How I Fall (27 page)

I thought her optimism might carry over to other areas. Like…maybe she could believe for both of us that she and I just might work out great. Maybe I could convince her that falling in love with me, despite all the garbage and confusion in my life, is not such a bad idea.

My chest flips at that thought. Could she maybe see past the fact that my entire life past, present and future is not really real? Would she care that unlike her, I’ve got nothing ahead of me? Once she gets to know me better I’d have to share that the goals everyone thinks I have for my future are not mine at all. They’ve been created by my parents and my football coach.

The only goals I’ve ever made for myself—besides deciding to sit next to her on the bus last week—have been based on escaping my parents and their plans.

Patrick asked me to be all or nothing if I mean to approach Ellen on a more serious level. But this whole day has just pointed out the glaring fact that Ellen Foster’s ready to take on the moon. She’s the kind of girl who’s at the edge of flying all the way to her dreams and beyond thanks to her own focus and hard work. She’s going real places with her life while I can only see as far as me making it to the big hospital over in Sarnia where I’m one day praying to hear the words: “Sorry, Mr. Campbell, your son is too injured to ever play football again.”

It’s very possible if she becomes friends with me or more, she’d lose her focus by trying to help me or stop me or save me. And I don’t want to be stopped or saved, because if she does that, then she’s going to block my only way to any sort of freedom.

For all of these reasons, I vow to stop my crush.

Here. And now. Over and done.

I watch her changing expressions as she stares out at the lake. But then, as if she can read my mind, she sighs, places her head on her knees and catches me staring. Instead of doing the eye roll I’m used to from her, she smiles right back at me like I no longer make her nervous. Like she’s not annoyed I’m watching over her.

Like we’re friends.

Like she trusts me.

Like I make her happy? Is it true what Patrick said?

As if she’s read my mind, she calls out, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy or looking forward to something this much in my whole life. For the first time in a long time I have that
Christmas Eve, Santa’s coming
feeling. I can’t wait for tomorrow. I can’t wait for snow and to work on this project more. Like this whole thing is some huge present we all get to keep opening and opening. You know what I mean?”

Her eyes stay connected to mine and my heart stops beating because it hurts so much as I say, “I know exactly what you mean.”

Patrick jumps up from the golf cart and saves me by blocking her shining face from my view. “Does this mean you two are going to come watch me and Cam play some football this weekend? Sunday holiday scrimmage. Bright and early! Sarnia High School against our
wee-little
  Brights Grove. We’re going to need our newest tiger suited up.”

“I’m in for it if Ellen comes?” Laura swings her leg faster up in the tree, causing a few yellow leaves to come drifting down as she snaps more shots of all of us staring up at her.

“I do…I do want to see you guys play. I guess. As long as Patrick’s mom can drive me early enough so that I’m in the stands and sitting before the crowd shows up to knock me around.” Ellen stretches her legs out in front of her.

“She will. No problem.” Patrick beams. “Finally! Ellen Foster at a football game. Prepare to be amazed at how cute we are in our uniforms, ladies.”

Laura grimaces. “I hope you aren’t lying about the uniforms being cute because I feel like I’m cheating on my whole country by agreeing to watch an atrocity such as American football whilst in Canada. It seems totally wrong.”

“It is wrong,” Ellen agrees.

I don’t say anything because I would only agree.

“And then, Cam,” Ellen asks, turning her ankle around and around again, making me wonder if she needs to warm up her leg before standing. “Maybe—after the game tomorrow—you can find some time to…to…” She shoots me a tentative look. “To
help
me run some practice shots down here after the game. What do you think? Will you have time? Maybe we could also do some on Monday, before the bonfire? Anyone? Or am I being too greedy with everyone’s time?”

My throat tightens up, as does my chest. The way she just said my name with that hitch in her voice is crumbling all resolve to stop my crush, because it’s rained goose bumps down the back of my spine in a way I think might never fade away. Worse, the way she just asked me for help is filling me back up with the buckets of hope that I’ve just dumped out!

My phone buzzes in my pocket. “Uh. Hang on…I don’t know…” I read the texts. It’s my dad:
Camden. You have about two minutes to drive my golf cart back into our garage.

Mom texts me a bunch right at the same time:
Cam.

  Your dad is on one of his psycho rampages.

  Is he texting you?

  Ignore him. He’s lost his mind. Again.

Ellen says, “Yeah, but it’s a holiday so…I thought…it’s okay. I understand. You guys have bigger families than I do. My mom’s working so I’ll just come alone.”

I avoid looking up from my phone and say, “I thought I’d only promised today then Sunday’s starting next week, that’s all. Hang on…I’ve got to reply to this.”

I decide to ignore my mom’s text and answer Dad first in an attempt to try to calm him down:
Mom said it was cool to borrow the cart. I needed it to help Ellen Foster get to the beach. Remember? My community service project?

Dad:
Your mother’s an idiot. I never once said you could use my cart as some sort of a handicapped mobility service!

Don’t let that damn girl in my cart.

I don’t have the liability insurance needed should she fall out and sue us.

What is wrong with you?

You need to think about things like this!

I roll my eyes—as if I’m always wandering around thinking about my parents’ insurance policies and how they apply to the people I hang out with? And did he really call his golf cart a handicapped mobility service?

Laura makes a face at the buzzing phone in my hand. “Your phone’s exploding!”

I glance up at her, still in the tree and answer, “Yeah. Well. I need to make some weekend plans with…other people. You know?”

“Oh. Must be big plans, huh? Room for any of us in those plans, wee-laddie?” She sounds so hopeful.

