Letting Go of Gravity

by Meg Leder

  “I can’t believe that crap bird didn’t tell me about this,” Ruby whispers, her voice filled with awe.

  Charlie looks down long enough to give Ruby a kiss on the top of her head.

  I move farther into the tunnel. It’s the first time I’ve been since Finn brought me.

  When I reach the back wall, I freeze.

  Finn was clearly busy before he left.

  In front of me is a mural featuring dozens of sunflowers, some closed tight, others only starting to bloom. Only one is fully open, a small flower standing bravely by the side, and from its petals, dozens of birds are emerging. They’re flying upward, a rush of them, small and large, fantastical and real, a stream of feathered creatures pouring out from the bloom, all rising up into a night sky, a black canvas filled with stars and explosions, space debris and rings.

  They soar there, like they’ve found their home, and my breath rushes out in an exhale, lightness moving through me like feathers, like flying.

  Above it all, the words YOU ARE HERE.

  I give myself a few minutes, taking it all in, the way the sunflower roots meet the real dirt of the tunnel, the way some of the birds look like they’re half creature, half constellation, how the whole thing is more beautiful than anything I could have ever dreamed, how at the same time, it’s as familiar as the lines on my hand.

  I catch my breath, wipe my eyes on my sleeve, then squat down at the side of the tunnel, digging out the can of sky-blue spray paint I bought yesterday. I had to ask the guy at Vinchesi’s to get it out of a locked case, probably to make sure people weren’t buying it for exactly the use I’m anticipating.

  And then I slide out my phone, clicking on Finn’s latest text.

  It’s a photo of a wall somewhere in New York City. It’s night, a streetlight casting a glow on the image, a Dumpster protruding from the left corner. But I don’t spend much time studying that. Instead, I read the message on the brick, all in capital letters and bright-red paint: MAJOR TOM TO CHARLIE BIRD PARKER: COMMENCING COUNTDOWN.

  My eyes scan the tunnel in front of me for the perfect spot around the rim. I like how the opening frames the world of color outside.

  “I’m ready,” I call out to Charlie. I start shaking the can, the rattle loud.

  “Crap, that’s noisy. Why don’t you just call the police already and let them know what we’re doing?” Charlie asks, coming up behind me.

  “We are literally in the middle of nowhere.” I stop, raising my eyebrow. “Oh my gosh, are you nervous?”

  He frowns. “No.”

  “You are!”

  “No, I’m not. I just don’t really want to get arrested.”

  “You won’t,” I say, savoring the new sensation of helium rushing through me—my heart racing, my palms sweating, the world around me vibrant—and marveling at the gravity I’m seeing in my brother for the first time: the way he keeps looking over his shoulder, checking to make sure Ruby’s okay, the cautious jut of his shoulders.

  “Boost me up,” I say.

  He cups his hands together, and I use the momentum to leap up, my free hand scrambling for purchase in the stone wall, the spray paint can in the other.

  “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Charlie says from below as I scale higher, finally finding a small ridge on the side, one I can stand upon.

  I’m not as nimble as Finn. My message isn’t going to span the width of the entrance, and as soon as I start spraying the paint, I remember there’s an art to it, one that, like throwing pottery on the wheel, I haven’t mastered.

  Yet.

  But my arm still moves with something like grace, the spray paint taking on a life of its own, as I make the small loops.

  I’m breathless and alive, my heart pounding against my ribs, outside of them, completely vulnerable and gloriously open to the world around me.

  “Looking good, Parker!” Ruby calls out from below.

  When I’m done, I hold the can out to Charlie.

  “Heads up,” I say.

  He scrambles to catch it, giving me the finger once he does.

  I start to scale back down.

  Halfway there, my left foot slips, my fingers going white-knuckled against the stones in order to hold my weight, but I can hear Charlie below, murmuring, “Easy, easy,” and, “I’ve got you,” and I know he does.

  When I get to the bottom, I turn to Charlie and Ruby.

  “How does it look?”

  “Come see,” Ruby says, beckoning me toward them.

  I look up at the tunnel’s exit, and there around the circular rim, in all lowercase cursive letters, is my message to the world—not Finn’s, not Charlie’s, not my parents’, but mine.

  I grab my phone and snap a picture to send to Finn.

  And then I stand next to my brother and my friend, all of us looking at the words I’ve written, the ones I never thought I could, my heart beating as steady as the flap of wings:

  fly fly fly

  Acknowledgments

  A MILLION THANKS TO . . .

