I pick out some brown rice and Mandarin chicken from the take-out bags and head up to my room to start my homework. There’s only so many awkward silences that I can stand.
My palm clutches my chest in an attempt to slow my pounding heart. My eyes struggle to focus on the alarm clock.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
4:45 A.M. slowly comes into focus.
Oh, well, I reason with myself. My alarm was going to go off in fifteen minutes anyhow. I fling the thick comforter off of the bed.
The nightmare that’s just woken me up isn’t a new one. I’ve had the same one so many times. Less frequently since Trevor and I have been together, but that doesn’t mean that it stings any less. I suppose calling it a nightmare isn’t even entirely accurate. Not when it’s something that actually happened; the morning that changed my life is the stuff nightmares are made of. I was only fifteen when someone killed my mom.
I can’t go back to sleep, so I might as well be doing this. I smooth the sweater that I’d thrown on, making sure it covers up my pajama shirt. The camera is positioned to only capture me from the waist up, so I didn’t bother changing out of my pajama bottoms. “I’m up early for my workout this morning. I just couldn’t sleep because I’m so excited to get to gym and start working on my routines for Nationals.” I wish these nightmares would stop. She’s gone. I get it. I don’t understand why my brain insists on making me relive it night after night. I fight a yawn coming on. “To be honest—” I miss my mom. I wish she were here to help me figure out this crazy schedule, this crazy show, this crazy life. But I can’t say any of that, no matter how true it is. “To be honest, there’s nothing I’d rather do than gymnastics. There’s nothing that makes me happier than learning a new skill and doing it well.” The tears I felt threatening to spill are kept at bay. For now. “So, I’d better get going!”
Sitting in first period today is the same as every other day. Organize books. Tap pencil. Stare off into space thinking about Trevor. Or gymnastics. What the heck am I supposed to talk about in my “confessional” today? My life is so dull.
Until the door opens and Grant walks into the room. I’d almost forgotten about my absurd reaction to him until right now, when I feel my stomach fill with nervous butterflies again.
Mrs. Drez is already passing out instructions for a partnered assignment by the time he makes his way to our table and sets his backpack down. Grant picks up the paper to examine it before I can.
“Bathymetric charts, huh?” he says. I’ve heard about this project from upper classmen. Apparently, it’s quite the undertaking.
I nod silently. Smooth, Syd.
Mrs. Drez clears her throat. Like that will even do the slightest bit of good.
“Your partner will be the person sitting next to you.” I glance over and Grant nods at me. Grand. “You’ll need to work together outside of school to get all of this done. It’s due next Wednesday. Have at it.”
“Looks like we’re partners,” Grant says. I have to admit, I’m really glad that he seems to be way too nice to make any jokes about my nosedive yesterday.
“Yep. Can I see that?” Not having my paws on the instructions has me twitchy. I motion for the instruction sheet and he passes the page to me.
I quickly skim the directions and then glance back up at him. Same freakishly white, toothy smile. Same goose bumps covering my arms. Damn.
“This says that we have to meet outside of school—”
“I’m free anytime. How about you?” he says.
“Actually, I’m fairly busy,” I say. Which sounds all wrong but G rant doesn’t give me a chance to explain how hectic my schedule is at the moment..
“Oh, okay. Well, I can just do the project if that’d be easier for you,” Grant says and shifts his body away from me slightly. It surprises me how much I don’t like that.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I just have a lot going on. I can’t do right after school or anything, but I can meet up in the evenings if that’s okay with you.”
He smiles warmly at me. “Yep, evenings are fine. How about tonight?”
All right, Mr. Eager.
I think for a minute about what I may have going on. Just one thing. As usual.
“Tonight works. I have gym until six, then I’m free,” I tell him.
“Gym?”
“Yeah,” I catch myself twirling my hair around my finger like a total dimwit. “I do gymnastics.”
“No kidding. Not at the place out on Parker Lane?” he asks.
