by Shari Arnold
“I can’t do it.” I shake my head and try to push his hands away, but he’s quick. He has the straps free before I can stop him.
“You can,” he says. “Just watch. It’s easy.” And then he’s climbing over the side of the chair, holding onto the metal beams — the ones you’re never supposed to touch — as though it’s perfectly normal to exit a ride this way. “Follow me.” His hand is reaching for mine. “Just don’t look down.”
Which is the first thing I do. I lean over just slightly to get a good view of the ground, but it’s enough movement that the chair tilts forward.
Meyer loses his footing and drops back into the chair. The force of his landing jerks something free and our chair shifts violently to the right. I scream and grab onto Meyer, while Meyer latches onto the side of the chair. Now we’re dangling. My feet are reaching for the ground but it’s too far away. A rush of air surges up and around me. It moves along my body and across my face and then my teeth start chattering. I know I’m no longer tucked, safe inside the chair, but I know nothing more. I can’t look, I won’t.
My arms are wrapped around Meyer’s waist; the side of my face pressed into his stomach. He is holding us in place, his strength the only thing keeping us from instant death. I can hear his heart beating, slow and steady, unlike mine. And when something clatters to the ground below us I can’t help it, I flinch.
“Was that my sword?” I gasp. It took awhile to hit the ground. Too long. Are we higher up than I realized? With that thought my shivering grows worse.
“I’m going to die,” I whimper. “Before I can save Jilly.” Before I can save myself. I take a shaky breath, but it’s not enough. I’m squeezing Meyer so tight my arms are aching.
“Do you trust me?”
There are those words again. I really wish he would stop using them. I jerk my head, no, and then grip him tighter.
“I’m going to get us down,” he says, and I should probably ask how, but I’m too afraid to find out.
He shifts above me, like he’s changing up his hold and then his arms wrap around me.
“Wait! What’s happening?” I cry, my eyes popping open. But everything is black. I’m pressed up against his chest so tightly I can’t see anything.
And then I swear I feel my feet touch the ground.
It’s a light landing, a mere brush with the earth, but even though I should feel safe, or at the very least relieved, I can’t let go of Meyer.
He tilts my chin up so that I’m looking into his eyes. His mouth so close to mine I can feel his breath. “We’re down now. Back on the ground.” But I don’t believe him. It’s not possible.
His hands are on my shoulders. He’s not pushing me away nor is he keeping me close, just holding onto me. I stare up at the ride where our broken chair is still dangling sideways, so far above us.
“What happened?” I squeak out. “Did we jump?” Please tell me we jumped.
“I told you it was easy,” Meyer says, and the flashing lights of the Ferris wheel illuminate his triumphant smile. But he’s the only one smiling. Me? I’m crying. Tears are sliding down my face and I can’t stop them no matter how hard I try. I’m terrified. Even though I’m safe and back on the ground, I’m still trembling. I open my mouth to say something and then quickly close it when a tiny sob slips free. Meyer tries to collect me as my knees buckle and I go down, but instead I take him with me. He hovers over me as I press myself into the cracked sidewalk. It’s everything I can do not to kiss the ground.
“Livy, I’m so sorry,” he says. His smile is gone, and his bright eyes are now filled with remorse. It’s a new look on him, one I barely recognize. He pulls me to my feet and then cups my face in his hands. The way he’s looking at me is so intense I stop breathing. “You have nothing to fear, Livy. Nothing.” I nod my head so that he knows I’ve heard him.
But the moment he drops his hands, I take off running.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I leave Meyer and his friends at the amusement park. I don’t bother to say my goodbyes. I just run. Meyer doesn’t try to stop me. He just watches me go. Those words he said follow me home. They’re still with me when I step off the elevator, back into my real life.
Nothing to fear.
His words swim around inside my mind, searching for a new way to come to shore.
Nothing to fear. Nothing to fear.
