Fracture

by Megan Miranda

  “Dammit, Delaney.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Get out of the way and clean yourself up.” Then she dropped to her knees again, this time inspecting the white tile grout for damage with shaking fingers.

  * * *

  Decker barely looked at me when he picked me up. He was still annoyed about the Carson thing. And Mom was busy putting the fear into him.

  “There will be no drinking and driving. Not even a sip. Am I understood?”

  We both nodded at the floor.

  “And you will call if there is any trouble. Do I make myself clear? Delaney? Decker?”

  We grunted together.

  She looked at Decker. “You will bring her home safe.” And then at me. “Do not make me regret this.”

  “Awkward,” Decker said when we were in the car. He still hadn’t really looked at me.

  “No kidding.”

  “My dad threatens to take away my car, but somehow your mom is scarier.”

  “Rock, paper, scissors on the drinking?” I asked.

  “It’s not fair for you. You always pick paper,” he said to the blackness in front of us.

  “Do not.”

  “Now it’s really not fair because I know you won’t pick paper this time. I’ll pick rock. I can’t lose.”

  “I’m brain damaged, you know. That’s just cruel.” He still wasn’t looking at me, but at least he was smiling.

  We drove a long loop around the outside of town where the roads were reasonably clear and infinitely safer. Decker cut back toward the center on the other side of the lake, near where we were headed the day I fell.

  The lake house was owned by the Baxter family and rented out during summer months. It was deserted in the winter. No tourist wants to visit Maine in December. From the front, trees blocked the view of the lake, which was just fine by me. We pulled to the end of the unpaved road and parked on the grass. The gravel, looped driveway was already stacked bumper to bumper with SUVs. We took the rock steps down the hill to the front door and let ourselves in.

  “Oh my God,” shouted an already incapacitated senior. “Look who came to a party!”

  I curtsied for good show. Someone handed me a beer, and I batted my eyelashes at Decker.

  Our group was sprawled across two couches, and they beckoned us over. Carson launched Kevin off his couch and used his foot to push him to the other sofa. I sat next to Carson in the only available seat. Decker stood off to the side.

  A high-pitched shriek preceded Tara’s grand entrance. She skipped out of the kitchen and engulfed Decker in a hug, pressing herself into him.

  “Decker! You made it!”

  “Don’t get too excited. I’m just the designated driver,” he said, gesturing to where I sat on the couch.

  “Oh, hi,” Tara said, not even bothering to fake a grin. She brushed her long brown hair back off her shoulders and looked at Decker. “Well, I’ll be in the kitchen if you get bored out here.” She slid her eyes to me, indicating what exactly she thought Decker might find boring. And then she pranced back out.

  The group on the couches kept replaying every detail of my accident ad nauseum. Or, my fall, as they called it. Like I had just tripped and skinned my knee. Like I just stood back up and brushed dirt off my pants. Like it was an everyday occurrence. Decker must’ve gotten bored because he disappeared sometime during the third playback.

  “And then Justin and Kevin tackled him!” Carson said.

  “They didn’t tackle him,” Janna said. “If they’d done that, the ice would’ve broken.”

  “Oh, excuse me. They held securely to his appendages and coerced him back to shore. Better?”

  Justin and Kevin were smiling. This was their part of the story. Their moment. I wondered if I would’ve done the same thing for them. I liked to think I would have, but when it came to fight or flight, I had a feeling I was Team Flight.

  I couldn’t stop looking at them. Kevin’s brown hair was buzzed short, and I found myself staring at the outline of his skull, wondering at the intricacies of his brain. I wondered what part of his brain made him brave.

  I looked at Justin’s head, covered in tight brown curls, and wondered what made him not.

  Fortunately or unfortunately, they were both stuck with the reputations they earned at a sixth-grade party. Becca Lowry, who moved away last year, had her twelfth birthday party at an indoor pool facility that was also used to train competitive divers. We spent the majority of the party in the diving tank, daring each other to jump off the ten-meter board.

