The Girl Who Fell

by S. M. Parker

  The vet lets go a small smile. “You’re lucky to have so much support.”

  I am. I press my head to Alec’s chest and he wraps me in his arms.

  • • •

  It’s hard to concentrate at school the next day, so I don’t. I keep checking my phone for an update on Finn, but there’s nothing.

  At least I have Alec back. That’s almost everything.

  When I meet with my guidance counselor, she informs me that two more students at Sudbury have heard from Boston College. That’s everyone who applied early but me. Neither of them got in. It’s another blow in a shitty day. I check the Boston College website even though I know early decision letters are sent by mail. It says so, right on my screen.

  “I think it means you’re in,” Lizzie tells me after school. We’re at the hockey rink, waiting for Alec’s game to start. Lizzie’s balancing a paper box of hot fries on her knees. “They’re saving the best till last.”

  “I’m not so optimistic.” Finn’s being sick feels like a tiding of bad things to come. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Lizzie. I lied about having a backup plan.” I dip a fry into ketchup, but abandon it in the box.

  “Plans are overrated.”

  “Easy for you to say; you’re all set.”

  “You’re letting Boston College’s admissions board run your life, Zee. You can go anywhere in New England for marine science. The Earth won’t stop spinning if you don’t get in that exact college.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Whatever happens”—she points a long, drooping fry at me—“I’ll be here to remind you of how crazy incredible you are.”

  Her reminders will have to come long distance because we both know she won’t be here for much longer.

  “You’ll hear soon, Zee. You have to. It’s the way this stuff works.”

  “I hope so.” I rub my hands together as the teams slip onto the ice. The crowd around us stands, pulls us upright.

  When the puck is in play Lizzie asks, “Do we have to stay for the whole game?”

  “Yes. I promised Alec I’d be here.” The way he’s been here for me.

  “You two have been attached at the hip all week. Don’t you need to come up for air?”

  I wonder if Lizzie can remember the days when Jason was her air.

  I hear a referee’s whistle screech at the exact moment I see the red jersey take a dive across the ice. A collective moan rises from the crowd just as my phone barks. It’s the vet’s ringtone. I frantically rip off my mittens and dig my phone out of my pocket.

  “Hello?” I say, just as the stadium hushes eerily.

  “This is Atlantic Veterinary Clinic. We’re trying to reach Zephyr Doyle.”

  “That’s me. Is Finn okay?”

  “He’s ready to be discharged but the vet would like to see y—”

  “I’m on my way.” I grab Lizzie’s arm and tug her down the bleachers, her fries spilling.

  “What’s up?”

  “I need you to take me to the vet. They’re waiting for us.” Lizzie knows how much I despise the idea of any animal being locked in a cage, and my heart breaks for Finn, how he must feel so abandoned. I’m only vaguely aware of the crowd forming at the Plexiglas sides of the rink as we exit for the parking lot.

  On the drive over, I gnaw two of my fingernails down to the soft, fleshy skin underneath. I leave Mom a message on her cell phone and even though I know she has court today, I resent that she can’t be here the way she’d promised.

  Lizzie and I reach reception and an older woman I don’t recognize greets us. “You can take a seat there, dearies.”

  We do and the wait stretches out in front of us like a desert highway.

  My phone rings. It’s Gaga: I’m gonna run right to, to the edge with you. Lizzie looks at me, her sideways glance asking, Why is Alec calling you in the middle of a game? The same question takes up residence on my tongue.

  His reason: “The game had to be postponed.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll explain in person. Where are you?”

  The urgency in his voice causes a tiny earthquake to shake the building. I steel my nerves. “I’m at the vet. Waiting to see Finn.”

  “I’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up.

  I give my phone—and then Lizzie—a puzzled look. “Strange.”

  “Things are weird,” she says ominously. “Do you feel it?”

  I feel it like a haunting.

  Maybe that’s why neither of us posits theories about why the hockey game was postponed or if Finn’s ailment will be permanent, or worse—shorten his life.

