The Rarity of Falling

by Leeann M. Shane

  “Over eighty percent of teen pregnancies aren’t planned, Ava. The percentage for graduating and college drop drastically after that one. And STD’s are an even different story. Condoms and birth control will save you a lot of heartbreak and problems. The rest is up to you to make the right choice.”

  I rubbed my temples. “Please stop.”

  “Let’s go to the drugstore when you’re done here and look up contraceptives.”

  “Mom!” I whirled around. “No.”

  She gave me that no-nonsense shake of her head I’d missed so much but wished now wasn’t the time she chose to bring it back. “Ava Marie, I am not raising a grandkid with an infant of my own. That’s all kinds of messed-up. I’m trying to be open about you dating. This is part of it. Humor me. We can go get our nails done when we’re finished, maybe grab some lunch and a movie?”

  My heart ached for me to say yes. She looked like my mom. She was acting like my mom. We wanted her.

  “Can we stop at a sporting goods store?”

  “For?”

  “Bishop,” was all I said.

  “Okie doke. Mind making me something to eat, too?”

  I was happy she was trying, but I was still stuck in the unstable whirlpool and wasn’t quite ready to overlook everything now. I made us both scrambled eggs and we ate it together. After which, she chased me up to my room and demanded through bodily harm and loads of grounding for me to get dressed.

  “That’s better,” she said, tying the string on her coat around her waist. Her blonde hair was darker in some places and lighter in others than mine, but in a weird way, it was the same, just backward. She put it into a pony tail and grabbed her purse. “Ready?”

  “I guess,” I grumbled.

  She gave my butt a pat and shooed me out the door. “How’s the girls?” she asked once we were in her car.

  That’s what she always called Henny and Laurie. “Fine, I guess.”

  “You guess? They’re your best friends.”

  “I know. But they’re busy with their lives and I’m trying to keep mine from falling apart. We’re not on the same pages these days.”

  I could tell she was sorry she asked. She sat straight, taking the turn off to the drugstore. “Tell me more about your boyfriend. He’s not afraid to tell how he feels.”

  I tried to understand what she meant by that. Had they had a confrontation I didn’t know about? Something about him defending me made my chest warm. “What do you want to know?” I hedged.

  “Has he had other serious relationships?”

  “No…” I said slowly.

  “But you’re serious about him?”

  “Yes. Aren’t you going to ask if he’s serious about me?”

  “I already know he is.”

  “How?”

  “Because of the way he looks at me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She took a deep breath. “He looks at me with forced respect. He doesn’t like me because of everything that’s been going on, but he still won’t disrespect me because he cares about you. Most boys are punks. They don’t understand respect, not until they love something worth respecting. Bishop does.”

  Even though it was snowing outside, it was suddenly too hot in my parka. “He’s special,” I admitted. “Only he doesn’t know it.”

  “The special ones never do.”

  I wished the conversation ended there. Instead, it picked right back up at the drugstore in the sexual wellness aisle—yes, there was an entire aisle dedicated to sex.

  Mom had this crazy determined look on her face as she picked up a box of condoms. “Condoms,” she stated. “The number one used contraceptive. It’s easy to keep in your purse and you should. Never rely on a boy to have one. Rely on yourself.”

  She handed me the box. It was purple and said her pleasure on the front. I could have fainted right there from intense mortification. “Why do I need ten of them?”

  She ignored me. “Those are to aid in preventing pregnancy and STD’s, but they’re only eighty-five percent effective on their own.”

  I glanced up sharply. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope.”

  “What the heck? I always thought they were like ninety-nine percent effective?” I felt so lied to. That was dangerous. Lying to us like that. That meant fifteen out of every one-hundred couples got pregnant using only condoms. “What else is there?”

  “Birth control.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the pharmacy, where I got a fifteen-minute in-depth sex talk from an older man with beady eyes and white stuff in the corner of his mouth.

  Suffice it to say, birth control and condoms would save me from a quote unquote “hiccup.” That was the pharmacist’s word, not mine. As if a raging genital itch or a child was a hiccup. Frankly, the entire ordeal freaked me out about sex, and I was really happy Bishop wasn’t the kind of boy who pushed. None of them should. Especially considering all the crap we women had to deal with. All they had to do was show up. We were left with the “hiccup.”

  “Are we done? Can I look at the makeup and stuff?”

  She laughed. “You look green.”

  I rolled my eyes and shoved the condoms at her. I picked up some stuff I’d need and then met her up front, hiding my face behind a magazine as Mom paid.

  “Bishop can’t buy his own soap?”

  I glared at her behind my magazine. “He doesn’t have anything at home.”

  “It’s not his home. He has his own. For now,” she added.

  “What do you mean for now?”

  “I mean things typically change when someone in the foster system turns eighteen. Does he have something set up for when that happens?”

  I was flabbergasted. “They can’t just kick him out.” I know he mentioned his time running out with them, but he hadn’t made it sound so final.

  “From what you told me, it sounds like they’re just in it for the check. Which is exactly what they’ll do once he’s a legal adult.”

