The rest of Sadie’s pictures flashed through my memory. Jesse, crossing his eyes for the camera. Jesse, who would have been on the roof, literally, had he not been mysteriously missing from the party. Jesse, whose competitive streak I’d stolen away during the last triad ritual… .
“… your name, son?” Harry was saying. It took me a second to process the question.
“Oh,” I said, feeling suddenly flustered. “Aspen Quick.”
“Quick, is it?” said Harry, his eyebrows shooting up. “I’ve known a few Quicks, and no mistake.”
“Like my grandmother, probably, right?” I asked, and then immediately regretted it. Were you supposed to acknowledge that old people were older than you, or were you supposed to pretend that they looked younger than they did? I’d never been a good judge of that kind of thing.
Harry, though, just laughed. “I’d imagine so,” he said. “Which one’s your grandmother? Ivy or Lily? I went to school with both of them. Lovely girls. And those pretty names.”
I frowned. “Neither, actually,” I said. “My grandmother’s name is Willow.”
He peered at me, pushing his glasses up again. “Willow,” he repeated, the name sounding full and fat as it rolled off his tongue. “Never met a Willow. But perhaps she was older, or younger. I swore there were only two of them, though. Ivy was sweet on me for a while, did you know that? All through our last year of school. She went to college down in the city, though. Big fuss about it. She never came back, and we lost touch. But that’s the way of things, isn’t it.”
Actually, no. The way of things was that Grandma made a habit of not letting anyone remember her. Apparently that applied to this guy, too? Someone she’d maybe grown up with?
Damn.
But I just said, “I guess it is,” and made a mental note to ask Grandma later if she had any sisters she’d never bothered telling me about. “Well, if you see Leah, tell her I was looking for her, okay?”
“Will do,” said Harry, as I headed for the door. “And I’m serious about that job, you hear? You let me know.”
When I got to the diner that night, Theo and Brandy were already there, sitting across from each other in our usual booth. As I approached, Brandy called out, “Hey there, cuuuutie!”
She was using that voice of hers, the one where I couldn’t tell whether or not she was being ironic—but either way, Theo’s only response was to roll his eyes, so I guess that meant they’d talked, and Theo knew, and he was okay with it.
“Hey, you,” I replied, sliding into the booth beside her and giving her a peck on the lips. Just a peck. I mean, Theo was watching, and there’s a huge difference between dating your friend’s ex and rubbing it in his face. I didn’t want to be that much of a dick.
“We ordered already,” said Brandy. “You just wanted your usual, right? Burger with everything, medium rare, side of fries?”
“You got it,” I said, pleased that she’d noticed. “How was the lake?”
“Good,” said Theo. “Windy, but good.”
“And entirely beside the point,” said Brandy, a sly grin creeping over her face. “Theo has news.”
“News?” I asked.
“Oh god,” said Theo, shutting his eyes. “Not now.”
“Why not now? Now’s as good a time as any.” Brandy turned to me, blue eyes sparkling. “Apparently I wasn’t the only one who got lucky last night.”
Theo groaned, putting his hands over his face as he slumped down in his seat.
“Reeeeeally!” I said. “Way to go, man—but, wait, who was it? Not Natty … or, wait, was it Natty?” Because sure, last time I’d seen her, she’d been making out with that brunette girl, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe she swung both ways. Maybe she was just the kind of person who had a few drinks and started making out with everyone ever. Or maybe there’d been a threesome—
“No, dude, Natty’s gay,” said Theo.
Oh well.
“Then who?” I asked.
“Corey,” said Theo, more to the table than to me.
“The girl whose house we were at,” Brandy clarified, practically vibrating with excitement. “See, when Theo told me he had crash space, he neglected to mention said crash space was in the hostess’s pants.”
I snickered, and Theo rubbed at his face again, so embarrassed that I almost felt bad for him. Almost. Mostly what I felt was happy, because Brandy looked so damn relieved. All that doubt from last night, when she’d thought that hooking up with me might hurt Theo? Gone. Theo was so far from hurt that he was hooking up with some girl named Corey, which meant Brandy and I were good to go.
