How I Fall (5 page)

Nothing.

Except sighing. So I sigh. Better than sobbing or my previous attempts at arctic sea lion noises.

I seek solace in the fact that I’ve somehow managed to keep my face out of the water. My boots are dry—two good things, I suppose. But sadly, my entire side, my jeans, and my spilled-out canvas book bag are max-saturated. I also note my jeans have absorbed tons of water weight which is not helping my cause. The only thing keeping me out of a complete panic is that I’ve spotted my iPhone.

My life-line—my baby—my only digital camera and my whole heart—seems safe and sound. It’s slid down the shoveled part of the sidewalk and, by some miracle, it has stayed dry.

I clutch onto the Irish girl’s arm. “Please. Please get my phone. Please. The camera…it’s all I have and my photos are on there. Not backed up. Please.”

“What?” She blinks, her apple round cheeks flush double bright.

I point. “That first. Then me.”

Her wide blue eyes track the direction of my finger. “Got it.”

She scrambles to pick it up and quickly returns to my side. When she crouches down, she’s almost swallowed whole again by her giant skirt. Her face is lost to me because of the waves and waves of this long, blonde curling frizz-fuzz hair that’s going off in every direction like it’s more crazy than the girl who grew it.

She whispers, “Can’t you sit up, then?”

“No. I can’t move.”

“Not at all?”

I shake my head.

She pulls at my bad arm again, but her efforts hardly budge me because I think she’s as puny as I am. As though she can read my mind she says, “Aren’t we the pair of ridiculously wee-and-weak kittens?”

“Try pulling on the other arm? This one—doesn’t work as well as the other.”

She blinks, now looking as sad as I feel and moves around me. Her gaze changes to half-desperate as she pulls with all her might at my good arm. This motion works and she gets me into a sitting position on her own steam.

The cold sinks in deeper as I stare at my soaked legs sticking out motionless in front of me like they might never move again. It’s possible my jeans alone have soaked up thirty pounds of ice water!

“Say you don’t hate me. Say you’ll let me make this up. Say you’ll forgive me right now.” She blinks and her voice wavers. “If you don’t, I’m likely to cry here-an-now,” she whispers, leaning way too close to my face again. I can see she’s genuinely sorry, and that her massive ‘LOVE’ hoodie is made up of more glitter than the rest of her. I try to find solace and some shred of gratitude that at least this wasn’t some sort of bully move.

“Of course I will forgive you,” I whisper back and add in a wry smile. “If you help me stand up, that is. Please. I’ve got this…um…thing. It sometimes makes me—weaker and so—do you mind?”

“Oh. Oh! Oh no!” Her eyes go big. Not understanding that I’d meant I’d wanted
only
her to help me, she turns to the bus and shouts, “What are all you daft lookie-loos doing? We could use someone to
BLOODY HELP
over here!
Please and Je-AU-sus!
” She’s flinging her arms all around. “What’s wrong with you zombies?”

cam

I don’t know how I shoved people aside on the bus to get to Ellen without hurting someone. I also don’t know how I managed to pull her out of the puddle to the point where she’s off the ground and holding on to my arm right now. But I do know that my hands gripping onto her are the only things keeping me from murdering the escaped mental patient who’s responsible for this entire mess!

“This is just great,” I growl, looking at Ellen’s stuff scattered all over the place. “Do you know that kid?”

“She’s…Irish,” Ellen whispers, shaking her head.

We both turn to study the girl who appears to be made up of swirling, baggy fabric, a mass of long, curling blonde hair and—glitter. So much glitter.

She’s darting and dashing all around us in random circles, muttering things while gathering up all of Ellen’s stuff along with hers until it’s lumped together in no particular order. Deciding she’s not dangerous, I turn my attention back to Ellen. “Are you okay? Say something?”

“I—I’m so sorry…” She looks up at me, and then away. I feel her small hand searching for a place to grip onto my arm, but when it settles, I realize she’s got almost no strength in her hand. “I’m ruining your whole outfit, you know.”

“Please. I don’t care about that.” I frown, not sure if I should pull her closer or if I should wait for her to ask me to pull her closer. “You can lean all your weight on me,” I encourage.

“I—I—am leaning all my weight on you.”

“Then you weigh almost nothing.”

“CP gives me a lower bone density so…um.” She frowns like she didn’t mean to say that. Her eyes scan my face as if she’s wondering if she can really trust me, but then they widen with fear and I catch a small flash of desperation as her hand slips off my bicep and she’s falling right out of my arms!

“Whoa. Hold on.” Quickly, I pull her closer, pausing to adjust the arm I know she always favors a little so it can go around my waist while I settle my arm around her, but the arm I fixed falls limp behind both of us. That’s when I get she might need more help than I thought. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, and no.” Her gaze connects to mine again and she goes on in another whisper, “I—most of me—can’t quite move. Like…not at all, actually. I don’t know how long it’s going to last.” Her shoulders slump more as if admitting that to me took everything out of her.

