The Art of Falling

by Jenny Kaczorowski

  A grin slipped free. Her body moved with a fluidity she didn’t normally have. Even when her lungs began to feel cold and hungry for air, she wanted to push harder into the freedom surging around her. Arms and legs pumping, feet springing forward as the merest pressure. Left, right. Push forward, push forward,

  It didn’t take long to forget she couldn’t run, to forget the neighbors might be watching, to forget Ben-freaking-Harris was spending his Saturday morning with her. And that she was way too cool to care.

  At last, the road turned into a cul-de-sac ringed by an open park. Bria slowed, huffing and wobbling on legs made of Jell-O.

  “Enough?” she asked.

  Ben nodded and sat down - hard - on the grass. He slowly stretched out his leg, pulling his calf straight. His whole face twisted, turning Bria’s stomach with it.

  “Are you okay? Did you push too hard?”

  “Nothing a good stretch won’t fix.” His eyes locked on hers. “You want to help?”

  Her stomach did a whole different set of acrobatics, but she kept her face straight. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Maybe.” A sly smile caught his lips. “No pain, no gain, right?”

  Bria rolled her eyes. “That, right there, is why sports are stupid. Pain is your body’s way of saying something is wrong. Lame clichés aren’t going to change that.”

  He produced a water bottle from the fuel belt at his waist. “Creativity isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

  “Oh, no?” She settled beside him. “I hear your creativity is one of the things that makes you such a great quarterback.”

  “But that’s different, isn’t it?”

  She stole a sideways glance and accepted the outstretched water bottle. “They’re both frivolous, right? Art and sports? No one needs them in the sense that they need air or food.”

  He looked out at the street, his body loose but a line forming between his eyes. “Is that what you think about me and what I do? That I abuse my body for nothing?”

  “Isn’t it?” She handed back the remaining water, vowing to bring her own next time.

  “I push myself because I know I can do better,” Ben said. “When I run or make a pass and my whole body works together, that’s the thing that makes me feel like I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Like I was created for that moment, you know?”

  She rested her head against his shoulder. “I actually do.”

  A few minutes of gentle silence passed while the world below woke to a blue, cloudless Saturday. Cars passed and dogs barked, scurrying out for morning walks.

  “So I guess the moral,” Ben said, his voice hushed and deep and shiver-inducing. “Is that me and you are more alike than you thought.”

  The warmth spreading through her veins coursed toward her fingertips and she ached to grab his hand and tangle her fingers with his and –

  She twisted and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Except I know the difference between me and I.”

  The incredulous look on his face could have been from the shock of the kiss or the correction to his grammar. Instead of discovering which, she jumped up.

  “I’ll race you home.”

  He got to his feet, shaking his head. “Bria Hale, you are a wonder.”

  She kept her head straight, afraid that if she looked at him, she’d have to tackle him to the ground. What had he said? You can’t aim at something you can’t see.

  “Captain, my Captain!” someone yelled up the hill.

  Ben waved. “Hey Ricky.”

  Rick slowed as he neared them. A hulking beast of a boy with a giant grin, Rick was one of the few guys on the team Bria knew beyond his reputation. “What are you guys doing out here?”

  “I’m teaching Bria to run.”

  “Trying,” she corrected with a repressed smile. She’d saved Rick’s ass in art one year, earning his eternal gratitude. “I don’t think I’ll make it habit.”

  “You never know,” Rick said. “Ben usually gets what he wants.”

  “So do I.”

  Ben laughed. “Come on. I’ve got another mile after I get you home. Later, Ricky.”

  He waved and kept running, his massive frame steaming forward like a freight train.

  The run back came easier, the downhill slope working with her instead of against. Ben still called out instructions to improve her form, minor adjustments to her hips, shoulders, and stance. They reached the end of the driveway before she completely ran out of breath.

  “It’s a good thing I never smoked,” she said, leaning her hands on her knees.

  “Never? With that kind of lung capacity?” A teasing twinkle crinkled his eyes.

  “Oh shut it.” She shoved his arm and he toppled sideways before finding his footing.

  “What kind of rebel doesn’t smoke?” He swatted her hand away.

  She stepped closer, chin tilted in challenge. “What kind of jock quotes Walt Whitman?”

  “What kind of art kid goes running at 6 a.m.?” He held his ground, eyes piercing hers and setting her heart racing.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then I win.” He wrapped his arms around her back, hugging her to his chest and lifting her off the ground. She bit back a giggle and squirmed to free herself, succeeding in knocking them both into the grass. In the tangle of arms and legs and lilies, she certainly didn’t feel like she’d lost.

  She rolled onto her back, turning her head to face him.

  “You have really tiny feet,” he said, staring at her shoes.

  “The only part of me that’s ever been petite.”

  “Petite is another word for breakable. I like substance.”

  “That I have.” She smiled at him, willing to take in the compliment whether he meant it or not. He smiled back, shifting his whole body toward her.

  “Ricky watched Dead Poets Society right after Coach made me captain,” he said, his face half a breath from hers.

  She felt him along the length of her body, goose bumps prickling along her bare legs. “I can’t stand the smell of cigarettes. I smoked a half a clove once and threw up.”

