The Girl Who Fell (8 page)

Alec's still on the ice, leaning against the frame of the goal. He picks up a plastic bottle and squirts water into his mouth, across his face. It gives me a chill just watching him. Then Gregg is standing in front of me.

I startle. “Hey.”

“Glad you made it.”

“Great game,” Lizzie tells him.

“Thanks.” Gregg raises a towel to his face and wipes at the sweat. “I don't think we can lose now that we've got Alec in the goal crease.”

My stomach flutters at the mention of his name. This cannot be normal.

The team shuffles past us toward the locker room, the crowd thinner, the air quieting. That's when Alec makes his way off the ice and right to us.

The smile on Alec's face is slightly crooked, and contagious. He nods a hello to Lizzie. Then to me: “I didn't know you were coming.”

Lizzie shoots me a look just as Gregg knuckles Alec on the arm. “Let's hit the showers. I smuggled in a six-pack.”

“Sounds good,” Alec says, his eyes dropping from mine.

Gregg turns toward the locker room and Alec follows, but soon doubles back. Alec is so sure and steady on the thin metal blades of his skates. He holds out his hand, asking for mine. My breath comes in slow, thin bursts until my hand locks with his. Then, when we're connected, the entire world falls away and it is just me and Alec. Zephyr Doyle and a beautiful boy. I almost laugh at the surprise of it all. Instead, I take in his hair, how it's dark with sweat and disheveled. How his lips glow plum pink, the exact color of his frozen cheeks.

Alec leads me to the side of the rink. I look back and see Lizzie with her mouth hanging open. I know I should stop whatever is about to happen, but I don't want to. The entire stadium—and everyone in it—fades away as Alec leans his hips into mine. His chest is enormous, covered in protective plastic. He moves toward me and his pads press me against the Plexiglas. Still, I can feel his heat.

He burrows his face against my cheek and plants a quick kiss. His lips are ice. “Were you here for me?”

“Maybe.”

He winks at me in a way that makes my pulse dance.

Then his lips touch mine in a hovering butterfly kiss, so soft and ethereal I find myself leaning in, begging for more. But there is only air when I open my eyes. Alec's back fades as he jogs off to the locker room. I see him push open the door. And there's something else. A movement, a blur of color. Gregg.

He moves out from behind the refreshment stand and shuffles across the hall to the locker room. He shoots me a contorted look that tells me we are so not cool.

•  •  •

“Do you mind telling me how
that
happened?” Lizzie sputters.

I'd managed to convince her to get into my old Volvo and drive to a nearby neighborhood, away from the rink and my unintentional love triangle. I keep the engine running for heat. A tiny dog yaps at us from behind the window of a small tan house.

“Alec and I hung out this weekend. And again today. At the park.”

“Wait. While I was at work? Did you blow me off for a guy?”

“Not intentionally. And I feel bad, but I didn't want to tell you about Alec until I knew it was something.”

“And is it something?”

“I think so.” I feel the rush of red color my face.

Lizzie leans in, fans her hand for details.

“He asked me to go out with him.”

“Old school. I like it. And I assume by that kiss you said yes.”

A nod. A lip bite.

Lizzie rolls down her window and I hear the wafer rustle of dried leaves skittering across the asphalt. The wind is cool, promising winter. She sticks out her hand and surfs the still air. “I'm happy for you, Zee. It's just unfortunate Slice has to get hurt.”

“I feel bad about Gregg but he admitted he never should have kissed me. Besides, you're the one who told me to embrace different.”

“I did, but this is still so very un-Zephyr. You jumping in, following your gut, or your loins.”

A guilty smile blooms across my face.

Lizzie laughs. “You look like you're in love.”

“I'm in something, Lizzie. I didn't know I could feel like this.”

“Already?”

I nod.

“For reals?”

Another nod.

She slumps back in her seat. “Whoa. This is huge. Front page news in the Zephyr Chronicles.”

“Funny.

“I'm not trying to be funny. I'm just . . . well. Surprised.”

“How do you think I feel?”

“By the looks of that smile, I'd say pretty dern good.”