“Sweet deal,” I said. “So, was it a one-time thing, or you seeing her again?”
Theo parted his hands, just wide enough for a hint of a smile to peer through. “Called her a while ago. Taking her out tomorrow. Dinner. Hanging out under the stars. Maybe spot some constellations. Bet you can see ’em way better up here.”
“Nice,” I said. “Romantic. She’ll dig that.”
“Wait,” said Brandy. “Dinner and stargazing? Seriously?”
Theo looked at her blankly. So did I. Apparently we were both missing something.
After a few seconds of thick silence, Brandy sighed. “That was what you did for our first date. What is that, like, just your standard thing?”
Theo hunched his shoulders a little. “Well. It works. So.”
She sighed again, all pained and world-weary. “Boys. I swear.”
“Hey,” I said, nudging her arm with my elbow. “I don’t do that.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, but gave me a smile.
“Hey, food’s here,” said Theo, looking intensely relieved.
But as we ate, that smile of Brandy’s slowly gave way to something that looked … well, a little bit like worry. Or like wistfulness. A little bit sad.
That wasn’t good.
So I reached over and brushed my fingertips against the sleeve of her hoodie. I touched it, and I reached, and I poked around for the thing that was making her look sad and wistful and worried.
There it was, just as I’d feared it would be: a tiny sliver of jealousy, right on the surface of her thoughts. This wasn’t leftover jealousy. It couldn’t be, since I’d stolen away all her old feelings for Theo. No, this was totally new. So new that it hadn’t even had the chance to grow big enough for her to notice.
Well, now it would never have that chance. I plucked it out, easy as anything, and let it drift away into nothingness. I gave Brandy’s arm a little squeeze, closed my eyes for a moment as I waited for the reaching hangover to subside, and then went back to my burger—and she went back to asking Theo about Corey.
But I didn’t pay much attention to her questions, or to Theo’s curt, embarrassed answers. I was too busy thinking about that tiny piece of jealousy I’d just stolen from Brandy.
I should have known that was a possibility. I really should have. Sure, all Brandy’s old love for Theo was gone. But he was still Theo, and she was still Brandy, which meant all the reasons they’d first been attracted to each other were still there. It made perfect sense that all the feelings I’d stolen might, if left to their own devices, grow right back.
Brandy had chosen me of her own free will—but if I wanted to keep it that way, I had to start being way more careful.
BEFORE
I was eight years old and surrounded by roller coasters. I mean surrounded. They towered over me on every side, full of people who were screaming with joy and fear, and I remember thinking that I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted to be one of those screaming people.
Because it was a weekday, the ticket lines were short, which meant my mom was back with our ride tickets before I could vibrate out of my skin with anticipation.
“Here are our passes for the rest of the day,” she said, handing a couple cards over to my dad. “And … ta-da! Three tickets for the Cyclone.”
The Cyclone was basically the Holy Grail of roller coasters. Th
eo had told me so, and Theo was basically a Coney Island expert. He’d been going there with his family since he was a baby. Me, though? This was my first time.
“Can we do the Cyclone first?” I asked.
Mom and Dad grinned at each other over my head, and we were off.
But when we got to the front of the line, this pimply, stupid-looking teenaged guy held out a hand. “Where d’you think you’re going?” he asked me.
“Uh, on the Cyclone?” I said, pointing at the coaster looming behind him. “Duh?”
“Stand over there,” said the pimply guy. I was totally confused until I saw what he was pointing at.
The sign said You Must Be 54” to Ride the Cyclone, with a mark to show exactly what fifty-four inches looked like. Heart sinking down into my shoes, I went over and stood next to the sign. I wasn’t tall enough.
“I’m sorry, we didn’t realize,” Mom began—but Dad cut her off:
“Oh, come on, can’t you make an exception?”