  “I smoked half a pack a day freshman year, until I realized it was hurting my game.”

  “Maybe sports are good for something. I think life would suck infinitely more without you in it.”

  “I like being here too.”

  A car pulled into the driveway and Bria popped up on her elbows. “That’s Dolores. I should go and let you get back to your run.”

  Ben sighed but got to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. “Thanks for coming. Made it a lot easier to ignore the pain.”

  “Does it hurt?” She stepped closer and reached down to touch his calf before realizing that was probably weird and overstepping some boundary. Besides, Dolores was staring at her.

  “Something always hurts.” He shrugged. “See you Monday. And thanks.”

  Bria met Dolores at the front step and sat down, watching Ben run up the hill again.

  “That was interesting,” Dolores said, finally breaking the silence.

  “Yeah.” Bria dropped her hands between her knees. “I went running.”

  “And then rolled around in the grass with Ben Harris?”

  “Oh, yeah. That too.” It didn’t seem weird at all. It felt so beyond normal. Especially the part where she kissed his cheek.

  “You need an intervention.” Dolores shook her head and hopped up. “Come on. I need help with my calc homework.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Oh shit.”

  Something soft landed on Bria’s head and she tilted her head to stare at Ben. “What?”

  “I dropped a ton of paint in your hair.”

  “That was paint?” She reached up and pulled her hand away covered in white.

  Ben stifled a laugh. “You already dye it purple; maybe white’s the new thing?”

  “Very funny.” She tried to scrub it out with a nearby rag, but Ben laughed harder.

  “You’re so ma
king it worse.”

  “Then you come down here and help me.”

  He slid down the ladder and grabbed another towel, still trying to hold back his laughter.

  “I can’t get it,” he said at last. “You need a shower.”

  “Or paint thinner. Do you have any idea how bad that stuff is for my hair?”

  “You’ve used it often enough to know?”

  She groaned and tossed her towel down before stomping across the gym to the girls’ locker room. “Doors are locked,” she called back to him.

  “Come on. We’ll get the keys from Coach.” He jogged across the wooden floor and led her down a back hallway to the coaches’ offices.

  “Your leg looks better,” she said.

  “Feels better too. I think running again is helping.”

  The pungent smell of sweat overcame her and she held up her hand to block her nose.

  “Rank, isn’t it?” he said. “Hey, Coach.”

  Mr. Wicket looked up from his desk, bald head shining in the glow of the overhead lights. “Ben. What can I do for you?”

  “I dropped some paint in Bria’s hair. Can she get the key to the girls’ locker room?”

  Mr. Wicket spun around and reached for a corkboard before pausing halfway. “Huh. I don’t have it. One of the girls musta forgotten to return it.” He turned his chair back around. “You can use the boys’ showers if you’re quick. No one else is around today.”

  “I’ll stand guard,” Ben said with a grin.

  “I can wait.”

  Mr. Wicket whistled. “That is a lot of paint. Did you dump a whole bucket on her?”

  Bria sighed. “Fine. I’ll use the boys.”

  Ben followed her back into the hall. “Come on. No one else is in there. Coach cancelled our practice today and none of the other teams have started yet.”

  “So no one else works out after hours?”

  A touch of color rose in his cheeks. “I got in a fight with my dad that night. I needed to clear my head.”

  “About what?”

  “My leg. He told me to quit the team before something permanent happens.” He pushed open the locker room door and flicked on the light switch. “Showers are all the way at the end.”

  “This is so weird,” she said, walking through the pristine tile room, an exact mirror of the girls’ locker room, save for the lack of tampon wrappers, makeup smears and hairballs. “I thought boys were gross.”

  “Not like girls.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I share a bathroom with my sister.”

  Bria grinned. “I pity her future husband.”

  “First shower is usually the cleanest,” Ben said, nodding toward the curtained enclosure.

  “Turn around and don’t look.”

  He obliged, shoving his hands in his pockets and whistling.

  Bria stripped down to her camisole and boy shorts, but couldn’t bring herself to completely undress in the guys’ locker room. “I need shampoo,” she said, watching the white paint rinse from her hair.

  “Give me a minute.”

  She worked her fingers through to the ends while trying to keep her body out of the spray.

  “Sorry it smells like boy,” Ben said, thrusting his hand through the curtain and offering a bottle of Axe.

  “Gross.” She squeezed a glob into her hand and sniffed. “You actually use this stuff?”

  “Nope. But Dom does.”

  “Eww!” She tossed the bottle out of the shower. “You made me touch Dom Andrei’s shampoo?” Manwhore didn’t even begin to describe Oceanside’s resident lothario.

  Ben laughed. “He’s the only guy who keeps shampoo in his locker. Sorry.”

  “Probably picked up the herp or the hep just touching that thing.” She stuck her head out and scattered her hair with her hand. “How’d I do?”

  His face screwed up in an effort to hold back more laughter.

  “Well I’m glad you think this is funny. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get oil-based paint out?”

  “You look like a drowned skunk.”

  She threw back the shower curtain and put her hands on her hips. “Then you get in here and wash it out.”

