The Girl Who Fell

by S. M. Parker

  “Lucky them.” I grab a water and she turns to kiss me, her dirt-stained hands never leaving their station.

  “How was school?”

  “Good,” I lie. “I’m gonna shower.”

  “I’m not cooking tonight.” She spreads her gaze across the island by way of excuse. “But we could order something. Thai food, maybe? We haven’t done that in a while.”

  “Sounds good. After I get cleaned up.” I resurvey her mess. “And you too.”

  “One should never outgrow playing in the dirt.”

  I laugh, but in the shower I try my hardest to wash off the dirt. The layer of dust Alec scattered with his too-hard very public kiss. The film of Gregg’s words, clinging to me like sin.

  I don’t get dressed right away. I wrap myself in a towel and fall onto my bed. I focus on the tiny glowing stars glued to my ceiling. I remember the sixth grade versions of me and Lizzie pasting every sticker onto my indoor sky. I remember it like it was yesterday and it seems impossible how time refuses to follow rules. It claims to be linear, but it can bend and slip in too many ways. Parts of me want to be in sixth grade again, when things were easy. Next year was just next year and friends were friends. The past turns my head to the side, to the pictures of my friends from when time was predictable.

  Gregg. Lizzie. My father holding me on my first day home from the hospital. My first field hockey uniform at twelve. My first visit to Boston College. The newspaper photo of me winning State. Finn as a pup. My eyes retreat. Return to the newspaper photo of me at State. It is graffiti-marked with the red strokes of a pen.

  Thick red marker.

  Four capital letters. Block letters. Painstakingly perfect.

  And deadly.

  SLUT

  In the photo under this word, my post-win smile is smeared with the S of the word. S-L-U-T. My brain blurs the letters, wondering if I’ve read them in the wrong order. Or maybe I’ve imagined them. I shake my head clear. But the letters remain. All four. Standing at attention. In their persistent order.

  My chest fills with more air than it can hold, or maybe not enough. It makes my brain spin. Who would do this? And why? How? I look for the joke, want to see it, but instead I see my full name, my signature in the bottom corner. Zephyr Marie Doyle. Every floating curve of my letters, even the capital Z and the way I draw a line through the middle. My handwriting. Gregg’s red sharpie.

  I rip the clipping from my wall, the tack tearing a jagged line through the thin paper. I crumple it into a pea even as it grows to a boulder within my fist. And in the space I’ve just cleared, the collage photo under this clipping is the one of me and Gregg at Mara’s christening. Summer sun freckles my face, Gregg at my side. Except only his hand remains. Gregg has been torn from the photo. Leaving me in a blue sundress and a smile too innocent.

  Time stiches, distorts my reality. I don’t know how many eternities have passed before I go to the kitchen. The island still holds a volcano of dirt, but Mom’s hands are clean and she’s putting on her coat. “I ordered our usual. I’m on my way to pick it up now. I’d ask you to come, but . . .”

  I look to my middle, where Mom’s trained her gaze. I’m still in my towel. “Mom, was there . . . did you see . . . did anyone stop by for me today?”

  Her brow creases. “No, why?”

  “No reason.” I squeeze the pea of newspaper smaller in my grip.

  “I’ll be back in fifteen. Set the table?”

  I nod and Mom’s out the door with Finn, his whole body eager for the ride that holds endless possibilities. I wait for a beat before ducking out to check the key rock. The key huddles there, silver and small and completely unaware of its role in derailing my life. The cold outside is so cold that I want to stay here forever. Let the elements freeze my hair, then my blood, then my skin.

  Instead, I scribble a note to Mom that I’m not feeling well, that I’m skipping dinner, that I need some sleep. The words smudge with dirt, mocking my illusion that anything in life is controllable. I crawl into my room, crawl into myself, a turtle retreating into its shell. I want to call Lizzie but can’t imagine how to tell her what’s happened. I can’t show her the photo or the red devil ink that pierced “SLUT” onto paper. Talking about this with anyone would make it too real. Realer than the real of right now, and I can’t carry that weight.

