Freefall

by Mindi Scott

  “Maybe we can head in and you can fix this later,” Daniel said. “I’m starving.”

  I dropped the tire iron and started jacking up the back. “Go ahead. I told you, I’m not staying. I have school. Which is where I’d be right now if I’d left your asses at home.”

  “Nah,” Jared said. “That tire would have gone bad no matter what. You’d be doing the same thing you’re doing now, only on the other side of town.”

  “And you wouldn’t have the pleasure of our company,” Daniel added.

  I flipped him off, which made them both crack up.

  “Hey, when did you start caring about school, anyway?” Jared asked. “You trying to impress some chick?”

  In the world according to Jared and Daniel, getting into a girl’s pants is the only reason for doing anything.

  “No,” I said. But for some reason, I thought of Rosetta for a second.

  “Then why even go?” Daniel asked. “We’re leaving in a few weeks and this shit won’t matter ever again.”

  Okay. I had to deal with this. I had to tell them. It was time.

  I stood up. “I’m not dropping out of school to tour with you.”

  “How’s that going to work?” Jared asked, blowing smoke toward me. “You planning to do all your homework on the road?”

  Daniel shook his head, flicked his ash. “I don’t think they actually let you come back if you miss that many days. Unless you were in the hospital or something.”

  They weren’t getting it.

  “No, I mean I’m not dropping out because I’m not going on tour.”

  That shut them both right up.

  Jared said, “Is this a joke?” at the same time that Daniel asked, “Are you kidding?”

  “No,” I said, in answer to both of them.

  Daniel stood there with his eyes wide open, looking like he’d been shocked into silence, but Jared picked up the slack by yelling so loudly that people could probably hear him inside the restaurant and the grocery store across the parking lot. “What the hell are we supposed to do without you?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, even though I didn’t exactly have an answer. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because my brother wasn’t in the mood to let me get a word in. “Something good actually came our way for once, and you’re bailing?” he shouted, throwing down his less-than-half-smoked cigarette. He ran his hands over his messy, greasy hair. “And you wait to tell me until after I’ve already committed to doing this tour? I can’t fucking believe you, Seth! I mean, what? We’re supposed to cancel because you’re in love with school all of a sudden?”

  “You have over a month,” I said. “That’s enough time to find someone to replace me.”

  “Sure,” he said, glaring. “You think we’re going to find someone who plays well, who can learn all our songs, and who is going to be able to tour with this short notice? The only reason I put up with you in the first place is because I couldn’t find a decent bassist who wouldn’t flake out. Look where that got me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  And I was. Not enough to change my mind. But still, I knew how much this sucked for him. For them. I really did hate that it was because of me they were high and dry.

  “Whatever,” Jared said, shaking his head.

  He stomped toward the restaurant without looking back. Daniel gave me a pissed-off/confused/stoned look and stumbled after him.

  8:18 A.M.

  Algebra was well under way when I got to school. I grabbed a late pass from the office, but I decided to wait the fifteen minutes for the bell to ring before seeing about turning in homework and getting my next assignment. I’d get hassled by the teacher for skipping, but at least I wouldn’t have to deal with it in front of all the freshmen.

  The halls were empty. I ducked into the stairwell where Isaac and I used to go whenever we felt like ditching. It was a great spot because the stairs partially covered an area near the heater, so no one knew we were there, but we could still see them. It was depressing to be there without Isaac, to remember that we’d never hang out there together again. Just like we’d never again hit the McDonald’s drive-thru at 3 a.m., go camping on the coast, or float down the river on inner tubes.

  As I leaned into the corner, I heard the echo of footsteps and loud breathing. I wasn’t alone.

  I poked my head out and saw a girl against the railing, holding on with both hands. Her head was down, so I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell she was Rosetta from her long, black hair. It was the first time I’d seen her since we talked about our secrets stuff at the coffee place two days ago. I hadn’t realized until that moment how much I’d been looking forward to talking with her again.

  But now her body was shaking from her shoulders down, like half her bones were missing. It wasn’t loud breathing I’d heard before; it was uncontrollable sobbing and gasping.

  I couldn’t even begin to guess what would make her cry like that. Physical pain? Or maybe someone had died. What would I know about it? I’d cried more when I found Daniel not dead than when I’d found Isaac.

  It was obvious that she’d left whatever class she was supposed to be in for a good and upsetting reason. She probably didn’t want me of all people to get in her face about it. She probably wanted her privacy. Still, chances like this didn’t come up all the time. I could go over there, put my arm around her, let her get her tears all over my shirt.

  On second thought . . .

  I grabbed the Magic 8 Ball hanging from my belt loop and asked it telepathically if using the fact that Rosetta was having a bad day as an excuse to touch her made me a bigger asshole than Carr.

  It is decidedly so.

  I asked if I should do it anyway.

  My reply is no.

  The 8 ball was right. I was useless at emotions and crap anyway; I’d probably make things worse. Hopefully, she’d be calmed down by the end of the day and we could talk in IC.

