Falling Further (9 page)

Nine

Trace:
Hard
Truths

The house is
eerily quiet when Nadia and I step out of the car. Usually, you can hear some
kind of heavy metal or rap seeping up out of the basement, or some bubblegum
pop oozing out from the upper story. But tonight, the place is damn near
silent. Nadia and I trade uneasy glances as we make our way up onto the porch
and into the living crypt that we’re expected to call home.

A canned laugh track
greets us as we step into the foyer. The TV in the living room is on, as
ever—tuned to some crappy sitcom. Nancy is slumped over in the easy chair,
passed out cold like always, but Paul is nowhere to be seen. I peer into the
kitchen, but no one’s there, either. The back door stands wide open, letting in
chilly late autumn air. I cross the space and close the door as quietly as I
can.

That’s when I
hear the crying.

I reroute for
the basement, taking the stairs two at a time with Nadia on my heels. Even the
Christmas lights are off as we step into the room that Garrick and I share.
Nadia plugs in a multicolored string, casting the scene before us in a trippy
glow.

Conway is
sitting on floor, her back to us. Her tiny shoulders shake with
barely-repressed sobs, and she’s cradling something in her lap. As I go to her,
I see what it is that has her so inconsolable. Garrick’s head rests on her
skinny legs, and he looks like an absolute wreck.

“Oh my god...”
Nadia breathes as we rush forward.

I hoist Garrick up
off Conway, sizing up the extent of his injuries. His nose is bloody, his eyes
glazed over. He clutches his side as I try to move him, but he seems to be more
or less in one piece. Nadia clutches Conway to her chest as the smaller girl
dissolves into bitter tears once more.

“He was just
trying to protect me,” she weeps, burying her face in her hands.

“From who?”
Nadia asks.

“From Paul,” I
say through gritted teeth, “Am I right, Conway?”

“Of course, from
Paul,” she spits, “That asshole was trying to feel me up.”

“What?” I ask,
my teeth gritted hard, “Conway, has that happened before?”

“No!” she cries,
“Usually, he just calls me a bunch of names and goes back to his booze, but
tonight...Tonight he came after me.”

“I had to...I
had to...” Garrick groans, his eyes flickering open.

“What that?” I
ask, bringing my ear to his mouth.

“I had to...stop
him...” my friend says, his words labored.

“Of course you
did,” I say, “And you were right to. You did a good job, Garrick.”

“Thanks, man,”
he smiles weakly.

“I don’t know
what would have happened if Garrick didn’t come upstairs,” Conway says, “Nancy
was already passed out, and it’s not like I could have held him off on my own.”

“He didn’t...you
know. Get to you, did he?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“No,” Conway says.
Her voice is smaller than I’ve ever heard it. “But he came fucking close
enough.”

“What are we
going to do about this?” Nadia asks.

“Do?” Garrick
coughs, pulling himself into a sitting position with no small effort.

“We’re not just
going to ignore the fact that Paul tried to molest Conway, are we?” Nadia
demands, looking between us with growing desperation.

Garrick, Conway
and I trade resigned glances. It’s time to let Nadia in on what the real
situation around here is.

“Look,” I begin
quietly, “I know that this place is the fucking worst, but we’re not going to
do anything about it, Nadia.”

“You’re kidding
me, right?” she says, “We’re not going to let him get away with this.”

“Yes we are,” I
say, “Trust me, Nadia. This is not the first shit that Paul has pulled.”

“He’s been a
bully for as far back as I can remember,” Conway says, “Both of them have been.
It’s like they choose a different kid every week to terrorize. This is the way
it’s always been, Nadia.”

“I don’t
understand,” Nadia says, “Why don’t you just call child services or something?”

“And get
transferred somewhere worse?” Garrick asks, “No thanks. This place is shit,
Paul and Nancy are assholes, but I’ve seen far worse. And I’m sure you have,
too.”

A shadow crosses
over Nadia’s face as she remembers the other homes she’s been shipped off to.
She’s told me all about that asshole foster brother of hers who jumped her when
she was still a kid. She’s seen her fair share of shit in this system, just
like the rest of us.

“Besides,”
Conway smiles weakly, “If we told anyone about what it’s like here, they’d
split us up. I don’t want that. You guys are the first friends I’ve had...ever.
We’re a family.”

“We get to do
whatever we want here,” I say, “Most of the time, they assholes are muddling
through vodka comas. Think about it, Nadia. We’re practically on our own here.”

“Until one of
them decides to do something like this,” Nadia snaps, gesturing toward
Garrick’s face.

“That’s a risk
we can accept,” I tell her, “We know how to deal with them, OK?”

“For now you
do,” Nadia says, “But how about when one of them goes too far? What would have
happened if Garrick hadn’t stopped Paul when he was after Conway? What if Nancy
decides that she needs a punching bag and uses one of us? What then?”

“We’ll deal with
that if it happens,” I say.

“It’s not a
matter of if, Trace,” Nadia says, “It’s a matter of when. And you know it just
as well as I do.”

The four of us
lapse into an uneasy silence, drinking in the truth of Nadia’s words. In a few
months time, I’ll be free of the Daniels forever. But can I really leave the
others to fend for themselves here without me?