  My heart dropped. He had to know that. There was no way he couldn’t know that. I had to find out when he was turning eighteen. Stat. “Maybe he could live in the basement,” I suggested, giving her my wide, pleading eyes.

  She pursed her lips at me and flicked my nose. “That only works on your father.”

  “Mom.”

  “No, Ava.”

  “But he’s all on his own.”

  “No, Ava.”

  “But he’s so good. If he has nowhere to live, he won’t have a place to sleep or anything. He won’t focus on hockey. He’ll threaten his scholarship. Which he needs to better his life. He has to move in with us. Come on. Please!”

  “What about your college career? Still unsure?”

  How dare her try to confuse me with my confusion. “Can we talk about it later?”

  She nodded reluctantly, but the look in her eyes said otherwise. She was against Bishop living with us and nothing I said would change her mind. That was the scary part.

  “Let’s go get our nails done.”

  I got my toes painted a light yellow and my fingernails painted teal. Mom got French tips for both, her usual. It was so much fun reading magazines and getting rubbed and tickled with her, that I forgot about the past year of missed nail appointments. She was buttering me up. And it was working.

  Our last stop after lunch was the sporting goods store. I bought what I needed and then we went home. I searched for my phone, finding it in my jeans pocket from last night. The battery was at five percent. There was one text from Bishop. He texted the address to the youth center and to meet him there at five, and nothing else.

  But for him, that was a million words. It was making sure I showed. It was letting me know he wanted me to show. It was not forgetting and still wanting, and I read the address too many times before I had it remembered by heart.

  My fingers hovered over the reply bubble.

  Me: Should I, or shouldn’t I assume you’re going to be starving?


  After five minutes, he hadn’t replied. I cleaned my room. It was a mess after my ploy to run yesterday. I picked up my clothes on the floor, tidied up my reading area, organized my dresser and then I made my bed, tucking Bishop’s pillow securely beside mine. My bed was a full-size. Perfect, I thought, for a messed-up girl and her perfect boy to sleep in.

  My phone buzzed as I was getting ready to lug my laundry out of my room. I scooped up my phone and headed for the basement.

  Bishop: Is that a trick question?

  Immediately followed by: How are you?

  Me: Good. Mom’s been ultra-attentive today. She took me condom shopping.

  Bishop: I didn’t even know that was a thing.

  Me: Aren’t you lucky? It is a thing. Also, did you know that they’re only like eighty-something % effective? And that there’s a penicillin resistant gonorrhea out there?

  Bishop: I guess her plan worked, then didn’t it?

  Me: What plan?

  Bishop: The Keep Your Hands Off My Daughter Plan. She was trying to scare you. Did it work?

  Me: Kind of…

  Bishop: Lol

  I smiled, blindly pouring soap into the washer. It wasn’t funny. It was horrifying. Now I have a huge box of condoms and definite nightmares.

  Bishop: Stop making me laugh. I’m trying to ref a game of tiny demons who keep missing the puck and hitting me instead.

  Me: I guess I should go and find a place for all these condoms then. See you later?

  Bishop: Later, Ava

  Later, as it turned out, took forever. I sat on my bathroom counter and did my makeup meticulously, wondering if this was a date or if this was an extension of gym class. If so, the makeup was a huge mistake. I wasn’t sporty, never had been. Balancing upright on two thin slits of steel on ice did not sound like a good idea. I picked out a pair of skinny jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, putting my black parka on over it. It was padded and it went past my butt, so if, and by if, I meant when I fell, I’d have some sort of padding. I left my hair down, but I pinned the front strands back a little so they wouldn’t be in my face.

  And then I sprayed my brand-new perfume I got at the drugstore all over myself. It was called Peach Sorbet, and it smelled like ripe peaches and cotton candy. I smiled knowingly at myself in the mirror before I switched off the light and headed downstairs, my bag over my shoulder.

  Mom was in the living room when I came down. She was eyeing the space with a long tape measure. “I was thinking of getting a longer couch. What do you think? Your dad never wanted it long so he could see the TV just perfectly, but I think you and I could totally use a longer sofa. Leather, maybe?”

  I knew, deep down, that her change in mood had little to do with me and a lot to do with the baby. “Sure.”

  “Where are you going?” She tucked the tape measure in her back pocket and took in my appearance. “When did you grow up?”

  “Ice skating, remember? Bishop wants to teach me. Is this too much?” I pointed at my face.

  She shook her head. “No, you’re beautiful. You take a few rubbers?”

  I groaned. “I’ll be back later.”

  “By midnight.”

  “Two?”

  “Midnight.”

  “One?”

  “Ava,” she warned.

  “Fine. Midnight.”

  “And come home alone, please. This isn’t a hostel.”

  I ground my teeth together and reached for the door. Finding the youth center was easy. Finding a place to park wasn’t. It was packed to the brim with mini vans and popcorn wrappers. I’d never actually been inside the Duluth Youth Center Administration building. It wasn’t just for hockey. There were basketball courts, tennis courts, ice hockey rinks—two to be exact judging by the map in the lobby I was staring up at; one for twelve and under division’s and then thirteen and up—and a counselor center and swimming pool.

  It was a maze of good intent.

