The Art of Falling

by Jenny Kaczorowski

  “That’s right. You’re an early riser like Ben.”

  The comparison cut her, bringing the previous night back full force.

  “I tried to sleep in.”

  Adele laughed and continued gathering mixing bowls, measuring cups and baking supplies. “If you’re up, would you like to help?”

  “What are you making?”

  “Chocolate cake. I thought I’d whip something together for Ben’s birthday while he’s out running.”

  “Right. That’s Monday.” She had tried to forget.

  “Yep. I’ll be on set all day, but I try to have something special for the kids. It’s actually a vegan cake. So moist and easy.”

  “What can I do?”

  Adele handed her an apron. “Measure out the dry ingredients?”

  “Sure.” Bria picked up the recipe and sat down at the counter.

  Three cups flour, two cups sugar. The cocoa powder spilled on the counter as she measured out half a cup.

  “Sorry.”

  Adele grabbed a damp cloth from the sink and wiped it away. “Here’s a trick my mom taught me. With something like cocoa powder that has a small opening, use a smaller measuring cup. Like two quarter cups instead of a half cup.”

  “Thanks.” Bria added baking soda and salt, trying to remember the last time she’d baked anything.

  “Whisk that together,” Adele said. “Perfect.”

  Bria smiled. So long as she could forget she was baking for Ben, keeping busy was way better than lying in Abby’s bed and rehashing everything that had gone wrong.

  Pulling the bowl of dry ingredients close, Adele dumped in oil, vanilla, vinegar and water.

  “I’ve always been disappointed that vanilla extract doesn’t taste like it smells,” she said.

  “Like coffee,” Bria said. “I want something that tastes the way coffee grounds smell.”

  “Precisely.” She dumped the batter into two waiting cake pans and slid them into the oven. “Half an hour until that’s done and maybe fifteen after that before Ben gets home. What kind of frosting should I do?”

  “Vanilla. With Skittles.” The words came before she realized she was speaking.

  Adele laughed. “Skittles. You know I buy them in bulk for him. You’d think they’d be terrible for his teeth but that boy’s never had a single cavity.”

  Before she could say something about how his perfect smile turned her into goo, she grabbed another mixing bowl. “How do you make frosting?”

  “I have a fantastic whipped cream recipe somewhere. I got it from your aunt, actually.”

  “Oh, that really fluffy one?”

  “That’s the one.” She pulled an oversized mixer forward on the counter. “Can you get the whipping cream for me? It’s on the door of the fridge.”

  “Whipped cream is the thing I miss most going from vegetarian to vegan,” Bria said, handing her the carton.

  “There’s nothing like the real thing.”

  “That’s what Mom always said.”

  Adele looked up from her measuring and gave her a soft smile. “Your grandma must have been a wonderful cook.”

  “Grandpa.”

  “Oh?” She locked the mixer down and turned it on.

  “He owned the bakery before Aunt Becky. Most of her recipes come from him.”

  “Do you ever bake?”

  Bria shook her head. “With just me and Dad, there’s always too much for us.”

  “You can always send leftovers here. Food doesn’t last long in this house.”

  “Ben eats a ton, doesn’t he?”

  “Especially during football.”

  Bria picked up the measuring cups, stacking them inside each other. “How is his leg?”

  “Getting better.” Adele covered the frosting bowl with plastic wrap and sliding it into the fridge. “He’s planning on playing on Friday.”

  “Already?” A sliver of fear crept into her voice.

  “I know. I wish he’d rest longer, but I can’t hold him back. Ben goes after life with everything in him. I’d never want to diminish that.”

  Ben came through the back door, stopping short. “Hey.”

  “You’re back early,” Adele said. “I haven’t started breakfast yet.”

  He sat own at the opposite side of the counter from Bria and stretched out his leg. “My calf gave out.”

  “Ice?” She pulled out a frying pan and set it on the stove.

  “Yeah.”

  Bria hopped up and opened the freezer without looking at him.

  “Thank you, Bria,” Adele said.

  “You don’t need…” Ben said. His eyes slid away to the ice pack in her hand.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Bria said.

  “Are you going to stay for breakfast?” Adele asked. “I think I have some of Abby’s vegetarian sausage I can cook up for you.”

  Bria turned away from Ben. “I should get home. I have a lot of homework this weekend.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The worn carpet outside Principal Erikson’s office looked older than the high school. Bria studied the bits of color left from the rainbow stripes now ground into the navy background. Not nearly as beautiful or interesting as the boy seated next to her, but definitely safer.

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said, speaking in a whisper to avoid drawing Mr. Cole’s attention away from buffing his nails.

  “For what?” She refused to look at him. It was easier to stay mad if she didn’t have to see the consequences of her anger.

  “Whatever I did to hurt you.”

  She snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t know, it’s not a real apology.”

  “I get that things are weird between us, but you don’t have to ignore me.”

  “I’m not ignoring you.”

  “You’re avoiding me. Which is fine. I get it. I just thought we ended things better than that.”

  “Bria? Ben?” Principal Erikson stuck his head out of his office door and waved them in.

