The Art of Falling

by Jenny Kaczorowski

  Ben walked in front of the principal with his head down, shoulders pulled in. He still limped, his steps careful and tenuous instead of his usual confident stride.

  “Principal Erickson,” she called.

  “What are you doing, Bria?” Ben said, mouth tight.

  “Can I help you?” the principal eyed her with confusion, like he knew he should recognize her but didn’t.

  “Ben didn’t paint over the mural. I did.”

  Principal Erickson sighed. “His code was used to unlock the doors both times.”

  “It’s fine, Bria.” Ben glared at her, anger simmering under his passive expression.

  “Why would Ben, of all people, vandalize the gym?” Bria said.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out myself,” Principal Erickson said.

  “And the motto? I’m the angry vegan.” She scowled at the tall, worn man until his shoulders dropped. “Ben didn’t do it.”

  “Come into my office. Both of you.”

  Ben grabbed her arm as she pushed past him. “Bria.”

  “You don’t get to play hero here,” she said. Anger flamed up inside her. “You have too much to lose.”

  “I’m not getting out of this. At least you could save yourself.”

  “I don’t want to save myself. I did this. To make a point. Let me make it.”

  Mr. Erickson cleared this throat. “My office. Please.”

  Bria stomped after him and flopped down in a chair across from his desk. “Ben was there to workout. He didn’t even know what I was doing until I was basically done.”

  “So he saw you defacing our new mural and didn’t report it?”

  “I take full responsibility for my actions, sir,” Ben said. Rigid, stoic. Resigned.

  “It’s not your responsibility to take,” Bria said. “The mural was disgusting. There’s all this school violence and endangered species and no one even needs to hunt for food any more and here’s this mural glorifying violence and death, and yes, meat is murder. I painted over the mural and I’d do it again!” Her breathing hitched as she tried to gather her flustered thoughts. Ben stared at her like she’d lost her mind and maybe she had. Looking at him sure wasn’t helping.

  “Well then.” A smile tugged at Mr. Erickson’s thin lips, his face crinkling like it was unused to the movement.

  “Don’t punish Ben for this,” she said.

  Mr. Erickson steepled his fingers and tapped them against his chin. “I can’t let him go. He was there. Even if he didn’t lift a brush, he was there.”

  “I already said I take responsibility for my actions,” Ben said.

  “But there’s no way to know which actions were yours. I’d hate to ruin your future because of something you didn’t do.”

  “Yes,” Bria said. “That’s exactly why I’m confessing.”

  “Which is strange enough.” Mr. Erickson’s eyes darted between them. “Since I can’t say for certain which of you is guilty, I propose you work together to make this right. If you return the mural to its former glory, I’ll leave this incident off your records.”

  Ben blew out a breath and Bria shot him a sideways glance.

  “It’s former glory?” Bria said. “I can’t…”

  Mr. Erickson laughed, ending in a rusty cough. “I see your point. Perhaps we can leave the beavers and the weapons out this time. I believe it was meant as a joke.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Erickson,” Ben said. “I’ll make sure it’s done right.”

  “I should probably call your parents too.” He let out a sigh and jotted a note on the calendar covering his desk. “You can start after school today.”

  “I have practice.”

  “Then tell Coach Wicket you’ll be late. One hour each day until it’s done.” He grabbed a pile of papers from the edge of his desk and glanced up. “Dismissed.”

  “Why did you do that?” Bria said, following Ben back down the hall.

  He shrugged. “I should have reported you.”

  “But you didn’t. Instead, you tried to ruin your own reputation for something you didn’t even do. Why?”

  He turned on her, the anger finally breaking through. “Because I’m sick of my reputation and I happen to think you’re right.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  He sat down in a chair outside the front offices and ran his hands through his hair. “I should have reported you. That’s the right thing to do. For the school. But I kind of hated that mural too. That’s not why I play football.”

  Bria raised an eyebrow. “You mean you’re not into senseless hatred just because someone goes to another school?”

  “I play to do my best, not humiliate my opponents. That mural was ugly and violent. We can do better. You did better.”

  Bria crossed her arms. “I never cared if they found out. That’s the purpose of a protest.”

  “This isn’t about you.”

  She opened her mouth and shut it again.

  “Truth is, I wanted to be in on it. I get so sick of this tiny box I’m supposed to fit it. Every single thing I do is for someone else. I represent the team, the school, my family. I get sick of always doing the right thing. I needed to do something wrong.”

  “Oh.” She sat down next to him. “This was a really stupid way to do that. Couldn’t you just skip school or steal another school’s mascot?”

  A smile peeked around the corner of his mouth. “Too expected.”

  “I’m sorry you got caught.”

  He lifted his shoulder and rewarded her with a full, if wry, smile. “It could have been a whole lot worse. As long as Coach doesn’t kill me.”

  “I’ll fix it. You don’t even have to show up.”

  He met her eyes. “I’ll be there.”

  “But it’s not – ”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “If you can start painting over the letters, I’ll work on his face,” Bria said. She stared at the mural with a combination of sorrow and resignation. It was good work – one of the best things she’d ever painted. Despite Dolores’ pictures to document it, it killed her to paint over it.

