The Art of Falling

by Jenny Kaczorowski

  “No. For tonight.”

  He caught her hands again and pulled her to a stop. “Bria, this is the best night I’ve had in ages. I don’t want to walk back into the school tomorrow and pretend this didn’t happen.”

  “I don’t either.”

  “So…?”

  “So you owe me a skeeball game.”

  He ducked his head, fighting a smile. “That’s all the answer I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

  “How about this.” She stepped right up to his chest and tipped her head to see his face. “If you beat me, I’ll give you an answer tonight. If I beat you, we don’t have to question what this is. Deal?”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “No boots again,” Ben said, coming up beside Bria’s locker.

  “Somehow I don’t feel like kicking the world’s ass today,” she said, tossing a grin over her shoulder. Her Chucks hadn’t seen the light of day since junior high but they still felt like an extension of her body, perfectly formed to her feet.

  “Remind me to lose at skeeball more often,” he said.

  “Like you could beat me if you tried.”

  “I think I like shorter you,” he said, grabbing her hand and tugging her around the corner.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know. You’re not quite as terrifying.” He stooped to kiss her, giving her upper lip a playful tug. “And that sure is fun.”

  “I kind of like this look,” she said, straightening his jersey. The dark green brought out the subtle tan of his skin. And despite all her attempts at proving she was above typical gender responses, the man in uniform thing was just hot.

  “Coach says I might get to play again if warm ups go well. At least one quarter.”

  She leaned back against an empty row of lockers and bit down on her lower lip. “I guess we should tell Abby about this. I mean, since it’s kind of happening.”

  “Kind of?” He kissed her again, a challenge issued in the form of their tongues tangling up together and his hand sliding up her back. It took a long minute for her to pull back from the soft insistence of his lips.

  She hooked her fingers into his belt loops and pulled him tight against her. “Kind of definitely happening.”

  “Whoa.” The voice echoed against the empty hallway.

  Bria pulled away from Ben. One of the guys from team stood at the end of the hallway with his eyes fixed on them.

  “What, Mateo?” Ben said.

  The poor kid, probably a freshman, kept staring.

  “Do you need something?”

  “No. I just…” The kid fumbled with his backpack. “Jake said you were banging some weird chick, but her? Didn’t she, like, try to burn down the school?”

  Bria raised her eyebrows.

  “I told Jake to shut up,” Ben said. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do the same.”

  The kid nodded and ran back up the hall.

  “Arsonist?” Bria ducked out from under Ben’s arm. “That’s a new one.”

  “Mateo’s a nice kid, but he’s an idiot.”

  “Maybe we’re not ready for this,” she said. The sinking feeling in her gut dragged her deeper into doubt.

  “I don’t know what you want, Bria. But Abby should hear from us, not from the rumors going around the football team.”

  “Are you sure?” She looked up at him, the ache already spreading through her chest. “Because I’m about to tell Rafael I can’t go to homecoming with him. I’m about to tell my best friend, who threatened to disown me for even liking you, that we’re together. I’m about to tell the whole school I fell for the quarterback, just like every other girl. If you aren’t ready to do the same, I can’t do this.”

  He touched her face. “I know. Let’s just talk to Abby tomorrow. She should know first.”

  A shaky breath escaped. “Yeah.”

  “Okay?’ He dropped his hand to her arm and gave it a squeeze.

  “Okay.”

  “Tomorrow?” He held her eyes steady.

  “Tomorrow.”

  ~

  “Hey,” Rafael said, catching Bria’s arm on her way to her locker.

  “Hey.” She flashed a brief smile and ducked her head down to dig through her bag.

  “I wanted to talk to you this morning, but Ms. Fury said you were prepping your portfolio.”

  “Deadlines are getting close.”

  “You’re coming to crew tonight, right?”

  She looked up and drew her brows together. “Of course. Why?”

  “You skipped last night.” He stuck his hands into his hoodie pockets, a posture similar enough to Ben’s to draw their differences into sharp contrast. “I don’t know. You’re all distant again.”

  “There’s a lot on my mind,” she said. Her locker popped open after far too many attempts at the combination.

  “I wanted to ask if maybe you wanted to get coffee tomorrow or like, see a movie?”

  She straightened. “Raf, I can’t.”

  “Maybe Sunday?”

  Blowing out a long, slow breath, she turned around. “No, Raf. I can’t have coffee with you. I just. I’ll explain later. But I just can’t.”

  He nodded his head once. “I gotcha. See you in crew.”

  “Raf, wait.”

  With his back still turned to her, he waved his hand but refused to turn around.

  “What was that about?” Dolores asked.

  “Okay.” Bria spun to face her. “I have to tell you something, but you can’t breathe a word.”

  “Have I ever told one of your secrets?”

  Bria grabbed her arm and pulled her into the girls’ bathroom, checking each stall to make sure they were alone.

  “You’re scaring me,” Dolores said, hoisting herself onto a sink. “How bad is this?”

  “Okay.” Bria paced back and forth. “Ben.”

  “What are you doing, Bri?” Dolores stared at her. “We already talked about this.”

  “Yes, well, that was before we went out yesterday.”