“Yep, Sam’s Gymnastics Academy. I’ve been going since I was three.” I can’t tell if that sounds impressive or really lame.
“That’s right around the corner from my house. I’ve noticed it on my way to school. You could just come over to my place when you’re done if you’d like, since you’ll be practically there already,” he offers.
That makes sense and also means the whole, “going to a strange guy’s house after dark” thing a little less weird since he lives in a familiar area.
“That’s great. I’ll be by about six-thirty. Can I bring anything?”
“I’ll take care of everything.”
Grant scribbles something on to a piece of paper and slides it toward me. I glance down at his address and phone number. The chart will be too cumbersome and have too many little pieces while it’s being assembled to be stored at school, or carted back and forth to class. I get it, but I still hate when teachers assign projects that we have to do them outside of school. I guess hanging with Grant does make it a little more enticing. The project is not exactly complicated, just tedious. Basically, we have to assemble a map of the ocean floor, building it up to scale using layers of paper. I’m clueless as to how this will be useful at any point in my life, then again, Oceanography isn’t exactly my dream class. I’m taking it because my dad mentioned how much he loved the class when he was young, so of course I signed up.
“See you tonight then,” he says. The confidence in his voice matches his smile, and I inappropriately swoon a little bit inside.
The lunch room is noisy and crowded as always. Even more so today because a camera guy from the show is here filming some test shots, so even the kids that don’t typically eat on campus are here, wanting their chance to be on TV. I set my lunch down across from one of my best friends, Tessa, and try to ignore the camera in the corner of the room. At least they aren’t actually filming me today.
“Syd! I’ve been waiting to talk to you all day! Are we going dress shopping tonight, or what?” Tessa is beaming. I hate that I’m about to let her down.
“What? Did you finally ask Oliver?” I ask. Tess had been struggling for weeks about whether or not she should ask Oliver, who she’s had her eye on for ages, to prom.
“Yes! So, tonight?” Tessa’s voice is pleading.
Quinn is the next to show up, plopping down next to Tessa.
“Shopping yes, but not tonight,” I say.
Tessa’s mouth puckers downward into an exaggerated frown.
I laugh, just as Trevor appears. He kisses the top of my head and then straddles the bench seat, wraps his arms around my waist, and pulls me in closer to him. I love how close he always wants me. Even if the cameras are around.
“Sorry, Tessa, I’ve got an Oceanography project I have to work on tonight. I’m all yours tomorrow, though,” I explain.
“Oceanography? On a Friday night? Isn’t that supposed to be, like, a cake class? Aquarium field trips and tide pools and all that?” Quinn asks while peering inside her lunch bag.
“Yeah, that’d be nice. We’re making bathymetric charts,” I say.
“Bath-a-who?” Quinn asks, pulling out several small Tupperware from her bag. No doubt she has whipped up some amazing culinary creation that will put my usual, plain boiled chicken breast to shame.
“It’s a map of the ocean floor,” I say with a laugh.
“You need help, baby? I still have most of my projects from when I took that class last year,” Trevor
offers.
“No thanks. You know I’m not a cheater,” I joke. “Besides, it’s a partnered project, it shouldn’t be too much work,” I say.
“Depends on who your partner is,” Tessa pipes in. She, like me, usually ends up doing the majority of the work in any paired assignment. It’s just makes it easier to ensure that things get done right and on time. I look up from my lunch and realize that everyone at the table is waiting on my answer.
“It’s this new guy. Grant Evans,” I answer as nonchalantly as possible.
Quinn snorts.
I’d assumed no one would know who I was talking about. Clearly I’d underestimated Quinn’s hottie radar.
“Oh holy hell, I’ve seen him about, he’s gorgeous!” she blurts out. “Let me know if you want me to take your place in Oceanography, Syd. Seriously. Everyone’s talking about him. Sex-on-a-stick that one is. You can go to my Bio Two class. Take a crack at raising my grade.” Quinn is laughing hysterically, and I’m sort of wishing it was possible to stab someone with just a look.