  Kevin was braver than most. He did flips and cannonballs. He stepped off backward. He cartwheeled into the abyss. By the end of the day, we had all taken the plunge, except for Justin.

  He’d spent the first ten minutes making excuses. “The water’s too cold” and “I think I’m getting sick” and “Dude, I think Carson peed in the pool.” Eventually, he flat out said, “I’m scared of heights,” and left for the snack bar.

  I had been scared, too. But when my turn came, I asked Decker to jump with me and he did. Poor Justin. Being a guy, asking someone to jump with him was like asking someone to hold his hand.

  “Justin,” I cut in. They all seemed surprised that I was speaking during my own story. “Why’d you do it?”

  He curled his lips in. “Why’d I do what?”

  “Go after Decker. I mean, that’s not really like you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Everyone was looking at me now. I lowered my voice. “Well, you’re not brave.” I didn’t mean it in a bad way, just stating a fact. I just wanted to know how the brain worked. If maybe I would’ve saved them, too. If we could be more than who we were destined to be.

  Carson laughed. “Fantastic. I’m kinda glad we saved your life.”

  “Me, too,” said Janna.

  With the exception of Justin, they all nodded. A silent reminder that I was forever indebted to them all.

  “Gee, thanks, Delaney. I guess I’m braver than you thought, huh?” Then he tilted his can of beer back and kept drinking until it was empty.

  I got bored pretty quickly. I couldn’t believe this was what I’d begged Mom to let me out for. Hearing about the worst day of my life repeatedly, sipping lukewarm beer. And Justin kept watching me with narrowed eyes. I left to use the bathroom behind the kitchen, and when I came out, Justin was standing next to the cooler, waiting for me.

  He stumbled toward me and grabbed my shoulder. “I lied,” he said, his face inches from my own, his breath reeking of alcohol. “I didn’t do it because I was brave. I did it because I was a coward. Just like you thought.”

  I leaned backward, but Justin didn’t let go. “No, Justin, you were a hero. I’m sorry I said anything.”

  He gripped harder. “No. I was scared shitless. Turns out, I was more scared of losing Decker than of losing you.”

  I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed myself backward out of his grip and stumbled into the far wall. Time to go.

  I left Justin in front of the cooler as he searched through the ice for another drink. He was not any greater than himself. Turns out, even when it seems otherwise, people are who they are.

  I grabbed my coat and went to find Decker. He wasn’t on the couches, in the living room, or in the kitchen. Must be in the other bathroom. I started down the narrow, wood-paneled hall, but stopped when I heard Tara giggle.

  I could only see her back. She was facing the corner, and Decker was wedged in the darkness, next to the bathroom. I grinned and stepped forward to rescue him from Tara, but then she raised herself onto her toes. Just like I should’ve, could’ve done in Decker’s house. And Decker looked down at her and brushed his lips across hers. All casual. Like it was no big deal. Like he had done it a thousand times before.

  And then he smiled at her and put his hands on her face and ran his fingers through her hair. And this time Tara didn’t raise herself onto her toes. This time Decker put his hands on her back and pulled her close and lowere
d his mouth and kissed her. He wasn’t drunk and he kissed her. He brought me here and he kissed her. Correction: he was still kissing her.

  The two drinks in my stomach churned and the acid in my gut rose upward and I put my hand over my mouth because I thought I might throw up. I took a step backward and bumped into some antique wall table thing and knocked over a lamp, scattering what little light there was around the hall.

  Decker looked up. He looked up and his mouth fell open. He moved it to say something, but I didn’t hear him because I fumbled around the hall until I found a door and I pushed it open and I was gone.

  Chapter 8

  I emerged to ice and darkness. I was out back, near the lake. The moon was hidden behind clouds, but the lights from the party illuminated the backyard. There was just enough light for me to make out the slope of the hill through the trees. And if I could get through the trees and down the hill, I could find the path. If I could find the path, I could make it home. I stumbled down the snow-covered slope, bracing myself against tree trunks as I went, until I reached the bottom. My feet were soaking and cold. I hadn’t planned on needing snow boots.