  “You went on a date with Ben Harris?”

  “Kind of. We met at the pier and we kissed and it was awesome and oh, God. I’m totally falling for Ben Harris.”

  “Shit.”

  “I know. We’re going to talk to Abby tomorrow, but I already asked Raf to homecoming and then he wanted to go for coffee and told him no, but I couldn’t explain until we talk to Abby because she should be the first to know, except you because you already kind of know and a couple guys on the football team because Jake Moreno saw us in the shower and he can’t keep his mouth shut.”

  “Wait. Shower?”

  Bria dropped her head into her hands. “Dolores, what am I doing?”

  “Not listening to me. What were you doing with Ben in a shower?”

  “He got paint in my hair when we were working on the mural and helped me wash it out. It wasn’t nearly as hot as it sounds. Except it kind of was.”

  “You need some fresh air,” Dolores said. She grabbed Bria’s arm and lead her out of the bathroom. “You need to pull yourself together before you hang out with Abby. And why can’t you tell her now?”

  “Ben wanted to do it together. He has a game tonight.”

  Dolores shot her a look, dragging her toward an exit at the back of the school. She pushed the door open and a gust of cool air swirled around them. Bria took a deep breath, letting the air calm the fire in her belly.

  “Just kidding,” Dolores said, shoving her back. “Not this way.”

  “What?” Bria peeked over her friend’s head and froze.

  It took a long moment before she could bring the scene in front of her into focus, even with Dolores pulling her away.

  “Maybe it’s not what it looks like.” Dolores’s voice sounded so far away, nearly lost in the blood rushing in her ears.

  Ben and Alyson.

  Ben without a shirt. Kissing Alyson.

  Kissing. Alyson.

  Frame by frame, the moment replayed in her mi
nd. Over. And over. And over.

  Alyson’s hands pressed against his bare chest, his back against the wall of the school. Their lips locked together with a kind of urgency she’d never felt.

  The halls closed around her and she slumped to the ground with her back against the wall.

  “You have to breathe,” Dolores said. Her face came into focus as she knelt in front of Bria, gripping her forearms. “Come on. Don’t let some stupid boy do this to you.”

  “Fucking asshole,” she said. “I can’t. How? God, I’m such an idiot.”

  “Hey.” Dolores placed a hand on either side of her face. Her palms were like ice against Bria’s burning cheeks. “Hey. You are not an idiot. You’re a good person. A sweet, trusting person. You did nothing wrong.”

  “I told him things I’ve never told anyone. I trusted him. I kissed him.”

  “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

  She stared at her friend. “How?”

  “By getting up and getting on with your life. Forget him.”

  Bria dropped her head between her knees. “I have to tell him I know.”

  “Why? So he can make excuses?”

  “Maybe she kissed him first.”

  “Does it matter?” Dolores crossed her arms. “They were kissing.”

  Bria shook her head. “Ben’s not like that. I know him. He’s not that kind of guy.”

  “Obviously he is.”

  “I’m going to be late for crew,” Bria said, steeling her insides. She couldn’t unsee it, she couldn’t face it, but she could shove it into a corner of her mind and pretend it didn’t hurt. That she had down to an art form. “I have to go. I promised Abby.”

  Dolores eased back, then helped her stand. “You’re sure you can go in there and act normal?”

  Bria spun around, hardening her heart into hateful stone. “Normal? I don’t even know what normal is. I’ll be fine.”

  Dolores stepped back. “Better now than after telling Abby. Right?”

  Bria nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it was one date. I’ll get over it.”

  “You look like you’re about to kick someone in the teeth,” Dolores said, running down the hall after her.

  “Not exactly.” She threw open the doors to the auditorium and marched up the center aisle to the stage. “Hey, Raf,” she called. He turned around and recoiled a little. “Changed my mind. Pick me up tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “You ever been to this place?” Rafael asked, taking in the dim, claustrophobic café. The clarifying scent of the coffee grounds stung Bria’s nose while her eyes still struggled to adjust to the darkness after the bright sun outside.

  “No,” Bria said. “But Dolores says their espresso is killer.”

  “Guess we’ll see if she has decent taste in coffee.” He grabbed two cups from the counter and led the way to a secluded corner. The high backed leather booth blocked everything but a view of the tiny stage and the few tables closest to it. A green-shaded lamp lit a small circle on the glossy table.

  “Thanks,” Bria said, taking the cup he offered. She held it close to her chest, but it couldn’t touch the cold, empty feeling inside her.

  “Thank you. I thought you couldn’t hang out today.”

  “Things changed.” She shrugged a single shoulder before realizing she was mimicking Ben’s posture even in his absence.

  “I’m glad they did.” He reached across the booth to touch her hand and she didn’t care enough anymore to pull it away.

  “Yeah.” Her eyes drifted away. “Me too.”

  “So we finally got everything together. The guys and I are recording the demo.”

  “That’s great.” She forced her eyes toward him. “Battle Goat lives.”

  “That would be an awesome title. It’s cool if we use your drawing, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course.”

  “Raf?” A man with long, black hair and a guitar case stopped beside their table. His tight black jeans and tee shirt made him look like one of those guys who advertise for Indian casinos or a leftover from an 80s hair band.

