Falling to Pieces

by Jamie Canosa

  I had no idea just how long until about a half-hour in. I was sitting at the kitchen table, listening to mom snore from where she’d passed out on the couch, a grand total of two pages into the text, when she started gagging.

  “Mom?” Shit, this happened sometimes. She’d drink so much her body would try to get rid of it in her sleep. A couple years ago, she’d nearly drowned in her own vomit. If I hadn’t been there . . .

  Shoving my chair back, I rushed to her side and carefully rolled her onto her side. “Mom, can you—?”

  She gagged again, her entire body heaving, and vile, nasty puke spewed all over the floor, the couch, and—

  “Augh!” I jumped back, but not in time. Hands up in disgust, I stared down at the warm slime plastering my jeans to my leg. “Oh, my God. Oh. Ew.”

  Mom flopped back and I slopped through the mess to reposition her on her side again, in case there was a round two to come.

  “Gross, mom.” Her hair was stuck to the side of her face and vomit covered most of her shirt. What the hell was I supposed to do with this? “Mom, you gotta get up. I gotta clean this up.”

  Nothing. She was out cold.

  “Mom! Come on, get up!” I shook her and still nothing. This wasn’t going to work.

  “Fine.” Heaving a sigh, I peeled off my soiled jeans and tossed them in the corner. Grabbing the whole roll of paper towels, I mopped up the mess on the floor and as much as I could get off the couch.

  Then came the fun part, moving mom. She was dead weight and, for a skinny woman, heavy as hell. With no small effort, I hoisted her up to sitting and managed to strip off her shirt.

  She slumped over to the opposite end of the couch as I mopped up her face, chest, and hair as best as I could with only wet paper towels to work with. Not a chance I was getting her all the way to the shower. She’d have to take care of that herself when she came to.

  After that, I attacked the couch again, scrubbing the stains until the pale green spots faded back into the normal ugly rust color. Thank God it was still warm out, because the stench was nearly overwhelming. I opened every window in the apartment and drained a bottle of air freshener.

  The whole process took longer than you’d imagine. It was dark out by the time I stepped out of the shower and tossed all of our dirty clothes into a wash bag to haul over to the laundry room. We couldn’t afford to let them stain.

  The hypnotic sounds of whirls and thumps nearly lulled me to sleep in the hard plastic chair as I watched our clothes go round, and round, and round. My chemistry book sat open and ignored in my lap. We lived right next door, but I’d learned my lesson about leaving my wash unattended the hard way not long after we moved in. I’d run home to grab some more money just to find our entire load of clothing stolen by the time I got back. That wasn’t about to happen twice.

  I was switching the load over to the dryer when my all-time favorite person on the planet sauntered in. DJ Wallace, rocking his signature slicked back hairstyle. A cigarette dangled from his fingers as he released a stream of smoke from between his lips. I assume it was supposed to make him look cool, but all it did was cement the ‘bad news’ rep he had going for him. I was pretty sure he was on a first name basis with half the cops in the area.

  “You got anything for me tonight, sweetness?”

  I glanced around the room, over the rusted machines and battered chairs, to the peeling linoleum tiles on the floor. “You’re seriously trying to rob me in a laundry room? Does it look like I have anything for you?”

  “Didn’t say I wanted your money.”

  Skeeved goose-bumps broke out over my skin. I wasn’t really afraid of him. He was trouble, everyone knew that. But it was also common knowledge that he lived by the motto, ‘don’t shit where you eat’. He might have raised hell elsewhere, but he left everyone who called this pit home alone. Usually.

  “Get lost, DJ.” I don’t know what it was about him—maybe the fact that I’d have to sink pretty low for him to look down on me—but I felt more confident talking to DJ than pretty much anybody else on the planet. Not that that made it any better. His presence alone was enough to make my skin crawl.

  “Ah, c’mon. Don’t be like that. I’ve had my eye on you, Jade.”

  Goodie goodie gumdrop. Mom would be so proud. Actually . . . she might be. Slamming the lid of the dryer a little harder than necessary, I shoved in my last few quarters and resumed my seat near the wall.

  “What’s this?” Before I could stop him, DJ tugged the book out of my hands and flipped it shut to take a look at the cover. “Chemistry? Well, aren’t you a smarty.”

  Next to him, an ant hill looked like a brain trust. “Give it back.”

  “Hold on, I want to take a look at what important things they’re teaching youngsters these days.”

  He might actually know if he’d bothered to attend a single day of school in the past three years. Flipping through the pages, he tore one out to take a closer look.

  “Hey! Knock it off!” I jumped from my seat, planning to rescue the book, but when he produced a lighter from his pocket, I backed off. DJ wasn’t exactly known for his mental stability. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to get your attention.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s true. I think you’re still thinking about this here book. But . . . if the book wasn’t in the picture anymore . . .” He lit the page and watched it burn until he couldn’t hold it any longer before dropping it to the floor. It shriveled and curled into itself until there was nothing left but a pile of ash.

  And DJ. Still holding my chemistry book.

  “DJ, please? Don’t do this. I really need that book for school.”

  “Psh. School. Who needs school? So worried about being teacher’s pet and getting straight A’s. Where does that get ya? Do they pay you for good grades now? Will A’s take care of the bills? Buy the things you need? Build your cred? Does anyone even notice? I could provide that shit for you, ya know. Better than some damn report card.”

  I flinched as the book banged off the hard plastic chair and fell to the floor. DJ strolled back out the door he came from, looking none the worse for wear, and I sunk into my seat, letting the repetitive thump of the dryer sooth my raw nerves. I knew he was an idiot, a drop-out, a petty criminal, and probably high, but his words spiraled around and around my brain for the next twenty minutes.

