How I Fall (40 page)

I try to make a checklist of things to cheer myself up while I make my way down this million-mile long hallway. I record the over-loud sound of my foot clump-dragging along first. The echoes always get louder when I’m near the end of it. This means I will get to rest soon—always a bonus—and since I have CP, teachers hold the desk closest to the door open for me. They never mark me tardy so that’s a second and a third check right there.

I also note that this whole time, no one has wandered past to see me limping along and dragging my good shoulder against these dumb lockers. This means I can
still
say I have not walked funny in front of anyone for this whole year. I should add to my list the part where I stood up to Bella-Jane for the first time in my life because that’s huge!

Then I think of Cam’s beautiful face and how sweetly he held my hand after lunch. He even kissed the top of it when no one was looking as he told me goodbye.

Check. And Check.

So,
yeah!
All is good.

*Calls for applause! Happiness restored.*

I breathe in, letting an image of navy blue and gray butterflies blur my vision to the point where I can cover my worries and doubts with the sigh. I breathe out as I pass the last locker and let both legs take all of my weight and turn the corner so I can walk the last ten feet to the—thankfully open—door of my AP Chemistry class. As soon as I make it to my seat my gaze becomes riveted on the windows lining the far end of the classroom. The entire sky is now covered with thick, solid dark-gray cloud cover. My heart flips into that excited feeling you get the night before your birthday. Sheets of sleet are already falling and congealed. Half icy rain drops are slowly dragging down the glass.

*Cheers! Cheers!*

Storms like this stick around for a couple of days. All I need is for the temperature to drop below freezing and to hold there for a few hours just before sunrise.

*Prays: please, please, please.*

Hopefully by the end of the week, we’ll have the shots we need to turn in the project on time! And by then, like Cam said, everyone will get used to us being together. Everyone will get bored and move on to other topics.

People always do.

*Prays again: please, please, please. Let all of this just work out for me. Please.*

cam

Mom passes me the phone and takes Coco off my lap to give the little dog a snuggle as she’s mouthing the word
sorry
. I press the phone against my ear.

“Hey, Dad.” I work hard to make my voice sound extra chipper. “How’s Vegas?”

“How’s my Hummer? I don’t remember giving you direct permission to use it.”

I try to analyze his voice. He’s not yelling and he doesn’t even sound sarcastic, so that’s a good thing. I can also hear a bunch of men talking and laughing in the background.

“Oh…well you didn’t tell me not to use it. Because you took my Nissan, Mom and I just assumed. I hope it’s okay. I’m only driving it to school, practice and back.”

Dad says, “Hang on, son.” Then he pulls the phone away and I hear him saying, “I’ll take another brown ale—heck how about a pitcher—will some of you guys help me with a pitcher of beer?”

I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s in a bar. With his football buddies. Things couldn’t be better.

“Camden. You still there?” He gets back on. “Listen. I talked to Coach who heard a crazy rumor you’ve got a girlfriend? Is this true?”

I laugh, evading his question. “Seriously, Dad. You’ve been gone how many days?”

“Three.”

“And based on my previous track record, just how good do you think I am at getting girls to date me?”

Dad laughs. “You’ve got a point. I didn’t believe it, but now Mom says you’re having
girls
over to
stay
? Overnight, and during this storm? What is that all about? Is this some sort of party?”

“They aren’t
girls,
Dad. It’s my photography group.” I bite my lip and almost laugh, adding “The rumors you and Coach have heard are spreading because I’ve been working on that digi-photo project with them so much. Everyone’s seen me hanging out a ton with the Irish girl, Laura and Ellen Foster, and Patrick Gable—just like you asked me to do non-stop for the photography project.” I go on, layering on a lie, “I’ve been working hard for extra visibility like you suggested. Remember?”

“Oh. Well that makes sense. People talk when you’re suddenly off your normal schedule—and I do want all eyes on you this year—so good job, I suppose.”

“Thanks. And it’s working. All eyes…they seem to be on this little group, that’s for sure. Thanks for allowing them to stay over.” I change the subject, fast. “Heard your flight’s cancelled.”

“Sucks. Mom says even if I’d made it back to Detroit, there’s no way I could have done the drive over the bridge. The highway is already closed as is the bridge border crossing. I guess school’s going to be closed tomorrow which means no football practice, so I might as well stay here one more night. Just have those damn kids out of my house when I get back. And try to get most of that ridiculous project done as well.”

I get a surge of anger at Dad for calling the project ridiculous, when in fact, he’s never taken the time to find out how cool it actually is. I grit my teeth to keep my voice steady as I say, “That’s the plan, Dad. This storm’s going to put us ahead of schedule which will let me get it done fast and focus. I want to be ready for the playoffs this weekend, you know?”