  And I can’t call Gregg to ask him why he’d hurt me like this. Did he come over here after he saw Alec kiss me in the caf? He knows where the key is. Finn would have let him in—been thrilled to see him, even. And Gregg used his red autograph Sharpie to make sure I knew it was him.

  Gregg had to sneak into my house.

  Slip into my room.

  Brand his jealousy onto paper—a paper I signed and gave especially to him.

  Pin it to my wall.

  Know that it would crush me.

  Chapter 27

  When Mom comes to check on me I look half dead. Because I am.

  She raises the back of her hand to my forehead, tells me to get some rest. I nod, slink deeper under my covers. But when I hear her bathwater filling, I sneak into the kitchen and grab my coat. I text Lizzie: Now

  I slip outside and jog to the end of my driveway, where I’ve instructed Lizzie to meet me.

  I’m halfway to my full escape when my phone buzzes. I study the small screen, the way the words are too fuzzy. Too jumpy. Untamable under my tears.

  Alec: Where are you?

  Gotta do this thing with L. It’s a carefully selected portion of the truth.

  See me instead.

  Not tonight.

  Why?

  Because the tectonic plates of my world have shifted. Tomorrow. Promise.

  Tonight.

  Can’t.

  I see Lizzie’s car and feel annoyed by Alec’s persistence when there’s something so much more important I need to do.

  “Why all the clandestine?” Lizzie asks when I pull on my seat belt.

  “I need to talk to Gregg.” No, yell at Gregg. Sever this so-called friendship once and for all.

  Lizzie looks at me sideways. “No offense, Zee, but you look like shit.”

  I rein in my anger, try not to give too much away. “Not really a major concern right now.”

  She eyes me suspiciously. “What’s going on? Does this have anything to do with the lunchroom today? Am I missing something?”

  I can’t tell Lizzie where any of this came from or why. I only know who.

  “Maybe we should talk about it. Before you see Slice.”

  “I appreciate the offer but this only concerns Gregg.”

  She hesitates. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I need.” And I hear the darkness in my voice, how I’m losing the ability to control my emotions.

  But as Lizzie drives I secretly hope she will get lost. That she won’t remember her way to Waxman’s. Then I won’t have to confront Gregg. I won’t have to admit to another person that I’ve been leveled.

  I crack the window for air.

  But there isn’t enough oxygen on Earth. Not even as we walk across Waxman’s lawn.

  “Wait here,” Lizzie says as we reach our tucked-away nook against the trees. “I’ll grab you some water.”

  “I want a beer.”

  “Yeah, no.” Lizzie heads to the house as I practice my words for Gregg on a loop in my head, never more thankful that I’ve chosen Alec. That I’ll be hundreds of miles away from all of this bullshit next year. I can’t even believe what the mistake of Boston with Gregg would look like. How much more devastated I would feel by his betrayal.

  Sounds dart between my ears, arrow blades of indistinguishable noise. But then, clarity. My name. Through the trees. I turn and see Gregg. Looking too casual. Too normal. And I hate him even more for it.

  My teeth clench, warping my voice into a growl. “How could you be such an asshole?”

  Gregg stiffens. “Um, hello to you too.”

  I scoff. “You want me to say hi?” I fo
rce nonchalance. “Oh, hey Gregg. You good? Great. Good to hear. So glad you took the time to completely humiliate me. And in my own home, that was a nice touch.” I give a twisted laugh. “Oh wait. Did I say hi? Wouldn’t want to be impolite.”

  Gregg’s face hardens with confusion. Still, he keeps his voice hushed. “Me humiliate you? Judging from that display you put on in the caf today, you’re doing a fine job all by yourself, Zeph. You don’t need my help.”

  I press my feet into the ground, stand firm. “I got your note. Your little message made it perfectly clear how you feel about me being with Alec.”

  “Zephyr, what are you talking about?”

  “Are you such a coward that you’re not even going to own what you did?”

