The Girl Who Fell (9 page)

“Don't.” He thrusts out his hand to stop me. “You've known this dude for all of, like, five minutes and you're sucking face with him at the rink. In front of everybody? Jesus, Zephyr. You've known me your whole life and you don't have enough respect for me to take that shit someplace where I don't have to see it?”

“Gregg—”

“No. You don't get to come here and ask me to pretend everything is normal. I can't just show up at your game like none of this happened. You can't have it both ways, Zeph. That's not the way shit like this works. You made your choice and I get to make mine.”

His words steal air from the room.

“I think it might be better if you weren't here right now.”

I force my feet to move, my heart not to shatter. At the door, I tell him, “I'm really sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone.” I hope he hears the truth in the apology.

When I leave Gregg's, I feel a strange need to see Alec. Be propped up by the security of his arms. I pull into Gosland Park and call him.

“We won,” I tell him, forcing my tone bright. “But I played like hell. I'm feeling pretty beat up. Any chance you're free?”

“I wish. But I'm wiped. Coach had me at special practice, blocking shots from a machine all afternoon. I wish I could have been at your game instead. I'm bummed I missed it.”

“Yeah, no . . . that's cool.” I bite at the skin at the edge of my thumb. Silence hangs.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Fine. Yeah.” I squint at the abandoned swing set.

“I'll make it up to you. Promise.”

“It's nothing,” I lie. “I'm beat too. Like I said, tough game.”

“But you won.” His voice rallies with support.

“We did.”

When I get home, Mom is all cheerleader. She actually squeals when I tell her we're one game away from winning State. Finn greets me with his usual enthusiasm, always convinced I'm a winner despite my failures. I decline Mom's offer to celebrate by going out for dinner and retreat to my room. I snuggle with Finn on my bed and the quiet of the house drums in my ears. It is a pulsing soundlessness that taunts me with all that I've lost with Gregg. With my dad.

I bury my head in Finn's velvet fur and wonder how anyone is supposed to trust another person with their heart.

I am grateful for the demands of postseason field hockey. Today's practice was grueling enough to obliterate the stress I've been feeling over Gregg. I run off the field and grab a towel.

Karen pats me on the back as I wipe the sweat from my forehead. “Good form, Doyle. Glad to see you back.” I can easily picture Karen being a high school coach someday. She tosses me an orange slice and I suck at the meat of the fruit and let the juice slake my thirst.

Now I need a shower to soothe my sore muscles after running six miles, playing a full scrimmage. I head toward the bleachers and the pressure to win State strangles like a snake tightening. It's been eleven years since Sudbury's held a field hockey state championship. The stress makes my shoulders ache, until I see Alec leaning against the stands.

He comes to me. “You looked awesome out there.” He nudges my hip with his. “Even better up close.”

“Ugh. I'm a sweaty mess.”

“Doesn't bother me.” He takes my hand. “Do you have plans now?”

“I need a shower.”

“Hang out with me instead. I've been worried since you sounded so down last night.”

“I'm better. Too exhausted to be bummed out.”

“You played great today.” He squeezes my hand tighter. I feel a trickle of guilt for not clarifying that my sadness yesterday was purely Gregg-related. “You'll win State, Zephyr actually. I know you will.”

I smile at the nickname. “I wish I had your confidence.”

He scoffs. “Don't let my manly exterior fool you; I'm a mess on the inside. Same as everyone.” He kisses the top of my head, his lips leaving a shadow of warmth. “I believe in you, even if you can't right now.” His words soothe like balm. “Hang with me. We can be messes together.”

I straighten and take one last look at the field. “I want to, but we've got our final game tomorrow. Coach wants us to rest up.”

“You don't need rest; you need to keep your mind occupied. You need someone to keep you from stressing about field hockey.” He smiles that coy smile. “And lucky for you, I just happen to be that guy.”

“You are, are you?”

