Risk the Fall

by Steph Campbell

I step into the bedroom and sit on the chest at the foot of the bed. I wonder if Caroline knows that it’s full of dog-eared bridal magazines that my mom obsessed over while we were together.

  “You can talk to me,” I tell her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” It's not like Linney to hold a grudge.

  “It's just, well—” She shakes her head as if she is debating whether to say what’s really on her mind or not. “I just don’t get it, what did you see in that girl?”

  Again, with the “that girl,” even after last night – even coming from Linney it still infuriates me.

  “Quinn isn't normally like that, she was just upset.”

  “Right, I get that, but from what your mom’s told me, she’s always really moody. I just don't understand...”

  I shrug my shoulders. I’m not looking to fight with Caroline about Quinn. I wish that I could tell her that I see the good in Quinn that no one else sees, that even Quinn herself doesn’t see. I wish that I could make Linney and my mom understand. I wish there was a reason to. But I guess it really doesn’t matter what they think anymore, Quinn’s made it pretty clear that we’re over.

  “And I hope you aren't upset with me for saying so, but you could do tons better than her.”

  I inhale sharply. “Linney, there’s really no point in talking about Quinn. She and I broke up, so what was or wasn't, is kind of irrelevant.”

  “So … What about you and me? Why did we break up, again?”

  My muscles stiffen. I set myself up for this one. “You know why, Linney. The long distance thing wasn’t what either one of us signed up for.”

  “I know,” she says. “But then the other night, when you kissed me, I don’t know…” She picks at a feather that is poking out of the edge of the down pillow. “I just thought, like, if I were to move out here for school, do you think maybe, you know, there would be a chance that you and I could get back together?”

  “Linney…” I begin. There’s no way to put what I’m thinking into words without sounding like a total dick. I lightly touch her chin with my index finger, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes are so big and bright and so completely innocent that it kills me.

  “Look, I can't say for sure what may or may not happen in the future. I’m definitely not over Quinn. Not by a long shot—”

  “So, you still love her?” She cuts me off.

  “I don't know.” I answer as honestly as possible. “I do know that I haven’t really learned how to let go of her yet. I know that isn't what you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”

  Caroline nods. When she glances up, her eyes are glassy.

  “So, if you and I getting back together has anything to do with your decision about where to go to school ... well, it just shouldn't, okay?”

  She looks back down and starts picking at the feather again. I hate that I can't tell her what she wants to hear.

  “I’m sorry,” I kiss her lightly on the forehead and then get up to leave.

  “Hey, Ben,” she calls, softly.

  “Yep?”

  “I really miss you,” she says.

  “I miss you too, Linney.”

  Why can't it be simple anymore? Why can't her words be enough for me? It’s as if Quinn managed to ruin whatever I have with Caroline, along with everything else.

  It’s been three weeks since Grant’s party. Some days I feel so out of it, I wonder if I’ve never really sobered up from the night. I’ve done my best to avoid Ben at all costs, ducking through the school halls all ninja-like, trying to blend into the walls to avoid any awkwardness between me and him in between periods. I’ve been leaving campus at lunch too and going home. I make myself a peanut butter and honey sandwich with a glass of strawberry milk, which I eat by myself in my bathroom, hiding like a squatter and hoping my mom doesn’t realize I’m in the house. The only way I can face going back to school afterward is to be completely numb, so I swallow a pill or two.

  Still, no matter what medicinal cocktail I ingest, I can’t make my brain stop thinking about Ben. I can’t stop myself from slipping out of the house after everyone has gone to bed, and lying on the deck boards, imagining that he’s lying beside me. I ignore the cool breeze and dreary weather, and pretend that it isn’t almost Thanksgiving, and instead, it is still one of those hot, blissful, summer nights we spent together.

  Sometimes, if I’m feeling extra bold, I consider saying hi to him, rather than dodging him in the hall, or maybe even sending him a text. But what the hell could I even say? “I know I screwed up, and I told you to stay away from me, but I feel like I’m drowning without you?” No, as much as it’s gutting me, this is the way things need to be. Ben deserves better than I could ever be. He deserves to be more than just a crutch to someone who will only hurt him. I mean, it’s only a matter of time before I’d screw it up again.

