Falling From the Sky (8 page)

“There’s a little disaster in everything,” Tuck says before blowing another smoke cloud. “There’s so much I want to see. A life that wasn’t shattered, a ship that didn’t sink, a bullet that wasn’t fired, a–”

“A plane that didn’t crash.” I should apologize for interrupting, but I don’t.

It’s true. That’s the one thing I wish I could see. I didn’t actually see it crash, but I’ve pictured it in my head enough to convince myself that I was there when my dad fell from the sky and went up in flames. In the rainforest, of all places, the fucking rainforest. But there wasn’t enough rain to put out those flames or keep those passengers from burning or to keep my dad alive. And now that song from the shoe store comes back through my mind. I don’t know what I would do if I was falling from the sky.

Micah and Tuck stare at me, the same stare I get at school when I stop to pray for an airplane. Tuck’s face is surprisingly sympathetic, like he understands.

“I lost my cousin,” he says. “Justin, he was the first running back on Damien’s football team. He was killed just before our senior year.”

“My dad…plane crash. A year ago,” I say.

That’s all I can say. I really hate talking about it.

“I’m sorry,” Tuck says.

I look over at him. “Me too.”

He’s right, though, about a little disaster being in everything. We have to just live among the wreckage. I think some people just got the short straw and have more disaster than others. I got my disaster plus Micah’s. He hasn’t said anything, but I can’t see him having any disaster. He’s too happy, too carefree. Maybe he’s naïve. But turmoil isn’t a piece of him. And that’s a good reason to stick with him this summer, even if he doesn’t get it.

“I think the shipwreck will be cool,” I say to change the subject.

The disaster part of it will even be cool, kind of like
Titanic
without all of Mom’s crying. Just the disaster, the action – the cool stuff.

“Yeah,” Tuck says. “Pax is working on a shark design, and Damien is working on the treasure chest and skeleton. It’ll be hardcore. You going to the Pecan Grove Festival? You’ll see the finished product there.”

“We’re going,” Micah answers for me.

The festival must match up with a horse. I can’t figure out which one in my head, though. But I’d have never placed the royal horse with the Graffiti Kings either.

“Good,” Tuck says. He looks back over his shoulder to see how things are coming along. Pax has more paint on himself than the walls, and the shark is beginning to look like it’s half-eaten rather than about to be eating. “You guys can hang around if you want. I’m going to go fix the shark attack over there.”

The air conditioner in Micah’s truck feels awesome. I really want to change out of this shirt. It sticks to my back, and I feel as gross as I do when I leave basketball practice. If nothing else, at least I’m not as sore today. I readjust the vents even though Micah has the A/C on full blast. The radio is off, so silence lingers around us.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Micah finally says.

I know what comes next. He’ll give me the ‘if you need to talk’ speech. He’ll say how he’s here for me and a great listener, and it’s better to get those emotions out than to hold it all inside until you break. Because you will break. It’ll eat you alive. Don’t let yourself bottle up those feelings. C’mon, Micah. Say it. I’ve heard it all before.

“I don’t know what that’s like,” he says instead. “I’ll save you the lectures. I know you’ve heard it enough. But I’m here if you need me…for whatever.”

“Thanks,” I say. What I need right now is a shower, but I don’t tell Micah that.

We arrive back at the mall. Micah pulls up next to my car, his driver’s side facing mine. He rolls his window down and rests his arm on the sill, his chin planted on his arm. He looks bored.

“You coming back to my place?” he asks. “We can just hang out, play video games. Whatever.”

I wonder if he always feels this need to explain himself. Maybe he thinks that I think he wants me. In reality, all I’m thinking about is showering. Again.

Micah beats me back to his house and doesn’t come to the door when I knock. He just yells that it’s open.

I feel strange walking into someone’s house like this. One day he’ll yell that it’s open, I’ll walk in, and his mom will be sitting on the couch. And that moment will be awkward in every way possible.

“Hi, Ms. Youngblood. I’m Ridge, the white guy who is always hanging out with your son. Sorry to show up on your doorstep again. I know it seems like I’m always here, but I promise, Micah really does invite me, and I really don’t have anywhere else to go. Oh wait, never mind. You’re never here, so you don’t know all of this. Hi, I’m Ridge. Nice to meet you.”

