“Your scar is showing again.”
Bria smiled. “It wasn’t nearly as scary this time.”
“You’re coming to stage crew tonight right? Call is at 3:30.”
“Considering you can barely carry this bag,” Bria said, taking Abby’s backpack. “I’m not sure you should be building sets tonight.”
“I’m the stage manager. I get to sit there and order everyone else around.”
“I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”
“There you are!” Dolores said, grabbing Abby’s arm. “What the hell?”
“I already heard all the stories,” Bria said, handing Abby’s backpack off to Dolores. “See you guys at lunch.”
“You don’t want to hear about Dr. McHottypants again?” Abby said.
“He wasn’t that hot.”
“Yeah, but he’s a doctor.” Abby turned to Dolores. “Totally worth it.”
“All the details,” Dolores said, dragging her down the hall.
~
That special magic of an empty theater hummed through the high school auditorium. As promised, Abby sat in a rolling chair in the center of the stage. Around her, other kids carried bundles of lumber and cans of paint.
“How’s my favorite tiny tyrant?” Bria said, hoisting herself onto the stage.
“Fine now that I have some coffee.” Abby yawned. “Spending all day in a hospital bed is exhausting.”
“Or you’re just lazy,” Rafael said, dropping a stack of drywall on the stage.
“Yes,” Bria said. “She totally made up a life-threatening allergic reaction to ruin our date and get out of hauling stuff today. You are such an ass.”
“So it was a date?” Abby said.
“She didn’t tell you?” He wrapped his arms around Bria’s waist. “We’re going to homecoming together too.”
Bria shoved him off and crossed her arms. “Maybe. I’m still mad at you.”
Abby clapped her hands and squealed. “No maybe! You guys are going and it’s is going to be so fun!”
“Your friend is very wise,” Rafael said. He lowered his head, widening his eyes in an attempt at bashful. “I said I’m sorry.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Bria asked, glaring at him. “You’re not in drama club.”
“Abs asked me help out. Said you needed more muscle.”
“Am I wrong?” Abby said, gesturing toward the crew scattered around the stage. Mostly freshmen and kids who spent more time building their WoW characters than doing construction.
“Granted.”
“It’ll be fun,” Rafael said. “More time to get to know me.” He winked and disappeared into the wings again.
“Yay for homecoming!” Abby said. “How did you forget to tell me this?”
“Wasn’t exactly the first thing on my mind, what with you almost dying and all.”
Abby pushed the chair closer. “You don’t like him like him, do you?”
“I don’t not like him.”
“He’s hot, he has great taste in music, he’s an artist. What’s not to like?”
“He’s…I don’t know. He’s too much.”
“So…?” Abby sat back in her chair and widened her eyes. “Wait. So he’s not the boy who trigged your chocolate binge the other night?”
“Talking about me?” Rafael said.
“Yes,” said Bria at the same time Abby said “No.”
Abby glared at Bria.
Rafael laughed. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”
“I’m going to get to work on the back piece,” Bria said.
Abby and Rafael shrugged at each other.
Rolling her eyes, Bria headed for the false wall erected at the back of the stage.
Day one and already the complicated set was taking shape. Abby ran a tight crew.
Not that she could afford any different. Her vision for their production of The Secret Garden was ambitious to say the least. While most high schools would rent a backdrop for the garden, Abby had dreamed up an elaborate, multi-dimensional series of flats and set pieces.
The back piece, stretching above the proscenium would take ages to finish. With soft, flowing colors and endless blending, it was worlds different from the sharp, crisp surrealism that had won her so much attention, but exactly what she needed. No details to obsess over. Just subtle, muted impressions of growing, living things.
“Didn’t you get sick of painting after the mural?” Rafael said, pulling up an overturned bucket to sit beside her.
“I never get sick of it,” she said, her heart lightening with each brush stroke. A base coat of soft greens and blues would make the more defined trees, flowers and clouds pop.
“Sorry I gave you a hard time about that. And I am sorry about how I acted Saturday. I don’t really love the idea of you being Captain Football’s moral support.” He threw up his hands to keep her from interrupting. “You can hang out with anyone you want. But I like you and I don’t like him. That’s just how it is.”
“Ben is almost like a brother.” Except for the whole kissing thing. “He’s a huge part of my life. You don’t have to be such a douche about it.”
“I’m trying. But you’re not making it easy.”
“It’s my fault you’re a jerk?”
“Do you have any idea how much you intimidate me?”
She looked away from her work, brush still in hand. “You?”
“There aren’t a lot of girls like you. Cute and talented and actually able to talk about music without sounding like an idiot.”
“You can thank my dad for that one.”
“That’s what I mean.” He rubbed his hand across his jaw. “You’re so cool. How is a guy like me supposed to even have a chance?”
“Probably not by fishing for compliments.” She focused on the way the shades of green blended under her brush instead of on the warm feeling seeping into her chest.
“Sorry. Old habits.”
She glanced sideways at his too perfect smile and squelched a snide comment about how much his parents had spent on braces.