  I’m running late this morning, so I’m surprised when I finally make it to my first period class and find it deserted.

  “Awesome,” I say. I set my bag on the desk top and slump into my chair. I’m exhausted, so a nap feels like the perfect idea.

  “Quinn?” a voice says, just as I’m dozing off. I shoot upright in my chair. It’s Ms. Elliott, our school counselor. I turn to stone.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Huh?” I ask, finally blinking.

  “I asked if you are all right?” she repeats.

  “I’m fine,” I answer.

  I’m totally fine, just as long as this isn’t some sort of bullshit intervention or something. Sure, I’ve been doing a little more self-medicating than usual, but crap, can you blame me?

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “The class? It’s Career Day, they’re all in the gym, you should get over there,” she says. “I just came by to drop these off.” She holds up a stack of pamphlets, ironically titled, Am I depressed, or do I just have the blues?

  I’m momentarily giddy with relief that she’s not here to psychoanalyze me.

  “Oh, okay,” I say, as I pick up my bag. “Thanks.” I tell her as I pass, although I’m not sure why.

  “Your father’s firm has a really terrific booth set up!” she says, beaming.

  “Terrific.” My stone self crumbles.

  The gym is covered in blue crepe paper streamers and gold balloons. How festive. Apparently, Career Day is quite the big deal.

  I quickly scan the room for my dad. I don’t see him, but I see the booth with his firm’s name, so I dart in the opposite direction. There are about fifty booths set up for different careers and trade schools. I know I’m a senior, and I should be excited about all of this, or at least have a shell of a plan, but the truth is, I have no clue what I’m going to do after high school. Like, not even an inkling. I used to want to be an FBI agent when I was little, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even make it past the lie detector test now.

  “Quinn!”

  When I hear my name, I glance nonchalantly over my shoulder. It’s Tessa. I hastily grab a brochure from the closest booth and pretend to be engrossed in it. I should talk to her. I still owe her for helping out with Mason. I just want to be left alone.

  “Quinn,” she repeats. Only this time, she’s all up in my personal-space bubble.

  “Oh, hey, Tess,” I say, barely glancing up.

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” she pouts.

  I shake my head. “Uh-uh, sorry, just busy reading.” I bury my nose back into the brochure.

  “Right, reading about…” she flips the brochure closed in my hand, revealing the cover. Go Coast Guard! Shite. “… joining the Coast Guard?”

  “Yep, I want to be a rescue swimmer, like in The Guardian,” I tell her. She stares blankly back at me. “You know, with the guy that married Demi Moore? Urgh, what’s his name…?”

  “Ashton Kutcher,” Tessa says, clearly annoyed. “And cut the crap, Quinn, I’ve known you since you were ten, you don’t even like the water. It’s obvious you’re avoidin
g me. I mean, you’re pretty much avoiding everyone.”

  Now it’s my turn to stare vacantly, I have no defense.

  “Look, I tracked you down so I could apologize for what happened at Grant’s party. I shouldn’t have acted like that, none of it was my business. I was nosy and out of line and I’m really sorry.”

  “Really?” I say, stunned.

  “Yes, really. I just kinda feel like I don’t know you at all anymore, you’ve changed so much this year. But, anyway, I shouldn’t have interfered, it’s your life.”

  Her faux-violet eyes do look sincere.

  “Well, I’m not the only one that’s changed,” I say, motioning at her perfectly put together outfit. She smiles modestly and shakes her head.

  “Please, I’m still the same old Tess I’ve always been. I just have way better shoes now.”

  For a minute, I see it. Under the thick layer of expensive mineral makeup and the way-too-many coats of mascara, she looks like the same Tess I’ve always known. In an instant, she is back to being the girl with ratty hair, that she could never quite figure out how to comb, and the impossibly crooked teeth. The girl who used to choke down all of my culinary creations, even if they were partially cooked at best, had three days’ worth of calories in them and threatened her stomach’s wellbeing, all because she didn’t want to see my feelings hurt.

