No Place to Fall

by Jaye Robin Brown

I nod, fighting back tears. Knowing that she knows I know. I take the bags from her hand.

  “Let’s go home,” I say.

  “Home,” Mama says.

  In my room, I punch Will’s number into my phone. He answers on the first ring.

  “Amber.” The way he says my name fills me up, and I fight the urge to cry into the speaker.

  “I need to sing. Right this minute.” My voice cracks even though I’m fighting to keep it strong.

  “Go ahead.”

  I love him for not asking why.

  I sing one to make me feel good, Dolly Parton’s “Little Sparrow,” and let the sweet notes surge down through me and around and I push out all the dark feelings on my exhales.

  When I finish, he sighs, a sound sweeter than any music I could ever make.

  We’re silent for a minute.

  “Will?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you know if your dad has ever cheated on your mom?” I lie back on the bed and stare up at my ceiling, tears welling up.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “My daddy’s cheating on my mama.”

  He doesn’t try to fill in the space with small talk as he waits for me to say something else. Then he says, “That must hurt like hell.”

  After a minute, I wipe away the tears and spit out the other thing bothering me. “Can I ask you something else?”

  “Anything.”

  “When you drove me up on the mountain that day after school, were you expecting what happened to happen?”

  “You mean did I expect we’d hook up?”

  “Yes.” I curl up into a little ball, waiting.

  He’s quiet, then says, “I guess a part of me hoped we might.”

  His honesty silences me. “Is that what kind of girl you thought I was?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then how come you were so prepared?”

  Will laughs. “I’m a teenage boy. With a mom who’s been preaching at me for years. I’ve carried condoms in my wallet since the ninth grade, not that I needed them much.”

  “Oh.” I pause. “Will?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why did you cheat on Amber-o-zia?”

  He sighs heavily. “Because I was a dick. To you and to her. Because I was on a mountain with an incredibly beautiful and interesting girl I’ve been stealing glances at for two years. Because I’m a boy, and it felt good.” He pauses. “Amber, I’m sorry. It was way more than I expected and since then, I’ve wished I could take it back.” He pauses. “Me and Amber-o-zia were never like that.”

  I close my eyes. “I don’t want you to think it’s always like that for me.”

  “I don’t. Hey, Amber?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got to go. My dad’s calling me.”

  “Oh. Okay. Bye.”

  What am I doing calling Will McKinney, expecting him to want to listen to me sing, to hear about my problems? What am I doing, thinking something real might be happening between us? Even if he did refer to Amber-o-zia in the past tense.

  “I’ll see you at school,” he says, and then he’s gone. I lay the phone back down on my nightstand and look at the red tacks on my map.

  After a few minutes, I stand up and pull out the one stuck on Sevenmile and put it on the dresser. The only red tack left is the one for Winston-Salem. My future.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I’m dressing for school on Friday morning when Mama comes into my room. “What happened between you and your sister?”

  I stop, one hand still on the zipper of my skirt. “What do you mean?”

  “Amber Delaine, I’m not blind. She hasn’t said a word to you in more than a week. That’s not like the two of you.”

  I ache to tell Mama the truth. But nothing bad has come of what I did. Sean’s got his guitar. Sean’s aunt and uncle haven’t discovered the missing pills. And even though Whitney thinks I’m a husband-stealing bitch, at least I’m out of the band. Sometimes what nobody knows doesn’t hurt a thing.

  But I can hit near the truth. “She thinks I was flirting with Sammy.”

  Mama’s mouth drops. “She what?”

  I finish zipping up my skirt and turn toward the big open window, then face my mama again. “She thinks I like him, God knows why, in an unsisterly way.”

  Mama fiddles with the strand of red beads hanging around her neck. “That beats anything I’ve heard all week. You’d as soon throw Sammy in a nest of rattlesnakes as say two kind words to him.”

  “Well, you asked. That’s why she’s not talking to me.”

  Mama shakes her head. “Crazy talk.”

  “Thanks, Mama.”

  “Don’t thank me. You two need to work it out. This tension is wearing on my nerves.”