Trevor’s eyes are on me, I can feel them. Like his tightening grasp on my hand, they show that he’s not happy with Quinn’s description of Grant.
“Gorgeous, huh?” he says. His tone is light, almost sarcastic. Clearly he isn’t worried, right?
I fumble through my backpack – looking for … nothing. “Yeah, I didn’t actually notice that, but thanks for the offer, Quinn.” I work to make my voice even and casual.
“I love that you’re partners,” Quinn continues to giggle through her words. “Isn’t that, like, how you and Trevor hooked up?”
I shake my head at her with a pleading glance for her to shut up. We’ve been best friends for years, but right now, I’d love to pretend that I don’t know her.
Trevor narrows his eyes Quinn’s direction. There’s a mutual dislike between them that I can’t get to the bottom of. It’s hard when your best friend and your boyfriend don’t like each other. There isn’t ever a light banter with the three of us; it’s always work. No double dates. No looking out for each other.
“So, anyway, are we not talking about the fact that there is a dude filming you over there, Syd?” Quinn asks. I can see how those reality stars tune the cameras out, it has only been a couple of days of them following me and I’ve already almost stopped noticing.
“We were trying not to,” I say. “And he’s not filming me, he’s just testing the lighting and stuff in here.”
Trevor pushes his tray away as if he has suddenly lost his appetite.
Sorry, Quinn mouths. She doesn’t really look all that sorry.
“I thought you said that you turned that show down?” Trevor says through tight lips.
“No, I said that they’d probably turn me down,” I say. “We’ve been over this, Trevor.”
“Whatever,” Trevor mumbles. I don’t really understand how pretending we hadn’t already had it out about this topic is helpful.
“Anyway, shopping tomorrow, gals?” Tessa the saint says, changing the subject. She pulls a stack of glossy magazines from her tote and slams them on to the table.
“That’s my cue to leave!” Trevor smiles and kisses me quickly before heading to the other side of the table to sit with his friends.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Tess relieved to not have to talk to Trevor about the show. Or Grant.
I rush through my workout after school. Sam can tell that I’m just not focused, and asks me several times if I’m okay. I tell him that I am, of course. I’m not sure what is bothering me, or why I feel so uneasy. If it’s that I still hadn’t talked to my dad about prom, or that Grant keeps invading my thoughts, or that I’m worrying that things with me and Trevor are going to go downhill because of the documentary. It’s all just a little too much.
I hadn’t planned on doing anything after my post-school training session, so I don’t have any extra clothes or my toiletry bag so I can freshen up before I head over to Grant’s house. Instead I throw on some sweat pants and an oversized sweatshirt over my leotard and try my best to smooth out my ponytail. After about five minutes of only succeeding in creating more lumps, I give up. Who am I trying to impress after all?
I head out of the gym, get into my car and drive towards Grant’s house. He was right when he said that he lived near the gym, so it doesn’t take me long to get to his road. As I drive down the street I can’t help but gawk at the enormity of the homes. I knew the houses in this area were big, but this road is unbelievable. The homes are larger and larger the further down the street I go. I have to strain my eyes in the darkness to see the addresses in the dim light. The road curves slightly and I slow just in time to see the number 4429 on a mailbox at the end of a shell-covered driveway. This is it. It doesn’t even look like there could be a house there. I turn cautiously down the dark driveway, imagining all sorts of ridiculous things along the lines of a Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I’m seriously considering turning back around. I don’t know Grant from Adam, and really, it’s just plain creepy back here. But just as my imagination has very nearly gotten the best of me, the road widens and reveals a sprawling, two-story brick estate home, surrounded by massive oak trees. Several lights are on in the house, making it look warm and inviting, despite its overwhelming size. The sense of dread in my stomach vanishes, but the nerves about seeing my lab partner are still there.