  Bria bounced to her feet and marched in with Ben on her heels.

  “Good morning,” she said, folding her hands in her lap.

  “I’m told the mural has been fixed?” he said, scanning a piece of paper.

  “Yes, sir,” Ben said. “Although most of the credit belongs to Bria.”

  She clenched her jaw, but kept her chin up and her head straight. “I think you’ll be happy with it. It’s a lot better than it was before I ruined it.”

  “I spoke with your parents and, given your academic records and the honors you’ve each brought to this school, I believe your punishment has been served in full.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Ben said.

  “That being said, you’re both on probation. If either of you step out of line, you’ll both be suspended. Keep your grades up, honor your commitments to the school, attend every class and don’t be late.”

  “Why both of us?” Bria said, gripping the arms of the chair. The last thing she wanted was anything that still tethered her to Ben.

  “Because I still don’t know who is to blame for this and you’re obviously in cahoots about something.”

  She pressed her lips together to hold back a retort.

  “For how long?” Ben asked.

  “The end of the semester.” He looked between them and shook his head. “You’re both dismissed. Get back to class.”

  “Thank you, Principal Erikson,” Bria said, rising.

  Ben followed at her elbow, waiting until they reached the locker-lined hallway to grab her arm. “Stop.”

  “We have to get to class or we’re both going to get suspended, remember? I don’t want to ruin your scholarship.”

  “Will you stop worrying about me? I’m worried about you.”

  She froze, running a hand through her ponytail. “Don’t.”

  “Something went wrong between us and it’s not just that you don’t like me. We used to be friends and now you won’t even look at me.”

  She
spun around and stared him full in the face for first time since the gym. The open anguish in his eyes startled her. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “The last thing I knew, you rejected me.”

  “Because it’s better to end it now before either of us gets hurt.”

  “I think it’s too late for that,” he said.

  “Then it’s a good thing the mural is done and we don’t have to see each other any more.”

  “So this is it?”

  “I guess it is.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small book on Degas she’d had stashed inside for weeks and then shoved it into his chest. “Happy birthday, Ben.”

  ~

  “Hey.” Rafael flipped a chair around to sit backwards at the lunch table.

  “Hi.” Bria closed her sketchbook. “Did I miss anything exciting in art this morning?”

  “Just London Calling and a rousing lecture on the wonders of Disney animation.”

  “The Clash. Classic choice. But I’ve heard that lecture every fall since freshman year. The Furybot 3000 doesn’t mix that one up much.”

  “Where were you? Vega isn’t nearly as much fun to argue with as you.”

  Bria turned to look at Ben over her shoulder. “My final act of restitution.”

  “Oh? So you’re done with the jock strap?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t call him that.”

  “Come on. Can’t I be a little jealous? I’ve been trying all year to get your attention while he’s spending every night with you?”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. Promise.”

  “You sure? He’s been watching you the whole time we’ve been talking. Just like he always does. It’s kind of creepy if you ask me.”

  “Seriously? Is he still watching me?”

  “Yep.”

  She caught the collar of Rafael’s leather jacket and tugged him closer. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  He grinned. “So you’re saying I still have a shot?”

  “You can always hope.” She let go of his collar. “I’ll see you around.”

  “You’re still coming to band practice, right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Cool.” He swung his leg over the chair and stood. “Later.”

  Bria flipped her sketchbook open again, but left her pencil jammed in the spine.

  “That was interesting,” Dolores said. She set her tray down beside Bria and took her seat.

  “He missed me in art.”

  “I bet,” Abby said. “If that’s the way you always are with him.”

  Bria drew one leg up to her chest and hugged her knee. “I should probably stop encouraging him.”

  “So you didn’t ask him?” Abby took the seat across from them.

  “Homecoming! Crap. I totally forgot.”

  “Bria, you promised.”

  “I’ll ask. I swear. I will have a date for homecoming.”

  Abby crossed her legs under her. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I want you to have fun and you look completely miserable just thinking about it.”

  “It’s not you.” She pulled her lips into a smile. “I’ll get over it. Tell me about your dress.”

  Abby clapped her hands. “I got it yesterday. It’s pink.”

  “Of course,” Dolores said.

  “Anyway. Pink tulle. Totally like a ballerina dress, but not a tutu because that would be too much, you know?”

  Bria grinned. “Because you never do too much.”

  “I am quite reserved.”

  Dolores giggled.

  Bria settled back in her chair. “I love you guys. You know that, right?”

  “You aren’t dying, are you?” Abby lifted her eyebrow.

  “What? No.”

  Dolores took her hand. “Abby’s right. Something is really weird. Did someone else die?”

  Not someone, but something. “Seriously. Everything is fine.”

  “Because you’d tell us if something was wrong. Right?” Abby kept her eyes locked on Bria’s.

  “I always do. I always will.” And the lies continued.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The marine layer moved in from the shore, dense fog drifting through the open door of Rafael’s garage and curling in around the seams of Bria’s long sleeved shirt. She overlapped the sides of her hoodie across her chest, but that wasn’t enough to curb the shivers.