I shake my head, staring back down at my phone, making sure to turn it away so none of them can see the crazy coming in. “Well…you know. It’s not what you think. You guys wouldn’t like it…”

Patrick leans back in his seat in the cart and stretches his legs out the side. “Laura, that means we aren’t quite popular enough.”

“It does not!” I protest, glancing at Ellen, who’s biting her lip, watching me way too closely. Her expression has gone from open and smiling to shuttered and wary.

“Well, they sure seem excited,” Laura grumbles. “I’d like the chance to see if I could quite fit?”

The phone buzzes a bunch more times.

Mom again:
That cart is half MY golf cart.

Not just HIS.

And you can use it for whatever you want.

I gave you permission and you can use it as long as you want, too. And text your father that HE needs to respect me.

Dad again:
Son, if your mom is giving you ANY other directions, she’s out of line. She doesn’t even play golf so the cart is NOT hers. I will personally march down to the willow beach and drive that cart out of there myself if I have to. And if there is ONE crippled kid, or any of your friends’ crap or any crumbs or ONE BIT of lake sand or water gumming up my custom leather seats and my brake rotors, heads will roll.

I’m walking out to the driveway.

Two. Minutes. I’m getting the hose out of the garage and you are going to wash the whole damn cart top to bottom, and re-wax it, even if it takes all damn night!

I shake my head and pocket the phone. I guess if I can’t remember to squelch my crush on Ellen, my awesome parents are a
slap-in-the-face
reminder why I have to keep her sweetness as far away from my house as possible. I try to keep my face all smooth and collected as I leave my seat to stand under Laura, but my heart’s thumping with dread that my dad really will make good on his threat and come down here and humiliate me.

“Ireland, pass me down the camera, would you? My dad, he’s—a complete—” I stop and hold back the words I want to say, and go with: “He needs his golf cart back.” Then I layer in a lie. “As for the rest of the weekend plans, I promise next time, I will try to get you guys all…invited to stuff. But you do know everyone can come to the bonfire on Monday,” I add, deciding it’s better they think the worst about me than to know the truth.

Laura hands down the camera, pouting at my answer as I walk back to the cart. Heart pounding now, I check to make sure my dad’s nowhere in sight as I calmly run my hand over the leather seats to make sure there are no visible muffin crumbs or sand before I climb into the cart. Patrick gets out, shooting me a glare and grabbing his bag and Ellen’s stuff as well. “Can you make sure Ellen gets home okay?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “We’re good with or without you in the plan, dude. Always have been and always will be.” Patrick’s frowning and totally pissed off which is ridiculous because he’s the one who hammered in the points as to why I need to keep my distance from Ellen.

I’m just getting on board with what he wants and now he’s pulling
this
act?

I dart a glance at Laura who’s climbing down from the tree, looking all concerned and bewildered. I hear her whisper to Ellen, “Are they fighting…or what?”

“Who knows?” Ellen whispers back. “Patrick’s always moody.”

“Cam—you didn’t answer,” Ellen shouts out, my name catching in the back of her throat, bringing on the goose bumps and longing all over again. “Cam…can you? Help me? Tomorrow? After the game? Please?”

My phone’s exploding in my pocket. “Sorry. I’m—not sure yet.
Maybe,
” I say, working with all my might not to look at her face, hoping the word
maybe
will be enough to not make her sad when I don’t—can’t—won’t—text her later. “Either way, I’ll see you guys at the game and I’ll let you know my schedule there,” I add, driving the cart up the pathway as quickly as possible.

I can feel my heart trying to beat again while I use the idea of my dad standing in our driveway with his hands on his hips ready to shout at me to battle back all the images I’ve saved inside my head of Ellen Foster smiling at me today.

As each one flips by, my stomach is trying to ram into my throat and I realize that even if I could get the images of Ellen’s face out of my head, I’m never ever going to be able to remove the sound of her voice calling my name:
Cam…can you? Help me. Tomorrow? After the game…

I know I’m not going to be able to say no to her. Not after she ended with,
please
.

ellen

Laura jumps up, raining her micro-glitter onto my dark jeans. “I’m off to get one of those slushy drink things before the game starts. You want one?”

“No, thanks.” I smile, admiring how she’s able to skip-hop down the few, half-empty bleacher rows in front of us so easily. She moves like a little cat. Or, should I say
tiger
, because she’s wearing her top-to-bottom orange and black striped school spirit outfit today. And, just like last time, she’s pulling it off like it’s the most fashionable, amazing set of mixed up stripes ever.

I’ve decided Laura’s the closest thing to a living comet I’ll ever meet. Everyone’s always staring at her because she’s extra bright and obviously from a far away place so they can’t look away. I know I can’t. She’s lucky, too. Instead of how it is when people stare at me because I walk funny or tumble and fall, they’re simply captivated.

She’s paused now to execute some professional looking ballet spins on the first row of the flat bleacher seats. Because
of course
, living comets also know how to do perfect ballet spins and are not embarrassed or shy in front of crowds of onlookers. If this girl grew a unicorn horn in the middle of her forehead right now, everyone would simply say, ‘wow’ or ‘I told you so’ and get on with admiring her ways.

I snap a quick photo with my iPhone and text it off to Patrick’s mom. The poor lady picked us up early and got us to the game as promised, but instead of staying, she was called in to work which is only one block from here. Before she left, she gave me the keys to her car for Patrick to drive us around, and I promised to keep a photo-text record of every minute she’s missing.

I know Patrick’s going to be so happy about this turn of events, mostly because he’ll be thrilled to have the chance to have his mom’s car so he can dump me off first, then take a really long time driving Laura home. Patrick does his best scheming on girls while they’re buckled next to him like sitting ducks in a car’s passenger seat. He loves a captive audience so he can flex his biceps while he grips the steering wheel.