“I’ve got you covered. Are you freezing?”

She frowns. “I know I should be, but I think I’m in some sort of mini-shock, or mega-denial, or something because I only feel soaked so far.”

My throat constricts as I feel her start to tremble against my side, but as if to distract me from her obvious, increasing vulnerability she adds, “I rate this fall a seven out of ten. First time to pull serious air is never as high as you’d want it. What do you think?” She blinks, her face has gone total deadpan.

I blink back, biting my lower lip and wondering how she can joke, but answer, face deadpan just like hers. “Ten of ten. Considering the magnificent water spray in all directions on your landing, you’re scoring yourself way too low.”

She smiles and we turn back in time to watch as the Irish girl scoops up what has to be Ellen’s lunch sack. It’s got snow sticking all over it. The girl shoves it—without even shaking it off—back into Ellen’s soaked messenger bag. Only then does she look up at the two of us with a sad little shrug. “That’s all of it. We can sort it on the bus, yeah?” She skips over to us, smiling as if she’s just having a completely normal day in her life. “Fate really wanted us to meet, yeah?” She’s grinning wider, tossing her blonde curls away from her face to look up at both of us with these saucer-round, earnest blue eyes that kind of make me want to not hate this girl despite the whole situation. “I’m Laura London—not from London, though.” She blinks. “From Limerick. Pleased to meet you both.”

Ellen laughs this wry little laugh. “Wish I could say the same. And I don’t believe in fate at all, ever.”

Laura shrugs. “Well, I do. Fate and destiny and the universe don’t make mistakes as huge as this one. They make
connections
. We are all meant to be friends, I’m certain of it.” She blinks up at us again.

I say nothing. Because I can’t. My head has begun to pound with a severe headache.

A severe
Irish
headache.

Before I can come up with an answer that doesn’t involve me cursing or shouting out things like,
What-the-crazy are you talking about and can I please escort you back to the border of Canada?
The bus driver interrupts my train of thought.

“Do you kids need help getting the handicapped girl loaded up? I’ve already radioed to the office that she’s the one making you all need tardy slips.”

I feel Ellen’s breathing grow sharp and her arm finally moves to clutch against my back like she might want to push away from me. Away from all of us and everything. I get that she can’t and I also get just how much that has to suck for her right now.

“Bastard!” I mutter, now hating the bus driver almost as much as I might hate the Irish girl. “That guy was ten minutes late because he has no clue how to drive on ice, and he’s using you as an excuse.”

Laura looks between us, blinking those glittered eyes like she doesn’t understand. “Who’s the handicapped girl?”

“That would be me.” Ellen sighs and my heart clenches again because that sigh caught at the back of her throat and her shoulders slumped again.

“Oh,” Laura says. “But…if you’re handicapped, why haven’t you got crutches? Or, wait!” She slaps a hand to her head. “Lightning-strike-me-dead-
no!
Did I kick your crutches into the snow? I’m such an idiot. No wonder you couldn’t stand up.” She dashes away and starts kicking at the drifts on the grass. “Where are the bloody things, then? Did you see where they landed?” Then to herself she mutters, “I’ve just about killed a wee-little handicapped girl? Why am I me? Why?”

“I—uh—don’t have—” Ellen says, shoulders slumping more.

“Her name is
Ellen—
” I choke out and then stop because I’m afraid I’m about to blow. Since I’ve never held a girl in my arms before, I stick to the idea that when you have a girl in your arms—even under the worst circumstances like this—you really don’t want to scare her with a whole bunch of shouting and/or death threats to people like bus drivers and new Irish girls. In the calmest voice possible, I start again. “Her name is Ellen Foster. She hasn’t needed any crutches since last June. So would you please stop looking for what isn’t there and making a spectacle.”

Ellen darts a fast glower up at me like that information, or possibly my awkward informative tone, has startled her.

Crap. Total fumble.

Now she has proof that I’ve been stalking her in addition to proof that I have zero social skills whatsoever.

Laura steps back onto the sidewalk. “Okay, guard dog. Back off. It was just a question. Crutches are wicked expensive. Don’t want to be losing them, that’s all I was getting at. Hard to start off a fated friendship with some sort of huge debt owed, right?”

“This isn’t about some insta-friendship! You said it yourself. You almost killed this girl.” I point at Ellen.

“No, she didn’t,” Ellen protests. “Not really.”

I turn back to Laura. “Have you ever thought that maybe
fate
wants to have you arrested?”

“If that’s what fate wants, fate will let me know.” Laura shrugs.

