to ask you the same things.”

  Bria hesitated, a bubble of guilt momentarily blocking her voice. “You first. What happened to Ben?”

  “They think he tore his calf. He’ll miss like three or four games and be in physical therapy forever, but he’ll recover.”

  “What about his scholarships?” Bria asked.

  “They’ll be fine. He hasn’t signed yet, but as long as he lets it heal, they won’t renege. He’s too valuable.” Abby heaved an exaggerated sigh. “God I hate football.”

  “Should we hunt down the kid who hit him and put sugar in his gas tank?” Bria wandered into her bathroom and switched her phone to speaker while she attempted to tame her hair.

  “No. He’s a freshman. Probably doesn’t even drive.”

  “That beast is a freshman?”

  “Seriously. The way he hit Ben, I thought it was another concussion and I’d really rather not have my big brother turned into a vegetable.”

  Bria paused, steadying herself again. “But he’s okay?”

  “Yeah. They did a CT scan and a bunch of tests and all that. His head’s fine.”

  “Good.” She tried to keep the single word passive, but Abby had to hear her relief.

  “Okay. Now you. I couldn’t get through to you or Lor all night.”

  “We did it.”

  “Wait. What?”

  Bria stuck her head out into the hall, but couldn’t tell where Dad was. “The mural.”

  “No. Effing. Way. You painted over the mural?”

  “Raf helped.”

  Abby huffed. “You let your boyfriend help but not me?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend and you were with Ben. It was stupid anyway. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Oh course you should have! Did you take pictures? I’m dying to see.”

  “Ask Dolores. I think she got a couple.” She stretched out on her bed again, staring up at the ceiling. “I rushed it and the lighting was bad and those paints suck. So not my best work.”

  “But the message. You can’t always be all OCD about your paintings. No one else will ever notice, I promise.”

  “But I’ll know. I defaced school property, destroyed another artist’s work, and it’s probably crap.”

  A moment of silence hung between them.

  “What made you do it?” Abby asked, the teasing, effervescent quality of her voice gone.

  “I don’t know. It’s just all so dumb, you know?”

  Another pause.

  “Do you like my brother?” Abby asked.

  Hello, opportunity to come clean. “Come on. You guys are like family.”

  “I’m serious, Bri.”

  “So am I. I’m not going to fall for your brother.” And hello, boldfaced lie. “You’re my best friend. That’s way more important than a boy.”

  Abby sighed. “Good. You scared me last night.”

  “You’re important to me and he’s important to you, so I care.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Sorry it took so long,” Bria said as Abby opened the front door. “Dad wanted to go to church before flying to New York and then you know what LAX is like.”

  Abby rolled her giant blue eyes. “I still can’t believe you guys are those people.”

  “What people?” Bria dropped her bag inside the door.

  “The people who find religion after a tragedy.”

  “We’ve always gone to church.” Bria bent down to unzip her boots, ignoring the lingering sting and keeping her voice as disinterested as she could make it. “How’s your brother?”

  “He’s fine. Just having a weird reaction to the painkiller and muscle relaxer combo and can’t be trusted to not burn down the house. Mom and Dad are both on set so I’m stuck babysitting.”

  “I’d just be sitting at home alone if you hadn’t called.”

  “You really should tell your best friend these things. We could be having a party tonight.”

  “First off, no.” Bria slipped her bag onto her shoulder again. “Second, what about Ben?”

  “He’s on the couch in the family room. We could move him to your couch. I bet his meds would sell for enough to pay someone else to clean up after the party.”

  “Still no.”

  “You are so lame,” Abby said, dropping her head forward against Bria’s arm. “But fine. I’ll do homework. Just know this is all your fault. If my GPA goes up, it’s on you.”

  “Yes. Your parents will be so disappointed.”

  “I have to grab my backpack. I should probably finish my English paper before the fieldtrip Monday.”

  “Abs?” Ben called from the family room.

  “I got this,” Bria said. “Go get your stuff.”

  “He just took a dose of meds, so he might be a little weird.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  She crept into the family room, watching Ben for a moment before he realized she was there.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said. He sat with his calf swaddled in bandages and propped on a pile of pillows, surrounded by half a dozen remotes and controllers.

  “Are you okay? Do you need something?” No trace of pain remained on his face, but she couldn’t resist brushing her fingers across his temple.

  He smiled, and leaned into the pressure. “They gave me the good stuff, so I feel great.”

  “You look terrible.”

  “Getting sacked sucks.”

  She sat down on the coffee table. “It looked bad. And sounded worse.”

  His eyes focused on her face and lost some of the glassy, stoned look. “You were there?”

  “Abs and Dolores too.”

  “Figures. Finally get a chance to impress you and get knocked on my ass.”

  Bria leaned in. “Football doesn’t impress me and girls like fixing broken boys.”