  Steven Leder, for offering feedback on an early version of this manuscript and also just for being my brother.

  The rest of the Leders—Jack (you’re first in this list!), Clara, Pat, Jim, and Tina—for having my back no matter what.

  My agent, Michael Bourret, for his unflappable calm and constant support.

  Lauren Abramo, for helping share my words in different parts of the world.

  Liesa Abrams, for her clear and steady wisdom every step of the way.

  Sarah McCabe, the Em to this book’s Parker, who knew what I wanted to do with it before I did.

  Jessi Smith, for her invaluable insights into what made Parker and Charlie tick.

  The rest of the Simon Pulse and Riveted Lit team: Mara Anastas, Elizabeth Mims, Russell Gordon, Katherine Devendorf, Lauren Hoffman, Catherine Hayden, Amy Hendricks, Anna Jarzab, Janine Perez, Penina Lopez, Erica Stahler, Rebecca Vitkus, and Jodie Hockensmith.

  Cam Montgomery and Meghan Hopkins, for their willingness to teach and guide.

  Kathleen Glasgow, for her generosity and her always-luminous words.

  Jen of Pop! Goes the Reader, Patty of Bookish Wanderlove, Emma of Miss Print, Nicole of Nicole’s Novel Reads, Tiff of Mostly YA Lit, and all the other amazing and dedicated bloggers out there whose love for books encourages anxious writers like me to keep creating.

  Jenny Clark, Meredith Dros, Chris Dufault, Tara Felleman, Lance Fitzgerald, Shannon Kelly, Nancy Lambert, P. J. Mark, Holly McGhee, Dolores McMullan, Jake Morrissey, Patrick Nolan, Caitlin O’Shaughnessy, Micol Ostrow, Vim Pasupathi, Steven Reese, Rebecca Reiss, Pippa Wright, my colleagues at Penguin Books, the Sweet 16s, and all my other friends, for their words and acts of encouragement, from leaving flowers on my desk from an anonymous “well-respected reviewer” to being first in line at my event with a stack of books for me to sign.

  Kelly Bean, Kim Brock, Brittney Gabbard, Olivia Horrox, Alexa Marciano, Michael Link, and Cristin Stickles, for making the world a better place for book lovers.

  The baristas at Kos Kaffe, for the endless supply of hot chocolate and buttered toast.

  Lastly, I want to thank artists Darius Jones (Leon Reid IV) and Buddy Lembeck. Back in late 2000, I was driving on I-71 in Cincinnati, Ohio. At the time, I hadn’t quite recovered from a particularly bad breakup, and the world around me seemed very gray. I was listening to sad music and crying (a not unusual occurrence during that year) when I looked up to see a spray-painted message across an overpass: TONY DANZA IS MY DAD. It was weird and cryptic, and I immediately loved it. Over the next month, messages continued to mysteriously appear on highway overpasses, and each time, they jolted me out of my gray world into a place unexpectedly stranger and noticeably brighter. Thank you for inspiring Finn’s work and for surprising me out of my sadness.

  About the Author

  A former bookseller and teacher, Meg Leder currently works as a book editor in New York City. She is the author of Letting Go of
Gravity and The Museum of Heartbreak and is the coauthor of The Happy Book. She lives in Brooklyn, New York. You can visit her online on Facebook or Twitter: @megleder.

  Visit us at simonandschuster.com/teen

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  Simon Pulse

  Simon & Schuster, New York

  Also by Meg Leder

  The Museum of Heartbreak

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIMON PULSE

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  First Simon Pulse hardcover edition July 2018

  Text copyright © 2018 by Margaret Leder

  Front jacket design, hand-lettering, and illustration copyright © 2018 by Maggie Edkins

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  Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Leder, Meg, 1974- author.

  Title: Letting go of gravity / by Meg Leder.

  Description: First Simon Pulse hardcover edition. | New York : Simon Pulse, 2018. |

  Summary: “Parker struggles to reconnect with her twin brother, Charlie, who’s recovering from cancer, and to deal with her anxiety about her own future”— Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017040121 (print) | LCCN 2017053296 (eBook) | ISBN 9781534403185 (eBook) | ISBN 9781534403161 (hardcover)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Brothers and sisters—Fiction. | Twins—Fiction. | Family problems—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Graffiti—Fiction. | Anxiety—Fiction. | Panic attacks—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.L394 (eBook) | LCC PZ7.1.L394 Let 2018 (print) |

  DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017040121