  Not to mention she had no idea how on earth she was going to survive working with Ben in close quarters. She could already smell his tingle-inducing spice-and-sea scent and they hadn’t even started.

  “Whiteout duty it is.” He pushed a ladder against the wall and climbed up with a bucket in one hand and a brush held between his teeth. Even with bandage gone, he favored his injured leg, making his movements slow and lurching.

  “You look like a pirate,” she said.

  “The hot, dastardly kind?”

  She giggled. “More like the crippled, scurvy-riddled kind.”

  “You cut me.” He held a hand to his chest. “You cut me deep.”

  Shaking her head, she started the outline of the hunter’s face.

  “What’s a pirate’s favorite kind of socks?” Ben said.

  “Arrrrrgyle.”

  He flashed that grin at her and her stomach flip-flopped. “Only a couple days until Talk Like A Pirate Day. I figure I should get to work on my pirate jokes.”

  “A worthy pursuit.” She swirled the paint around on her palette until the right shade of tanned flesh tone formed under her brush.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your sense of humor under all that eyeliner.”

  She snorted and looked up at Ben, ready for a snappy comeback. Except how was she supposed to focus with that view? She pulled her eyes away and focused in on the hunter’s face, carefully covering over the colorful mask and dark, skeletal eyes.

  “How much did the pirate pay for his hook and peg leg?” she asked.

  “A few doubloons?” he said.

  “An arm and a leg.”

  He laughed, shaking the ladder. “What’s a pirate always looking for, even though it’s right behind him?”

  “No idea.”

  “His booty.”

  She snapped
her head up to stare at him.

  “Come on,” he said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “No, it’s funny.” Or would have been if she hadn’t been staring at his booty. “Umm… Why did the pirate go on vacation?”

  “He needed some aarrrr and aarrrr.”

  “Too bad we couldn’t be the buccaneers or something cool like that,” Bria said, frowning at the mural.

  “I’m sure pirates ate meat too.”

  “Come on. The Huntsmen? Really? It doesn’t even make sense for team sports.”

  “True,” he said. “But the Huntsmen is still better than the Beavers. Topanga is one giant that’s what she said.”

  “I guess. But the Oceanside Pirates? That would be so much cooler.”

  “Right you aarrr.”

  The door to the gym creaked open and they both turn to Rafael walking toward them.

  “I had to see it one more time before you ruin it,” he said, grinning at Bria.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she said.

  “But it’s so awesome,” he said. “Besides, it was your idea.”

  He stood right next to her, unnervingly close. Being almost the same height, his eyes met hers at every turn and she never felt like she had enough air around him.

  “Damn, that is beautiful.”

  “It should be you on this ladder,” Ben said. He tried to smile, like he meant it as a joke, but the malice in his eyes said otherwise.

  “But you’re having so much fun. Doesn’t look like you’d be much good on the field anyway. I heard your leg is still pretty messed up.”

  “I’m sure I could still take you.”

  “Seriously?” Bria rolled her eyes. “We have work to do.”

  Rafael laughed. “Have fun with jock strap, Bria.”

  “Ben,” she corrected.

  “Right.” He bumped his shoulder into hers. “See you tomorrow.”

  She lifted her brush to the cinderblock wall, focusing a little too hard on the contour of the hunter’s cheek.

  “So you guys are friends?” Ben said, breaking the silence permeating the gym.

  “Kind of.” She leaned in closer to get the chin just right, despite the fact that she’d cover it with a beard in a few days.

  Ben’s brush tapped the side of the paint can and then the bristles scraped against the wall. The soft slush of paint usually soothed her, but it was only tightening the tension between her shoulders.

  “We’re in a lot of the same classes,” she said, like she needed to explain.

  “You probably have a lot in common.”

  “Yeah. Kind of.”

  “Hour’s up,” Ben said. “Mind if I take off? Coach wanted a meeting with the team.”

  “No, you’re fine. Thanks for the help.”

  She wanted to crack one more joke, to break the tension and fix the new fissure between them, but she’d apparently forgotten how.

  ~

  Tossing her bag at the bottom of the stairs, Bria headed into the kitchen to scrub the remaining paint stains from her hands. Crusted bits of black and orange clung to her cuticles and under her nails, her own familiar style of nail polish.

  She dug around under the sink for the bottle of paint thinner she kept for clean up.

  “You’re home late,” Dad said, coming into the kitchen.

  “I had some stuff after school.” She glanced up from the sink. “I’m going to work on the books after I finish cleaning up. Did you get all the invoices for last month together?”

  “I got a call today.” Dad ignored her question and leaned against the counter beside her. “From your principal.”

  “Sorry?” Using her thumbnail, she scraped at a spot of green on the back of her hand.

  “Yeah, sorry isn’t going to cut it this time. Damaging school property?”

  “I didn’t damage it.”

  Dad drew his brows together. “Bria.”

  “I’m cleaning it up. It’ll look better when I’m done than it did before I defaced it.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It was stupid but it didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “I’m a lawyer,” he said with a chuckle. “There are no victimless crimes.”