“Convince me you're not going to go home and obsess about the game and I'll leave you alone.” He catches my smile and points at my lips. “Hah! I knew it. Hang out with me and I'll help you keep your mind off things. Besides, I could use some help with my French homework.”

“You must really need help if you want me to be your tutor.”

Alec laughs, tickles my palm with his finger. “So I'm invited over?”

I nod, biting my lip.

He turns me to face him, raises his hand to my mouth and runs his thumb over my lower lip. I release the bite. “No, don't. Bite it again.” He bites his own lip in demonstration. I mimic him. He caresses the indent, the part of my lip that's pulled in by my teeth. “I love the way you do that,” he tells me. I only hear the word
love
.

When I arrive home, Finn greets us, his tail wagging so fast it kicks up a breeze. I bend down to pet his head and he pushes his plump body against my leg.

“Finn, this is Alec,” I say. “Alec, Finn. Shake on it.”

Alec leans down to Finn and extends his hand for paw. Finn stares at him with his oil-black eyes.

“He's not much into tricks, but he usually shakes.” I give Finn's head another quick pat and close the door behind us. “Mom! I'm home!”

“In here!” she calls. Mom's standing at her desk when we enter her study. She's wearing one of her severe black suits that scream
tough day in court
. Her desk is piled with papers and miniature repotted houseplants. I can't figure how she keeps anything straight.

“Mom, this is Alec.”

She steps forward, firmly shakes his hand in the way lawyer moms do. “Nice to meet you.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Doyle.”

Mom crosses her arms and looks Alec up and down without moving her eyes. It's a seriously enviable trait. “Alec . . . Alec,” Mom says, as if trying to place him. “Are you hockey phenom Alec Lord? The Alec that Rachel Slicer raves about?”

“Mom!”

Alec blushes. “Mrs. Slicer is too kind, ma'am.”

Mom raises an eyebrow, signaling that Alec's
ma'am
has impressed the hell out of her. “Well, any friend of Gregg's is welcome in our home.”

“Thank you. I'm glad to be here.”

“We've got French homework to finish, Mom.”

“Are you hungry? I've got lasagna warming.”

I'm starving but I look to Alec, who shakes his head. “We're good for now. We'll just be in my room.” I conjure nonchalance.

“Door open.” Mom removes a random transcript from the pile of rubble on her desk, though her fingers set on it like it's the exact document she wanted.

I grab Alec's hand and guide him down the hall to my room, Finn following behind.

“So this is the inner sanctum?” Alec looks around, spies the carnation lying out on the table next to my bed. He runs his fingers over the flower's pink edges just beginning to brown. “From someone special?”

“It's a theory.”

He laughs and I give a quick glance into the corners of my room, scanning for stray underwear or snotty Kleenex, but the space screams
neat freak
. I grab a change of clothes from my bureau. “Be right back.” I slip into the bathroom where I slap on pit stick, wash my face, and try to calm the train wreck that is my hair.

When I return, Alec's at my closet, surveying the clothes on hangers. “Your clothes aren't just color-coded, they're arranged according to length, aren't they?”

“Maybe.” I blush.

He laughs. “The world is a ball of raw chaos. We have to impose order when we can.”

“Something like that.”

“I get it,” he says, filling my room with his presence. He picks up the Boston College catalog and thumbs its pages. It is a cataclysmic collision of my two worlds. The only other guy I've had in my room is Gregg, but Alec is so not Gregg. He pats the bed and I sit next to him. Our knees touch and power the world with electricity. He pushes his knee deeper against mine, volts surging. “Is this next year?” He taps the glossy maroon cover.

“Hopefully.”

“The only choice, right?”

“How'd you know?”

“An educated guess from a fellow control freak.” He returns the catalog to the exact spot where he found it on my desk. “I assume you applied early. Have you heard anything?”

I study him, wondering how he can name my secrets so easily. “No, despite checking the mail, like, three times a day.”

His face pops with an impressed smile.

“I'm a little obsessive.”

“You're smart and driven. Smart and driven people make precise plans for their future.”

“Then what are your precise plans?”