“Maybe it won't go anywhere. I don't know. How can anyone know, right? I just… damn, Lizzie. I just really liked kissing him.”

“Obvs.” She winks. “Let us go to Fernalds. Frappes are on me. To celebrate the millennial shift that is your interest in pursuing actual coupledom.”

On the drive across town, my thoughts curl around Alec. I worry this has already become too complicated.

Because I can't unsee the hurt look on Gregg's face.

On Monday, a pink carnation pokes its head out of the grill of my locker. At the base of the bud is a small note tied with twine. “Good luck on the field!” I pluck the stem and scan the row of lockers, searching for flowers in my teammates' lockers. But the other lockers stand sickly pale. I bring the flower close to my nose and it smells of something so outside high school that I'm immediately back at the park. I blush and tuck the bloom into my chem textbook. I wish the flower could just be a flower, but instead it makes me wonder what Alec sees in me, and if this is what I need right now.

I hate that trust seems harder to hold on to lately. I try to push my doubt down, try not to question this. At least, not for today.

Alec's already in his seat when I get to French class, looking more beautiful than any boy really has a right. Gregg's in the front row, chatting up Suzanne Sharper. He doesn't even bother to toss me a wave.

When I slide into my seat, Alec moves the toe of his sneaker to touch my shoe. Our simple, electric connection. This time I don't pull away.

“So Gregg's still sitting in the front row.” I pull out my books.

“Secret crush on Mrs. Sarter.”

“That must be it.”

“Whatever his reasons, I like that it's just the two of us.”

A definite perk.

Alec taps his pencil against my textbook. “Favorite country?” he asks, picking up where we left off on our phone call last night.

“Australia. It's a country and a continent. Plus, there's kangaroos and deadly box jellyfish.”

“Favorite tree?” Alec prompts.

“Birch. The bark looks like peeling paint.”

“Favorite food?” he asks.

“Chocolate chip cookies. No explanation needed. Least favorite food?”

“Cranberry sauce.” His face contorts. “Gross texture.”

Mrs. Sarter clears her throat, turning us to the front of the classroom. Alec pushes his toe harder against the tip of my Uggs, his foot nuzzling into mine. It is an effort to focus on verb conjugation.

•  •  •

I don't wear my cleats onto the bus headed for southern New Hampshire. I've never competed in a state championship playoff game, but it turns out my superstitions don't just claw at me during regular season. I heed their warnings. Listen to their whispers. Try to do everything the same as the last game.

But there is no Gregg to gallantly carry my cleats, escort me to the sidelines. There will be no Lizzie in the stands. Alec never hovered around the edges of almost every thought the way he does now.

In fact, everything seems different today. Even the sanctioned skipping of last period so our bus can make the hour drive and be on time for an afternoon game. I think Coach feels this energized difference because she begins the ride with an impassioned speech that makes her voice raspy. I'm not sure if it's one of these things or a combination, but the afternoon passes in a blur. The opposing Warriors play too fierce, too strong. I lap the midfield a hundred times or more, trying to track the ball but can't reach it. All I can do is block and cover. And it's enough. We win 6 –5, the tension leaving us only after the final whistle blows and we move one game closer to the state title.

This is what I wanted. Keeping a toe in field hockey. Prolonging the good parts of Sudbury High. But a part of me is missing. The Gregg part. Tonight was my first match he didn't watch and I can't deny the difference it made in my game. I scanned the stands too many times. Missed a couple of key passes that Coach reamed me for. It wasn't my best night.

When the bus returns to school, I decline invites to the after-party. I tell my teammates I'm not feeling great and hope they'll accept that as an excuse for why I played like shit. I have to get my head straight before the next game so I shower in the locker room and head straight to Gregg's.

It's just after seven when I pull up to his house, see his enormous green truck in the driveway. The garage's spotlights burst on, interrogating. Cowardice rattles within me. I want to turn around, drive far away, but then I am trapped by Mrs. Slicer's Suburban pulling in behind me. Within seconds, Mara and Quinn, Gregg's youngest sisters, scramble out of their seats and run toward me.

