How to Keep Rolling After a Fall

by Karole Cozzo

  Now it’s my turn, and I do everything in my power to keep the pain that pierces my gut from showing itself on my face. I cross my arms and stare down at him, defiant, firing back without thinking. “Maybe I don’t want to be friends.”

  My heart screams in protest, desperately tugging at my throat, trying to recall the words. But it’s powerless, and it’s too late, anyway.

  Pax nods, once. “That’s your choice,” he says evenly.

  He angles his chair and maneuvers around me. He continues down the sidewalk, to his car, and moves around to his door. He doesn’t look back.

  I watch him go, my stupid, useless heart making one final plea before splitting in half when he finally disappears inside the car and drives off down the street.

  Chapter 15

  The whole point of us even being at the stupid party was to give Sam an escape plan. So it’s really fabulous that our going resulted in my having no ride home, when I didn’t want to be there in the first place.

  I’m not crying when I finally turn around and walk back toward the house. I feel numb inside, still unable to believe and process what just happened. The scene that greets me inside the living room leaves me feeling displaced, and as I pick up my vest, I glare at Craig, who’s moved on to his next victim. I guess he was merely the straw that broke the camel’s back, but I still hate him right now.

  I interrupt Sam’s conversation and tug on her arm. “So Pax left,” I inform her. “Looks like I’m the one who needs a ride home.”

  I really wish I could walk, because I want to be by myself, but it’s way too far.

  “What happened? Because of that asshole in the kitchen?”

  I rub my eyes. “Not really. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go.”

  Despite what I tell her, Sam doesn’t have Tim drop me off at my house. Instead, she directs him to her house and turns around in her seat to say, “I’ll take you the rest of the way, okay?”

  It’s kind of her. I can tell she’s not overeager for her night with Tim to end, especially as they put their heads together and share a whispered good-bye in the front seat. The sight of the two of them causes a lump in my throat, and I cross my arms and stare out the window until they’re done.

  When we’re standing in her driveway, she asks, “Do you want to come inside?”

  No.

  “I can’t,” I tell her. “My parents are strict about my curfew these days. I need to go.”

  We climb into her car, and I give her directions to my house. She’s quiet for a few minutes, humming along with the radio, but eventually she glances at me from the corner of her eye. “Sure you don’t want to talk?”

  When was the last time I really talked about boy problems with a girlfriend? I can’t even remember. Whatever the situation was, I’m sure it was silly in comparison to the way things just got loused up with Pax.

  “He’s so stupid,” I grumble. “And he just spoke volumes about how he really sees me, I guess.” I frown sadly, feeling my insides churning again. “Guess he really thinks I am that superficial.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He’s acting like eventually I’m going to go back to being ‘the old me,’” I tell her, making finger quotes. “And that that person would never be with a guy like him. Thanks a lot, Pax.”

  “Well, would you have?” Sam asks me.

  It takes me a minute to admit, “Probably not. But here’s the thing.…” I struggle to find the words, thinking back and trying to calculate something. “I do remember telling him a few times, at the beginning, how I wished for my old life back.” Shaking my head fervently, I continue. “But I can’t even remember the last time I said that, the last time I felt that way.” Suddenly, tears spring to my eyes, and I swallow hard to get rid of them. “In large part because of him.”

  I become fixated on my cuticles, pushing them back to distract myself before full-on tears develop. But I can’t stop thinking about the night of homecoming, the night of our first kiss. I think of the girl I was at this time last year, imagine her going to the dance with Pax. I pretend he’s the guy from the picture I saw at his house, the arrogant athlete party boy with two working legs. If I had a magic wand to wave and re-create the night so those two people could spend it together?

  I wouldn’t. Not in a million. I like him now. I like us now.

  Tears swell, and a couple escape from the corners of my eyes, which I squeeze shut desperately. I miss him already. I want him back. This hurts.

  Sam stops at the stop sign and then turns onto my street. “He’s a realist, though, Nikki. He kinda has to be.”