But I have everything to fear. I’m afraid of what happened tonight and what didn’t. And most importantly I’m afraid of how I act with Meyer. I seem to forget who I am. That first night I loved it, I loved escaping from me, but tonight it became abundantly clear that his version of escape comes with too high a price. And my sanity is not currency. I have very little of it left these days, and he’s not going to rob me of it.
Isn’t that what happened tonight? I lost my mind a little? Otherwise I wouldn’t believe that Meyer could fly. It just doesn’t make sense. I think back to that first night at the Sculpture Gardens, how he asked me if I ever wanted to fly, and how I said yes even though I didn’t think it was possible. Because it’s not possible. Yet somehow he got us safely back down on the ground. Somehow he saved us. Me. And with no one else around to witness it I’m forced to believe this explanation because I’m still alive when I shouldn’t be.
I should be dead.
This is what I’m thinking when I come face to face with my mother. Luckily I had the presence of mind to change out of my pirate costume downstairs in the lobby restroom. I’m not sure what she would have done if I’d walked in still dressed like a pirate queen. On most nights I could probably slink by with a backhanded wave and a “goodnight,” leaving her to whatever she was doing. However, tonight she’s sitting at the kitchen table, a large mug of steaming tea in her hands, and she doesn’t look happy to see me.
“Hi Mom,” I say, continuing down the hallway.
“Olivia,” she calls after me. “Would you mind taking a seat for a minute?”
“Of course.” I backtrack to the kitchen and plop down into one of the kitchen chairs. My legs and hands are still shaking. I hide them under the table where my mother’s narrowed eyes can’t find them.
“What is it?” I ask, already eager to get to bed and be alone with my thoughts. I keep my face blank and my breathing slow. All I really want to do is bury my head under my covers and block out the feeling of falling to my death.
“Dr. Lerner’s office called today,” she says, and that’s all it takes to break free of this evening’s spell over me.
“Dr. Lerner?” I say with forced casualness, but inside I’m choking.
“Yes, Olivia. Dr. Lerner. His nurse called, actually. She asked to speak with you and since I wasn’t sure why she would be calling here, I asked for more information.”
“I see.” I clear my throat but it doesn’t help. The tightness moves into my chest and then takes hold of my heart. “Did she tell you why she was calling?”
“She did.” The tone of her voice is so calm and yet the look in her eyes is anything but. “She wanted to let you know that they’d like you to come in for some additional tests.”
“Oh.” This one little word is all I can manage.
“Yes. And because I didn’t know anything about the first test, I figured she should fill me in on what exactly you were being tested for.”
“Right.” I clear my throat again and then get up to get a glass of water. “So she must have told you.” I’m staring into the cupboard for what; I’m no longer sure.
“Yes, she did.” My mom’s hand moves past me to grab a glass and I jump back. I didn’t even hear her get up. She fills the glass with water and then hands it to me. I take it, but I can’t think what to do with it.
“I’m going through with this,” I say. “I’m going to do whatever they ask me to and you can’t stop me.”
“You know that’s not true, Olivia.” Her mouth is a single tight line. Without its usual red lipstick, it appears even more threatening.
“I have to do th
is, Mom,” I whisper. My hands are shaking so badly that water spills over the side of the glass and sloshes to the floor.
My mother doesn’t react. She just stares at me like she doesn’t recognize me, as though I’m someone else’s child.
“She’s dying. Jilly is dying.” I take a breath and try to squeak out the rest of my explanation, all the words I’ve been rehearsing since the day I decided to do this. But the only word that makes it out is, “please.”
For a moment I think I’ve convinced my mother to care. Her eyes are blurry and wet, like she’s on the verge of tears, but perhaps she’s just tired. One can never really tell with my mother. She raises her chin as if she’s been caught with her guard down before finally turning away from me.
“No,” she says, and if that word wasn’t damaging enough, she adds, “and I told them the same thing, Olivia, so don’t bother going back down there.”
