Falling From the Sky (14 page)

“Damn it,” I say, grabbing the phone and wiping it off with my shirt.

“I am so sorry,” Micah says, kneeling next to me. “C’mon, we’ll get it back to the house. Soak it in rice. Hopefully there’s not much damage.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say. “I’m the one who knocked it toward the water.”

“The longer you sit here moping about it, the longer the water is setting in and taking over. Let’s go,” Micah says, pulling me up against my will.

I dust off the sand and haul ass back to his truck. He tosses a box of sparklers onto the middle of the seat and cranks up.

“You have one more box?” I ask as I dab at my phone.

He nods and floors the accelerator. “It can wait,” he says.

“You want to light them after we rice my phone?” I ask.

He slams his brake, and I slam into the dashboard. Then he leans over and steals a kiss. “You’re the best, Jump Shot.”

I don’t dare tell Micah, but I haven’t felt this alive in a long time.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The clinging and clanging from the kitchen suggests that Micah is cooking, or at least attempting to, and that’s a scary thought in itself. Yesterday’s events replay in my head – from the sexual tension at the river to the moment he kissed me and I kissed him back to the moment when I realized how much I really don’t want to be anywhere but here.

Everything with him feels so right. Like when he barely grazes my skin and every nerve ending in my body perks up to greet his touch. Or how he let me fall asleep without having to discuss our zombie-influenced make out session. Or how he’s trying to cook breakfast for me right now.

But then I remember that I’m not into guys, and I have a girlfriend, and this technically makes me a cheater. I wonder if this is like prison, how a lot of inmates are “gay for the stay” because they need some form of affection. Will I still feel like this when I leave Bear Creek and Micah? God. I don’t want to think of going back home. Back to the Markham Wildcats and Samantha and Mom and Jordan. Can this just be an endless summer where it’s okay for me to like Micah and no one says anything about it?

I force myself out of bed. It’s a miracle the kitchen isn’t in flames when I walk into the room. Micah stands over the stove, and the smell of pancakes wafts through the air. It actually smells really good, and I’m glad because I’m starving.

“Morning,” Micah says, not turning back to look at me.

We’ll have to talk about yesterday eventually. Part of me wants to do it now and get it over with, but the other part of me doesn’t ever want to mention it. I sort of just want to go with the flow. That’s a stupid  idea, though. Summer will end, and then we’ll just fall from the sky, and crash and burn, and I just can’t take that.

He turns his head to the side but still doesn’t look at me. “You like pancakes?”

“Yeah.” I wait for him to turn around or spit another small talk question at me.

“Good deal,” he says more to the stove than to me.

I climb onto the barstool and listen to the echo of my pounding heart in my ears. I wonder if he hears it or if his is pounding in sync with mine. My knees tremble, just like they did on top of the bridge, even though I’m sitting.

“Micah?” I hate talking to his back.

“Yeah?”

“We…uh…” I can’t speak. I feel like I’m going to vomit if I try.

“We need to talk,” he says, as if my would’ve-been statement is obvious. “Right?”

This time he looks back at me. His eyes are filled with a childlike sadness, like I just took away his favorite toy and placed him in time out.

“We’ll talk,” he surrenders. “But after breakfast?”

“Sounds good.” I hope he makes enough pancakes to last the rest of my life so we don’t have to talk about it.

My body stays frozen, eyes on the floor, until Micah walks over and climbs atop the barstool next to me. The clink of the plates hitting the countertop makes me jump.

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” he says, stuffing a bite into his mouth. “My Nanna taught me how to make them. It’s the one thing I can cook without screwing up.”

“Try it,” he says. He stabs a small piece with his fork and holds it up to my mouth. That silly, excited smile is engraved on his face. I humor him and take the bite. He was right; this is one thing he can cook without screwing up.

The pancakes don’t last long enough, though. As quickly as Micah placed them on the counter, the plates are placed into the sink. Micah scrubs the countertops next to the stove. I’m so conflicted that it’s making me nauseated. I’m relieved that he’s more interested in that dishrag in his hand than he is talking about what happened.

“I know you have a girlfriend,” he finally says, keeping his back to me. “You don’t like guys. I pressured you. I was stupid and wrong for it.”

