The Moment We Fell

by Kelli Warner

  I reach out a hand. Hannah’s cheek lifts and I pull her in for a hug. She’s so small and fragile. I should say something, stop her from making what I’m pretty sure will be another bad decision in her extensive collection. Her hands press into my back as she draws me closer with unsettling desperation. I think she knows she’s making a mistake.

  “Is there any way I can get you to stay?” Hannah shakes her head against my chest. “Come on. Don’t do this. Let me help you.”

  Tilting back her head, she gazes up at me, her brows drawn together. “You have helped me, Cade. You were always my friend. And that means a lot to me.” She gives me one more squeeze, then drops her hands and steps away. As she reaches down to sling the strap of her backpack over her shoulder, she adds, “I don’t think I would have made it this far without you.”

  It’s because of me that she’s in this mess in the first place. The guilt burns.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  Hannah’s eyes trail a path from my forehead to my chin, like she’s trying to memorize my face. She straightens and clears her throat. “Well, if I can’t get you to come with me, I could use some cash.”

  Without hesitation, I pull my wallet from my back pocket and fish out my last twenty-dollar bill. “Keep in touch, okay? I want to know that you’re all right.”

  She takes the bill and slips it into her boot. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Promise.”

  The color drains slowly from her face with the last of her smile, and she stretches up once more, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Bye, Cade.”

  Hannah pushes past a couple of guys making their way into school, the last of the morning migration. Her shoulders slump against the weight of her backpack, which as heavy as it appears, might as well be carrying all the rejection and loneliness that shrouds her. She can’t seem to escape it. And dammit, it’s not fair.

  I continue to stare after her, long after she disappears around a dumpster in the parking lot. Long after the bell rings and quiet settles over the school. Long enough for a slow, simmering anger to build in my chest.

  Just 216 days until graduation.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Paige

  Mystic Shores High School is nothing like I’d imagined. For one thing, it’s much smaller than my old school. Way smaller. When Jay pulled into the parking lot, I’d nearly bolted from the front seat. I didn’t want to be seen walking in with him, but there was one simple flaw in my plan: I had no idea where I was going.

  The second he shifted the Durango into Park, Jay transformed into principal mode. It was like Clark Kent racing into a telephone booth, only much less cool. With just a few stern words and a look so heavy with authority it was blinding, almost like looking directly into the sun, he could spot trouble at fifty paces—which he made abundantly clear when he’d practically interrogated a couple outside the school’s entrance. But if that wasn’t awkward all on its own, I’m pretty sure Jay’s target was the guy I’d nearly accosted at the airport. What are the odds that I would end up at the same school with the dude I bitterly humiliated myself in front of not even forty-eight hours ago? Pretty darn good by the looks of it.

  “I think you’ll like it here,” Jay says, holding open the door to the main office. “If you have any questions at all, I should be in my office most of the day. If not, Karen knows where to find me.” He gestures to the woman with a well-coiffed updo who stands behind the long counter assisting a lanky boy with an unfortunate case of acne.

  “Be right with you, hon,” Karen says with a smile.

  Once I have my schedule in hand, I convince Jay that I do not need an escort through the hallways. He looks unsure but lets me go without assistance. “Well, then, have a good day, Paige. I’ll meet you back here after school.”

  American history is my first class. It’s one of my favorite subjects and the teacher, Mr. Jennings, looks just like a history teacher should, at least the way I picture them: a sweater, a tie and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that droop low on his nose. He clears his throat a lot as he summarizes the plot points of the Great Depression. I try to ignore the stares from the students around me, but it’s not easy.

  Fifty minutes later, I make my way to health class. The teacher, Mrs. Barlow, welcomes me warmly, and she leads me to a seat in the back, much to my relief. Again, all the heads in the class follow me.

  It’s not until English literature that someone actually tries to speak to me.

  “You must be Paige Bryant,” a petite redhead says shortly after I slide into the seat across from her. I nod as pleasantly as my discomfort allows. So far, no one has seemed to know my name.