And that’s what finally gets me. My mother has spoken, and as far as she’s concerned this discussion is over. She’s walking away, leaving the kitchen. Her blonde ponytail is swinging back and forth as if it’s sweeping up the remnants of this conversation.
“This isn’t your choice!” I yell. “You have no right to stop me.” I raise my hands as if they alone can keep her from leaving, but my words already have.
“Don’t you dare tell me what rights I have!” She spins back around, her blue eyes blazing. “This isn’t your battle, Olivia. When are you going to realize that? You can’t save that little girl any more than we could have saved Jenna!”
Jenna. My sister’s name bounces around the walls and ceiling as if our apartment has been craving the sound of it and is now making up for the loss. Even my mom is taken aback. Her eyes widen and the stiffness in her posture slips. Like she’s crumbling in front of me. It’s a little thing, really, but the sound of Jenna’s name falling from her lips has nearly broken her.
I don’t want to yell anymore. Truth is, I’ve never been much of a yeller. My mother knows this because neither has she.
“If I don’t try, I’ll never know.” My words are like a slap to her already stricken face.
She shakes her head violently. “No more hospitals,” she spits out. “No more worrying. No more, Livy. I can’t.”
“It’s just a procedure, Mom. Nothing serious.” Nothing to fear.
“You can’t keep getting attached to these kids,” she continues. “When will you learn?”
“But it’s Jilly,” I cry. “She’s not just some child I latched onto at the hospital. She was Jenna’s best friend.”
“Please, mom,” I beg when she remains silent. “Please. Just think about it before you say no. I promise, I’ll be fine.”
My mother looks at me, really looks at me, as if I can make this promise. As if she needs me to.
“Please!” I say. “Don’t say no.”
And when she turns around and leaves the kitchen she doesn’t say no. But she also doesn’t say yes.
I barely sleep that night. Each time my eyes close I’m back to falling, and then I jerk awake only to find that I’m not at the amusement park, I’m in bed. But my mind refuses to accept it.
The next morning I slip out early to return my pirate costume. I come prepared to pay for the missing sword and hat, left behind with my hasty getaway, but to my surprise I find that someone has already returned them, that and my cell phone. It’s not broken and lost, like I’d originally thought. It actually looks as good as new. I almost ask who it was who returned everything, but then I stop myself. What does it matter, anyway? After last night I don’t think I’ll ever see Meyer again. Whether or not he seeks me out, I think it’s better this way. Better for me.
I take the long way around Pike Place, avoiding the fish market that will now forever remind me of Meyer and his song about the lost boy at sea. I realize he has stolen one of my Jenna places, and that’s nearly unforgivable. There’s a part of me that wants to resent him for that. Yet I can’t. It’s too good a memory, that song of his. When I think back on our last adventure it’s the one part of last night that doesn’t kickstart a panic attack.
By the time I make it back to the apartment I’m wet and cold and miserable. I’m in such a funk I don’t even notice James is waiting for me in the lobby until he calls out to me.
“Good morning, Livy,” he says. When I glance in his direction I’m once again caught off guard by his beauty. He’s wearing a dark gray suit today, which normally would come off stuffy like the suits my father wears, but on James it appears casual yet polished. Or to sum it up in one word: smooth. And his pale-colored eyes are darker today, almost stormy. Just like the weather outside.
“Do we have class today?” I blink up at him in a stupor, desperately trying to remember what day it is. Thursday? Yes, it’s Thursday, which means we don’t have class.
I should only be subjected to James on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Sundays. Not Thursdays.
“I’m sorry. I thought your mom gave you my message. We’re going on a field trip today.”
“A field trip?” I couldn’t sound any less excited, but James doesn’t seem to care.
“Yes. A field trip.” He reaches for the long dark raincoat resting next to him on the chair and slips it on.
