The Girl Who Fell (33 page)

Pinned.

My eyes dart open.

Panic sweats my palms.

I dial Alec's number, my hands shaking. I am too much of a coward to face him and, worse, I fear he'll be able to soothe away all my suspicions under his touch.

“Zephyr. Happy almost Christmas. I was just thinking about you.” Alec's voice is cheery and light, a world away.

“A-Alec?” His name breaks over a sob.

“You okay?”

“No.” Not in any sense of the word. My heart pounds too fast and too hard. My rib cage struggles to keep it all contained. I can almost see him there, at my wall. Pinning the news clipping onto my collage.

“What happened? What's wrong? Can I help?”

“I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

Did you play me? Did you betray me? Is any of us real? “Remember that day you delivered my acceptance letter from Boston College?”

“Of course, Zephyr. It was one of the happiest days of my life.”

And mine. I force my words out, “Did you find it in the mailbox that day?”

Time buckles for the briefest instant. “What a weird question.”

“You didn't get it before then; hold on to it so I'd consider Michigan?”

“Of course not. Why are you even asking me that? Tell me where you are. I'll come meet you.”

“You can't. I'm not home. I'm out driving. Trying to process.”

“Zephyr, you're scaring me.”

I think of the irony. “And that press clipping. Did you write that word? Break into my house?”

“What press clipping? Why would I break into your house when I'm there all the time?” Concern builds in his voice. “Where is this even coming from?”

I hear the Alec from my arms, between my sheets, the one who promises and carries through.

“How could you ever think I could hurt you?”

“I didn't. It was the last thing I expected until I saw you with that girl.” And there it is, in words. The hurt that has so much depth it feels bottomless.

“Zephyr, we've covered this. You know why I did that and I admitted I was stupid and wrong. Why are we still talking about this?” Anger reaches into the phone, frosts his words.

I still have too many questions about Katie, but that's not what worries me in this moment. “Alec?” Time bends. Mocks me. “I never told you the press clipping hurt me. How could you know that unless . . . ?”

“Zephyr, I can obviously hear that you're upset even if I don't know anything about some random press clipping.”

Pieces scramble to fit together, make a whole. Alec knows where my house key is. Has always been crazy jealous of Gregg. Would have had hundreds of opportunities to take my signed photo from Gregg's gym locker. And if he was jealous enough of me hugging Gregg at Waxman's to orchestrate an entire scene of practically screwing a girl, what would he have felt if he'd heard Gregg's words:
Acting like I'm over you.

Oh god. “I need to go, Alec.”

“Don't do this, Zephyr. You can't call me all upset and then just hang up. It doesn't work that way.”

And then a voice from deep inside, one that has been silent too long: “And you're going to tell me how it works?”

There is a loud bang. His foot pounding a hard surface. I yank my phone from my ear but still hear him yelling, so crisp, too clear. “Why are you doing this?”

“Good-bye, Alec.”

It is the first time I say these words and they leave a bitter aftertaste. We'd promised never to say good-bye, Alec always claiming the phrase was too harsh, too final.

Alec calls back immediately, but I turn off my phone. I don't have room for more than one voice in my head right now.

I break open, remembering every beautiful promise he made, and the girl he woke in me. But now I need to go to the only place I know that is truly safe. I drive home, where Mom's waiting for me in the kitchen, her face drawn with concern. “Are you all right? Did you see Alec? What did he say?”

“I called him. He denied it.” The letter, that is. I don't bring Mom up to speed on SLUT and that added bit of humiliation. I can't let Mom know my failure is bigger than the one choice.

“Do you believe him, Zephyr?”

“I don't know what to believe anymore, Mom. Everything feels so out of control and I don't even know how to fix any of it.” My lungs grow too small to hold enough air, my ribs strangle. How do I go back to the days before Alec? Can I undo the things we've done? Return to a person I barely remember being?

“Sit.” Mom guides me to the kitchen chair. Her hand plants on my knee. “Breathe, Zephyr. There's a way through any problem. Let's take it one fact at a time.”