Pimples waved another adult couple through, then turned back to Dad. “No can do, buckaroo,” he said. “It’s a safety thing.”
“He’ll be perfectly safe,” said Dad. “He’s four foot five. Fifty-three inches. One inch doesn’t make a difference.”
“No difference at all,” I added helpfully.
“It could make the difference between getting fired and keeping my job,” said Pimples.
“Let’s go talk about this somewhere else,” said Mom, but nobody listened to her.
“Come on,” said Dad, leaning closer to Pimples like they were best buds. “If we get caught, I’ll tell your boss we snuck him in. Come on… .”
Pimples’s face began to change. He’d been all smug just a second ago, like he was super proud of himself for catching us—but the expression was turning into something secretive. Something conspiratorial.
Then I noticed that Dad’s hand was on Pimples’s arm. He was reaching, changing the guy’s mind, right before my eyes, and how cool was that?
“Just this once,” said Pimples. “And you gotta cover for me if anything happens, like you said. Deal?”
“Deal,” said Dad … and we were in.
As we waited to get loaded into our car, Mom said, “Andy.” Her voice was equal parts weariness and warning—the kind of tone that, more often than not, led to a fight.
“I know, I know,” said Dad. “But he’s been wanting to ride this thing forever! And it’s only an inch.”
“That poor kid could lose his job because of you,” said Mom.
I glanced back at Pimples, who didn’t look like he was getting in any trouble. Why did Mom care about that guy? He was annoying and had a stupid face.
“He won’t lose his job,” said Dad.
“But he could,” Mom insisted.
“But he won’t,” said Dad. “Let’s just have a nice day out, okay? We’ll talk about this later, just the two of us.”
Mom glanced at me, and then back at Dad. I was sure she was going to insist on having a fight right then—but our car arrived before she could say anything. I sat next to Dad. Mom sat behind us, next to a stranger. We fastened our belts, and I was so happy that Pimples hadn’t made me leave the line.
Or rather, I was so happy that my dad had made Pimples change his mind.
Just as the coaster started moving, I leaned over to Dad and said, “Hey. Thanks.”
“Anytime, kiddo,” he said, and we went up and up and up, the sky opening bright blue above us.
Grandma wasn’t kidding about the Fourth of July messing with the Cliff. There was a small fault the next day, just like she’d said there would be, and that was just the beginning. Grandma, Aunt Holly, and I spent each of the following seven nights performing the triad ritual, centered around a series of tiny things that I stole from strangers.
I took away some woman’s extreme dislike for pop music, and a third grader’s shyness about answering questions in class. I took away a twenty-something guy’s crush on a movie actress he’d probably never meet, and an old man’s anger about having his driver’s license revoked.
And then, every time the ritual was done and I could emerge from behind the locked doors of the den, I reached into Brandy and checked to see if any new feelings about Theo, feelings aside from plain old friendship, had emerged.
There’d been a few things. A tendril of admiration for Theo’s arms. A wisp of nostalgia for the full-body hugs he used to give her. Things like that. I stole them away before they could grow into bigger feelings. That way, I was sure that when Brandy was with me, she wasn’t … well, wishing I was someone else.
And she was with me a lot lately. More so, now that Theo was regularly ditching us to hang out with that girl Corey. We borrowed Aunt Holly’s car and went to see Blood of Jupiter again. We wandered around Main Street, eating ice cream and seriously horrible pizza. We even had a picnic in the May Day field, where I tried my best to explain, without giving my family’s secrets away, the presence of all the toys and papers and books and stuff piled under the tree.
“Oh, so it’s like a good luck thing?” she said, after several minutes of mostly incoherent rambling on my part. “You leave a token there once a year for luck?”
Which, of course, was way simpler than anything I’d just said.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“That’s really sweet,” said Brandy. “I’m gonna leave something.”
“No!” I said, as she got up and made for the tree.
She paused, clearly confused. “Why not?”