  Again, his eyes cleared. “Are you going to fix me, Bria?”

  “Benji” Abby said, putting her hands on her hips. “Quit being such a man-whore. Being wasted is no excuse for hitting on my friend.”

  “Abby doesn’t know,” he said. “I should shut up before I say something stupid.”

  “Probably a good idea.” Bria stood up.

  “What don’t I know?” Abby said.

  “Stuff. Like how I think Bria is really pretty. Or how I’m pretty sure orange food is evil. Pretty. Pretty. Why is that even the same word?”

  “Yeah, time for you to be quiet and sleep.”

  “Like Cheetos. We have Cheetos, right?”

  “I’ll check the pantry,” Abby said, rolling h
er eyes.

  “And Skittles. But no orange.”

  “You can pick them out yourself.”

  Ben took Bria’s hand in his, tracing circles on the back with his thumb. “Do I need to go to an art museum now?”

  She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I think that’s the meds talking again. The whole class is going to the Getty on Monday.”

  “You came to my game. Now we do something you like. That’s how it works, right?”

  She touched her hand to his arm. “I don’t need anything from you.”

  “I know. That’s one of the things I love most about you.”

  Bria reeled, forcing herself to remember his drug-induced state before his words could take root. She let out a long, slow breath, letting the hurt ease away. “Ben.”

  “Everyone always needs something. I have to be better, faster, stronger. They’re counting on me. But you’re just you. You don’t need me. I like not being needed.”

  “Here you go,” Abby said, plopping a bowl on his stomach. “Evil orange Cheetos. And we’re out of Skittles.”

  “We should stop talking,” Ben whispered. “They can hear us.”

  Bria patted his hand and pulled hers free. “Sure. Feel better.”

  “How about movies?” Ben said. “Weird, arty movies.”

  Abby raised an eyebrow and Bria shrugged.

  “We could make him watch A Clockwork Orange,” Abby said.

  “While he’s jacked up on Oxy? You’re cruel.”

  “Okay. What about a documentary?”

  “No! The Decalogue!”

  “With subtitles?”

  “Yep.”

  Abby ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry, Benji. This will put you right to sleep.” She turned on the TV and started the movie streaming.

  Bria grinned. Even she’d barely gotten through the ten-hour series of Polish films based on the Ten Commandments and she loved foreign movies.

  She sat down sideways in an easy chair, legs draped over an arm. Like a masochist, she positioned herself so she could still see Ben while facing Abby at the coffee table.

  “I hate Shakespeare,” Abby said, slamming her textbook down on the table.

  “Don’t you theater people worship the Bard?” Bria said. She pulled her pencil out of her hair and propped her sketchbook against her legs.

  “Macbeth is so bad you can’t even say the title in a theater or you’ll curse the whole production. We call it ‘The Scottish Play’ and yet here I am doing an entire paper on it.”

  “I thought that was only if you were actually doing Macbeth.”

  “I’m not going to test that theory. And are you sketching me?”

  Bria looked up from her paper. “Ms. Fury wants us to keep a sketch journal for a week. You invited me over, you end up in the journal.”

  “Fine.” Abby sighed. “But don’t make me look weird.”

  “Sure.” She flipped the pencil around to erase a bit of Abby’s hair and redraw it.

  “You drew something weird, didn’t you? I saw you erase something.”

  “You’re adorable. As always.” She flipped the sketchbook around to show her.

  “Okay. But my hair is way cuter in color.”

  “I’ll fix the color on Monday.”

  On the couch, Ben snored. She flipped the page and set pencil to paper. She traced the firm set of his jaw, the angle of his nose, the curve of his lips. His brow relaxed as he drifted into a deeper sleep. Using her thumb, she smudged in some shading to form the contours of his face. High cheekbones and a broad forehead. His hand slipped off the couch and she added the new shape of his arm to the sketch.

  “Are you drawing my brother while he’s sleeping?” Abby said.

  Bria startled and blushed. “He’s here. I have to include him.”

  “That’s just a little creepy and voyeuristic, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, come on. It’s not like he’s naked or anything.”

  “You totally would sketch your boyfriend naked, wouldn’t you?”

  Bria refined the shape of Ben’s eye, working in the thick lashes fanned against his cheek. “Life drawing isn’t nearly as hot as it sounds.”

  “That’s not a no.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Did you ever draw Mik?”

  A smile pulled at her lips, but she kept her head down. “Maybe.”

  “Did he ever draw you?”

  “Mik’s a painter, not a sketch artist.”

  Abby widened her eyes. “Did he ever paint you naked?”

  Bria shook her head. “Only half naked. I wouldn’t let him look at the scar.”

  Abby closed her laptop and squeezed in beside Bria on the chair. “Are you okay?”