  “I’m Quinn Talbot,” she whispers, pulling a hair tie from around her wrist and sweeping her thick, fiery mane into a messy knot at the back of her head. “My mom teaches chemistry here, so I know what it’s like to have a parent on staff.” She shrugs and smiles, a warmness in her blue eyes. “It stinks like cheese, but you’ll deal with it.”

  I stifle a surprised laugh and return her smile before letting my eyes fall to the reading list in front of me. Maybe this class won’t be so bad. I like Quinn, and because it’s been less than a minute since she introduced herself, I’m not entirely sure why.

  I don’t get another opportunity to talk to her until the bell rings. We walk to our lockers together, which are in the same section of the hallway, and she insists that I sit with her at lunch and meet her friends. I don’t hesitate to accept her invitation because my alternatives are to eat alone or hide out in the girls’ restroom, which would really take a hit on my self-esteem.

  When Quinn and I squeeze in at a large table with our lunch trays, she kicks off the introductions. “Everyone, this is Paige.”

  “Are you really Principal Chapman’s kid?” The question comes from a dark-haired boy sitting across from us. By the way, he’s sizing me up, I can tell I’m not what he pictured, but I nod.

  When he turns to speak with the boy next to him, Quinn whispers, “That’s Gio.”

  “Gio?” I mouth.

  “Short for Giovanni. Cute, don’t you think?” Again, I nod, my bobblehead persona resurfacing.

  “Where’re you from?” This next question comes from a girl with short, curly blond hair who sits diagonally across the table from me.

  “San Diego.”

  “Oh, your ocean is warm,” she says. “Ours is freezing. Just a warning.” The group laughs in agreement. Quinn tells me her name is Samantha, but to call her Sam. I feel like I should be taking notes.

  “So, Paige,” the guy sitting next to Gio says. He has the most amazing eyes that crinkle at the corners when he flashes me a mischievous grin. “Do you surf?”

  “Yeah, a little bit,” I say, picking at the French fries on my tray. I sense an odd stillness, and when I glance up, all the guys at the table have their eyes locked on me. What just happened?

  “Hey, Dane, you have a little bit of drool right there at the corner of your mouth,” Quinn says, balling up her napkin and tossing it at him, then flashing me an apologetic look. “Sorry, they’re surfing freaks, but trust me, it’s miserable. So cold,” she says, agreeing with—what was her name? Sam?

  “Don’t listen to them,” Dane says, and he and Gio proceed to tell me all about Otter Rock and Agate Beach, their two favorite spots for surfing by the sound of it.

  “You’ve gotta come with us. It’s a rush,” Dane says. “What do you say? I’m a pretty good tour guide.” What I think is that his smile could melt sugar.

  Before I can respond, Quinn grabs my forearm with both of her hands. “Hey! How long have you been a dancer? Do you do hip hop? Or is it just classical?”

  The hand holding my can of soda freezes halfway to my lips. What the what?

  “Are you really as good as they say?” Quinn presses, but I’m still working on her first question.

  “How do you know about that?” The words slip from my lips, but I already know the answer. The only way anyone in this dinky town c
ould know about my dancing is through Jay. I have no doubt that in one of his many conversations with Aunt Faye, she’d told him that I’d been preparing for an audition at a prestigious dance academy before—well, before everything happened. But my dancing is none of his business and certainly not something he has the right to share with his staff, who must blab to their children—

  “I Googled you,” Quinn says, drawing her phone from her back pocket. “There are pictures and everything.”

  Oh. Well, sure, there’s that.

  Apparently, Quinn misses my moment of shock and awe because she just keeps talking. “Here’s the sitch—we desperately need another body on the dance team. We’re going to state this year.”

  “You know it!” two other girls at the table chime in, apparently confident in the dance team’s abilities.

  The discomfort that spiked inside me just a moment ago was mild compared to the tidal wave that’s rolling through me now. “I don’t dance.”

  Quinn’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion and her questioning eyes drop to her phone. “Well, according to the internet—”

  I gently push down her phone. “What I mean is, I’m just trying to get settled with my classes. And at some point, I’m gonna need to look for a job. So, I really don’t have any time for that right now.” And I desperately need to change the subject.