  The vet tech emerges from the back room with Finn’s leash and I grab for Lizzie as I stand. “Where is he?” His lonely leash hangs listless from her wrist and I swallow back fear.

  “He’s in the exam room, anxious to see you. Come with me.”

  It is only when I see Finn greet me at the door that I start to breathe again. His tail wags feverishly and he presses his head to my thighs, forceful enough to push me over. His strength feels like a miracle. “Oh, I missed you so much, boy.” He pushes past me, toward the closed door. I laugh at his determination, his personality fully recovered. “I know, buddy. I want to go home too.”

  “The vet will be right with you,” the tech says before disappearing through the back door. I sink to the floor and bury my head in Finn’s neck, scratch deep into his fur. He makes a seat of my lap and Lizzie’s flash pops.

  “For posterity,” she tells me, approving the photo on her phone. “He looks really good, Zee.”

  He does. I am grateful.

  The vet joins us in the exam room carrying Finn’s chart. “Ah, Finn. One of our success stories.” She smiles at me, at Lizzie.

  “He’s okay? What was wrong with him?” I ask, my words running so fast.

  The vet makes a notation. “It’s hard to say. There was nothing in his bloodwork and his energy seems to have returned to normal. It’s possible he may have eaten some spoiled food.”

  “But I’m so careful.”

  She pulls the clipboard to her chest, looks sympathetic. “These guys are tricksters. They can get into things we’d never expect. The good news is that we found no signs of an external wound so he should be just fine.”

  “Thank you.” I stand and latch Finn’s leash to his collar.

  “Keep a close eye on him for the next couple of days. Call us if anything changes.”

  “I will.” She leads us out of the office and Lizzie’s hand comforts my shoulder. “Thank you for coming with me,” I tell her.

  “Of course. Anything for the Doyles.” We walk Finn to the reception desk. Across the room Alec stands, jogs to me.

  “Is he okay?” I nod and Alec sighs a gigantic sigh. “I’m so glad.” Alec takes my hand, lifts it to his mouth, and kisses the skin below my knuckles. His lips are warm, soft, familiar. Lizzie clears her throat and Alec releases me, takes an apologetic step back.

  “What was the matter with him?” Alec asks.

  “They don’t know. Maybe spoiled food.”

  “Yeah, like a half-dead squirrel served on the forest floor,” Lizzie says.

  “That’s good though, right?” Alec sounds as relieved as I feel.

  “It is. I feared way worse,” I say as the receptionist slides a multipage invoice in front of me. My eyes drop to the total: $1,075.17.

  Shit. Mom gave me a check this morning, but told me not to spend over five hundred dollars out of this account.

  “I’ve got it,” Alec says, snapping a silver Discover card onto the counter.

  “What? Alec, no. That’s way too much.”

  “I told you I’d help and I’m helping. I want to do this for you, Zephyr.”

  Lizzie lets out a low whistle. “That’s a whole lotta helping.”

  “Lizzie’s right. I can’t let you. I can’t accept that.”

  The receptionist arches her gray, untamed eyebrows.

  “Zephyr. This is a gift. Take
it.”

  “But it’s too much.”

  “You can consider it a loan if it makes you feel better. Pay me back when you’re thirty.”

  The elderly receptionist approves. “You’ve got quite a gent there, dearie.”

  “Seriously, Zee,” Lizzie chimes, pushing on my elbow to just accept his generosity already.

  “Thank you,” I say, and know my words will never be enough.

  The receptionist looks at me and then at the credit card, quirks one brow. I nod permission. She takes Alec’s card, swipes it, prints the signature slip, which he signs before we all walk outside and load Finn into the backseat of Lizzie’s car.

  Alec locks his hand with mine, lowers his gaze to this connection. “Zephyr, I didn’t come here just to help you with Finn.”

  A tingle along my spine. A warning. “What’s happened?”

  Lizzie sidles close.

  Alec lowers his head, his voice. “Slice had an accident on the ice. He’s over at Eastern General.”

  Lizzie gasps.

  My bones melt from my body. “Is he okay?”

  “He was talking when the EMTs loaded him into the ambulance. Coach said that was a good sign. But none of us knows. Not for sure. I came here to take you to see him.”