  Amps, cables and a drum kit littered both bays of the garage, pushing the cars out onto the driveway. A few posters of bikini clad girls hung on the walls and a simple grey rug covered the concrete floor, but it lacked any other domestic touches. A stack of empty pizza boxes and beer bottles lay near the trashcan in the corner, but had failed to land in it. Clearly a space inhabited by teenage boys.

  “Hey.” Rafael sat beside her on one of the amps, a decent if uninspired Mesa/Boogie. “Grabbed this for you.” He wrapped a leather jacket around her shoulders. The bitter, smoky scent wafted around her.

  “Thanks.” She tilted her head to watch his face out of the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t find any hint of his usual cocksure posture.

  “You looked cold.” He picked up his new bass from its stand and plucked at the strings, coaxing it into tune by ear. “You know this doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to.”

  “What’s with this whole nice guy thing?”

  He flashed a roguish grin. “I’m always a nice guy.”

  “I’m not buying it.” She pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes.

  His fingers slid up and down the strings of the bass, pulling out a melody where someone with less skill might only draw awkward thunks. “School, the art room. That’s your world. Here, you’re in mine. I don’t know. I guess I’m more me here.”

  “I like real you better.”

  That sly grin peeked out again, but he didn’t look up from his bass. “So it is a date?”

  She let her shoulder rest against his. “It’s a date.”

  “What do I get to tell the guys about you?”

  “Don’t push your luck,” she said, but the smile dancing around her lips broke free. “We’re friends.”

  He slid his hands up the neck of the guitar and stood. “A guy can try, right?”

  “Sure.” She swallowed, the weight of Ben’s betrayal heavy in her gut. “So. Abs is making us all go to the homecoming dance.”

  “Who are you going with?”

  She punched his arm. “Stop it.”

  “Oh. Were you going to ask me? I mean, girls are lining up to ask me. I’ll have to break a lot of hearts, but this is the fate of a rock god.”

  She glared at him.

  “Fine.” He gave her a heavy sigh and a wink. “Bria, you wanna go to the homecoming dance with me? It’ll be this cool, ironic thing. Totally not serious at all. And that doesn’t have to be a date either.”

  “You know you have to buy me flowers, right?”

  He set the bass down on a stand. “This isn’t my first dance.”

  “Raf,” a tall, heavyset boy called from the driveway. He walked into the garage and dropped his guitar case next to Bria. “Hey. Are you Raf’s girl?”

  “His friend,” she corrected. “Bria.”

  “I’m Skinny Matt.”

  “You should see Fat Matt,” Rafael said.

  Bria’s phone rang and she fished it from her pocket. She tightened her lips and hit ignore. “Sorry. I’ll turn it off.”

  “No worries,” Matt said. “Hey, I’ve been working on this new thing.” He pulled his guitar from the case and balanced on the edge of the drum throne. His heavy fingers danced over the strings with a touch too light and precise for their size.

  “Nice.” Rafael picked up his bass and plucked out an answering melody.

  Bria settled Rafael’s jacket around her shoulders and pulled one knee up to her chest. Watching the boys jam did a pretty good job of erasing Ben from her mind, even if it was his number popping up on her missed c
alls list.

  They were actually kind of good. Raw, but with a unique sound. Depending on vocals –

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket again and she tugged it free.

  “Ex?” Matt said.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Either of you want a beer?” Rafael asked. He stood in front of a mini fridge at the back of the garage.

  Bria crossed her arms in an X in front of her chest. “Straight Edge.”

  “No way.” Rafael tossed a can into Matt’s outstretched hands. “So that rumor’s true?”

  She grinned. “Most of them are.”

  “It’s just something else we have in common.” Rafael’s full lips curled into a smile.

  “Beer kind of lost its appeal after a drunk driver killed my mom and left me with this.” She pulled back her shirt to show off the scar.

  “Dude,” Matt said, setting down his beer and looking a little green.

  “My best friend is a lush,” Bria said. “Don’t worry about it. Just not my thing. Someone has to make sure you cretins don’t get on the road, so I’m permanent DD.”

  “Oooh, vocab word,” Matt said.

  “You do know the Ramones song, right?”

  “I don’t buy it,” Rafael said. “You’re smarter than you act.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You caught me. I love accounting and my graphing calculator is my most prized possession.”

  The boys laughed and she smiled back, safe behind the truth of her lie.

  “’Sup,” a tall, reedy boy said. He clasped Rafael’s hand and thumped his fist against his back in a typical bro hug. He tossed his stick-straight, straw colored hair back from his eyes. “Who’s the chick?”

  “Bria,” she said, sticking out her hand. “Raf’s friend.”

  “Jackie. You the art chick from school?”

  She glanced at Rafael. “Sure.”

  “You want to paint a logo on my drums?”

  “Leave her alone,” Rafael said, wrapping an arm around her waist.

  “What’s the band name?” Bria asked.

  “Battle Goat!” Jackie said.

  “Okay then. Who has paper?”

  “He’s kidding,” Matt said. “We don’t have a name yet.”

  “I wasn’t. Get me some paper.”

  “I’ll grab something,” Rafael said. He rummaged around in his bag and pulled a sketchbook free.