I nod, wanting nothing more than her help, her clarity.

“Tell me one thing you want from this.”

“The truth.” Breathe.

She kneads the round of my knee. “There may be too many versions of that. I'm asking you what
you
want. What would you do if it were in your power? What would you change if you could?”

“Boston College.” It is the one sure thing that bobs to the surface in this ocean of doubt.

Mom looks relieved. “Okay. And is that in your control?”

“Not anymore.” Breathe.

“What if you went to the admissions board, withdrew your rejection?”

A light. Hope. “Is that even possible?”

“I don't know, Zephyr, but if you tell me you want my help I will do everything in my power. But you have to swear this is absolutely what you want; that you won't change your mind.”

“I won't.” If I could get Boston College back I'd never want anything more again.

“Then that's where we'll start.” She pats my knee with this new optimism. “We'll contact the college first thing Monday, after the holiday break. But for now I think a cup of tea might be all we can do.”

Tea sounds simple and good. And Monday sounds possible, the first step in a controlled, executable plan. “Yes. Tea.”

“Chamomile or mint?”

The house phone rings and Mom stands to answer. “Hello?” A few seconds pass before she gives the phone a blank look, hangs up. “Wrong number, I guess.” She holds up the two boxes of tea for me to consider.

“Anything but mint,” I tell her.

I drink the hot tea with Mom, but it does exactly zero to settle me. The quiet of the kitchen, Mom's concern, my future unknown—again. It's all too much.

When I head to my room, I pull up the Boston College website and search the athletics staff contact list. I write an e-mail to the field hockey coach, telling her I've been accepted and asking her to meet with me. I detail Sudbury's 12–1 record, our state title. And I write about what it means for me to be on the field, part of a team. I don't disclose what I've done, what was in the package I mailed to the college.

I read the e-mail more than a dozen times, changing one word and then fifty. Finally, my nerves step aside long enough for me to press send.

And I wait.

Again.

The ability to sleep abandoned me. Last night was too dark and too crammed with the best memories of Alec. I tossed in bed, plagued by his fingers skating across the flat of my stomach, his shape hovering over me in his backyard, my skin exposed to the dusk. The electric touch of his sneaker against mine. The shock of him inside me. The white light he'd build within me.

But the morning sun wipes away all those memories and sprays light on all my doubt.

If Alec did keep Boston College's letter from me, wasn't it because he wanted to be with me?

And the newspaper photo, the word branded there? There were fifty people in the caf that day and all of them dumb enough to think that would be a funny joke. Maybe the clipping fell out of Gregg's locker somehow. Maybe a million things could have happened that prove Alec's innocence and my paranoia.

Or maybe only one thing happened. The thing I suspect. And fear.

I lace up my sneakers and head out for a run. The sun is low over the trees, barely awake. Its gold light blankets the snow-tipped pines. There is no sound but my footfall crunching against the crisp snow.

The roads sleep with the soft of Christmas morning. There are no cars or distractions, only me and my brain working up the nerve to see Alec. And I will. I have to. But my feet have a different mission and I let them run for miles in the early cold. I jog under the umbrella of hush that softens the neighborhoods. No one stirs, not even a dog barking. It is as if time has stopped and I am alone. It is eerie the way Christmas has quieted all movements but I am hungry for this calm, the complete silence. And the power of my legs and lungs to propel me in whatever direction I want to go.

By the time I return to Ashland Drive, I feel strong enough to face anything. Alec. The truth. I slow to a walk and stretch my arms to the sky. I tilt my head back, relax my neck muscles. The sun bears down on my cheeks and feels almost warm since the wind can't build momentum through our thick stand of trees. I stop and draw the heat down. My breath slows. The world pulses quiet. Soundless.

Until a twig cracks in the forest and breaks my meditation. It is a deer, I am sure. Within seconds, another crack echoes in the trees, bouncing off the still limbs, the snow caked on the forest floor. It causes fear to bump along my skin. Because nothing is for certain.