  “Delaney!” I picked up the pace. “Goddamnit, Delaney, stop!”

  I spun around to face Decker as he came down the hill, moving much more gracefully than I had done. He was faster than me, so he would’ve caught up if he wanted to. He slowed down when he reached the path. “You don’t get to be mad about that,” he said quietly. “Not after Carson.”

  I hated myself that I was so obvious. Then it finally seemed to register with him. I was upset. His mouth fell open and he closed his eyes for a second and he reached toward me. “Delaney,” he said as he wrapped his hand around my wrist. His hand that had been in her hair and on her face and on her back.

  I jerked back. “Don’t touch me.”

  He balled up his fists at his side. “Unbelievable. So tell me. How was it? How was being with Carson? I mean, was it like every other girl in the school says?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him and took two giant steps backward. “Yes, Decker, it was. It was everything my first kiss should’ve been.”

  His face dropped. I broke him a little with that, and it felt better than I thought it world. Because Carson wasn’t my first kiss. And we both knew it.

  Freshman year, two years ago, we were playing manhunt. Same place, same group, apart from a few random faces. But mostly the same because nothing much changes around here. We had just finished up, and I was sitting on a rock brushing the snow from my coat. Decker left his group of guys and walked over to me, a small smile on his face. He held a hand out for me. I took it and pulled myself upright, and he didn’t let go. He pulled me closer, leaned down, and kissed me.

  Three and a half seconds, that’s how long it lasted. I kissed him back for three and a half seconds. And then I heard the clapping. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Decker.” Carson came over and put his arm around Decker’s shoulder. I pulled my hand back.

  Decker didn’t take his eyes off me. He was trying to say so many things but I refused to look at him. “Guess it’s time to pay up,” Carson said. Decker earned fifteen dollars for taking the dare.

  The money hovered between us in Carson’s hand. I looked directly in Decker’s eyes as I brought my sleeve to my mouth and dragged the back of my hand across my lips.

  Decker took the money. And the next day, he came over like nothing had happened and put seven crumpled dollar bills and two quarters on top of my desk. “I owe you this,” he said. Which was his own version of wiping his mouth clean.

  He never did it again.

  Now Decker hung his head down and started walking toward our side of the lake. “Come on,” he put his hand on my back. “I told your mom I’d get you home safe.”

  I spun away from him. From his hands that had been all over her. “I said don’t touch me.”

  He turned and stared at me. “What do you want from me, Delaney?”

  I wanted not to feel sick when I saw him kiss someone else. I wanted not to see it, and I wanted not to care. I shouldn’t have cared.

  “I want you to leave me alone.”

  He stepped closer and lowered his head so we were level and asked me again, speaking slower so I’d get the full meaning of his question. “What do you want from me?”

  But he was too close and all I could smell was her—her detergent, her soap, her shampoo. So I stepped back and said, “I want you to get the fuck out of my face.”

  Decker flinched like I had slapped him. He blinked heavily and started walking backward. It’s not like he’d never heard me curse before. And it’s not like I’d never directed my curses at him. I’d just never meant it before. So he left me. He left me standing on the edge of the lake. He smacked at the tree trunks with his closed fist as he stomped up the hill with an anger that even Mom’s fear couldn’t pierce. An anger that made him leave me again. He left me for her, ready to put his hands God knows where.

  I turned for home and started walking, eyes on the path in front of me. I could’ve recited my life history up to this second as a series of moments.

  First day of preschool, some girl dipped my pigtail in blue paint. Traumatic. I became decidedly unfriendly to my classmates.

  A brown-and-yellow moving truck pulling into the empty house next door. A boy with black hair cut too short walked across the yard and said, “I’m Decker.” But I had entered my unfriendly stage already so I just crossed my arms over my chest. And Decker said, “Tomorrow I’ll make you smile.”