  A labyrinth of hockey players and their parents.

  Bishop hadn’t mentioned which rink to meet him at but since he’d mentioned kids I went to the east rink for the lower division. The moment I pushed open the huge double doors, I was greeted by the rush of ice on my face and the cacophonous screams of children on skates. The bleachers were nearly full, and everyone’s attention was on the game.

  The kids playing looked taller than the little ones running around the bleachers, their cute faces flushed from the cold in their hockey gear, mouths stained from the cotton candy from the concession stands. I could picture a little Bishop dressed in the same adorable hockey jersey, sitting alone in the bleachers, cheeks pink and eyes sad. It was strange to find an imaginative scene so endearing and still so sad, because I probably wasn’t far off.

  I searched for him. He wasn’t hard to spot. He was a giant on the ice, clothed fully in black. Black pants and a black shirt with an orange wrist band around his upper arm and a helmet in the same color. He cut through the ice and through the players effortlessly, never getting in their way, his eyes peeled on them at the same time with a whistle in his mouth.

  I found a seat and watched the last fifteen minutes of the game. One of the kids swung at the puck, but it got snatched before he could connect and in frustration, he swung wide and hard at the ice, catching Bishop right in the ribs. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

  There was a woman beside me. “Don’t worry. That guy’s been taking hits all day. Barely even flinches.”

  I gave her a small smile and tried to relax. Bishop didn’t look like that hurt him. He rubbed his side and glared murderously at the kid but immersed himself right back in the game a few seconds later. I wished I had that ability. If I got hit in the ribs, that kid would get a talking to. “Shouldn’t they give him a penalty or something?”

  She laughed lightly. “It was an accident. There’s a lot of those in hockey. Plus, it teaches the kids to get their heads in the game. Because look, the other team scored on that kid because he lost his cool. His coach will handle that.” Her eyes followed something around the ice.

  I realized in irritation that she was watching Bishop. He whipped his helmet off during the final timeout and unleashed his handsome, sweaty face on the world. Beside me, the lady bit down on her bottom lip.

  I ground my teeth together.

  “He’s so hot,” she murmured. “Great hair, too. Isn’t there just something about a handsome face and a great head of hair?”

  She looked older than us, but not by much. She was probably nineteen, twenty at most. I wanted to politely reach over and pull her hair out. Instead, I sat down on my hands and bobbed my head. “Mhm.”

  “You think I should give him my number after the game?”

  That almost made me laugh. Go ahead, I thought, he’d just glare and grunt at you. “No.”

  “No?” She turned to me, her eyes sharpening. “Why not?”

  “Because he’s my boyfriend.” I narrowed my eyes at her, too. “So, could you please stop reducing him down to two physical attributes when he’s so much more than his hair and face?” I didn’t wait for her acceptance. I made my point. I turned back to him.

  She muttered a mean word under her breath and then got up, sitting a row over.

  Even her insults were unoriginal and empty; I didn’t put too much concern on it. I never knew I was a jealous person. I never knew what it felt like to have someone you wanted so much and have other people covet them. But Bishop made me jealous. Spitting fire mad at the idea of him with someone else, someone else wanting him, anyone else ever having what we had. It was irrational and silly, but I was good at both and accepted it.

  When the game was over, the stadium became chaos. I sat still, waiting for it to clear out enough to find Bishop. I’d lost him in the crowd. I wasn’t sure he was on the ice anymore or if he’d left the room entirely. Eventually, it had cleared enough for me to determine that he wasn’t in the room anymore. Just when I was about to get up and go look for him, I saw him come out of a door on the oth
er side of the room dressed in his regular clothes.

  Jeans and a blue t-shirt with his team logo and number. His hair was still sweaty and messy, and I hated how much that lady had been right—he was so good-looking I sighed—and he had his gear bag over his shoulder.

  He spotted me in seconds, as if he’d always known I was sitting there. The moment our eyes locked, the entire world disappeared. It was just Bishop and me and breathing was so easy, and feeling was so good.

  His lips rose in the corner softly. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I said back, feeling nervous for some reason. My cheeks were warmer than any other part of my body.

  “We’re going over to the older division ice. They’re holding skating lessons, but I get them for free. But first, we have to get you some skates.”

  He came to a stop in front of me. I had to crane my neck to look up at him. “Did you know that you have admirers in the stands?”

  He frowned. “I do? But you only just got here.”

  His joke did little to comfort me. I told him about the girl I was lucky enough to sit next to and he covertly hid his smile with a scowl. But I could see it shimmering in his eyes. “That’s funny to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Bishop.”

  He gave me a serious face. “Ava.”

  I stared up at him helplessly. “She liked your hair and face. How rudimentary, right?”

  His lips twitched. “Totally. I mean, what about my eyes or six pack? I spend hours in the gym, and she didn’t even mention them.” He shook his head like it was a crime. “Shameful.”

  My mouth popped open. “Are you teasing me?”

  “Did she mention anything about my skating backward? That is an acquired skill, you know.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about him poking fun at my jealousy, but I was glad he had. It made me feel even sillier. I sighed sadly and nodded. “I get it, I’m ridiculous. I’ll get over it.”