“University of Michigan.”

“Michigan?” God, that's far away.

“Go Blue.” He forces a fisted cheer. “I kind of don't have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

He snarks. “Not this kid.”

“How can that be?”

Alec straightens, lets out a breath. “My folks met at Michigan. They were business majors so I need to be a business major.”

“You don't look too psyched.”

“Probably because I want to be a chef.”

“A chef?” That I did not expect.

“I have talents that extend beyond the tuna fish sandwich, Zephyr.” He fingers the fringe of my bedspread. “I've never told anyone that before. The only places I feel right are in the kitchen and on the ice. Not very manly, is it?”

“Does it have to be?”

“It does when you have parents like mine. They won't pay for school unless it's literally all business at Michigan. Then it's architectural planning and development with Mom's corporation. My life's planned.”

“I'm sorry.” The words seem too lame.

“At least Michigan has an awesome team. The hockey coach came to a bunch of my games at Exeter, though that could be off the table now.”

“How come?”

“I guess I didn't really think it through in the moment, you know . . . taking the fall for my roommate. At the end of the day, getting kicked out of school doesn't make me the perfect candidate for any college. I'm not sure if my game is good enough for Michigan to overlook my expulsion record. The pressure's kind of on for me to kick ass at Sudbury.”

“Couldn't you call Michigan's coach? Tell him what really happened? How selfless you are.”

Alec scoffs.

“What?”

“Maybe I need you to go for me. Be my advocate.”

But I'd be a terrible advocate because a greedy hope bubbles up in me. That his expulsion will mean he might stay in New England next year. “Maybe it will all work out. There are plenty of other colleges.”

“Sure, but not for me. No Michigan means I go straight to work for Mom's business. I don't have a lot of choices, Zephyr. My parents have made that very clear.”

My stomach curdles. I can't imagine my parents controlling my future.

He reaches for my hand, and Finn sits upright, watching us from the doorway. He barks one quick burst that makes me jump.

“You okay?” Alec says.

“Yeah, it's just that he never barks.” I turn to Finn. “What's gotten into you, boy?”

“He's protecting you, claiming you as his. I can't blame him.”

A blush rises along my neck, runs to my cheeks.

Alec catches my chin, holds it. “I like it when you blush.” He moves his mouth close. His fingers brush my cheek, disappear into my hair. He holds me in place, freezes me until his lips are on mine. When he pulls away, I try to remember to breathe.

“I like too much about you.” He floats these feather words between us, his mouth hovering so close. He kisses me again, sliding his tongue through the valley of my lips. I move into him, finding his tongue with my own, kissing him deeper.

I pull away because I'm afraid I won't be able to if it goes on much longer. And I'm even more afraid of what that means. “We should stop.” I spy the open door and turn on the bed, bend my leg between us. “With my mom just down the hall and all.”

Alec sits straight, smoothes his hair. “Right. Sorry. I mean, sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I'm not sorry about the kissing part.”

I smile and Alec runs his thumb over the flesh of my bottom lip. He pulls my forehead to his and we press into one another. “Favorite drink,” he says.

“Cold or hot?”

“Cold,” he whispers.

“Raspberry lime rickey. Supersweet and fizzy.”

He pulls away. “Where do you get one of those? A soda fountain in 1952?”

“And you want to be a chef?” I mock outrage. “How can your restaurant be successful if you don't plan on having lime rickeys on the menu?”

“It's a beverage choice I'll now have to consider thoroughly.”

“As you should,” I tease.

“Thank you.” He cups my ear, strokes my lobe.

“For widening your beverage horizons?”

“No. For believing in me. For thinking I'll have my own restaurant someday.”

“I'm sure you can have anything you want.”

“You make me feel like that's possible.” Alec raises my palm to his lips, kisses the tender skin.

My insides race with belonging.

He shakes his head quickly, like he's trying to dislodge the heat between us. He gets up, ventures to the corner of my room, crouches in front of the turntable. “Old school vinyl.” He thumbs through the albums.