“You’re not stupid.” That’s the best I can come up with. “You didn’t pressure me either.”

He slams the dishrag onto the counter and spins around. “Look, I get it. You needed a sober friend for the summer, and I thought you were cute shooting pennies into the fountain. I set myself up for a letdown, and I know that.”

I bury my forehead into the palm of my hand. “I don’t want to let you down.”

“How do you feel?” He walks across the kitchen and leans against the stool next to me. “Like really feel, Ridge. You didn’t have to kiss me back, but you did, and that meant something even if you’re too scared to admit now.”

I don’t look up. “I feel like you’re the only one who gets me.”

“Is that bad?” he asks.

Obviously. It’s converted me from a basketball player with a hot girlfriend to a queer who jumps off bridges with a hot guy.

“It’s…different,” I say. The words feel so awkward and stumbling. “I think I’m going to go shoot hoops with Terrence for a bit. What time is horse number six?”

“You still want to go?” There’s surprise in his voice. He looks hopeful again, and I don’t want to be the one who crushes it.

I can’t really say anything, so I just nod.

“Take your time,” he says. He brushes his hair over his shoulder and looks me straight in the face. It’s been the first serious eye contact we’ve made all day. “Angel Horse has no time frame.”

“Cool,” I force out. “I’m going to holler at Terrence.”

Then I remember my cell phone – the murky water, the bag of rice – and I just want to crumble. I walk across the kitchen and pick up the bag, wondering if there’s even a chance that my phone was undamaged. I’m so glad I didn’t get that upgrade when I had it. This phone still gives me access to my SIM card.

“Hey, I have an old flip phone if you want to use it,” Micah offers. “The battery’s probably dead, but you can charge it. I have a car charger for it too.”

He heads down the hallway, and the sound of boxes being tossed around doesn’t surprise me. He has so many gadgets and game controllers in Zoey’s old bedroom, it’s not even funny. Maybe he plans to add them to the collection of Jocolnu artifacts someday. His personal contribution.

He comes back carrying some bright red flip phone. It’s ancient, alright. He hands me a few cords, unsure of which charger actually belongs to this phone.

“Thanks,” I say, slipping the SIM card into the back.

The phone powers on and alerts of me a low battery. I grab all of the car chargers from the electronics graveyard, get my keys from Micah’s room, and head out.

I spend too much time driving around Bear Creek before I text Terrence. I lie to myself and say that it was to let the phone have time to charge, but in all actuality, I’ve been contemplating Angel Horse and what Micah may have in store for me today. When I think about angels, I think of heaven. Or death. Or churches. Churches lead to soul saving or weddings. God, what did that stupid horse look like?

I pull into the mall’s parking lot. It’s safe to scope out the scenery since Micah isn’t working. I make my way to the carousel for a quick glimpse at the horse. The pink flowers lining the horse’s neck still remind me of chalky icing flowers. Maybe his plans include a wedding…or a gay rights rally in support of gay marriage, since I kissed him and all.

Angel Horse has no time frame.
It can’t be a wedding or a rally or anything that starts at any specific time. Why is he so cryptic? And why I am spending my “Micah-free time” dwelling on Micah and his damn painted horses?

I take the flip phone from my pocket and text Terrence.

He meets me fifteen minutes later at the bench outside of the sports store where Demetrice works. He goes through the usual motions, asking if I’m okay or if something bad has happened, and then he lets me sit in silence for a while until I’m ready to talk.

I lean against the back of the bench and inhale deeply to prepare myself for what I’m about to say.

“Micah kissed me.”

Terrence’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth but says nothing. Then he pulls his mouth shut and opens it again. Still no words. I sort of want to laugh because this is exactly what I expected his reaction to be.

“Yeah,” I say. “I thought he was going to at the river, but he didn’t…until we got back to his house and were in his bedroom, and he seduced me over an Xbox game.”

“I knew it,” Terrence says, slapping his leg as he talks. “Remember when he was texting you about Xbox, and I thought Samantha was sexting you? I knew you were into some dirty gamer talk.”

“Shut up,” I mumble. I run my hands through my hair and prop my elbows against my knees so I can stare at the floor. This isn’t one of those moments where I like eye contact.