  I look to Lizzie. “I have to go.”

  “Yes, of course,” she says. “I’ll take Finn to your place, get him snuggled into your bed. Promise me you’ll text what you know when you know it, okay?”

  “Of course. Thank you.” She wraps me in a hug four times the size of her.

  “Call me if you need anything. If anyone needs anything.”

  And then I am in the car with Alec on the way to the hospital. The roads through Sudbury turn inside out. We drive through this alternate universe, one in which Gregg isn’t the strongest person I know. A twisted around world where Gregg is vulnerable—a world I can’t control. I press my two palms flat against my stomach trying to hold in all the sick that bullies me from inside.

  My throat opens, croaks. “What happened?”

  “It was the craziest thing.” Alec’s worry draws out his words; they are stretched with disbelief. “One minute he had control of the puck and was skating so fast down the length of the ice—” He breaks off and my heart lunges over a cliff.

  “And the next minute?”

  “He just fell forward, Zephyr. Like a cut tree.”

  “But hockey players fall all the time.” It’s the nature of the game.

  He shakes his head slow. “Not like this. I’ve spent my whole life in a rink and I’ve never seen anyone fall like that.”

  These are the words every athlete fears. They are the gateway to the end. Spinal injury. A concussion you don’t return from. Fractures and breaks that keep you out the whole season—if you’re lucky.

  “Thank you for taking me.”

  Alec reaches for my hand, squeezes it. “Of course, Zephyr.”

  “No, I mean . . .” And I’m almost too fearful to say more because I don’t want to start a fight or remind him of our last. “Thank you for taking me to see Gregg. I know this can’t be easy for you.”

  He stops at a red light, turns to me. “This isn’t about me, Zephyr. Slice is my friend too. All that jealousy stuff doesn’t matter now. This is different, bigger than us, bigger than my stupid insecurities.”

  The light turns green and Alec moves us forward, closer to Gregg, closer to knowing something, anything. “I’m not a monster.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “No, but you were thinking I wouldn’t want you to visit your friend when he’s injured.”

  It was exactly what I was thinking. Fearing.

  When we check in with hospital reception, we are directed to the trauma wing. I push against the assaulting smell of bleach and worry and see Mrs. Slicer first. I run to her and she cocoons me under her mothering arms. Just a few feet away I see Mara clinging to Anna’s leg. She doesn’t storm at me. I can’t imagine the weight of this moment that anchors her four-year-old body into stillness.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Mrs. Slicer pulls me tight enough to join our heartbeats. “Gregg will be pleased.”

  “Can I see him? Is he okay?”

  She nods, her eyes shadowed with anguish. “He has a concussion, Zephyr, and they want to monitor him for twenty-four hours, but he can have visitors. You can go in when his dad comes out. As you can imagine, we’re all in shock. But grateful it wasn’t anything more serious, of course. So grateful.”

  My relief is obvious. “I’m so glad. I was so worried.”

  She pats me then, the way I do with Finn, and I feel the depth of love in the simple gesture before she returns to her little ones. I have never seen the Slicer siblings so still. Muted. Like they can’t pull themselves inside right again, even though Gregg will be okay.

  I know how they feel.

  Alec and I take a seat on the hard plastic chairs that line the hall. My leg bounces frantically, my nervous energy unable to leave me even now. When Mr. Slicer enters the hallway, I jump for my turn. Mrs. Slicer waves me in and I round the door to Gregg’s room.

  Gregg takes a moment to register. I think it’s the concussion, making him slow until, “Hey Zipper.” His smile a flower opening. “I thought you weren’t allowed to see me. Isn’t that the rule?”

  I want to laugh at his sarcasm because it feels like a miracle that it’s intact, along with his memory, his recognition of me. Everything. “Alec brought me here. He’s the one who came and found me, told me what happened.”

  Gregg adjusts to sit higher in his hospital bed, the thin cotton gown straining against the spread of his shoulders. “Huh. I guess all I had to do was get concussed.”