“No worries,” she said. “But drop the act, okay? Pretty sure I like the real you better than this whole thing.”
“So you’re saying we’re still going to homecoming?”
“I’m saying that you better start sucking up to my friend. Abby bleeds for theater. You help her pull this off and I’ll be a lot nicer to you.”
“Then I guess skipping tomorrow to get coffee is a bad idea.”
She shot him a look, but a smile peeked out around the corners of her eyes.
He grinned back. “Maybe next week.”
~
Bria unlocked the front door and followed the glow coming from Dad’s study.
“Hey, Pumpkin Pie.” He looked up from the contract spread out across his desk.
“Hey.” She settled on the arm of the couch along the far wall.
“How was crew?”
“Good. Abby is crazy, but she usually pulls it off. Raf is helping out.”
“He’s the one who invited you to watch his band practice, right?” He looked over his shoulder to prove he was listening.
“Yep.”
“How’d that go?”
She shrugged, looking at the records hanging on the walls instead of at him. “They’re almost good. I drew a logo for them.”
“You know that’s where My Chemical Romance got their logo from. One of their girlfriend’s drew it out at band practice.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I want to be his girlfriend.”
“Good. I might have to hunt him down with my shotgun if you did.”
“That would sound a lot more threatening if you had a shot gun.”
“Hmm.” He leaned forward to jot something on a Post-It. “Note to Shelly: get shot gun.”
“Very funny.”
“You’re almost done with high school. I have to be prepared to let you out into the real world.”
Bria picked up a framed photograph from th
e side table. “What was Mom like in high school?” She brushed her thumb over Mom’s blond pixie cut.
Dad smiled and leaned back in his chair, propping his legs up on the desk and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Your mom was a goddess.”
“She was a cheerleader, right?”
“Cheerleader, valedictorian, student council president. Lead in every drama production beginning our freshman year. She lit up the stage.”
Bria set the frame down again. “So how did she end up with you?”
Dad’s warm, baritone laugh, the one that set his clients at ease, filled the room. “Despite what your aunt might tell you, I wasn’t that much of a delinquent.”
“Didn’t you have different friends? Different interests? What did you do together?”
Swinging his legs down, he swiveled to face her. “When we were together, it didn’t matter who we were with or what we did. Julie was my life.”
“But I don’t get that. You just lost yourself over someone?”
He shook his head. “No. Not at all. When we were together, we were more ourselves – the best versions of ourselves. Her friends hated me – until they saw how much better we were together. You can’t hate someone for making another person happy.”
“What did you talk about? I mean, there has to be more than just…” She stopped and swallowed before accidentally diving into total embarrassment. “Than just attraction. Right?”
He tilted his head down to look at her over the heavy frames of his glasses. “I loved seeing the world through her eyes. She introduced me to things I never would have tried on my own. Thai food. Ice skating. French films.”
Bria pulled her knees up to her chest. “So none of the rest of it matters?”
“When you find someone you love, the rest is just details.”
Bria pressed her lips into a tight line while his words sank in. “I’m going to reconcile the bank statement tonight. Did it come yet?”
“Yeah. Monday, I think.” He dug around on his desk before finding the envelope.
“Cool. Night, Dad.”
“Hey, Bria.”
She stopped in the doorway. “Hmm?”
“If you find someone you care about, screw everyone else. Life’s too short.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Under the sign for the Santa Monica Pier, tourists and street folk swarmed in an endless dance of poverty and wealth. Amid five star restaurants and $800 a night hotels, veterans pleaded for a meal or some spare change to buy enough alcohol to forget their nightmares.
Bria dropped a few dollars into the open guitar case of a girl not much older than her before stopping under the sign. The neon letters glowed against their navy background even though the sun had only just begun its descent into the ocean.
For a moment, she felt stupid. A high school demi-god like Ben wasn’t going to spend his night playing skeeball. She straightened the hem of her skirt, like that could restore her dignity.
Then she lifted her head. She’d never needed a boy to have fun before and she wasn’t about to start needing one just because of Ben.
“Bria.”
His smile bathed her in warmth and she grinned back, doubts silenced. “Hey.”
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic.”
“For a minute I thought this was going to be like some bad teen movie where you stand me up so the whole school can laugh at me.”
“I don’t think anyone is brave enough to laugh at you.”
She looked around the pier, fidgeting with the end of her ponytail. “So.”
“So.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulder. “Umm. Funnel cake? Or something. Food is good, right?”
She grinned. “This is kind of weird, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, kind of. But not bad weird.”
“No. Not bad.”
He held out his hand and she took it to walk beside him down the steep incline leading onto the pier. A car rumbled past and she leaned into him to steady herself.
“You’re shorter than usual,” he said.
“No boots.” She lifted her foot to show off the ballet flats she’d saved from Mom’s things.
“I knew something looked different. No hoodie either.”
“I even have some color.” She caught the hem of her goldenrod colored dress and pulled it away from her legs for full effect.