I race home and into the kitchen where Mom's brewing coffee. “You were up early.”

“I needed a run.” Needed to think.

She moves to the island. “Did it help?”

“Yeah.” The run was perfect. It's all the other stuff crowding my heart I could do without.

Mom crumples the note I left her before leaving the house this morning. “So, what are you going to do, Zephyr?”

“I don't know.”

“I'd be willing to bet you do know, even if it seems like the hardest thing in the world right now.”

And she is right. Of course.

I tug off my hat and scarf, unlace my sneakers.

Mom stirs cream into her coffee. “But none of that needs to happen in this very instant, so how about we try to conjure up some semblance of a normal Christmas? The rest can wait. Step by step, remember?” She gives a hopeful smile. “And those gifts aren't going to unwrap themselves.”

“I could do with normal.” Anything to keep my mind off Alec. And maybe Mom needs the same thing, to keep her mind off Dad not being here and all the disappointment in me she's trying to hide.

We go to the tree and I choose a medium box and tear at its wrapper. Inside is a Boston College sweatshirt and it steals my breath with all its maroon color and bold white stitching.

“I wasn't sure if I should still give it to you. But you said it's what you want.”

I rub at the thick material, think about its journey from the bookstore on campus. “It's all I want.” I lost track of that too easily. If Alec is innocent, I still want Boston College. I can have him and Boston College and it will work. “Would it be weird to put it on?”

“Not at all. It's important you visualize what you want. Maybe this will be a good sign for our mission with the dean.”

I pull off my outer tee and stretch the sweatshirt over my head, poke my arms into its soft inner fleece. It's too big, but in that perfectly oversize way. I brush my hand over the front, my fingertips catching the embroidered seal. “Thank you.”

Mom looks at me, so proud. “Don't thank me. You're the one who did the work to get there. And you'll do it again, Zephyr.”

Mom's faith is so strong I almost believe a second chance is possible.

“Zephyr, I think your father deserves to know what's happened.”

Shame visits me again, quick as lightning striking. “I thought you might have told him already.”

“I wanted your permission first. And I wanted to suggest that the two of you talk about what's been going on with you lately.”

“I don't know if I can, Mom. It's bad enough you know.”

“Telling me was the best thing. And talking to your dad about it might provide new perspective. Maybe he can see through this problem in a way we can't.”

“Maybe.” Maybe. “Could you tell him? I think I'm fine to talk about it when I meet him for dinner; I just can't bring it up. I need to focus on talking to Alec first. One thing at a time, right?”

“Step by step,” Mom says, and I can hear how she's trying to draw the stress from me, help me survive this.

We spend the morning opening gifts and baking cookies until I am stretched on the couch, lost in a sugar coma. It is dark by the time the doorbell rings. Mom calls to me from the kitchen, “I've got it!”

I stand and watch Mom put her hand to the doorknob and in that instant all of me wants our visitor to be my father. I want to hear his reasons for leaving me and why he wants me back. I want someone to show me that love is complicated and makes us do ridiculous things. And that it's okay to fall. And make mistakes. And forgive and come out the other side.

But it is Alec's voice I hear exchanging polite greetings with Mom as she welcomes him in. I meet him in the kitchen where Mom throws me an
is this okay
look. I nod. Finn barks.

Mom resumes the noisy work of loading the dishwasher so I invite Alec into the living room where
A Christmas Story
is too loud on the television and shredded wrapping paper litters the rug. I can't help remembering the first time I let Alec into my bedroom, my fear of him seeing anything out of place. Now, I don't even lower the volume on the TV.

“What are you doing here?”

Alec leans in. “It's Christmas.” He kisses me on the cheek.

I recoil but he hands me a small box. “I wanted to give your gift in person and see if you were feeling better.”

“Better than what?”

He grabs my chin, holds it softly. His eyes search mine and I cannot look away. “You were so upset yesterday. I tried calling after, but . . . did you turn your phone off?” Then he waves off his question. “Doesn't matter. I just hope you got the answers you were looking for.”