“That’s my boy!” He’s shouting that out to his friends more than to me. “Wants to focus for the playoffs and do school work during the snow day! Chip off the old block.”

“See you tomorrow night, then?”

He goes for it, hook-line-and-sinker. “Yeah. Probably around 10PM if I can get a seat on standby. If not, it could be another day.”

“Good luck, Dad.” I’m already praying that this storm is so huge it shuts down airports for days and days.

“You too, son. Sounds like you’ve got everything in order. Make sure there are no shenanigans or anything broken or stolen out of our house. Let me talk to your mom again. Sleep with one eye open. These kids are
not
from our neighborhood.”

My anger fades and becomes a heavy wall of sadness that I try to release with a sigh. No matter how much I wish things—
he
—could change or be different, I think my parents are always going to be stuck up, elitist jerks.

I don’t answer. Instead I let Ellen’s soothing voice come into my head:
You aren’t at all like your parents.

As I hand the phone back to Mom and recover Coco back into my arms, I’m watching Patrick, Laura and Ellen come up our front steps through our crystal and rod-iron front door.

Patrick’s like some kind of giant Sherpa. He’s holding what looks like everyone’s sleeping bags, as well as what appears to be everyone’s backpacks. Laura’s laughing at him and tugging at some of the stuff as if she’d like to help, but Patrick’s not budging, of course.

Ellen looks like she’s puffing a bit from exertion. I guess the curving concrete steps that lead down to our driveway were a bit much for her. Luckily they’re heated so there’s no worry that she’d slip on any ice. Tomorrow, I’ll be sure to walk her out the back because there are only two steps back there—also heated concrete—then a gently curving pathway that leads down to the extra garage where Dad parks his golf cart. If it’s too icy to drive that thing down to the grove, I’m going to have to carry her on my back again. I hope she’s going to be okay with that, because if there’s any ice, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

Right now they’re sheltered from the ongoing storm under our wide, covered stone porch. Ellen’s big dark eyes seem to be going over the ornate cut glass design that makes up the huge circle of glass art recessed high above our front door like she’s really curious about it.

And after speaking to my dad, my heart floods with worry. She suddenly seems smaller than ever. More breakable than the hand blown crystals she’s staring at, and as always, more beautiful and captivating than any girl I’ve ever known.

Mom, hanging up the phone, is watching them as well. “Before we let them in, I want you to know I’m on to your crush, and I’ll not have you misbehaving.”

I flush beet red and almost puke. “What? Mom!”

She’s got her hands on her hips and she’s nodding like she does when she’s caught me eating Nutella with a spoon. “That’s right. So don’t think I’m going to let you and that Irish girl be alone for even a second, got me? This is a chaperoned sleep over. I promised her Aunt Judith and I spoke with Ellen’s mom as well. It’s going to be girls in the basement and boys up in your room. Do you hear me?”

“Mom. This isn’t 1950. We aren’t going to
do
anything.”

“Yeah, because you and that other boy will be in your bedroom and the girls will be in the basement.”

I swallow, still freaking out and wondering if my mom’s going to say crazy things to Laura London. Then I don’t have to wonder, because it’s my mom! She says crazy things to everyone. She goes on, “Ah ha! Look at your cute, red face going redder and redder. I knew it! You were hoping for a first kiss, weren’t you? But you need to wait a little longer because I am just not at all ready! Oh my, but I guess it’s inevitable eventually, isn’t it?” She laughs a little and I die a lot. “Maybe you can hold her hand—if I’m not around. But that’s it!”

My queasy feeling gets worse. “Mom! Please don’t say anything else. And don’t you dare say anything to Laura. Or Ellen. Or Patrick. Just please.”

She laughs more like I’m some sort of adorable puppy and ruffles my hair!

I shake my head to dislodge her hand, but I don’t meet her gaze because I’m scared to death that woman’s going to see tiny rewound movies of me and Ellen making out down by the lake!

“Open the door and then…please go away,” I go on. “They can see us standing here talking.”

Mom sighs, still grinning. “Okay. Okay. I get it. Lucky for you I’ve got ten books waiting to be read. I don’t need you kids. I’ve got a date with sexy Mr. Kindle Fire.”

“Shoot me. Please. You’re so embarrassing.”

She opens the door and Laura tumbles in first. Without waiting for an introduction, Laura tornadoes all over my mom. “Hullo. I’m Laura London. So pleased to meet you. You’ve got a lovely home. More like a church or some sort of Canadian castle though, isn’t it? And by the stars you’re as pretty as your boyo-Camden, aren’t you? The leaf didn’t fall far from your tree, because you two have got the same heart-stopping and gorgeous eyes.” Before Mom can answer, Laura’s eyes go to the wall of windows and just like that, she’s off across the room, running and shouting. “By the saints and the
Holy Mother herself
, would you look at the view of the lake from this place!”