I’m thinking about how to get out of this when my cell phone buzzes. It’s a text from my mom. Forgot to tell you, she says. You’re going on a field trip with Mr. Hale. He should be here soon. Have fun.
“Interesting,” I mumble.
“Isn’t it?” says James.
I slip my phone back in my pocket, my eyes narrowed on him. This all feels too coincidental, the timing especially. That could be my newfound paranoia talking — which settled in after last night’s brush with death — or it could be that I’m always going to feel trepidatious when I’m around James.
“Do you need anything from upstairs before we go?” He gestures toward the elevator and for a moment I consider making a run for it.
“I guess not.”
“Alright then.” James walks ahead of me, opens the door and waits for me to exit first. “Shall we?”
“May I ask where we’re going?” My legs feel heavy as I make my way back outside. I pull my hood up and over my hair, keeping out the early morning rain. “I didn’t pack a lunch or anything,” I mumble.
Back in public school, field trips to the Seattle Aquarium or the Space Needle would have kept me up half the night before, riddled with excitement, much different from how I’m feeling now. The idea of spending time with James greatly disturbs me, even more so when it’s just the two of us.
“Does my mother know where we’re going?” I hate that I ask this. I sound suspicious, and if I were truly suspicious I wouldn’t be going. Would I? I mean I have a text from my mom telling me to go and James is my teacher after all… but still.
“Steve and I never did field trips,” I mumble.
“Your mother and I planned this yesterday.” James pauses on the sidewalk to open his black golf umbrella. When his hands wrap around the handle I notice how his fingernails are perfectly manicured, not bitten to the quick like mine. When he catches me studying him he asks, “What’s wrong, Livy? Do I make you nervous?”
“No,” I say far too quickly.
“Well that’s a relief.” He smiles and offers me his arm. “Stay close, now. This rain can dampen any adventure.”
Adventure?
That word immediately sounds an alarm inside my mind. I tilt my head up to look at him and a raindrop hits me right in the eye. Before I can wipe it away James is holding out a handkerchief, and then dabbing it against my cheek. His touch is gentle, much more so than I would have imagined. And I should move away, tell him I’m fine, but suddenly I’m a statue, molded in place by his gesture. All I can do is wait as he wipes the moisture away.
“All better.” He hands me the handkerchief and I take it, noticing the initials, JH, stitched into the fragile fabric. “Keep it. You never know when you might need it.”
And then he’s off, moving down the street, while I’m left to trail after him.
CHAPTER NINE
“Is there something on your mind? You looked upset back in the lobby.” We’re walking down Virginia Street. I’m still not sure where he’s taking me; only that we’re headed downtown. After a few more beats of silence James adds, “Anything you’d like to talk about?”
We pause at the stoplight. I watch as the red hand flashes its warning to stay where I am, wondering if it’s trying to tell me something other than now is not the time to cross the street.
“Nothing important,” I say. Just thinking about a boy who may or may not be able to fly.
“Boyfriend stuff, eh?”
I glance at him quickly, wondering if I’d said the thought aloud, even though I’m sure I didn’t.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Well,” he says with that look that adults get when they’re on the cusp of being patronizing “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”
When the light turns green he leads me to a restaurant just a few blocks away. I’m glad we haven’t gone far, relieved actually. However, once we step inside the restaurant it’s as though we’ve traveled to a foreign land. Spain to be specific.
“Estrellas is known for its amazing tapas and inviting atmosphere,” he tells me.
I follow him to a table near the back where we’re partially hidden by a dark black curtain draped from the ceiling.
“Let me guess, you’re a Yelp reviewer in your spare time?” I say while pulling out my seat.
He lifts a brow, but doesn’t give me the satisfaction of a comment.
“Today you order in Spanish,” he explains. “And you eat what you order, of course.” His smile is wide and playful and I know this is all part of the teach-Livy-Spanish program but there’s something about James that makes me think he’s not one to play games. Or if he did, his games would all end with him stuffing small children into a large brick oven.