  Shutting off the water, she turned to face him with her hands on her hips. “You should have seen this thing. It was awful. The real crime was letting it happen in the first place.”

  “And there are better – legal – ways to voice your opinions.” He sighed. “I want your car keys.”

  “What?”

  “Car keys. I let you drive that car because you’re old enough to be responsible. You just proved you’re not.”

  “But Dad! How will I get to school?”

  “Call one of your friends, or take the bus, or walk. I don’t care. You’re resourceful.”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  He pushed away from the counter. “I can’t believe you would destroy another artist’s work and vandalize school property.”

  “What is the big deal?” She dug her keys out of her bag.

  “The big deal is vandalism is a real crime. It’s stupid and dangerous. You’re lucky Principal Erikson kept this quiet. Honestly, you could have ended up in jail.”

  “I didn’t –”

  “No, you didn’t.” He stuck the keys into the pocket of his jeans. “You can have these back when you prove you’re mature enough to think of your future.”

  “I have done nothing but think about my future since freshman year!”

  “Do you have your portfolio finished? Your essays written? Your application mailed?”

  She pressed her lips together and scuffed the toe of her boot against the floor.

  “I didn’t think so.” He folded his arms over his chest. “So let me know when you do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You owe me,” Ben said, leaning against the wall next to the drinking fountain.

  Bria let the cold water run over her lips a minute longer, watching him through her hair. “Owe?” She straightened and tossed her loose curls back over her shoulder.

  “Mmmhmm. I went to some lame art museum and picked up this weird hobby painting murals. So that’s two things for you. You just came to my one game.”

  “So you’re keeping score now?” She put her hands on her hips, pushing down the silly bubble of joy about to break over her face.

  “I am a jock.” He looked decidedly unapologetic. “I always keep score.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well.” He stretched out his injured leg, flexing his foot. “The physical therapist cleared me to run again.”

  Bria burst out laughing. “You want me to go running?”

  The wicked grin on his face set her stomach fluttering. “I promise I’ll go slow.”

  “I told you I can’t run.”

  “I can’t paint.”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line. “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Around six.”

  “A.M.?”

  “Is that okay?”

  A little of his confidence slipped, making her feel shy and awkward. The banter she could do. Vulnerability? Not so much.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll be up.”

  “You know Abby can’t get up before noon on weekends.”

  “Totally.” She actually lowered her head and peeked up at him through her lashes. Like a common flirt.

  “So I’ll meet you at your house? Around six?”

  “Sure.”

  “Wear running shoes,” he said, starting to walk away backwards.

  “Not my boots?”

  “No boots.”

  “What did he want?” Abby said, catching Bria’s arm.

  “Oh. Uh.” Bria schooled her face hide her idiotic grin. “The mural. We talked about the mural.” For like a second. Not totally a lie.

  “So lame. They should have left it. But at least you’re a legend now.”

  �
��It’s fine.” She stole a final glance at Ben. “Really.”

  ~

  Bria pulled the front door shut behind her and stepped onto the dawn-kissed lawn. Water from the sprinklers clung to the grass, safe from the heat of the coming day.

  At the foot of the driveway, Ben stretched his legs. Dressed in loose shorts sitting low on his hips and a light tee shirt, his stomach peeked out when he stretched too far. But more than the hard muscles of his body, the relaxed slope of his shoulders and his easy smile drew her in.

  He flashed a grin at her and clutched his ankle, pulling his foot back to nearly touch his waist.

  “Wow.” She shook her head.

  A brief glimmer lit his eyes as he took in her shorts and tank. Maybe yoga pants would have been better. “Gotta stay flexible.”

  “I guess.” She stretched out her own muscles, shaking off any lingering sleep.

  “You ready?” he asked, starting to jog in place.

  “How did you talk me into this? Do you even know how hard it is to find vegan running shoes?”

  “And yet you found ones that match your hair. Totally worth it.” His eyes skipped over her again and she put her hands on her hips.

  “Don’t get too used to it. I’m going back to my Doc Martens tomorrow.”

  “I’m going at a slower pace today, keeping it easy,” he said, shaking his arms and legs. “My therapist wants me to ease back into it.”

  “So I’ll make it a whole two blocks before I die instead of one?”

  He laughed and started down the street, the transitioning from walking to running seamlessly. “Come on!”

  Bria looked back at the house and bolted after him, flailing with the awkward flair of someone who hadn’t run since gym class sophomore year.

  “Look ahead,” Ben called. “Not at your feet. Look to the horizon.”

  She lifted her head, taking a deep breath at the view. From the top of her street, all of Oceanside stretched away, reaching toward the sea. The waves still glittered with the pink and orange of the sunrise and in the silence of the fresh morning, birdsongs swooped and soared.

  “That’s easier,” she said, her body falling into alignment.

  He grinned at her over his shoulder. “Can’t aim at something you can’t see.”

  “How are you making running philosophical?”

  “I’m good like that.” He slowed to jog a little behind her. “Shoulders low and loose. Good. Roll your foot forward as soon as you hit. Perfect. You got this.”