  I leaned against the wall to stay hidden and felt like a total bastard as I listened to her sobs getting quieter over the next few minutes until they faded to silence. I checked to see if she’d left, and she was still at the railing with her eyes closed and her face screwed up like she was in pain. That type of violent crying would do a number on anyone. Then she wiped her eyes, took a hair band off her wrist, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and let out a few loud breaths before turning to go.

  As I watched her walk away, all I could think was that Rosetta’s ugly cry-face was somehow the most beautiful I’d ever seen.

  2:40 P.M.

  Alex/Xander and I were supposed to be building our empathy skills together. Mrs. D. had said empathy was going to change our interactions in so many unbelievable ways. She made it sound like our lives would become magical if we were able to listen and feel what another person is feeling.

  Everyone else in class was working in groups of three, but Riley/Rosetta was a no-show so the numbers were off and Xander and I were stuck on beanbags in the corner on our own. We’d been at it for ten minutes, making junk up, trying to “understand,” “ask questions,” and “paraphrase” to become active, empathetic listeners or whatever. With still another ten minutes to go of this torture, all Xander and I had mastered so far was sounding like complete tools, and my mood was getting worse and worse.

  I’d had a sick anxiety all day about what was going to happen when I got home. Jared and Daniel were pissed at me for quitting the band, and Mikey was going to be too.

  Xander turned the pages of his textbook in his lap, searching for tips on the crap we were supposed to be discussing. “On page twenty-two it says that we shouldn’t be discouraged if this feels uncomfortable and awkward. The more we practice, the better we’ll get at it.”

  I couldn’t have cared less about this shit, but he wouldn’t give up. The dude was out of control. “I’m not feeling it,” I said, slamming my own book shut and dropping it on the floor next to me. “These fake conversations are the worst.”

  “Maybe we
shouldn’t use them,” he said, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Maybe if we talk about regular stuff, it will come up naturally.”

  “Whatever.”

  He closed his book too. “So. What’s been new with you lately, Dick?”

  Like he had any idea what was old with me.

  “Nothing, Alex,” I said.

  “Did you have a good summer?”

  “No.”

  He laughed and rubbed his hands together. “All right. What didn’t you like about your summer?”

  He did not just ask that.

  “A few things,” I said. “You know, too much rain, not enough sun. Food poisoning at the Fourth of July barbecue. Oh, and my best friend, you know, died.”

  He turned red and looked away. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Even though he’d brought that on himself, I felt like kind of a jerk anyway. Why did he have to be so goddamn cheerful and talkative all the time?

  I looked around at the other groups. As always, they all seemed to be getting shit done. I was starting to think it wasn’t a coincidence that whatever group I ended up in was lame. Maybe I was lame. Of course, now that Rosetta had stopped hating me, we’d probably be decent at this. If only she’d shown up.

  “Have you seen Riley today?” I asked Xander.

  “I have physics with her,” he said, all perked up again. Things sure did roll off his back easily. “I’m pretty sure she was there this morning, so I don’t know why she isn’t here now.”

  “Is your physics during first period?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  That explained it, then. Sort of. She must have left physics to cry. And then what? Went home?

  “I guess we can forget empathy and talk about whatever we want for the last five minutes,” Xander said, glancing at the clock. “I was wondering, does your band have any gigs coming up? I had fun at your last one.”

  “Actually, we were supposed to be going on a six-week tour with the Rat Rodders next month.” I sounded like I was bragging. Maybe I kind of was. “But I quit the band this morning and things are up in the air.”

  “Why’d you quit?” He frowned. “I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

  I didn’t mind. So I gave him the lowdown. Well, the lowdown about not wanting to drop out of school.

  He nodded like he was working out how to turn this conversation into another empathy exercise, but all he ended up saying when I was done was “Bummer.”

  It was almost disappointing.

  “What are they going to do about the tour?” Xander asked. “Take another bassist in your place?”

  “That’s the plan, I think. If they can find one in time.”

  The bell rang then. We grabbed our stuff. Got off our beanbags. No more need to talk to each other today.

  But as we were standing there putting our bags over our shoulders, I said, “Hey, Xan—I mean, Alex. Sorry for, you know, how I was being before.”

  He smiled. “It was my fault.” Then he pointed at my DICK tag. “And anyway, you give fair warning.”

  3:17 P.M.

  After class I was feeling kind of worried and guilty for not saying something to Rosetta in the stairwell. Spotting Vicki walking past, I realized that she was my best shot at learning where to find Rosetta. I also realized that it was like having no shot at all; she wasn’t going to tell me anything.

  Maybe I was starting to lose it, but I decided to try the Magic 8 Ball again. “Should I even bother asking for Vicki’s help?”

  The answer was as simple as they come: Yes.

  I hurried to catch up.

  “How’s it going, Vicki?” I asked, putting on a huge a smile as I’m capable of so she might forget for a second that we couldn’t stand each other.

  She continued walking without a word.

  I kept up with her. “Can you tell me where to find Rosetta?”

  Vicki stopped suddenly and turned her head so fast, her blond hair—now in kind of an angled cut—swung in front of her face before falling back where it belonged. “Hmm. Let me think.” She tapped her chin with her fingertip for a second. “Hell. No.”

  Then she started almost sprinting to get away from me.