  “Andrés.” Rafael stood to shake his hand. “This is my friend, Bria. Andrés is my old guitar teacher.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” the older man said with a nod of his head.

  “Same,” she said, pulling her arms in now that Raf was distracted.

  “Raf was my best student,” Andrés said. “His solos could make a grown man weep. You should come play with me. I’ve got that old Larrivée in the car.”

  “The rosewood? I’d love to get my hands on that again.” Rafael touched Bria’s arm. “You don’t mind, right?”

  “No, it’s fine. I like watching you play.” She pulled her mouth into a smile and Rafael grinned like he believed it.

  Andrés wrapped an arm around his shoulder, drawing him outside while they spoke, heads bent together conspiratorially.

  The cool leather of the booth pressed against Bria’s back and she sank into it. Pulling her hands deeper into the sleeves of her hoodie, she curled into the farthest corner and drew up her feet, once again shrouded in her boots.

  Rafael took the stage with his mentor, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. Andrés began a simple string of notes and nodded at Rafael. He bent over the guitar with his eyes closed and ecstasy vibrating through every inch of his body.

  They played well together, Latin-touched acoustic guitars blending with their complementary tenor voices. Around the café, conversations paused and heads turned to listen.

  Dad would like them. He’d talk about the way they intuitively improvised around each other and how the alternative tuning on the guitars added complexity to the standard set of cover songs.

  Years of listening to his critiques provided a merciful distraction from the relentless throbbing in her chest.

  Bria’s coffee cup emptied and someone filled it again. She kept her eyes fixed on Rafael, afraid to blink and let the thoughts rush back in.

  Rafael probably thought she was staring at him. He’d probably read into it, thinking she felt something for him. That she was still capable of feeling.

  And maybe, if she stared long enough, pretended hard enough, she might believe it too.

  “A very special thank you to Raf,” Andrés said, his lips nearly touching the microphone. “The student has become the master, no?”

  A smattering of applause spread through the café.

  “This last song is a special request from Raf,” Andrés continued. “Outside my usual, but I think a few of you may know it. This is Hey There Delilah by a band called The Plain White T’s.”

  Bria lifted her head from her hands, but couldn’t look at Rafael. Not for that song.

  The harmonies of their voices and the duel guitars melded into something that might have been beautiful enough to break her heart, if it wasn’t already shattered.

  “What did you think?” Rafael slid in beside her in the booth.

  She hadn’t heard the song end. “Beautiful.”

  “Confession,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I meant that song for you.”

  A real smile stirred on her face. “No. I thought you meant it for the bald guy in the Star Wars shirt over there.”

  “There you are.” He grinned and took her hand. “You’ve been off since yesterday. I was starting to miss your insults.”

  “And here I thought I’d tricked you into believing I’m in a good mood.”

  He moved closer and touched her cheek. She stiffened until the image of Ben kissing Alyson popped back into her head. “Another confession,” he said. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since you walked into the art room the first day of school.”

  “Sorry to torment you.”

  “Good thing I’m a masochist.” He leaned in, his breath hot on her face. His full lips enveloped hers.

  She closed her eyes at the last second, surrendering to the kiss.

  He wasn’t Ben. He’d never be Ben. But Ben was gone.

  And Rafael
was as good as anyone to fill the emptiness.

  ~

  Rafael pulled up to the curb, but didn’t put the car into park. “That was fun.”

  “Yeah.” Bria swallowed and tugged the sleeves on her hoodie down over her hands. “We should do this again.”

  “Sure.” He grinned like an imbecile.

  She put her hand on the door. “I’ll see you later, Raf.”

  “Later, Babe.” He leaned over to kiss her, but she moved her head at the last minute and his lips caught her cheek instead.

  “Yeah.” She screwed up her face in disgust. “Don’t ever call me Babe.”

  “Got it.” He nodded his head once. “Good-bye, Bria.”

  She sighed and pecked his cheek. “See you Monday.”

  Before he could press things further, she hopped out of the car and hurried up the driveway with a quick wave of her hand.

  Instead of going in the front door, she pivoted and punched in the code for the garage door. The fading sunlight lit the empty bay that held her painting, casting it into sharp relief.

  She stripped off her hoodie and marched up to the painting. The half-finished storm clouds, sketched out the pencil and a base coat of steel grey, screamed at her.

  She seized her paints and a palette knife, attacking the canvas with violent determination. Sweat beaded along her brow and she peeled off her long-sleeved shirt, leaving just a camisole between her skin and the cool air.

  The swirling, angry clouds came to life with vivid clarity. They swallowed the sun and gnawed at the sea. Instead of her usual precise and measured approach, Bria moved in a fury, working the waves into frothing, foaming beasts. Even the sand felt her wrath until exhausted and paint-stained, she folded her legs under her and sat on the floor.

  It was good work. The best work she’d done in ages.

  And it had taken everything that was left of her.

  The sun sank behind her back, disappearing into the mountains. A chill crept into the air, but she didn’t move. The motion activated light overhead clicked off.

  The looming painting swallowed her, absorbing her thoughts and blotting out her emotions. There was nothing but her and the painting.