  Bria set down the sketchbook and let Abby wrap her in a hug. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been off. All pensive and sad.”

  “Isn’t that my M.O.?”

  Abby rested her head against Bria’s shoulder. “Not with me. We tell each other everything. I even called you the day I started my period.”

  “Which was a total overshare.”

  “I was excited!” Abby said. “Seriously. What’s going on?”

  Bria glanced over at Ben, but he was still sleeping. “You ever want something, but not know if it’s worth the cost?”

  “Is it new boots? Because new boots are always worth it.”

  “I’m serious, Abs. And you started this conversation anyway.”

  “Okay. Fine. Of course I know that feeling. It sucks.”

  “How do you know if something is worth the risks? How do you put yourself out there if it could all go horribly wrong?”

  “You wait until you know you can’t live without trying.”

  “You make that sound all dire.”

  “Isn’t it? Life is serious shit.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Did you hear?” Rafael asked, wrapping his arms around Bria the minute she walked into the art room. “Everyone is talking about the mural.”

  “Shhh.” She nearly punched him in the nose. “We can’t talk about it. Ever.”

  “It’ll seem suspicious if we don’t.”

  She glared at him, mostly because he was right. Again. “My style is so obvious. One look and Ms. Fury will know it was me.”

  He threw his leg over the chair and sat in front of her. “It’s beautiful, Bria. She should be proud – and so should you.”

  Instead of deflecting, she went back to her sketchbook. “I didn’t even get to finish it right. I could do so much better if I had one more night.”

  “So go back, Little Miss Perfect.”

  “That’s just asking to get caught.”

  He shrugged. “Then don’t.”

  “You’re so helpful,” she said with an eye roll.

  “Isn’t that the quarterback?” He leaned over her shoulder to see her sketches from the weekend. “Didn’t he get trounced at the game?”

  “Ben. Yes.”

  He screwed up his face. “Really? You’re hanging out with him while he sleeps?”

  “None of your business.” Part of her wanted him to draw the wrong conclusions.

  “Sorry. I thought we were friends. Just looking out for you.”

  She put down the sketchbook. “And what is so bad about Ben that you feel like you need to protect me?”

  “I just hear the rumors. Girls like to tell me things.” He winked at her. “And that kid is a walking, talking after school special.”

  “Because he’s a quarterback?”

  “Because half the school has hooked up with him.”

  “He also happens to be Abby’s brother.”

  Rafael stared at her. “Seriously? As in your best friend, the drama queen, Abby?”

  “Yes. And I can tell you the rumors about his conquests have been going around since forever. Every girl wants a Ben story.”

  His eyes moved over her face. “Even you?”

  “I have plenty. Best friend’s brother, remember?”<
br />
  “So that was just hanging out with Abs?”

  She grabbed a few colored pencils from the center of the table and flipped to the sketch of Abby. “This is how I spent Sunday. Watching Abby write a paper on Macbeth while Ben slept off his painkillers.”

  “See, I knew you were smarter than that.”

  She rolled her eyes at him, and silently wished that she was.

  ~

  “This is so perfect.” Abby looked up from Dolores’s homework with a grin.

  “How is someone wrecking Topanga High perfect?” Bria asked, spinning her bowl of salad around on her lunch tray.

  “Won’t they try harder to find out who did it now?” Dolores said. She grabbed her notebook back from Abby. “I said you could look at my notes, not copy them word for word.”

  “No. This is good. They’ll blame Topanga for the mural and Bria will get away scot free.” She slid Dolores’s notebook back across the table. “And I’m not copying word for word. I’m paraphrasing.”

  “Why would they blame Topanga?” Bria said. “They’re going to figure out that it was me.”

  “Retaliation.” Abby glanced up from her notebook again. “Dom and a couple of freshmen already got busted for Topanga. Half the team is going to be benched now between injuries and that stupid prank. You won’t get caught.”

  The bell rang, but the seniors remained in the cafeteria, spreading out to fill in the spaces left by the fleeing underclassmen.

  Abby shoved her books into her backpack. “Do you think they got the good buses or are we stuck with the crappy yellow ones?”

  “Probably yellow,” Dolores said. “They’re not going to charter buses for the entire senior class to go to the Getty Center.”

  “Stupid museum,” Abby said. “I need that extra half an hour finish this stuff. Have you ever tried to write on a school bus? Impossible.”

  “Hey,” Ben said, dropping into the chair beside Abby. He propped his crutches against the table and swung his leg, still wrapped in a compression bandage, onto a chair.

  “Yes?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Is that any way to greet your brother?”

  “We usually ignore each other at school. Isn’t that part of the deal?”

  “Come on, Abs. Where’s the love?”

  “What do you want?”

  Ben shrugged. “I’m on crutches. I can’t write notes and walk at the same time.”