  I sniffle. “What the hell does that mean?”

  She raises one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “We’re young. We have all those stupid graduation events, like prom and senior week. Then there’s college. Adventures in the city during our twenties. Maybe Pax just accepts that at some point along that journey, you’re going to get tired of giving things up because of him.”

  “But he’s never asked me to do that!” I throw my arms up in frustration. “Hell, he’s always encouraged me not to limit myself because of him, and I don’t think he ever would.” Crossing my arms stubbornly, I glower into the distance. “He thinks I won’t give him a chance, but ultimately he’s not giving me a chance. And that sucks for both of us.”

  It feels good to get angry. In my gut, the anger forcibly shoves the sadness out of the way. It makes me feel powerful before the sadness can make me feel weak.

  Sam sighs as I point to my house, and she puts the car in park. “I feel really shitty I made you guys come to the party.”

  I unclick my seat belt and roll my eyes defeatedly. “If he really believes what he said, guess it would have happened anyway.”

  “Still, I’m sorry it happened.”

  Conjuring up a small smile for her, I tell her, “Thanks for the ride.”

  Sam brings her index and middle finger to her lips, kisses them quickly, and presses them against my forehead. “Call me if you feel like it. You know I’m here.”

  This small, natural gesture of friendship makes it harder for me to leave her car. As I walk toward my front door, I pray the anger won’t abandon me, because I’m scared of how miserable and alone I’ll feel if it does.

  * * *

  At first, I’m surprised that an hour passes without my hearing from Pax. After twenty-four hours, it becomes disbelief that an entire day has gone by and I haven’t heard from him. Surely another twenty-four won’t come and go.

  But it does.

  Twenty-four becomes forty-eight, and forty-eight becomes ninety-six. And I still don’t believe it, that this is real. Final.

  I have shifts at the center on Wednesday and Thursday, and I notice there’s rugby team practice on Thursday. Hiding in the side corridor as the gym empties, I see that Pax is not part of the group. Through the window, I see him, alone, exiting through a side door. He’s avoiding me.

  No way I’m reaching out to him. I understand the chain of events that led to Pax’s outburst after the party, but I still don’t believe it’s justified. And at the end of the day … I don’t want to be his friend. I can’t. It was hard enough pretending that’s all I felt the first time around, and I have no desire to go back to playing that game.

  The futility of acceptance constricts my lungs. If I don’t want to be friends … he’s really gone.

  Sam persists in trying to cheer me up. She stops by on Friday night to hang out, and she doesn’t mention Tim once. Instead, she talks nonstop about a concert she’s scored tickets to. “Chvrches is playing at Rutgers on Monday! Which is amaaazing because I’m pretty much obsessed with Lauren Mayberry. It’s this really small venue, so all seats are good seats. My cousin won two tickets in a lottery and he doesn’t want them. Please say you’ll come? Early birthday present.”

  My stomach sinks. I’m not in a celebratory mood, and I don’t want to be reminded that my birthday is only four days away.

  That’s no
t the only thing, anyway. Silently, I gesture toward my mom, who’s cleaning up in the kitchen. “They’re not going to let me go to a concert at a college during the school week,” I tell her. “It’s not even worth asking.”

  “What’s not worth asking?”

  I whirl around toward the kitchen. Seriously, the woman has the ears of a fox. My mom appears in the doorway, eyebrows raised above her glasses.

  Sam plays it totally cool. “I was hoping Nicole could come with me to a concert on Monday. I know it’s a school night, but it’s an early show, and my mom offered to drive.” She pauses for a beat. “It’s at Rutgers. My mom thought maybe we’d drive up an hour or two early, so we’d have time to take a tour of the campus. Check out the school and everything.”

  I look down and bite my lip. Oh, she’s good.

  My mom doesn’t say no right away. Instead, she asks Sam about half a million questions—what band, what style of music they play, if her mom will be staying on campus during the concert, if she’s made sure individuals under twenty-one are allowed in the venue. And then, once she grills Sam sufficiently, she surprises the hell out of me.