  His eyes flicked over her, drawing heat in the wake of his gaze. He stripped off his shirt and stepped in. The walls shrank around her, until there was barely room to breathe around the nearness of his body.

  “Hold still,” he said.

  “I can get it.” Her voice echoed off the tiles, small and unconvincing.

  He sighed and set to work running his fingers over her scalp, working the shampoo into a lather. “I’m sorry.”

  “At least it’ll make a good story. Someday.”

  “I’ve almost got it out.”

  Bria exhaled, forcing her body to relax. “You know the stupidest part of this whole thing? I’m not even a vegetarian.”

  His hands stilled. “No way.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I still think eating meat is irresponsible and the US meat industry is appalling and make my dad buy organic, free-range stuff, but yeah. I eat meat occasionally.”

  “I thought you were vegan.”

  She winced. “A vegan with insatiable cravings for bacon.”

  “Bacon?”

  “It’s so good. All that grease and salt. I got sick last spring and my iron tanked, so I went out and bought a burger. It was the best thing ever. Now I sneak meat when I’m alone.”

  “For shame.”

  She giggled. “I know. I’ve just had this identity so long. I’ve had all this control. I don’t know how to give it up.”

  His fingers strayed from her hair to trace the scar running across her collarbone. “It doesn’t look as bad as I remember.”

  She pulled her lips together. “It’s fading.”

  “I can’t imagine having to see that every day and remember,” he said.

  “That’s why I always cover it.” The feather-light pressure of his touch forced her eyes closed. “The seatbelt nearly severed my carotid. I should have died with her.”

  “But you didn’t.” His fingers curled around her shoulder. “You survived.”

  She slammed her palm into the shower knob, turning off the water. “It still changed everything.”

  “I know. You changed.”

  She shrugged away from him. “Losing your mom and nearly dying makes it a lot harder to care what people think about you.”

  “I didn’t say it was a bad change.” He dropped his hand. “I’ve always wished I could be more like you. Not care about what people think.”

  “Ha. You have no idea. Hence the whole vegetarian thing.” Turning back to him, she dropped her eyes, unable to hold his stare. “You have enough scars of your own. We don’t need to talk about mine.” She touched one of the shiny circular patches scattered across his chest and stomach. “What did you do to yourself?”

  “Freshman year. When I joined the team. Whoever could hold a lit cigarette to their skin the longest got bragging rights. I won.”

  “That’s so stupid.”

  “Yeah.” His hand drifted to brush the damp hair away from her face. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things.”

  “Haven’t we all?”

  “I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been doing the wrong stupid things.” He drew the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, but whatever was smoldering behind his eyes wouldn’t be quenched by a kiss.

  A flash of another life, a life with Ben, danced before her. Love and laughter, all wrapped up in his arms. Touching him. Holding him. Being held. Kisses. More than kisses. To know and be known, loved and accepted, completely.

  She yanked her hand away. “So. I guess a hair dryer would be too much to ask for?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Probably.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “I’ll, um, find you a towel.”

  “Hey Ben!” someone called.

  “Give me a minute, Jake,” Ben yelled back.

  “Coach said there’s g
oing to be a scout at Friday’s game. I gotta practice.”

  “I’m almost done.”

  Bria took the towel Ben handed her and wrapped it around her hair. “You can go. I’ll clean up.”

  “You sure?”

  “Whoa.” Jake stopped short. “You’re nailing the weird chick? Didn’t she ruin the gym?”

  Bria’s cheeks flamed red. She didn’t know Jake Moreno beyond his name, but as one of the biggest guys on the football team, she’d always tried to avoid him. In such close quarters, he seemed even bigger.

  “Leave it alone.” Ben stepped in between them and handed his sweatshirt to Bria. “I told you I’d be done in a minute. Go wait in the gym.”

  “I mean, I knew you took the fall for the mural, but dude.”

  “I’m not sleeping with her.”

  “Dude.”

  Bria wrapped Ben’s oversized hoodie around herself twice and slipped on her jeans. Even that made her feel too exposed.

  “Jake.” Ben’s annoyance finally broke through.

  “Okay. Fine. She’s not really that hot anyway. Not when you’re got Aly waiting for you.”

  “Get. Out.”

  Jake shrugged and shuffled off toward the gym.

  “Sorry,” Ben said without turning around. “I’ll make sure he keeps his mouth shut.”

  “Right.” She handed his hoodie back. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re nailing the not-so-hot weird chick.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “You were awfully quick to make sure your reputation didn’t get hurt.”

  “What?”

  Fully dressed again, she faced him and, despite the sinking feeling in her gut, forced a smile. “It’s fine. Tell him whatever you need to. See you tomorrow.”

  “How are you getting home? I thought your dad took your keys.”

  “I’ll walk.”

  “Bria.”

  She turned. “Seriously. Don’t sweat it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Scrubbed so clean her skin glowed pink, Bria stepped out of the shower and wrapped up in a towel. She turned down the stereo pumping the melodic screams of some hardcore band into the cavernous bathroom. Wiping the steam from the mirror, she slid her fingers over the puckered scar tissue.