Mom, who’s obviously been so immediately charmed by her accent that she hasn’t even noticed Ellen and Patrick at all, tosses me this little knowing look and stalks after Laura to join her at the windows. I hear her say, “Laura London, is it? Well you’ve got a very cute name. And quite pretty eyes yourself. Tell me about you. Do you know much about Canada or the Great Lakes?” 

And then I hear nothing else. Because I’ve reached my hand out to help Ellen up the last step into my house and she’s squeezing my hand back just how I’m squeezing hers. It’s warm and trembling and her eyes meet mine with this look and a small blush that I think says something about how we’ve kissed each other way more than once. I’m trying to hide the expression that wonders just how and when we might have the chance to try that again.

“Hey.” I smile, fielding a small tolerant looking ‘get-a-room’ type grimace from Patrick and add, “Welcome to my dad’s lake side museum.”

“Holy crap, dude!” Patrick does a long, low whistle. “Laura was right. This place is like some freaky church.”

“Tell me about it. When you get farther in you’ll notice the only God in this place is football, though. Little trophies, statues and shrines to it all over.”

Patrick drops all the stuff in the entrance way with a clunk. “I can’t believe you talked me into a sleep over. Haven’t done one of these since middle school.”

“It’s for the project,” I say.

“Speak for yourself,” he mutters, eyes tracking Laura as she skips around my living room. She’s grabbing up art objects that no one’s allowed to touch and then dropping them back down like she’s shopping at a yard sale. My mom, thankfully, is not offended because I can hear her laughing and laughing. Leave it to Ireland to charm the dragon.

Patrick’s also watching Laura with these sappy cow eyes and says, “I’m here to protect the two women I love more than life itself.”

Ellen rolls her eyes and grins over at me. “I’m here to protect Laura London from
him.
” Her eyes settle on Coco.

“Is that a dog you’re holding?”

“Sort of. More of a pure bred, fluff ball. I wanted a German Shepherd, Mom got me this because she doesn’t shed. I tried not to love her but it was pretty much impossible.” I hold up Coco. “Because look at her face. See?”

“Aww. I’ve got a little cinnamon-colored Chihuahua. He’s what I call ugly-cute, but about the same size.”

Ellen smiles while Patrick grimaces. “Dude, I have no words for that cupcake hamster dog. Ellen’s is at least a dude and chases the mailman, but that little white dog is horrible. Bichon sounds like food. And its name is Coco? Have you no worry about what that dog might do to your man-rep?”

I laugh, tucking Coco back under my arm. “Ellen, do you think she ruins my image?”

Ellen flushes and steps forward to pet Coco. She shakes her head but doesn’t answer. The smile inside her eyes that says she likes me—whatever dog I have—is all that I need to see. “That reminds me. Before my mom gets back here, I need you both to know that my mom thinks I’ve got a crush on Laura London not on Ellen, so be prepared for some very serious messed up comments. I hope you don’t mind.”

“What? Why?” Patrick asks.

“I brought Laura up—I brought all of you up when the project was assigned—and they just assumed by how much I was talking about you all that I liked this ‘new Irish girl’.”

“Because they assumed, of course, that you couldn’t like the old handicapped girl?” Ellen asks softly, pulling her hand away from Coco’s half-asleep face.

“No. Of course not!” I breathe in, starting off with a truth. “It was because I wanted to protect you. They do this smothering thing and you simply don’t deserve their stupid microscope tunnel vision.” Then I head into the lie. “My parents of course wouldn’t care if you were a handicapped girl, or a girl who did the hula, or—anything like that—at all, ever!”

I’m now so thankful that Dad’s out of town. I’m also praying my ass off that Mom doesn’t skip back over here with Laura and shout out all the wrong things in front of Ellen.

Patrick nods, and points over at Laura. “So…what’s going on there is some sort of private future girlfriend interview? I was starting to wonder, but now I get it.
And
now I believe it.”

Ellen and I follow Patrick’s point just in time to see Mom start to show Laura London each and every baby photo that she’s ever framed.

“Poor girl,” Patrick adds. “You should have warned her with a text.”

Ellen laughs. “She doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Because she’s perfect,” Patrick whispers.

Ellen smiles and socks Patrick in the arm. “It’s kind of funny, actually.”

I shake my head. “It’s not. And I apologize about all of it. I’m going to try to clear that communication breach by tomorrow. Okay? I really want to tell my mom that you and I are going out before you leave here. And then based on Mom’s advice on how to handle things, I’ll tell my dad as soon as he gets to town. Is that cool? I can’t have you thinking I’m ashamed of you or something when you know I’m not.”