I park in the circular driveway and slowly walk up the large white steps of the house, careful not to fall like I did yesterday at school. When I reach the massive mahogany front door, I’m surprised by a petite woman, who opens the door to greet me before I can even knock. In all my anxiousness about working with Grant, I hadn’t even taken into account meeting his parents.
Grant must get his height from his father because he’s at least six foot two and this woman, his mom, I guess, is almost as short as I am. She’s dressed casually in dark blue jeans and a black sweater, her shiny black hair, that also doesn’t match Grant’s light brown mess, is pulled back into a neat bun.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly. “Um, Mrs. Evans?”
She laughs lightly.
“Come on in,” she says, holding the door wide open for me to walk through. “I’m not Mrs. Evans, I’m Julie. You must be Sydney. Grant’s expecting you, he’s around here somewhere.”
I follow her into the foyer. The house is sprawling. The ceilings are higher than any I have seen before. Even the oversized furniture appears dwarfed in this space. I’m grateful when I see Grant coming down the wide, winding staircase. He smiles and runs his hand through his thick, messy hair. He’s dressed casually in a pair of worn-out blue jeans and a vintage-looking t-shirt. I notice that neither he nor Julie are wearing shoes. For a second, I contemplate kicking mine off as well.
“Hey, Sydney, come on in. Did you meet Jules?” he asks.
I nod and smile at Julie.
“She sort of runs things around here,” Grant says.
“You two need anything before I head out for a bit?” Julie asks.
“I think we’re good. Thanks,” Grant says. Julie leaves through the front door, and I follow Grant into another part of the house.
“I thought that … never mind,” I say.
“Jules was my mom? No. Although, she is here more than my mom,” he says.
We stop in the kitchen. It’s modern and full of granite and stainless steel, and really belongs in a home decorating magazine. Grant pauses on the opposite side of the kitchen island and looks at me from under a thick piece of hair. I fight the urge to push it out of his face. That’s just weird, Syd.
“My mom travels a lot, so Jules takes care of everything. She’s been with us since I was five. Anyway, I think I’ve got everything that we need here,” he says. He finally pushes the stray hair back and I can’t help but audibly sigh.
Grant has laid out a poster board to mount the map onto, and colored paper to be carefully cut into thin strips. He’s also found some cardboard and X-acto knives. We’ll need to cut out pieces of c
ardboard to build up the different depths of the ocean floor and then put the colored paper on top. By the time we’re done, we’ll have a scale map of the different depths of the ocean.
“Wow, you’re way ahead of me, here,” I say. I sort of feel like a jerk for not even thinking of any of this stuff.
“Well, I didn’t have much to do after school. But you, you came straight from gym right? Are you hungry?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”
He narrows his eyes at me as if he doesn’t believe me.
“If you have a bottle of water that’d be great,” I say.
“That, I do,” he says and turns to the large stainless steel refrigerator and takes out a bottle of water and a large bowl of fruit.
“You know, just in case you get hungry,” he says, setting both in front of me.
I really am starving; I just didn’t want to be any trouble.
“So, you said you’ve been doing gymnastics since you were really little, huh?” Grant asks. He leans against the refrigerator with his arms casually crossed over his sturdy-looking chest.
“Yep, about thirteen years now,” I say. I’m not exactly comfortable talking about myself. Which is super convenient since I’m getting paid to do it for this documentary.
“Impressive,” he says.
I reach over and pull a green grape from its stem. Grant gives a little smirk that screams satisfaction as he watches me delve into the bowl of fresh fruit.
“What about you? What brought your family to Georgia?” I ask.
“Eh, nothing interesting,” he says. “We move around a lot.”
“What do your parents do? If you don’t mind me asking?”
He shifts his weight, looking a little uncomfortable for the first time since I met him.
“My parents are separated. My dad is still in New York and mom is here with me … sometimes. Like I said, she’s rarely around.” It’s strange how Grant seems uncomfortable, but still speaks of their absence offhandedly.
Risk the Fall Page 2