“As long as you can still play skeeball in it.”
She laughed and danced a few feet ahead of him to the start of the pier. “Only one way to find out.”
The boom of the surf and the vast space of the ocean beyond muted the noise from the arcade, the steady blip of games and halting music from kiddie rides mingled with laughter. To the north of the pier, the Malibu coastline stretched out into the haze of the horizon, with Oceanside just a speck in the lush hills between.
“I love this view,” Bria said. She leaned against the rail, standing between an angler dozing behind his rod and a kiosk selling colored sand.
The ocean breeze tugged her hair free from her ponytail, hiding her face in a whirlwind of purple. She swept it back with her hand to see Ben grinning at her.
“What?” His smile caught her lips, like it was contagious in the best possible way.
“Have I ever told you how much I love your hair?”
“The purple or the crazy?”
“Both.” He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling close and taking a deep breath. “The way it smells.”
“It took forever to find a vegan shampoo that doesn’t smell like wet hippy.” She relaxed against his solid chest. The curve of her back settled against his hip and her shoulder tucked in under his arm. “I started dyeing it because it’s the same color as my mom’s.”
Ben’s arms tightened around her. “It’s beautiful. Either way.”
The world dropped away in the roar of the waves beating the shore, lapping against the pier, rushing back to sea. She closed her eyes, breathing in salt and funnel cake and Ben.
Ben. So close and so warm and so perfect.
“Promise you’ll stop pushing me away,” he whispered, hot breath against wind-cooled skin. “Promise you’ll stay this time.”
“But I’m supposed to push,” she whispered back.
His whole body wrapped around her, like he wanted to shield her, not trap her. Locked against him, she felt safe, free, unrestrained.
“Says who?” he said. “You’re supposed to be you and who you are is amazing.”
“What about you?” She turned in his arms and slid her own around his neck, trailing her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“I don’t even know right now.” He pressed his forehead to hers, then his nose, his mouth.
His kiss drew more than her lips closer. It tugged deep inside her, pulling up things she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Like bravery instead of bravado.
Nestled against her, his eyelashes brushed her cheek. “I’m ready to quit football. I love it, but my body hurts. I’m barely eighteen and my knees are trashed. They say if I have another concussion, the damage could be permanent. I don’t want to keep beating myself up for something so stupid.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe coach? Or sports medicine. Help other players.”
“I don’t want to go to art school,” she said, confiding the dark secret buried in her heart. “I love art. I don’t want to sell it. I don’t want to whore out that part of me. I think I want to be an accountant.”
His chest rumbled with laughter. “An accountant?”
“I keep the books for my dad. I love it.” She pulled away, dragging his hand with her and walking further down the pier. “There’s order and reason and it all just makes sense. Neat little numbers in neat little boxes. Everything in place. It’s beautiful.”
“Why is that a secret?”
She spun around to face him. “Artsy kids can’t like math. I mean, that’s just crazy
talk.”
“And football players can’t be smart.”
Bouncing up onto her toes, she kissed him. “And they definitely don’t kiss girls with purple hair.”
He wrapped his hands around her waist and picked her up, lifting her so she had to look down at him. “This football player does.” He lowered his arms until their lips touched.
She locked her legs around his waist and lost herself in the pressure of his kiss, the heat of his hands against her skin, the sweet tingle of Skittles on her tongue.
“So.” She pressed her lips together in a tight line to keep her grin in check. “Think you can beat me at skeeball?”
“Oh, I am a skeeball master.”
She jumped down and pulled him back toward the arcade. Ben clamored after her with a grin on his face that set her heart racing faster than their feet over the uneven planks of the pier.
Weaving through the crowd, he ducked and dodged to keep up with her, tightening his grip on her hand whenever she pulled too far away.
“I thought you didn’t run?” he said with laughter still clinging to the edges of his voice.
“This is what you get for teaching me.” She turned, taking a few steps backward through the crowd. “Besides, I’m waiting for you to catch me.”
“I’ve been trying all year.” He grinned and shot forward, dropping his head to tackle her. Instead of knocking her to the ground like an opponent, he kept his arms around her waist and spun her in a circle.
“Yo! Love birds!” a man at a souvenir photo cart called to them. “Take a picture. Keep this moment forever.” He grinned, the light from a lamppost glinting off a gold front tooth.
Bria twisted around to see Ben’s reaction.
“Maybe?” he said.
“Your sister always looks through the pictures on my phone.”
“We could keep this for just us.”
“Right.”
Ben smiled at the photographer and handed over the cash. He pulled Bria close in front of the rail overlooking the beach. The sinking sun behind them lit the night with pink and purple and gold. At the last minute, he tilted his head to kiss her cheek. The blinding pop of the flash and the whir of the shutter froze the night in Technicolor perfection.
Tucking her copy into her purse, Bria looked up at Ben. “Thank you.”
“It was only $10.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, somehow managing to look shy and awkward - two words she’d never associated with Ben Harris.
The Art of Falling Page 13