  “There are a couple of openings at the movie theater,” a girl named Zoey informs me. She has sharp, angular features and long, glossy black hair that she constantly twirls around her finger. “It’s a pretty easy paycheck.”

  I don’t actually need a job. It’s more of an attempt to find something to do with myself, to get me out of the house and out from under the watchful eyes of Jay and Connie. And if I can earn some money to pay for the airplane ticket home the second I turn eighteen, even better. I’ve never worked a day in my life outside our ballet studio in San Diego, and I spent nearly every free moment training, rehearsing with Mom and performing, so I’m not sure that I’m qualified to do anything but dance. But at least this conversation has rerouted itself.

  Quinn stills beside me. “Uh-oh,” she says, her voice low. “Angry hot guy at twelve o’clock.” I follow her gaze across the cafeteria and see a dark-headed guy—the guy from the airport—heading in the direction of our table. And she’s right; he looks angry.

  “Ohhh, this is not good,” Sam whispers.

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  The guy stops at our table, right behind Dane, his hands fisted at his sides. “What the hell did you say to her?” he demands.

  Dane is out of his chair so fast, I blink back surprise.

  “That’s none of your business.” He steps forward so that he’s nearly nose-to-nose with the other guy. A thick tension coats the air and every head at the table, including mine, is glued to what appears to be a fight about to go down.

  Hot Angry Guy’s dark eyes narrow and a muscle thrums along his jaw. “I’m gonna ask you one more time, and I strongly suggest you pick a better answer. What did you say to Hannah?”

  “Get lost,” Dane says. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “She’s gone,” he spits. “Did you know that? She’s gone because of you.”

  “That’s bullshit! She brought this on herself. She’s got no one to blame but herself. And you,” Dane accuses. I don’t know who Hannah is, but clearly, there’s no love lost between her and Dane.

  “You’re a coward. And you know it.”

  Dane begins to turn back to the table, then without warning, spins and punches the guy in the jaw. He just hit the guy! Hot Angry Guy stumbles back, and before he can recover, Dane lunges at him, and the two are embroiled in an all-out fight on the cafeteria floor. A full-on fight with fists swinging and—everyone is just watching it happen and cheering like it’s some pay-per-view match on TV.

  “Knock it off! Right now!” The second those words touch my ears, Jay appears in the middle of the brawl, alongside another man. They scramble to pull Dane and Hot Angry Guy off each other, and they have their hands full. Both boys are still swinging at each other as they’re hauled apart. Dane’s nose is bleeding, and a small trickle of blood appears at the corner of Hot Angry Guy’s mouth.

  “You! Both of you!” bellows Jay, his hands outstretched as if that’s enough to bar the two from going at each other again. “In my office, now!”

  “Coward!” Hot Angry Guy manages to spit once more at Dane before Jay gives him a shove toward the cafeteria doors. Chest heaving, Dane wipes the blood from his nose as the other man takes hold of him by the upper arm.

  “Okay, okay, I’m going!” Dane snaps, yanking his arm free. He runs a hand through his hair and slowly heads for the doors.

  When they’re gone, it’s like they took all the words left at our table with them. Gio is the first to break the silence with a heavy sigh. “Well, I’m pretty sure this means Dane won’t be making it to lacrosse practice this afternoon.” He huffs, picks up his tray and heads for the garbage cans. The stunned silence that momentarily consumed the cafeteria quickly breaks apart, and conversations resume at the tables around us.

  “What was that about?” I ask. No one answers me, so I try again. “Who is that guy?”

  Quinn and Zoey exchange a look, then in unison say, “That’s Cade Matthews.”

  “And who’s Cade Matthews?” I press.

  “He’s a senior,” Quinn says.

  “He’s stupid hot, but kind of a loner,” Zoey adds. “Oh, and his dad is in prison.”

  “Prison? Really? For what?”