  Lips pursed, arms crossed, she stares at me. “If you’d like to use this concert as your birthday present … you may go. You are turning eighteen the next morning.”

  She retreats into the kitchen, and Sam raises her arms into the air, beaming in triumph.

  I roll my eyes at her. “That was a good one, making out like it’s about visiting the school,” I whisper.

  “She said yes, didn’t she?”

  I smile halfheartedly. “She did say yes.”

  Sam squeals and leans over to hug me.

  But by Saturday morning, I’m forced to accept that another night has passed without hearing from Pax. And without the distraction of school or work or concert plans, I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, relying on my anger to get me through.

  A crutch. A crutch.

  He wasn’t just a crutch.

  Sure, Pax helped me through some rough spots and encouraged me to change my perspective, but somewhere along the line he stopped holding me up entirely. And maybe I can’t prove it to him now, but I sure as hell can prove it to myself.

  I’m not the girl who’s solely defined by the people around her. I can be alone and still feel strong. Know who I am.

  I scramble off my bed, thinking about converting my furious energy to something useful, something I didn’t have the strength to do before. My parents aren’t home, so I take my Jeep without asking, knowing this won’t take long. I glance at the clock. I’ll get there just in time, and what I plan on doing will take less than five minutes.

  My foot’s heavy on the gas pedal, and when I get to the parking lot and glance at my watch, I see that I have five minutes to spare. I lean back against my seat and wait. Any minute the door will open and all four of them will come walking out. I don’t really care if the rest of them listen to what I have to say, but Haley—she will hear me.

  If no one else can hear me speak the truth out loud, at least she will. And then I’ll tell her exactly what kind of person I think she is. I’ll tell her what else I believe, which is that she must be a pretty unhappy person if she can only find joy by trying to make other people feel as miserable as she is. She’s probably going to stay that way. too, even with her full-ride scholarship and success on the playing field. Those successes won’t change who she is inside.

  Training my eyes on the front door of the counseling center, I try not to blink as I wait for my former friends to appear. Yet it’s surreal when they actually come into view, Haley leading the pack, rolling her eyes, likely mocking something Dr. Lisa said during the session.

  My hand reaches for the door handle, and I pull it. But before I open it all the way or unbuckle my seat belt, a thought comes in from left field, paralyzing me.

  You’re wasting your energy. You’re wasting your breath.

  I close the door again and stare at her some more. If Haley truly is the person I believe her to be, my words won’t mean jack to her life. She’ll dismiss them, and she’ll mock me, too. There’s no point. And she’s not worth it.…

  I stay in the parking lot until they finish chatting and climb into their cars. I see that Lauren and Carlee have ridden together, and I shake my head, thinking how little their lives seem to have changed, when mine is so incredibly different. Once upon a time, I didn’t recognize it, but now I barely recognize theirs.

  After they’re gone, I still can’t move, feeling antsy and frustrated from the pent-up adrenaline I ended up doing nothing with. Eventually, I blow a lungful of air out through my lips and turn the key in the ignition. Might as well go home.

  I take a slight detour to pick up some hair product at CVS, and as I head back toward my neighborhood, a street name jumps out at me. Seaview Lane.

  Taylor’s street.

  I sit at the stop sign until a car pulls up behind me and honks, and the noise propels me into action. I jerk the wheel hard and turn right.

  As I park in the driveway and start walking toward the front door, my heart thumps inside my chest and echoes in my ears. I feel kind of seasick, too. I notice that Jeremiah’s truck isn’t in the driveway, which is a positive. I barely feel up to one confrontation, let alone two. I haven’t thought about him in weeks and can’t believe that at one time I pinned my hopes on him.

  My hands are shaking so badly, I can’t manage to ring the bell and so resort to closing them into fists and knocking on the door instead. A moment later, Mr. Jordan opens the door, a look of evident surprise dawning on his face. He knows who I am from his history with my father, but he stands in front of me without saying a word.