“Um.” Obviously I couldn’t tell her the truth. “Um. Because it’s not May Day. You’re only supposed to do it on May Day.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s dumb.” And she continued toward the tree.
“Brandy, come on, don’t,” I said, staying right where I was, willing her back to me. But she kept going. She bent down and placed something on the pile, then she came back to me with a faraway look in her eyes.
“There. For luck.”
“What’d you put?” I asked.
Brandy smiled. “It’s a secret.”
When I came back to the field with Grandma and Aunt Holly later that night, I kept a sharp eye out for anything that looked like Brandy’s. I even reached into a few things, just to see if they felt like her. But whatever she’d left, I couldn’t find it.
Finally, at the end of the seventh triad ritual in a row, Grandma sighed deeply and said, “There. That ought to hold it for a while.”
“You’re sure?” asked Aunt Holly.
“Of course I’m not sure,” said Grandma placidly. “I’m never sure until the moment arrives, or until it doesn’t. You know that.”
But she sounded sure enough that I felt relief spread through my chest. Tonight had not been pleasant, thanks to the torrential downpour that had turned the entire May Day field into a flood zone. And the rain was supposed to keep going all night, if not longer.
I hoped it wasn’t longer. My neck always got extra cranky when it rained.
But I also hoped it would last, because I liked the sound of rain, especially at night. I also liked the coziness of being inside with Brandy while, just beyond the walls that protected us, chaos reigned.
That night, like every night, Brandy eventually went back to her own room to go to sleep. She claimed it was because I snored, but I was pretty sure it was just because Heather’s bed was so small. Totally fine for hooking up, but not great for actually sleeping.
Only when she was gone and the door was closed behind her did I realize something very important: I’d forgotten to close Heather’s window before the storm had started—which meant that by now, the rug on the far side of the room was kind of soaked. That was easily fixed, since I could just roll it up and toss it in the dryer tomorrow. But I really wanted to keep the window open.
A bit of rummaging around in the basement yielded the perfect solution: a blue tarp that could catch the water. I spread it under the window before I took my con
tacts out, and I rolled my pillow under my head and fell asleep to the oddly soothing sound of raindrops on plastic.
And then I woke up again.
Someone was whispering.
I felt for my glasses on the bedside table, willing my thoughts to arrange themselves into the right order, to separate into sleep-thoughts and awake-thoughts. There’d been a voice, saying what sounded like a name, but that wasn’t what had woken me up. There’d also been a dull thud, like a collision.
My fumbling fingers finally found my glasses, and I pushed them onto my face. The room came into focus. Empty.
Almost empty.
There, in the space below the window, someone was crumpled on the tarp, like they’d fallen there and hadn’t yet mustered the strength to get up.
Intruder. I needed to yell for someone. I needed to touch them just long enough that I could steal their desire to rob me or kill me. I needed—
But as soon as I turned on Heather’s bedside lamp, the crumpled figure lifted its head, its long hair dripping water onto the tarp, and all those needs gave way to plain and simple confusion.
“The hell?” I muttered, sitting up and reaching under my glasses to wipe the sleep from my eyes. “Leah?”
“Aspen?” I saw Leah pressing her hand against her shoulder, and everything came together. She’d climbed in through the window somehow. She’d slipped on the tarp. Probably hit her shoulder on the wall, making the sound that had woken me up. “You’re not,” she said. “I mean … you were supposed to be Heather.”
“And you were supposed to be … uh, not in my room,” I finished stupidly. “How’d you get up here?”
“The tree outside,” she said. “I climbed it.”
She’d climbed it. Right. Swinging my bare feet onto the floor, I made my way cautiously over to the tarp and extended a hand to help her up. Ignoring it, she braced herself against the wall beside the window and stood up on her own.
“Why’s that there?” she asked, glancing at the tarp as she stepped off it and onto the carpet. Her feet were as bare as mine, and speckled with wet dirt.
Rocks Fall Everyone Dies Page 9