  Devon picks me up with a frozen coffee in his hand. “Mom McKinney daily special,” he says, and hands it to me. “With toffee chips for luck.”

  I take a sip. I’ve lied to Mama and Daddy, to Whitney, to Sean, and even to Will about where the guitar money came from. But I’ve got to tell something true to Devon.

  “Devon.”

  “Super-tasty, correct?” he asks, starting off down the driveway.

  “Yes, it is. But I need to tell you something.”

  He slows the Jeep and looks at me. “Do I need to pull over?”

  I shake my head. “No, keep driving. You need another focus.”

  He puts his hand to his chest between shifting gears. “Please tell me you didn’t really sleep with Kush.”

  “What?” I roll my eyes. “He added that to his hit parade?”

  Devon nods and pats my shoulder. “But don’t fret. Everyone’s catching on to him. And it isn’t pretty.” He mimics somebody stirring a pot.

  I rub the condensation on the side of the plastic cup, worrying patterns into the wet surface. “No. I didn’t hook up with Kush.” I pause before getting out the next words quickly. “But I did have sex with Will.”

  Devon hits the brakes so hard we both fling forward. “Oh my god. When? What was it like?”

  He seems completely unconcerned I named his brother. “You’re not mad?”

  He starts driving again and looks over at me. “Mad? I love my brother. I love you. It’s the closest I can ever come to hooking up with you myself.”

  “Devon, I’m serious.”

  This time, Devon does pull the car over at the turn-in to someone’s vacation home. “Okay. I’m serious, too. Amber, I don’t care. When did it happen? This week?”

  I twirl the straw in my fingers and whisper, “The first day of school.”

  Devon’s mouth drops open. “Shut the hell up.”

  I grimace. “Stop acting so shocked. It just happened. I’ve felt guilty for so long. About Amber-o-zia. About not telling you. About it happening at all.”

  Devon’s quiet for a minute. “Has he been nice to you?”

  “Will?” I ask.

  Devon’s hand clutches the gearshift, waiting on my answer. “Yeah.”

  “He has been nice. He never said anything to anybody. He never tried anything again.” The memory of the kiss at Sizz’s house flares in my brain. But that was me, not Will. “He’s a good guy, Devon.”

  Devon lets go of the gearshift and grabs his cup out of the cup holder and takes a sip. “Yeah. He is. So . . . what now? Are you two dating?”

  Devon’s sweet concern and his question open something inside me. Big tears slide down onto my cheeks. Then my nose starts running. Devon pats my back and I blow my nose into a Kleenex.

  I shake my head and finally manage to speak again. “No. He hasn’t even told me that he broke up with Amber-o-zia. I keep waiting. Hoping . . .” My voice trails off. Then I whisper. “I really like him, Devon.”

  Devon rubs my shoulder. “Oh, Plain and Small. Let’s see what Devon can do.”

  He pulls back onto the road and drives us to school.

  Mrs. Early calls me down to the floor during chorus to practice my audition pieces. This is it
. My last practice before the moment when I will either fall or stand as tall as the hills I call home.

  Will comes down to play his banjo and Mrs. Early joins him on the piano.

  We go in the order I’ll follow at the audition. I start with “Shenandoah,” which everyone in the chorus knows. Then I move into “I Wish My Love Was a Red, Red Rose,” though this time I sing the traditional lyrics. My last song is “Ave Maria.” It hasn’t been as hard as I’d thought it’d be to sing in Latin.

  Will starts in on the banjo, a slow plinking of strings that ascends upward until I open my mouth.

  “Ave Maria . . .”

  I close my eyes and my arms lift slightly from my sides. I picture the song swirling inside of me, like butterflies. I draw the notes out. When I release the words, they fly around the room. The chorus is silent, listening, and all I hear is the sound Will and I make. When the final notes of my last “Maria” land, there’s a collective inhale. It’s a quiet I wouldn’t mind living in for a while.

  Slowly, my classmates start to clap. I open my eyes to see Mrs. Early clapping with them. “Amber, dear, I think you’re ready.”