“You know
what...” Garrick mumbles, “I could use...a fucking drink.”

I laugh, happy
to have the tension cut through. “That sounds good to me,” I say.

“I’ll have what
you boys are having,” Conway chimes in, relaxing in Nadia’s arms.

I dig a bottle
of Jack and three shot glasses out from under the couch. The drinks I pour are
liberal, and Nadia stares at them long and hard for a moment before speaking.

“Where’s mine?”
she asks.

I look up at
her, surprised. Nadia never joins us in our imbibing, but she looks dead set
tonight. I nod approvingly and rustle up another glass, doling out a fourth
shot of booze. We all seize our glasses with weary appreciation.

For most kids
our age, drinking is a novelty. Sneaking into your parents’ liquor cabinet and
having a sip of Bailey’s is like the thrill of the century. But for us, booze
is a balm. It’s something we can come together and share as friends, as family,
as the war buddies that we are.

We raise our
glasses in a silent toast to each other and toss back the shots. I watch Nadia
out of the corner of my eye as she samples the booze. She doesn’t even wince as
the strong medicine goes down. I smile grimly at her tolerance, her poise.

Even in this
dingy fucking basement, some level of hell on earth, she still manages to be
drop dead gorgeous. We lock eyes across the darkened basement and share a
secret moment of commiseration. 