  Quinn shrugs. “I think he killed a guy.” She turns her attention to her granola bar as if she just rattled off the weather forecast. Is she joking? My wide eyes trail back to the cafeteria doors. Maybe I’m not the only one who has problems.

  Lunch passes quickly and talk of the lunchroom brawl ebbs and flows throughout the afternoon as I make my way through my classes. Art is enjoyable. Calculus is uneventful. Spanish seems manageable. And overall, I am pretty satisfied with my day when I emerge from the door of my forensic science class.

  After collecting my bag from my locker, I make my way to the office where Karen, the secretary who gave me my schedule earlier, tells me Jay has someone in his office and I should take a seat and wait for him.

  She gestures to a row of chairs outside the door marked “Principal,” but I hesitate. Slumped in one of the chairs is Cade Matthews. I glance around and realize that there are no other chairs in the office. Swallowing, I take a seat, leaving the last open chair between us.

  I risk a glance at my neighbor and immediately wish I hadn’t. Lazy, contemplative eyes framed by long lashes are fixed on me. I check my watch. Then, I pull out my cell phone from my bag and check for new texts. There aren’t any.

  He’s still watching me. I can feel it.

  Shifting in my seat, I avert my eyes to the other side of the room, to where Karen is typing at her computer. I recheck my phone. Another glance at my watch. And then my patience runs dry.

  “What?” I ask, turning to face him. Even with the split lip and the angry red and purple bruise that spiderwebs its way across his jaw, he’s definitely easy on the eyes. I suppose I’d been too flustered at the airport to take inventory of his appearance. I mean, I thought the guy was trying to swipe my luggage, so seeing anything beyond his criminal activity wasn’t exactly on my radar.

  “Nothing,” he answers, his expression blank. He leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees and sighs heavily.

  Then I sigh.

  He swivels his head in my direction and—he’s staring at me again.

  “Can I help you?”

  He huffs out a laugh. “What is your deal?”

  “You’re staring at me,” I say.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you were.” I notice he has a thin, white scar slashed across his right eyebrow.

  “You’re right, I was,” he says and—I have no idea how to respond. “You’re new here.�
�

  “Yup.” Look, everyone, Captain Obvious is in the building.

  “The principal’s daughter? Seriously?”

  Geez, did they send out a flipping memo or something? Unease ratchets up my spine as his eyes linger on me, and I feel entirely exposed. “Does everyone and their dog know who I am?” He chokes back another small laugh, and my irritation flares. “Is that funny?”

  “No,” he replies. “It’s a small school. People talk. And right now, you’re the one they’re talking about.” Deep copper eyes clouded with cool curiosity travel the length of me, then he raises one sardonic eyebrow. “The luggage stealer.”

  I frown. “I’m pretty sure everyone is still talking about the fight in the cafeteria. Nice show, by the way.”

  Cade’s eyes narrow for a moment, then he relaxes back into his chair.

  “Do you do that often? I mean, are lunchtime brawls your thing or something?” I’m not sure where exactly my words come from. I’m not usually the chat-with-strangers type. But after seeing this guy throw down in the cafeteria, I have to admit I’m intrigued.

  “Not usually.”

  “So, how come today was the exception?” I prompt, feeling bolder than what’s typically my nature.

  “Why don’t you ask your buddy, Dane.”

  Before I can respond or ask any more questions, the office door opens, and Jay steps out, followed by a dark-headed man in a uniform. I glance at the badges on his shirt. The embroidered patch on his upper sleeve that reads “Mystic Shores Fire Department.”

  “Thanks for coming in. I wish it could have been under different circumstances,” Jay says, shaking the man’s hand. “We don’t tolerate violence at this school, and when it occurs, there are consequences.” He glances at Cade, then back at the man. “Hopefully, this suspension will help Cade understand that he can’t just start a fight anytime he wants.”

  Cade rolls his eyes as he begrudgingly stands, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans like this whole thing is just an annoying inconvenience in his day.

  “Again, my apologies for the disruption,” the man says. “You can be sure that Cade and I will talk about this when we get home.”