  “I kissed you, Zeph. I’ve already told you that I didn’t mean to fuck everything up with that stupid kiss. And I shouldn’t have said that thing today. That wasn’t cool. If I could take both back, I would. Believe me.”

  The kiss? His words? I stare at him and see a lifetime in his gaze, the years we spent exploring the woods as pirate zombie adventurers, the sharing of Popsicles on a summer day when everything was quiet and we could ask each other anything we didn’t understand. Like why the Dead were Grateful or how come jelly always took second chair to peanut butter. Those quiet times reach up from deep inside of me and pull me to the girl I used to be. Gregg’s friend, his confidante.

  Tears climb into my eyes, uninvited. I scurry after my resolve.

  I remember: S-L-U-T.

  “Why would you even want to be friends with a slut?”

  “You are making zero sense.”

  “The note you left in my room. You’re seriously going to deny it?”

  Gregg runs his hand through his thick hair. “Can we start again? I feel like we’re having two different conversations.”

  “There’s only one conversation, Gregg. And it’s our last. I can’t even look at you after seeing that note.”

  “I need you to slow down. Tell me what note you’re freaking about.”

  “The one you wrote with your ridiculous red autograph Sharpie.”

  He reaches in his back pocket, pulls out the marker. “This?”

  Seeing it makes my stomach wretch. “Nice. Want to throw anything else in my face? Now’s your chance. You won’t have another.”

  “When would I have left this note for you?”

  “You broke into my room.”

  He lets out a laugh. “Broke into your room? Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re pissed I’m with Alec.”

  He pulls back. “I’m bummed, not pissed. And this isn’t news, Zeph. I wouldn’t have to break into your room for you to know this bit of information.”

  My head swims. “I know it was you.”

  “Why? Because of a red marker?” He toggles it between his fingers. “You can pick one up at Staples.” He pulls back his arm, hurls the marker deep into the surrounding trees. I can’t hear the rustle of its landing. “That pen is meaningless, but you accusing me of breaking into your house is huge. Christ, Zeph, how is it that lately you don’t know me at all?”

  A weakness begins to build in my knees. My brain clogs with facts. “It was you. It had to be. You made me sign my newspaper photo at breakfast.”

  “Uh, yeah. And I still have it somewhere in my locker.”

  “So how is it pinned to my wall?”

  “Look, I don’t know what you think I wrote, or pinned to your wall or whatever, but you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “Right. It just appeared there. My signature and all. Did the word slut magically appear over my image too?”

  “How can you think I would call you a slut? Ever.”

  “You did. You wanted me to know it was you. That’s why you used that photo. It was signed. You knew I’d know it came from you.”

  “Fuck. I don’t know shit about that photo. It could have dropped out of my locker. I don’t know.” He lets out an exasperated sigh and I feel its depth. A canyon of regret. “How did I become the enemy?”

  He reaches out, touches my elbow with his. I want to pull away but I can’t. It’s our secret code, the one we’d started when our parents were torturing us by making us watch boring documentaries that were supposed to broaden our view of the world. But we were nine and we dreamed of bigger things. Explorer things. So we’d touch elbows to communicate that we’d make it through the torment together. We’d come out the other side.

  But now when he touches me in this way, the connection seems fragile. It’s the first time I’m unsure if we’ll be okay on the other side.

  “Look, Zeph, I don’t know how or why that note got pinned to your wall and I’m pissed it did, but it wasn’t me. There isn’t a part of me that could hurt you. Not on purpose. You have to know that.”

  Confusion spills over my thoughts. “So then how . . . ?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I promise I’ll find out. No one deserves that, Zeph, least of all you.” He twists his empty keg cup in his hand.

  “You swear it wasn’t you?”

  He reaches for my hand and I let him hold me. “You know it wasn’t me, Zeph. You know me.”

  And I do. The Gregg standing before me is the Gregg I’ve always known, not the monster that note conjured in my head.

  He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “I always thought senior year would all go down so differently.”

  My throat is dirt dry. My nerves scattered. “Yeah.”