  “Not funny. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

  He laughs. “Sorry to inconvenience you.”

  I give him a light tap on the arm and he draws in his limb, wincing with pain.

  “Oh my god. Did I hurt you?”

  “Nah, just playing with you.” He nods to the bag of clear liquid hanging above his bed. “They’ve got me on the good stuff. Everything looks pink. And swirly.”

  I smile. “Pink and swirly, huh?”

  “Except you, Zeph. You look like shit.” He webs his fingers with mine and I feel his beating pulse there. Strong. Reliable. “You know . . . if that were possible.”

  “You scared me, Gregg. I-I don’t know what I would have done if . . .”

  “Hey, no bringing down the half-dead guy.”

  I smack him on the arm and he laughs.

  “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, Zephyr.”

  There are promises, apologies, confessions that fight for the chance to be heard, but a faint knock on the door silences me. I turn and Alec lifts his eyebrows, asking permission to enter.

  “Come in, man,” Gregg says, his tough guy athlete voice joining us in the room now. Gregg drops my hand, positions himself even higher in bed.

  They exchange the manly secret handshake of locker rooms and Alec tells him, “You had us all worried.”

  “So I hear.”

  “What happened out there? One second you were fine and then . . .”

  Gregg shakes his head, trying to pull up the memory, but I watch it swim away from him, lost to the river of pain medication.

  “Coach told us it was a problem with your skates,” Alec says.

  I turn to him, this news new. “That’s why the game was postponed? Because—”

  “The coach suspected sabotage,” Mr. Slicer interrupts. I turn see him at the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back, his face looking like this is the last news he wants to share.

  “Sabotage?” I scramble for the meaning of the word because Mr. Slicer can’t possibly mean it in the traditional sense. The treacherous sense.

  “The blade on his skate was bent. By a machine. I just got word.” Gregg’s dad shifts his feet, and I can feel how restless he is.

  “This is crazy,” I say. “Why wou
ld anyone do that to Gregg?”

  “Probably because he’s the best.” Alec says. “Maybe Hamilton wanted to guarantee a win.”

  “That’s beyond messed up,” Gregg says.

  “We’ll see what the Division Board and the police find out.” Mr. Slicer is all authority. “We’ll know more soon, I’m sure. For now, Gregg should rest.” Today is the first time in years I’ve heard Gregg’s parents call him by his first name, which cements the gravity of this situation. “Alec, would you let your teammates know he’ll be fine in no time? Most of them are downstairs, clogging up the waiting room. You can send Coach up. And Zephyr, thank you for coming. Tell your mom and d—” He lets the word hang.

  “I will.” I move to Gregg and kiss him on the head, in that place where Rachel Slicer always kisses me.

  On my way home, Alec holds my hand as I call Mom and fill her in on Finn and Gregg. Just bringing her up to speed propels me into a new exhaustion, but I’m glad the news for both of them is ultimately good. At home, Alec holds me for a long time before I get out of his car. “Everything will be all right,” he tells me. And I want to believe him. I find Finn in my bed and snuggle him so tight our bodies warm one another.

  My fingers play with my phone, my thumb hovering over Dad’s number. I want to make good on my promise to Mr. Slicer. I want to share the news that Gregg will be okay. And I want Dad to know about our scare with Finn.

  And I would call him if we could only talk about Finn and Gregg. But I can’t make room for the other stuff we need to talk about.

  When Finn falls asleep, I go to my closet and pull out the Box of Dad. Inside, there’s a handful of Classic Car magazines and his acrylic paintbrushes. And the picture of me he kept on his desk, the one where I’m on a slide and Dad’s shadow stretches out in the photo so I know he was the one ready to catch six-year-old me. I gathered these things when he left because I didn’t want to lose all of him. Then. And still.

  When the phone rings I reconnect with Alec and his comfort. His safety.

  Chapter 21

  Alec drives the familiar roads of Sudbury but it’s a secret as to where he’s taking me. We stayed up too late on the phone last night, unable to break our bond after a day twisting in our combined worry over Finn and Gregg. But there’s no room in the simmer of my excitement to feel tired now.