  The rest of the chorus murmurs in agreement. Will shouts, “Damn straight, she’s ready!” and stands up next to me with a big smile on his face.

  After chorus, I head out front and don’t see anybody’s car.

  “Need a ride?” Will’s by my side, his backpack slung over his shoulder, banjo case in his hand. Outside of the chorus room, Will’s grin is wicked.

  “I get in trouble when I go for rides with you, Will McKinney.”

  “Come on, it’s only a ride.”

  Right then, Mama pulls up to the curb.

  I look back at him and smile. “Maybe another time.”

  I start to get into the car but Will stops me with a hand on my arm. He looks down, then looks back up at me. He looks a little nervous. “Hey, I don’t know if you heard about me and Amber-o-zia.”

  I shrug. “Maybe. But I don’t put too much stock in gossip.”

  He drops his hand. “Fair enough.” He shrugs. “But it’s true. It took me longer than it should have—I kept hoping she’d say the words—but in the end I had to be honest with her about my feelings.”

  “Okay,” I say. When Will doesn’t say anything else right away, I reach for the door handle.

  “You said maybe another time. For a ride. How about tomorrow?”

  I furrow my brow. “To Boone? Mama’s driving. She insisted, actually.”

  Will swings the banjo case, then stops. “I was thinking more about after. I was wondering if you’d want to go with me to C.A.’s party. You know, like a date.”

  “A date?” I take a breath. “Did Devon talk to you?”

  Will eyes are questioning. “Devon? I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

  His words settle in. Devon didn’t say anything. This is all coming from Will. An “Ave Maria” tries to burst its way past my lips, but I only smile. “Yeah. Okay. A date.” I open the car door. “See you in the morning.”

  Will’s rocking on his heels and swinging his banjo case, watching us pull away.

  Mama glances behind us. “Is that Judge McKinney’s older son?” she asks me.

  “Uh-huh,” I answer, a grin bursting like fireworks across my face.

  “Uh-huh,” she repeats, her face mama-wise, her voice shrewd. Then she pats my leg. “I’m so proud of you, sugar. A fellow like that would be a fool not to see it, too.”

  I whisper, “I think he does, Mama.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The next morning, the whole house is in an uproar. I’m tearing through my closet, worried that the outfit I’ve chosen is wrong. Mama’s yelling at Daddy about going to work instead of coming with us. Whitney’s yelling about who’s going to watch Coby because she and Sammy have “things to do.”

  I pull Whitney into the stairwell. “Are you ever going to talk to me?”

  She lowers her brows and then looks up at the ceiling.

  “Listen to me,” I whisper. “I didn’t kiss Sammy! He kissed me. How could you not have seen me pushing him away? I was trying to get away from him.”

  Whitney crosses her arms and leans sideways against the wall, but I catch her glancing at me first.

  I talk fast while I know she’s listening. “Maybe he thought I still had a crush on him and if he kissed me, I would agree about getting rid of Sean.”

  Whitney shifts slightly. She’s almost facing me.

  “C’mon, Whit. You know it wasn’t real.”

  She looks away, then scuffs her foot on the hardwood floor.

  “Whitney?” I whisper.

  She drops her arms, and searches my face. “But he kissed you.” There’s something resigned in the way she says it.

  “Nothing would have happened, Whitney. Not once he’d gotten me to do what he wanted.”

  She shrugs, then laughs, sadly. “Right, look at you. He’d have taken it as far as you would have let him.”

  Sammy bellows from the front porch. “Whitney, let’s go. I’ve got to meet a friend.”

  “I’ve got to go,” she whispers.

  At the last second, she leans forward and hugs me hard. “Good luck. I hope you get in. I want you to get out of here.”

  When we finally load into the van, Mama, me, and Coby, I’m so frazzled I can’t think. My audition is in two hours, which is plenty of time, except Mama’s driving and she is a careful driver.

  Once I calm down a little, I notice Mama looks great. Hair’s fixed just so and she’s got on her new pretty skirt and sweater combination. There’s a light in her eyes I’ve missed seeing.

  “Mama, you look gorgeous.”