  He throws a quick laugh. “Something tells me you and I had different versions of how it would unfold, but I’m willing to overlook the details.”

  A small smile creeps onto my face. “Gracious.”

  “I just want this again.” He strokes his finger across my palm. “Me and you, the way we used to be. Before I fucked up.”

  The way Gregg holds on to his uninvited kiss as the worst thing he’s done makes me certain he couldn’t have written that note. Makes me hate myself for believing he could. And that’s when I know it had to be Lani. She must have heard what Gregg said to me in the lunchroom. I’d seen the way she hung her stare on me. I’d always known she was jealous of my friendship with Gregg. And then I threw it in her face, how she’s not invited to Anna’s wedding. She’s pissed that I am. Or maybe she thinks I’m leading Gregg on—that I want Gregg and Alec.

  The more I think of it, the more I’m sure. She would have ripped Gregg from his half of our childhood picture. She would have had access to Gregg’s locker. She set him up. Wanted me to suspect him. So I’d back off, stop being his friend.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell Gregg, because I am. For too much.

  “You’re lucky I’m the forgiving type.” His smile spreads easily across his face. It’s the smile he’s always had for me, the one that sits a little deeper in his cheeks than the smile in his press photos. Even deeper than his smile for Lani. She must see that too, the way he looks at me. I stare at his features, maybe a beat too long. Our eyes catch but we don’t look away. I can’t look away.

  “Hiding in the bushes?” Lizzie says as she joins us. She registers me and Gregg holding hands and our fingers release simultaneously. Lizzie offers me a keg cup and I bring the water to my lips. It is cold, cleansing. “You two good now?”

  “Fine,” I tell her.

  Lizzie eyes me with her need to know the details, but I’m thankful she doesn’t press. She turns to Gregg. “I heard about Boston College wanting you to play for them.”

  A bashful look crawls over Gregg’s features. “Yeah, looks like everything’s going according to plan.”

  A sadness plummets then. For all our plans. Before.

  Lizzie darts her eyes between us, craves the story that’s not being told. My feet shift, restless and a little trapped. “I think it’s incredible. Not that I ever had any doubts. About you or Zephyr.”

  Gregg raises his cup to her in a toast, but her gaze stays on me. A quiet interrogation.

  When Gregg taps my cup with his,
this small gesture is like a string between us, a pulley. I move to him and place my arm over his hard shoulder. His free hand rounds my waist and he draws me in for a hug. My arm wraps tight, pulling him closer as an apology. And a promise.

  He knows what I am saying. Without words.

  Gregg has always known.

  I close my eyes as he holds me, suspended. I wish I could stop time. Let this moment between us erase all of my mistakes. I let the safety of Gregg’s hug envelope me and a tear forms. For Gregg going to Boston. Without me. For not being able to have Alec and Gregg next year. I blink away the tear because I can’t let more follow. That would be too much.

  Gregg’s arm relaxes and I open my eyes. The forest folds back into existence, sound rises to my ears. And something else. A figure in the distance. Too familiar.

  Gregg puts me down and my feet stumble. He rights me and I hold onto his outstretched arm. For balance. For strength. But the scene beyond pulls me and I step away from Gregg’s support, Lizzie, and the small pocket of our shared Earth.

  I walk toward the figure, squint my eyes.

  Lizzie’s words are far away now. “Zee, where are you going?” Or maybe this is an echo in my head. My mind focuses only on the boy who looks like Alec.

  I squint in the darkness, knowing my eyes are wrong. Praying they are wrong.

  The way his body leans in against the house, the easy set of his hips. The way his frame seems to hover.

  Over something?

  Someone.

  A shiver rattles through me. A surge of panic propels me forward, even as I want to shrink back.

  Lizzie pulls at my jacket. “Zephyr, are you okay?”

  That someone is a girl.

  He’s got one hand pressed against the house, his head tilting in.

  What is he saying? What are the words he is listening to?

  I snap my coat free of Lizzie’s grasp. I keep my eyes trained on the boy who looks too much like Alec. The boy who is about to kiss the girl leaning against the house.