I finally lose it when she smiles again. “What is wrong with you? Are you on drugs? And why are you so—covered in—sparkle junk? Is that fate inspired as well, or is that just an Irish thing?”

She frowns. “Aren’t you wound tight!” Her sing-song speech moved to a higher decibel which might be her shouting but there’s no way to tell because I’m trying so hard to understand her accent. 

Hands on hips, she goes on, “I wasn’t running anyone down. I was just running late! Got lost trying to find the stop. It’s my first week in this country and I’m as jet-lagged and confused as a newborn lamb caught in a spring storm, if you must know. Plus, all the houses and streets look exactly the same here. And look at your wee-little girlfriend.” She nods at Ellen. “She’s smaller than a living Thumbelina! She appeared out of nowhere! And she’s already told me that she forgives me, okay? She and I—we’re good.” Glitter goes flying off the tips of her hair as she continues, “And—I can possibly agree that
fate
does not want me to be friends with—
with you
—whatever your cranky and horrible name might be. And,” she sputters on, “I suppose I don’t want to know it unless I have to, because of how you’re close friends with Ellen and I’ve got no choice. So there!”

“His name is Cam Campbell,” Ellen says. “He’s not my friend and certainly not my boyfriend. And you two need to stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

My heart sinks to my feet at her words and I scan her face. “Wait!
What?
I’m not your enemy, though? Am I?”

“No.” Ellen looks up at me like I’m just as crazy as the Irish girl is right now.

“And we used to be friends, sort of,” I add, glancing back at Laura London because I suddenly feel like I’ve got to justify the fact that I knew Ellen first. Then, because I feel bad about the sparkle-junk comment, I add, “For the record, I’m sorry if I lost my temper. I was…upset. I also actually do believe in fate.”

Laura beams at me like I just gave her a whole box of candy or something. “Of course, ye do.”

“Look.
Guys.
” Ellen sighs, her shoulders stiffen and she shakes her head and makes this face as if she wishes she could wake up or possibly be transported out of here. “I…I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, because I’m really thankful you helped me out of that puddle. I’m just going to need a little more help getting
on
the bus. Then we can talk about stupid fate—if we must—but please.” She sighs again. “Can we do it before all of this ends up on the internet or I wind up in the hospital from hypothermia?” She motions to the bus before going on, “Jennie and Bella-Jane have had their cell phones trained on this whole scene since I hit the puddle. I’m worried they’re going to run out of memory and I’m getting pretty cold.”

“What the crap? No.” I shoot a glare at Jennie and Bella-Jane. “Those girls suck. If they’ve got any footage it will be deleted by lunch, okay? I promise.”

Ellen shakes her head like she doesn’t believe me and starts shivering. “I won’t hold you to it.”

“What’s the hold up?” The bus driver’s head pops out the door. “Everyone’s in their seats and I’m not allowed to leave my vehicle. Do you need more assistance for that girl, or not?”

“No! No sir,” I call out, gritting my teeth and hating that guy more than ever. “We’re coming.”

ellen

“Here. Take her stuff.” Laura shoves my iPhone and a few other stray papers of mine into Cam’s wide coat pocket and throws herself against my other side. Then, she deftly pulls my limp arm around her shoulder so I’m sandwiched between them. “Let’s get you—nice wee-girlie, whom I’m now calling my newest best friend—set up in a seat? Then Cam and I shall speak of fate and destiny and convince you of all what brought us together,
yes
?”

I have no answer for that so I hold silent.

“How about we focus on getting Ellen warm first,
you nut
?” Cam’s almost shouting in my ear.

Laura takes what weight she can against her shoulder. “How about
you
, calm yourself down cuz’ she’s not going to die,
ya-nervous-granny-boy!
”

I’m speaking through gritted teeth so I don’t shout at both of them. “Please stop discussing me like I’m not here, or someone truly is going to die.”

“I call dibs on helping you go after the Irish girl first,” Cam says in a much quieter voice.

“I’d strike you dead before you could even move toward me. I know some Judo moves. Lord, but you’re quite violent for a Canadian, aren’t you?” Laura flips her hair and the air near my eyes starts sparkling with a wave of falling glitter.

“I’m not afraid of your moves, and my dad’s American which makes me only half Canadian,” Cam says, scooting closer to me like he means to tug me away from Laura London if she proves to be dangerous again.

“Well that explains a lot. You’re confused as to who you are.” Laura winks then grins at Cam like she finds him funny instead of completely insulting, then she scoots closer, flipping her curls and glitter in my face all over again.

I get the feeling that she’s well aware every move she makes sprinkles the world with her strange micro-glitter. This time, my eyes follow the sparkling bits as they fall. That’s when I realize my snow-filled, water-logged messenger bag has just soaked all of Cam Campbell’s beautiful dark jeans. Jeans that now look like a soggy, sparkling, glitter-coated sugar cookie!