“Okay, okay,” Terrence says. “Let’s rewind. You spent an entire day thinking he was going to kiss you, but he didn’t, and then that night he did, and you reacted how?”

Do I really have to answer that? How in the hell do you tell your friend, “Well, I kissed him back,” and not sound like a freak? There’s no way I’m telling Terrence about the whole make out session. Admitting to a kiss is enough.

I shrug. “I didn’t stop him,” I say.

“When you say
kiss
, are you talking like, ‘Hey, I pressed my lips against yours so this means we kissed,’ or are you talking about, ‘Hey, I want to take you home and play you like a video game all night’ kind of kiss?” Terrence asks.

I actually laugh at the fact that he’s trying to speak on my level. So I attempt to break it down to his.

“If it was a basketball ball shot, it’d would be the nothing-but-net three-pointer that clenched the win and carried you on to the state championship,” I say, eyes still on the floor.

When Terrence doesn’t immediately reply, I shuffle around and finally lean back against the bench. He says nothing, just stares at me like he’s waiting for me to continue. I don’t have anything else to say. That confession was enough.

“How do you feel?” he finally asks. He faces me and leans back, pressing against the bench’s armrest. And then he studies me like he’s Dr. Phil…or my grief counselor.

“How do I feel? How the hell do you think I feel?” I say it much too loudly and Terrence leans in toward me.

He motions toward the nearest exit, so I follow without inquiry. I feel like the entire mall can hear our conversation, like every single person can hear every single thought in my head. The sun engulfs me in its warmth when we step out onto the pavement. I wish it would just burn me to death so I wouldn’t have to deal with this.

“Okay, talk,” Terrence says. “Don’t overthink it. Just say what’s on your mind.”

He leans back against the brick building, but I can’t stay still. I can’t just chill and talk about it like it’s basketball or cars or even my dad’s death. This is so much bigger. So I pace back and forth in front of Terrence and some bookstore window.

“I’m freaking out, completely freaking the fuck out,” I say. “I don’t like guys. I have a girlfriend. I didn’t come to camp to turn into a queer. I came to get away from the hell back home and try to feel like myself again.”

Terrence peels himself off the brick. “Do you feel like yourself again?”

I stop. “Yeah,” I admit. “For the first time in a long time, I feel like me, and that scares the living hell out of me. How does
this
translate?”

“Well, I don’t speak gamer talk, but to me, it translates into how you’ve found someone who gets you and makes you feel alive again,” Terrence says. “You’ve found that spark you’ve been looking for, that something to jumpstart your battery and bring you back.”

He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. I mean, yeah, I don’t walk around admitting that Micah has brought me back to life, but deep down, I know he has. I know I’m finally laughing again and having conversations again and being somewhat normal again. I don’t need Terrence or anyone else to tell me that. It’s pretty obvious.

“What about when camp is over?” I ask. “Then what? I’ll go back to Markham, and Micah will be here. I’ll have my dead relationship with Samantha, the same distance from my mom. Jordan will still be Mom’s favorite kid, and Dad will still be dead.”

“And what do
you
want, McCoy?” Terrence asks. “Really and truly?”

“For this summer to never end.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Didn’t think you’d be back this soon,” Micah says, pulling a T-shirt over his head in his living room. “I wasn’t sure if you’d ever come back, to be honest.”

I find my way over the couch and sit. Micah follows suit. He leans back against the brown leather and stares at me. Why can’t he just say something and make this easier on me?

“I had to come back. We still have horses to go,” I say.

That’s not the whole truth, and I’m pretty sure he knows it, but I don’t indulge his suspicions and admit there’s more. His sarcastic reply of “Yeah” confirms that I’m a crappy liar once again. He gets up although we just sat down and walks over to the kitchen. His keys jingle and he walks back into the living room, waving the keys at me.

“Since you’re so into these horses, we might as well go now, right?” He asks the question in that teasing kind of way.

The summer sun is still scorching. I regret those wishes for a fiery death. I think the demons of hell may be trying to grant them now. I reach for the air conditioner at the same moment Micah does. The brush of his hand is literally too much. I jerk my arm back. I can’t touch him. I can’t let myself get any closer because there’s no way this can end on a good note. He looks at me with inquiring eyes but says nothing of my reflex.