  “It’s really important,” I said, speeding up to follow. “We’re working on a project together. For a class.”

  Not entirely true, but Vicki would never know.

  “That’s a good one. You doing a school project is the best joke I’ve heard today.”

  Her little jabs were getting so old.

  “I’ll bite. What’s with all the hostility?” I asked as she pushed open the glass door that leads to the parking lot.

  She let go once she was through so I had to catch it quickly before it slammed into me. Then she laughed—one of those mean laughs like a crazy cartoon villain’s. “I’ve changed my mind. You playing innocent is an even better joke.”

  We’d never gotten along, but I couldn’t think of any specific thing I’d done to her to make her act like this. Was I supposed to know what her problem was?

  “Quit looking so clueless,” she said before I’d said a word. “I told you I’d never forgive you for what you did to me on Halloween and I meant it.”

  Halloween?

  Wait . . .

  I chased her down the stairs. “Wasn’t that in sixth grade?”

  “Seventh,” she said over her shoulder. “But I still wouldn’t forgive you even if it had happened in kindergarten. You and your rotten eggs ruined my night and my princess costume.”

  We were at the edge of the parking lot now and she still wasn’t slowing down. Couldn’t she stay in one place for a minute?

  “It was an accident,” I insisted.

  “Like I’m going to believe that.”

  Okay, she was right; it had been no accident. Isaac and I had sure gotten a good laugh over it at the time. The shocked look on Vicki’s face as she got pelted six times—once on the back of the head and five on her frilly pink dress—had made it even better. We had some seriously good aim. And, yeah, looking back, it was kind of jerky, I guess. But isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on Halloween? Eat candy all day, play some tricks, bust shit up, ruin things for the kids who have everything that you don’t have?

  “You really aren’t over that?” I asked. “It’s been four years.”

  “Wow! You can count that high?”

  Talk about bitchy. Getting Rosetta’s location out of Vicki was going to be way more work than I wanted to put in. Time to walk away, right? I didn’t need this bullshit. But then I remembered Rosetta’s cry-face and I decided I would give it one more try. With empathy this time. It sure couldn’t hurt.

  Step one: Consider how I would feel.

  That was pretty easy to figure out. I think it would suck to get blasted with rotten eggs.

  Step two: Ask questions to better understand.

  “You thought it sucked having rotten eggs thrown at you, right?” I asked.

  Vicki stopped her minijog and turned to me with her hands on her hips and rage all over her face. “Are you threatening me, Seth McCoy?”

  “No, I’m asking you a question.”

  “Yes, it sucked,” she said, still scowling. “Duh.”

  That wasn’t enough to work with, and since I didn’t know what to ask next, I tried Mrs. D.’s favorite question: “How did it make you feel?”

  She held out the tiny remote on her keychain and pressed a button. The headlights flashed on a silver BMW right in front of us. “It made me feel like you’re a dickhead.”

  All righty, then. Enough questions.

  Step three: Summarize the information.

  “So it sucked,” I said, feeling like an idiot. “And you felt like I was a dickhead.”

  Vicki gestured impatiently. “Hasn’t this been well established by now?”

  She was right about that. I’d have to make sure to ask more probing questions if I ever tried this again.

  Step four: Summarize how I think she’s
feeling about the information.

  This was the hardest part—trying to put myself in Vicki’s place—but probably the most important. “So I think what you’re feeling is that the Halloween egg thing was embarrassing.” I tried to see her face to guess if I was getting it right, but she had turned to open the Beemer’s driver’s-side door. “And it was probably pretty gross?”

  She threw her bag inside without a word or a look my way.

  “And you feel like I was a dickhead because I wasn’t sorry about it. Is that right?”

  She turned then, with her super-skinny eyebrows raised high. “You are such an ass.”

  “Look,” I said. “I’m trying to, you know, feel what you feel or whatever. Can’t you just work with me?”

  In answer, she got in the car, slammed the door, and started the engine.

  What a waste of time this had turned out to be. Fuck empathy. Seriously.

  I headed across the lot and was almost to the Mustang when Vicki rolled up beside me. “Rosetta plays golf at the country club almost every day,” she said, peering out at me over the top of her sunglasses. “She’s probably there.”

  I could have fallen over from the shock of Vicki Lancaster doing something decent for once, but I didn’t let on. “I’ve never been there. Will she be on the grass stuff?”

  “Yeah, the grass stuff, Seth. Park at the pro shop and then head out to the course. You’ll find her if you walk around for a while.”

  “Cool. Thanks for helping me.”

  That had worked out pretty sweet in the end. If using empathy could get someone like her to chill, maybe Mrs. Dalloway was really on to something here.

  “Actually, I’m not helping you,” Vicki said. “I just don’t want Rosetta to get a bad grade on her project.”

  Or maybe not.

  3:29 P.M.

  After driving through a winding tunnel of trees to the good old Rich Bitch Hill Golf and Country Club, I spotted the pro shop sign. I bypassed the circular drive and parked in the adjoining lot between a BMW and a Mercedes; you know, your standard rich-folk modes of transport. There were plenty of even nicer cars around, though, and I recognized at least half from having washed and detailed them.