  I smile back at her. “Thank you, Tess, I really needed that.”

  “Anytime,” she says, nudging my shoulder with hers. I feel a tiny bit of relief as we walk through the maze of booths. It’s the first real conversation that I’ve had with anyone in weeks, and it feels good to not be quite so alone.

  “Cute dress, by the way,” she says. “Glad to see you finally took my advice.”

  “Thanks.” The fact that I’m wearing a navy-blue floral dress today has nothing to do with her. I simply decided that maybe dressing the part might make me feel better. Fake it till you make it, type of thing. I don’t spoil it for Tessa though, I let her have her moment to gloat.

  “So, listen,” she says, without looking at me. We pause in front of the kiosk about becoming a paramedic and Tess pretends to be interested in the demo they are doing on how to take a manual blood pressure. I feel the hairs on my arms prick up. I know her, and that tone says that she building up to something I don’t want to hear.

  “What’s up?” I ask tensely.

  “Well, it’s just that, since things are cool with us now—”

  “Yeah, for like the last five minutes,” I interrupt. Tessa shifts her designer backpack on her shoulder and smiles apprehensively.

  “I guess you’re right about that, but come on, you know what I mean. So, anyway, you know how Winter Formal is coming up?”

  I nod stoically. Don’t do it, Tess, I silently plead with her. Don’t do it.

  She shrugs and stares back at me.

  “Just spit it out, Tessa,” I say sharply.

  “Okay, fine. I just wanted to check with you before I asked Ben to go with me.” She flashes her veneered smile, as if grossly white teeth are going to help this situation.

  Over her shoulder I see the paramedics are now doing a demo on how to use an AED. Which is super convenient – they can use it to jump-start me, since I’m confident that my heart has just stopped beating.

  “Quinn?” She raises her eyebrows. “So, you do mind?”

  “Obviously!” I snap.

  “Oh, come on, Quinn, don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I have to get out of here,” I say and push past her. Any relief I had been feeling just two minutes ago has vanished. I feel like I’m being crushed under the weight of her idiocy. She grabs my book bag to stop me.

  “Someone else is just going to ask him if I don’t.”

  “Then be a friend and let someone else!” I yell.

  She looks at me like I just asked her to sacrifice her puppy. My request is obviously out of the question.

  “Look, I get it. You guys had your thing, whatever it was, but you kind of gave up the right to care about who Ben goes out with when you broke up with him.”

  I storm away from her without responding. One, because I’m afraid I’ll knock her fake white teeth right out of her head, and two, because part of me knows that she’s right. I can’t see through my anger as I push through the crowd. It’s times like these that being short really pisses me off. The combination of claustrophobia and fiery rage is suffocating me. I’m gasping for air, like a fish flopping out of water.

  “Quinn!” The familiar male voice calls. My dad motions me over to him. And with that, it’s official – I am having a freaking fantastic day.

  I begrudgingly make my way to him, my shoulders slumped. Dad is all done up in a suit, and his signature plastic smile that is nearing Burger King creepy. I can tell by his eyes that he’s encouraging me to don mine as well. I don’t oblige. Not this time.

  “Hi, sweetie,” he says. I give him a tiny grin that says, bull-shit. “Come on over here, Quinn, Jill here wants to take our photo for the yearbook.”

  Thanks to hefty budget cuts, Jill, aka Ms Elliott, is also our year book advisor. She’s poised with her camera ready and a ridiculous, giddy grin at being called by her first name by my dad. Like his attention is some kind of prize? Hardly.

  “If you could just stand a little closer to Leland.” She blushes when she says his name.

  “Call me Lee,” he says with a skeevy grin. Oh, Christ on a cracker.

  I obey, stepping behind the table. Ms. Elliott cocks her head curiously.

  “Quinn, you sure you’re doing okay there?” she asks.

  “Doing great,” I say, and then add “Jill,” under my breath.