I push the door open slowly and poke my head in to make sure she’s not sitting on the couch. The only light I see is from the kitchen. The microwave beeps.

“In here,” Micah calls out.

“Question,” I say as I walk into the kitchen.

“Yeah?” He looks up from stirring spaghetti sauce.

I swallow and try to think of how to politely ask what I’m thinking.

“Dude,” I say. “Not to be all in your business but where are your parents? You can’t live here alone.”

He gives me a half-smile. “Dad bailed after I was born. Don’t know him, don’t care. Mom pretty much lives with Poppa B. She stayed the night a few times after Nanna died, to make sure he was okay, and she pretty much never came back,” he says. “So in a way, I do live here, in this house, alone. She’s across the res. Hungry?”

I take the subject change as a hint and simply nod. I haven’t eaten anything aside from a Nutri-grain bar all day, and that’s not even worth the honorable mention. I leave the cooking to Micah while I return for another shower.

“You’ve gotta get Zoey to give me her secret recipe,” I say. “I’ll bribe her. What does she like? Is she a chocolate or flowers kind of girl?”

Micah spins his fork in his noodles and looks up at me. Then he answers. “Neither. She likes blue rock candy.”

“Liar,” I say, looking back down at my noodles. “That’s you.”

He laughs. “You noticed?”

Of course I noticed. He’s always twirling it around in his mouth and running his tongue over it the way Samantha does with popsicles when she’s trying to play seductive.

“Yeah, you usually have it in your mouth,” I say. I leave out the seduction part.

“Well, I was going to say you could just give the candy to me to deliver to her, but you’ve already foiled that plan,” he says. “Speaking of plans, are you going home for the holiday?”

“What holiday?”

“Friday. It’s the Fourth of July,” he says.

I’d completely forgotten. We’ll get out of practice at noon Thursday so everyone can go home for the weekend if they wish. I haven’t given it any thought until now.

“Hadn’t thought about it. I’ll probably stick around. I don’t feel like dealing with home right now,” I answer.

“Good.” His eyes light up, and I know he’s already made plans for us.

“Another horse?” I ask.

He nods. He’s smiling Abby’s smile, the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

“I want you to come out here for the Fourth, on the reservation. We’ll grill out that day, and there’s an awesome fireworks show over the river,” he tells me.

Independence Day with Native Americans? That feels immoral. I don’t even want to think about how they’ll feel with a white guy sitting in the midst of them.

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

In all reality, I’ll think of a way to get out of it. And then I’ll end up going anyway because I’ll have nothing else to do. Micah stares across the table as I finish my last few bites.

“You have really cool eyes,” he says.

Was that supposed to be a pick up line? Let’s rewind back to the holiday talk instead.

“What?” I ask.

“Like, you know, you have cat eyes,” Micah says, staring into my soul.

“Cat eyes?”

“No, not really.”

I’m confused. And a little creeped out. He buries his face into his hands, and I can tell he’s embarrassed. I don’t know if it all just came out wrong or that was his failed attempt at hitting on me.

“They’re really green,” he says. “Obviously you know what color your eyes are. It’s just, like, everyone here is the same. We don’t have blue eyes or green eyes or gray eyes. We’re all just black-haired, brown-eyed people, and you just…have cool eyes.”

He gets up from the table and puts his plate in the sink.

“Forget it. I’m stupid for saying all that,” he says, almost in a panic. “Just stick your plate in the sink when you’re done. I’m going to go hook up the Xbox.”

We master level five tonight. And level six. And level seven. We don’t talk about my eyes or Zoey’s secret recipe or blue rock candy. In fact, we don’t talk about anything but zombies and brains. I decide to go back to camp, even though I told everyone I was going home for the weekend. Fuck it. If they see me there, I’ll just lie again. I can’t stay here tonight.

Once I’m back at camp, I hurry across the parking lot even though I see an airplane flickering in the night sky. I can walk and pray at the same time. But even the airplane doesn’t faze me like it normally does.

All I can think about is whether Taylor had green cat eyes. I wonder if Micah was mesmerized by him or if Micah finds me more attractive than Taylor. The fact that I’m thinking all of this bothers me.