Without asking
anyone whether they’re in the mood, I pour another round of shots. It’s going
to be one of those nights here at the Daniels house.

~~~

After school the
next day, Nadia and I plan to slip off together for some one on one time. This
has become a daily occurrence, and thank god. I think it’s keeping us both
sane. I bring Garrick and Conway home straightaway after school, linger in the
parking lot and chain smoke until Nadia is done with mock trial, or yearbook,
or whatever other club meeting she has.

She hops into
the passenger seat, tucks her long hair behind her ears, and we’re off. It
doesn’t even matter where we go or what we do after that, just as long as we’re
in the same place.

I look up as the
front doors of the school open and Nadia comes strolling out. She’s wearing one
of Conway’s vintage dresses from the eighties or something, and damn does she
make that frock look good. It’s this grungy plaid print, and just short enough
to show off her incredible legs. I get so distracted by the fine shape of her
calves that it makes me a minute to realize that she’s not alone. There’s some
guy walking beside her, too close for my own comfort.

He’s wearing a
varsity jacket, of all things, and his dark hair is cropped close to his head.
His skin is a dark olive, and he’s sporting a big toothy grin aimed straight at
Nadia. They’re laughing about something, and her nose is crinkled in that
adorable way it gets when she’s having a really good time.

I’ve never been
territorial about girls before, and certainly not protective. But something
about the way this lug leans toward Nadia boils the blood in my veins. Before I
know what’s happening, I’m striding across the parking lot toward Nadia and Mr.
Loverboy himself.

“Nadia,” I call,
taking the front steps two at a time.

She turns toward
me, all smiles. It’s only when she sees my expression that the corners of her
mouth fall a bit.

“Hey Trace,” she
says, feeling out my mood, “What’s up?”

“You ready to
go?” I ask, flatly ignoring the neanderthal with the varsity letter.

“Aw, you’re
heading out already?” the jock says, pouting like a goddamn pansy, “We were
just getting to the meat of the conversation.”

I have a feeling
that the “meat” this guy is so preoccupied with has nothing to do with
conversation. Balling my hands into tight fists, I swing my gaze his way.

“We’ve got
plans,” I say, fighting to keep my tone even.

“Is that true,
Nadia?” the dude asks.

“You think I’m a
liar, buddy?” I snap, taking a step toward him.

“Hey, cool it,”
he says, rolling his eyes at me. “I’m not looking for any trouble, OK?”

“That so?” I
say, “Cause chatting up another guy’s girlfriend is a pretty good way to land
yourself in a shit ton of trouble, in my experience.”

“Girlfriend?”
the jock says, looking over at Nadia.

I hold my
breath, as Nadia takes the longest pause in the history of the world. I didn’t
mean for the “g word” to slip out. It just happened. She’d be in the right to
slug me across the face for laying some kind of claim to her. But instead of
taking a swing, she takes a step toward me instead.

“That’s right,” she
says amiably, “Guess it never came up.”

“No. It didn’t,”
the lug says gruffly. Clearly, he had plans for his little chat with Nadia that
went beyond a pleasant discussion. It takes more than a little will power not
to punch his stupid face in for assuming that he’d ever be good enough for
Nadia.

“We’ve got to be
off,” Nadia says, taking my hand in hers, “See you later, Bryan!”

“Yeah Bryan,” I
grin, “See you later.”

Nadia and I turn
away and walk back to the car, hand in hand.

“You didn’t have
to gloat,” she whispers conspiratorially.

“That’s where
you’re mistaken,” I say, squeezing her hand tighter, “If you’re serious about
being my girlfriend, I’m going to be gloating all day every day.”

“You’re
incorrigible,” she tells me, grinning.

“You’re
beautiful,” I reply, opening the passenger side door for her. She stops in her
tracks and stares at me, mouth open. “What?” I ask, “What did I say?”

“It’s just...I
don’t think you’ve ever told me that before,” she says softly.

“Maybe not out
loud,” I say, “But I’ve been thinking it since the day we met. And from now on,
I’m going to tell you every single day.”

“Trying to give
me a superiority complex?” she smiles.

“Something like
that,” I say.

We slide into
the car and set off, our faces plastered with the biggest shit eating grins
anyone’s ever seen. I’ve never been anyone’s boyfriend before, but I think it’s
something I could get used to. I reach for Nadia’s hand again, thrilling at the
simple contact.

If Garrick or
any of my guy friends could see me now, they’d hand me my ass on a silver
platter. But it’s just me and Nadia, our own little world of two. If I had it
my way, we’d never have to be anywhere but at each other’s side. But life has a
pretty shitty way of intervening when things are good.

Ten

Trace:
Girlfriend
and Boyfriend

The afternoon
flies by, as it always does when it’s just us. We hit the diner, and I submit
to Nadia’s tutoring for a couple of hours. Every time I get an answer right,
she lets me have one of her extra crispy fries. It’s a good system we have
worked out.

After we pay for
our grub, we park over by the pond for a while and just talk. We plan our
fantasy getaway plan, as we do most days. We think up creative way to escape
the Daniels’ house, book a ticket on a plane or a ship, set off where no one
will ever find us.

But the light
begins to fade in no time at all, and we turn ourselves toward home. Garrick
and Conway have taken to setting out on their own excursions to limit their
time at home, so I don’t have to worry about them all evening.

The four of us
are all better off the less time we can spend under Paul and Nancy’s roof. The
real question is, what the hell and I going to do once I turn eighteen, knowing
that the others are still there? Guess we’ll figure that out then.

I pull up to the
crappy row house and walk Nadia across the scrappy front lawn. As we drag
ourselves up the porch steps, the front door swings open before us. My every
muscle tightens as Nancy staggers into the doorway, blinking out at us.

“Where the hell
have you been?” she slurs.

“Out,” I say
shortly, pushing past her into the house.

“I’ve been
waiting...for dinner...for hours,” the woman complains, grabbing at Nadia’s
arm. “Where’s dinner?”

“Haven’t you
already slurped it up?” I ask, nodding toward the half-empty vodka bottle in
her fist.

“I can make you
something now, if you’d like,” Nadia offers. “What are you in the mood for,
Nancy?”

“Why...are you
so...fucking...nice?” the ragged woman drawls, starting at Nadia like she has
eight heads.

“Just the way I
was raised, I guess,” Nadia shrugs. “How does stir fry sound?”

Nancy nods,
dazed by Nadia’s composure. I follow Nadia into the kitchen as our foster mom
stumbles back into the living room to plant herself in front of the TV.

“You don’t have
to do that,” I tell her, “She’ll be asleep again in no time.”

“It’s still a
nice gesture,” Nadia shrugs.

“Why bother?” I
ask, “They’ll still be abusive assholes, no matter how many meals you whip up
for them.”

Nadia is about
to reply when something over my shoulder catches her eye. I spin around and see
Paul leaning heavily against the threshold of the kitchen doorway.

“Abusive
asshole, huh?” he asks. His voice is clearer than usual, but even more
intimidating for that.

“You know it’s
the truth, Paul,” I say, squaring off with him across the kitchen.

“If I’m such an
asshole, why don’t you get out?” he asks, taking a step toward me.

“And deprive you
of your tax credit? I don’t have the heart,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Where the hell
do you two keep sneaking off to?” Paul demands suddenly.

Nadia’s voice is
small as she says, “I’m tutoring Trace in—”

“Bullshit,” Paul
cuts her off. “You’re fucking aren’t you?”

“No!” Nadia says
quickly.

“That’s none of
your goddamn business, Paul,” I say.

“The hell it
isn’t!” the man growls, “This is my house. You follow my rules. And I won’t
have any of you bumping uglies on my watch.”

“No,” I say,
“You’re the only one allowed to get your rocks off around here at our expense,
right Paul?”

“What the hell
does that mean?” he demands, “What are you—?”

“We know what
you tried to do to Conway,” Nadia says quickly, “That’s not OK, Paul. There are
limits, you know.”

“I didn’t do
anything to that little stick,” he says, waving off our accusations.

“You were
probably too drunk to remember,” I say, “And besides, Garrick stopped you in
time. But if you try something like that again, I’ll be there to stand in your
way. And I’m not the type to take a beating, Paul.”

The man’s eyes
swing from me to Nadia, resting on her beautiful, fearful face for a moment
longer than I’m OK with.

“My house,” he
repeats, crossing to the fridge. “My rules. Deal with it.”

Paul snatches a
beer out of the refrigerator and stalks back to the living room. I watch him
go, my hands balled into fists at my side. I feel Nadia’s hands on my shoulders.
They’re trembling. I turn to her, pulling her tightly against my body.

“Don’t worry,” I
say, smoothing down her smooth, dark hair, “Nothing’s going to happen to you
while I’m around. You’re safe with me. No one’s gonna hurt you on my watch,
Nadia. You have my word.”