  I swallow hard and try to look him in the eye. “Um … I was hoping I could talk to Taylor.” The words scratch my throat, which has turned dry and brittle, on their way out.

  Mr. Jordan’s features harden. “I’m not sure that’s necessary. Or a very good idea.”

  I hear a voice behind him. “Who is it?”

  Taylor.

  Mr. Jordan keeps his eyes on me as he answers his daughter, the look on his face making me feel like a piece of trash that has been left at their doorstep. My name comes out sounding like profanity. “Nikki Baylor.”

  Taylor comes to stand beside her father, crossing her arms and mimicking his stare. He instantly wraps his arm around her, and I feel a new wave of shame and embarrassment.

  I hope he didn’t see the pictures we posted. The idea makes me cringe. I know full well how awful it feels to lose the title of “daddy’s little girl” because of one bad decision. I’m pretty sure her father isn’t able to see his daughter the way he’d like to, either. Thanks to me. Us. Whatever.

  Taylor stares at me, eyes cold and flat. “What?” she demands.

  “I … well I just…”

  It’s really hard to talk to her in person, especially with the death stare she’s got trained on me. I never really knew her all that well, and over the course of the past few months, she’s been turned into this figure in my head, this character who ruined my life, this regret.

  And Mr. Jordan … he’s not budging. He’s just standing there, condemning me in silence.

  Maybe this was a really bad idea.

  I keep failing at meeting Taylor’s eyes. “I don’t … I’m not sure how … what to say.”

  I look up quickly, and her eyes are practically bulging out of her head. “You’ve had months to think about this, about what you did, and you still don’t even know? Why are you wasting my time?”

  “I’m sorry!” I sputter.

  A harsh, humorless chuckle escapes through Taylor’s lips. “You’re sorry for what? You don’t even know!”

  Even though it’s a cool fall morning, sweat is pouring from my armpits. Forget difficult. This is impossible. This was stupid. I should go.

  I duck my head and think about turning and running … and then, strangely, Sam’s face pops into my head. The image makes me feel stronger an
d serves as a reminder. Sam is a living, breathing person who has become my friend. Sam knows what it feels like to be Taylor, and I wish someone would apologize to her.

  So I try to gather the frayed remnants of the courage I showed up with and pull them back together into something useful. The words come out of my mouth before I even realize they’ve collected in my brain. “I’m sorry we were so uncertain about … no … I’m sorry I was so uncertain about who I was that I let a group decide how I was going to act,” I tell her. For just a second, I manage to look up and meet her eye. “I’m sorry that because I did nothing, because I sat back and let people do what they wanted to do, you got hurt. That I wasn’t stronger back then.”

  A hint of surprise registers in Taylor’s eyes. She’d decided I was soulless, a monster.

  But ultimately her eyes don’t warm, not a bit. “I’m not going to stand here and tell you I forgive you,” she says. “I can’t. And I don’t even want to.”

  “You certainly don’t need to,” her father chimes in.

  Silence hangs between us. Because this was a futile mission. Maybe even a fool’s mission.

  And it’s time for me to go.

  I lift my chin. I look both of them in the eye. “Thank you for hearing me out. I’m sorry for what I did, a million times over, and I thought you should hear that in person.”

  There won’t be any absolution, not now and probably not ever. I turn and walk quickly toward my car, accepting this might be the best I’m going to get.

  I can’t change Taylor’s feelings about me.

  Maybe my apology has value anyway. I did what I could to take baby steps toward changing how I feel about me. And although I’ll always feel ashamed of what I did, maybe I’ll feel slightly less ashamed of who I am.

  Chapter 16

  “This is so sweet, isn’t it?” Sam asks me.

  In theory, it is sweet. It’s two thirty on Monday afternoon, and we’re standing on the front steps of our school, leaving early. We’ve ditched our horrid uniforms, stuffed them into our book bags as quickly as possible. Now we totally look college-concert-appropriate in tight jeans, boots, and fun tops. Sam’s mom will be by any minute, and we’ll be out of here, on to something much better.