  Running in the house when I was not supposed to be running and knocking over a crystal vase, glass slicing into my leg as it shattered on the floor. I was so terrified Mom would be furious. But she wasn’t. She ran me out of the house in her arms, leaving shards of glass on her spotless floor.

  Winning my first science competition in middle school. Pinning that first ribbon to my lavender wall.

  The ice, of course the ice.

  And this, right here, this was another one. I should’ve waited for the emotion to settle before I answered Decker. But I didn’t. Now it was a moment. It was a moment, I was sure, that I would hate.

  I kept walking, and the light faded farther and farther away. The noise from the party was swallowed by the trees, and all I could hear was the howl of wind, the trees groaning in resistance, the crunch of snow under my shoes. I glanced around and saw dark trees, dark sky, darker shadows. The path in front of me was engulfed in total shadow. A chill ran up my back, through my shoulders, but I shook it off.

  It was nothing. Nothing but the absence of light. An empty void. And yet, that void was terrifying. I looked down and walked faster, arms crossed over my chest, and the next time I looked up, I wasn’t on the path anymore. I was walking up the hill, through the trees, toward the dark road. Not my road. But I kept walking because I felt the pull.

  And the more I walked—up onto the road, one block in, one block right—the more it grew. Until it wasn’t just a pull but an itch deep inside my brain, buzzing at me, displacing my rage and anger and sadness until all that existed was this need to keep moving. The itch spread down my neck, through my shoulders, down to my fingertips. They started shaking.

  I stood in front of a worn bungalow—one of many packed too tightly on the street, like Troy’s teeth. As if summoned from my thoughts alone, Troy appeared from the shadows on the side of the house, leaning against the dirty blue siding. He beckoned me toward him with one arm. I went, partly because he was beckoning me, but mostly because I needed to get closer to the house.

  There were so many things wrong with the situation. Troy was there, and I didn’t know why. I was there, and I didn’t know why. Except for the pull. But the only thing I could explain, just like at the hospital, was my hands. So I held them up to Troy, whom I didn’t really know, and whispered, “Something’s wrong with me.”

  Troy put a finger to his lips and pulled me into the backyard, which was not really a backyard so much as a patch of grass separ
ating the backs of two homes. He pressed me up against the siding in the most shaded corner. He held me against the house with his body, and took my trembling hands in his. He whispered in my ear, “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

  I sucked in the cold night air, trying to calm myself, trying to still my hands, trying to scratch the itch. The air was laced with something, something off. . . . “I smell smoke,” I said, not quite in a whisper.

  Troy held his gloved hand over my mouth just as the smoke detectors began wailing inside the house.

  I bit him. It wasn’t premeditated. But with his hand on my mouth and the ringing in my ears, all I could think of was my hands tied to the bed and the sleeping pills pushed at me and everyone telling me what to do and how to be, and I could barely take it from the people I knew. I didn’t know Troy. I couldn’t take being pushed around, so I bit him.

  He let out a surprised noise and held his gloved hand close to his face. I turned to the house and stood on my toes, peering into the windows. Smoke billowed against the glass in small waves. To the side, close to the wall, was the corner of a wooden headboard. A bed. This was a bedroom. My fingers shook against the glass, which felt so warm in the cold night.

  Troy put his arms around my waist and pulled me back. “We have to go,” he said.

  “That’s the bedroom. What if someone’s in there?”

  “Let’s go.” Troy was strong. I could feel it in his arms. I wouldn’t be able to get free if he didn’t want me to.

  So I said, “Okay,” and he let go. Then I ran up the rickety back steps and pulled on the door. But a searing, blinding pain shot through my shaking hand. I jerked my hand back from the burning metal knob and cried out. Inside the back window, flames spilled out from the stove. They caught on the curtains and rose upward. Troy was at my side, whispering into my ear, but I wasn’t listening. Because all I could see was a cane, wrapped in a red ribbon, leaning against the far wall. A long flame stretched toward the cane and grazed the ribbon, and the entire cane ignited. I kicked at the burning door.