The fact that I want to be above Taylor bothers me even more.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Three!” The ball swishes through the net yet again as Zach announces his own tiny victory. Aaron tosses the ball back over to him, and Zach dribbles the ball between his legs before beginning his next loud speaker imitation.

“Five seconds on the clock...Perry has the ball,” he hollers out.

He bounces it between his legs and does that left-right sway that only Terrence can pull off and still look cool. He opens his big mouth again, another thing he can’t pull off.

“He can pass the ball to Ridge McCoy, who is in the perfect position for an easy lay-up, or he can go for the win with one of his flawless three point shots!” Zach shouts.

I really wish someone would put me out of my misery. The ball swirls around the rim and sinks through the net. I anticipate his victory strut before he actually does it.

“That’s how it’s done, McCoy.
That’s
how it’s done,” he brags. He parades across the gym floor and picks up the basketball. He chucks it toward me before grabbing his gym bag and leaving.

Walking away is about the only thing he can do right. Aaron laughs and mutters something about Zach being a cocky jackass, but he smiles afterward, so I don’t think he truly means it. I wish I’d just gone back to the room after practice. I don’t know how I got suckered into shooting hoops with them.

I scroll through my texts while I rehydrate.

“So who is she?” Aaron asks from across the court.

I look up from my cell phone. “Who are you talking about?”

“The girl,” he says, nodding toward my hand. “You start stalking your messages every time you take a water break. I know it’s not your girlfriend, so who is she?”

Micah’s text about our next horse lights up my cell phone’s screen. I exit out of it and watch my phone to verify it locks itself.

“It’s no one,” I say. I grab the basketball off the floor and dribble it, hoping he’ll take the cue and drop the subject.

Instead, Aaron throws his head back. “Give me something, McCoy! Is she hot? Does she have any hot friends?”

“What about Katelyn? Isn’t she your summer fling or whatever?” I arc my arm back and swish a jump shot through the net.

“I hate that word. Makes me sound like a man-whore,” Aaron says as he retrieves the ball and makes his way toward the basketball goal.

“Could be worse,” I say.

Luckily, this time he doesn’t ask me to elaborate.

Back in room eleven, Terrence doesn’t look up from the copy of Sports Illustrated flattened across his pillow. I swear, Terrence is probably the only guy I know who actually buys that magazine to read the sports articles.

Aaron strolls out of the bathroom, his hair wet from the shower. He doesn’t waste any time putting on his shoes. “C’mon, you ain’t staying in tonight. Terrence, you either.”

I sit up and tuck my cell phone into my pocket. “Where are you going?”

“I got new mud tires this weekend. We’re going to go test them out,” Aaron says. He grabs his keys and motions for me to go with him.

“Who is ‘we?’” Terrence asks.

“Us,” Aaron says. “The three of us.”

Mud riding sounds like a better plan than the “girls and beer” agenda Aaron usually follows. As long as Zach Perry isn’t tagging along, I can bullshit my way through talking about tires, rims, and all those automotive guy things.

Aaron’s silver truck sits high off the ground like a monster truck with tires too big for its body. Terrence makes a few wisecracks about how climbing into the truck should count toward next week’s exercise at practice. He offers me the front seat, even though he’s never been mud riding. I figured he’d want a front row seat, but he admits, after he’s buckled up in the back, that he’d rather not go through the windshield when Aaron does something stupid.

The conversation rotates from basketball camp to Zach Perry’s cockiness and back to drills before Aaron drags up my dirty little secret named Micah.

“So, who is she, McCoy? She’s gotta be hot if you’re keeping her this big of a secret,” he says.

“What’s he talking about?” Terrence pipes up from the backseat, like he doesn’t already know.

It doesn’t help any that my phone keeps buzzing in my pocket even though I texted Micah on my way to Aaron’s truck and said I couldn’t talk and I’d text him later. At least I hope that’s what I texted to him. I wasn’t really looking at the phone, so there’s no telling what kind of gibberish he got from me.

“I just want to know where McCoy here keeps disappearing to at night. I know he’s not out roaming Bear Creek alone. He just won’t tell me the name of the little bear cub he’s roaming with.” Aaron laughs at himself, and I have half a mind to tell him he’s not as funny as he thinks he is, but I have to live with him all summer so I don’t.