  Dad shoots me a warning look and gruffly puts his arm around my shoulder.

  “All set? Smile!” Ms. Elliott instructs.

  “One second, Jill,” Dad says, “Mark, come on over here and get in the picture.” My body goes into an immediate state of rigor under Dad’s arm as soon as Mark walks toward us.

  He slithers around the table and inserts himself into the frame. Without hesitation, he wraps his arm around my waist. I feel like I’m on fire, and not in a good way. As soon as I see the flash from Ms. Elliott’s camera, I lunge away from Dad and Mark.

  “I’ve got to go,” I say.

  “Go where?” Dad asks. Before I can even answer, his attention is quickly diverted back to Ms. Elliott and her rocking French twist.

  I feel Mark’s breath on the back of my neck before I even hear his voice.

  “Where are you running off to, Quinn? I sure do miss having you around the office.” I don’t know why his brazenness still surprises me.

  “Go away,” I say, grabbing my bag. I practically leap over the table, but someone is blocking my escape. Dammit.

  “Hey, Quinn, who is the hottie-tottie with the naughty body?” Shayna Gillan leans in and whispers, pointing in Mark’s direction.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “So, does that mean you aren’t going to introduce me?” she asks innocently.

  “Not even a little chance of that happening, psycho.” I push past her, my rage growing.

  “Quinn!” I hear my dad call after me.

  “Quinn! You G.D. clumsy oaf, you made me spill my coffee!” Shayna yells.

  “Quinny! Where have you been?” I hear Sydney’s perky voice, but I don’t turn around.

  I pull the hooded sweatshirt I have stashed in my backpack out and yank it over my head. I press my hands to my ears as I make my way across the gym. I concentrate only on the exit door, and try to block out the cacophony of their voices. Here I am again, running away – as usual.

  I’m late for school this morning. I hate showing up late, but I took my mom to the airport on my way to school. It took me forever to get across town in the constant Atlanta downpour. Mom is going to Kentucky to visit Caroline’s family, and go to a craft fair or something like that.

  When I finally make my way to my first class, the door is locked. I kn
ock loudly on the heavy door as I peer through the deeply tinted glass. All of the lights are off. Perfect. For a split second, standing there in the rain, I wonder if I’m on some hidden camera show. I half expect to turn around and find a hysterical camera crew. Then, it dawns on me. I forgot we had an assembly or something this morning. I turn and haul ass clear across campus toward the gym. I’m so focused on not falling over on the wet concrete that I run smack into someone.

  “Crap, I’m so sorry,” I say. The hoodie pulled tight over her face gives her away instantly. Quinn. I catch her before she slips, and for an instant, the feeling of her tiny body in my arms completely overwhelms me.

  “Hi,” I say, steadying her. She looks surprised, but for a fleeting second, her eyes are soft.

  “Hey,” she jerks away from me sharply, and stares down at her hands.

  “You running late, too?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No, I was just leaving.”

  “Where are you headed?” I ask. She looks over her shoulder toward the gym entrance. I finally get a good look at her face. Her eyes are red and moist, like she’s been crying, or is about to start.

  She frowns. “Anywhere but here.”

  “All right, let me take you somewhere, you look really upset.” I inhale and hold my breath while I wait for her to respond. She’s standing in a puddle, looking pitiful. Her knee length dress is soaked and clinging to her legs and the oversized hoodie makes her look lost.

  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she says.

  “Quinn—” I begin. She shocks me by patting my hand. I squeeze hers in response before she has a chance to let go. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  I’m seriously beginning to question whether or not I have any sense of self-preservation. Any normal guy would have turned the other way after running into her, but I just can’t. In the rush of the morning, I’d managed to go hours without thinking about her, which has to be some kind of record. It’s been almost a month since I’ve talked to Quinn. But she’s delusional if she thinks I don’t see her hiding in the halls, trying so hard to avoid me. I can’t say it feels great. I mean, shit, we can’t even say hello to each other? But somehow I’m not ready to say goodbye to her for good yet.