  “Gook gorjuice,” Coby mimics from the backseat.

  Mama laughs. “Thank you, baby boy.”

  We swing by the McKinneys’ first. Will’s already waiting on the front porch, and when he walks down the drive, black button-down shirt tucked into dark jeans with a shiny pair of Sunday black shoes, it’s like I’m seeing a young Johnny Cash, or at least the actor who played him in that movie, Walk the Line.

  I start to climb out of the front seat and get in the back with Coby, but Will stops me.

  “No, stay there. I don’t mind hanging out in the back.” He places his banjo case behind the second row of seats and climbs in next to Coby.

  I’m too nervous to talk, so I sing scales softly and watch the scenery pass as we drive. What will my life be like, if I’m surrounded by concrete and city people? They may not judge me based on my family’s history, but they won’t know me either. They’ll look at my clothes, they’ll hear my accent, and they’ll figure out where I’m from and come up with their own opinions of who I am. Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t, that’s what Daddy says sometimes.

  Slowly we curve our way through Avery County into Watauga County, home of Appalachian State University in Boone. Mama’s hands start to sweat as the traffic picks up on Highway 221.

  “You’re doing great, Mama.”

  “No talking, Amber.”

  “But you need to get over to the left lane.”

  Mama whimpers as she looks over her left shoulder, hits her signal, looks again, then finally starts to move. A car horn honks. Mama jerks.

  “It’s okay, Mama, you got it.”

  Will speaks up. “You want me to drive, Mrs. Vaughn?”

  Her hands are trembling. “No. I can do this. How am I ever going to help run a catering business if I can’t drive?”

  The red light gives us a break and I put my hand on Mama’s arm, helping her steady its shaking.

  “What?” I give her a curious look.

  “Aneeta has asked me to go into business with her. She likes my desserts and thinks having a local cook will help make folks more confident about hiring a stranger. We even have a name, East-West Mamas’ Cooking.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “That’s great,” Will chimes in from the backseat.

  She giggles,
then grips the steering wheel, alert as the left-turn arrow flashes green. “No talking, I’ll tell you later. Just tell me when to turn. With plenty of warning.”

  Looking down at my audition materials, I direct her to the music building and we find visitors’ parking. Mama unlatches Coby and hoists him onto her hip.

  Will sidles up next to me. We walk with our arms close. When we get to the stairs to the entrance, he slips his hand around mine.

  I peek at our locked fingers. The idea of an us begins to take root and I feel it, warm and squiggly, burrowing into my center.

  Mama walks ahead of us with Coby.

  “So, does Daddy know?” I ask her. Mama, a businesswoman. I like it.

  “I told him Wednesday. He wasn’t happy.”

  Good. Maybe it will knock some sense into him. “What did he say?”

  “He said, Didn’t I have enough to do at home in my own kitchen?”

  “And what’d you say?”

  “I said if I had a husband that cared more about his own kitchen, then his opinion might make a difference to me.” She glances back at us. Her eyes flit to our hands and she smiles. “Excuse me, Will, if this sounds petty.”

  Will shakes his head in a quick no.

  Mama keeps talking to me as we approach the front door. “So I told him, he’d made his own bed and now his wife was going to be a businesswoman and if he was lucky I might use some of my money for the phone bill. But I might use it all for salon appointments and new skirts.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. I’m happy to see this strong version of my mama. I like her. A lot. And I’m happy to have my hand tucked into Will’s. Happy they’re both here to help me chase my dreams. “I love you, Mama.”

  “I love you, too, Amber Delaine.” She looks up at the sign on the door, NC-ARTS AUDITIONS. “It’s time for you to shine, sugar.”

  In the auditorium, I try to keep my hands from shaking as I present the panel my paperwork. Other singers fidget in chairs near the sides of the stage waiting their turns. Families are settled into the very back rows sitting quietly. I watch a boy who looks sort of like Sean kill the songs from West Side Story for his drama department audition. Another girl sings arias from an opera. She’s amazing. I can see the judges scribbling furiously on the papers in front of them. Each vocal applicant is accompanied by piano.