“Zee Zee!” Mara yells, scaling my side to perch on my hip bone. Quinn, a year older, pretends to be too mature for such nonsense. She is dressed in a peach tutu and ballet flats, her fire-red hair slicked into a severe bun.

“Zephyr, how nice to see you.” Mrs. Slicer bookends her hands on my cheeks and leans in for the kiss. Her lips stay on my brain for a second longer than I think a kiss should last, but it's always been like this. Like she's trying to press her love right through me. “You are looking as gorgeous as ever.”

“So pwetty.” Mara burrows into me.

“We've missed you around here.” Mrs. Slicer turns to the SUV, opens the tailgate. “Gregg tells us your team's competing in the playoffs. Congratulations.”

I hope that's all he told her. “We've got a great team. We won our first game in the series. Today, in fact.”

She pops her head out from behind the back of the car. “Today? But Gregg's been home since school let out. Did he know you were playing?”

I shrug. It's the question I've come here to ask. That, and to apologize for kissing Alec at the rink—something I'd never wanted Gregg to see.

Mrs. Slicer looks confused. “He must not have known about your game.” She shakes her head as if to clear it. “Things have been so nuts around here planning for Anna's wedding that we're all a little off.”

Anna. The older sister Gregg got but I always wanted. “I get it.” I slide Mara off my hip. “Let me help you.” I throw a bag over each shoulder and take the third and fourth bags in my hands.

“I hewp too.” Mara squeezes a stray box of Frosted Flakes to her chest and runs inside.

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” Mrs. Slicer says, but her tone betrays how much she appreciates the help. It's no small gig buying groceries for a family of eight. “You can just set them down in the kitchen. Slice is probably in his room. Head on down.”

I do. I slip off my grocery bag garments and head to the lower level of the house. The floor with the enormous game room, double doors out to the pool, and Gregg's bedroom at the far end. His door is closed. I stand in the hall, my heart pounding against my rib cage. I squeeze my eyes shut, think of Waxman's, the way Gregg hugged me so hard he lifted me from the ground. I think of his kiss and it seems dreamlike. Did it really happen?

But of course it did, because we are left dusted with a layer of ash from the fallout.

I call up my nerve. “Come in,” Gregg says in response to my knock.

I open the door slowly and he plucks his earbuds free as he registers my presence. His face falls. Plummets. Bails and leaves the stratosphere.

“What's up?” Gregg stands but doesn't extend his customary invitation to sit on the edge of the bed.

The bed, where we played countless hands of gin rummy and talked our throats sore. The bed is now a line between us, dividing what used to be and what is.

“I missed you today.” The words are out before I can think if they're the right ones.

He runs his fingers through his thick mass of strawberry hair. “Yeah.”

I take him in, his straight shoulders, serious height, and the constellation of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Any girl would be crazy to complain about a kiss from him. But I'm not any girl. I'm his best friend.

He turns away, winds his earbuds around his iPod and places it on his desk. I can't see his eyes when he says, “So you're kissing Alec now?”

“God, Gregg. I'm so sorry about that.” I should have taken more control of the situation. Stopped Alec before Gregg had any chance of seeing us together.

Gregg faces me, his eyebrows raised. “You're sorry for kissing Alec?”

I drop my gaze to the floor. “No.” The admission is a disgraced whisper wrapped in shame.

“Didn't think so.”

“I'm sorry you had to—”

“Do you know what I'm sorry about, Zephyr?” Gregg harpoons me with his pointed gaze.

I shake my head. I know and I don't know and I don't want to know.

“I'm sorry you didn't want me to kiss you. I'm sorry you didn't kiss me back the way you kissed Alec. I'm sorry that kissing you is something I've been thinking about since we were twelve years old and we found that rope swing by the quarry.”

I remember that summer. I'd borrowed his shirt to swim in because we hadn't known the quarry would be full of water. I fell asleep in the late afternoon grass and he got a sunburn on half his face. Because he'd been on his side the whole time I'd slept, watching me rest.

“Gregg . . .” The word thin as wind. I take a step closer to him.