  Wash and dry time had stolen another hour-and-a-half of my evening, and by the time I got home I was completely wiped. Depositing the violated chemistry text on the kitchen table, I shuffled down the hall and collapsed into bed.

  Screw grades. What good were they anyway?

  Four

  Kiernan’s mood swings were starting to give me whiplash. The next morning, he was all smiles again in chemistry. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it and, honestly, I had bigger things to worry about than Kiernan Parks. Like the exams being handed out by Mr. Walkins. Last night my great boycott of all things academic had sounded like a brilliant idea. Now? Not so much.

  I watched the papers flutter hand over hand as they were passed down the rows, one desk to the next, like a tidal wave of doom. When I turned in my seat to pass it to the person behind me, I risked another peek at Kiernan. He was still watching me. His dimples came out to play, catching me looking, and I turned around in my chair so fast I was half surprised I didn’t fall right out.

  For the next hour, I stared at the paper in front of me as though it were written in Latin. Because, as far as I was concerned, it may as well have been. There were numbers, symbols, and equations all over the place. All of which added up to exactly zero sense. With a sigh I scanned the page, front and back, for anything that looked even vaguely familiar. A few things popped out and I went from there, making the best guesses I could and praying like hell that there would be partial credit awarded.

  When the bell rang, I was still glued to my seat, trying desperately to eke out something that resembled a possib
ly coherent answer to the dreaded essay question. Who gives essay questions in chemistry?

  “Pencils down.”

  Just. One. More. Minute. The class started pouring out around me, as I continued to scribble furiously. Papers stacked one on top of the next as they filed past the teacher’s desk.

  “Pencils down, Jade.” Mr. Walkins stood at the front of the room scowling in my direction.

  Him, Kiernan, and I were the only three left in the room. Kiernan stood by the door watching me jot down the end of my sentence and throw in the towel with a sigh. So much for my brilliant academic career. Sometimes I really was stupid.

  By the time I’d collected my books and turned in the exam, Kiernan was gone and I was glad. I really didn’t feel like talking about it.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Doug stood, arms folded across his chest, glaring at me from the middle of the crowded hallway.

  “Sorry, Doug. I had to finish up an exam.”

  He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Write a little faster next time. Now I’m gonna be late.”

  At least I could count on Doug not to ask the dreaded, ‘How do you think you did?’

  “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

  “Of course I didn’t.” Pushing his way against the flow of bodies, Doug started toward the back stairwell and I struggled to keep up.

  Of course he didn’t have to wait for me. What a dumb thing to say. If I hadn’t been standing in a crowded public place I would have smacked myself. He was Doug Summers, captain of the football team, student council member, and gorgeous to boot. The one and only blemish on his entire high school career was me, and still he tolerated my presence. So, no, he definitely did not have to wait for anyone, especially loser extraordinaire, Jade Carlson.

  “We have our first practice after school today. You’re staying to watch.” He hustled up the stairs two at a time, leaving me behind to try to juggle my books and keep up at the same time.

  I suppressed a groan. If there was one thing I hated more than chemistry, it was football. “Doug, I can’t miss the bus. You know how far I live. If I—”

  “Quit whining. Jesus. I’ll give you a damn ride.”

  “Oh.” Duh, dimwit. Doug wouldn’t ask—tell—me to stay after if he hadn’t already figured out the ride situation. He wasn’t an idiot like some people. “Okay.”

  “Meet me in the gym at three. I want to hear you cheering for me.”

  I wasn’t much for cheering, especially at a routine practice, but I knew what Doug expected from me. “Okay.”

  “Is that the only word you know how to say?” The late bell cut through whatever he had coming next and he shot me one last scathing glare before slipping into his class. The one on the opposite of the building from mine. Perfect.

  ***

  Debate wasn’t exactly one of my specialties. I generally avoided confrontation at all costs, but I did somehow manage to sweet-talk my way out of a detention for showing up late to English comp. Don’t ask me how, but thank goodness. I’d have hated to see Doug’s face if I had to tell him I couldn’t make it to practice.

  They’d already taken the field by the time I arrived as it was. He was out there—number seventeen—running, blocking, tackling . . . I don’t really know, but he looked good doing it. I didn’t know much about football, really. Only what Doug told me. Like the fact that the team went nearly undefeated last season and that he was hands-down their best player. For once, it wasn’t all ego talking. He really was the best. Everyone knew that, including the college scouts that had turned out to watch him play as early as his junior year.

  One was currently situated on the bleachers just to watch him practice. They didn’t go out of their way to advertise their presence, but he was kind of hard to miss with myself and a gaggle of cheerleaders being the only other people in attendance. The scout didn’t need my shouting to direct his attention to Doug. It barely left him as he scribble furiously in a notebook balanced on his lap. Undoubtedly, the scholarship offers would start coming in soon.

  I was happy for him. And, admittedly, maybe a little jealous that he’d found something he was talented at. I’d tried everything from music to art, and found my skills to be . . . lacking. There was really only one thing I was any good at—at least I enjoyed doing it, anyway—but I wasn’t about to share it with anyone else the way Doug could. Taking pride in his abilities. I was nowhere near as confident in my own. So, no, they stayed tucked away where only I could see them.

  His head twisted in my direction every time he jogged by, shoulder pads bouncing. To make sure I was still there, I assume, though I don’t know where he thought I was going to go without him. By the time practice was over, dark clouds had rolled in, blotting out the sun. I was chilled to the bone and more than ready to get out of there.

  Judging by the way the guys were hooting, and hollering, and jumping into each other as they headed for the showers, I assumed practice had gone well. I was glad because it meant Doug would be in a good mood for the drive home. It usually annoyed him to no end to have to go out of his way to drop me off.

  Rubbing my arms against the growing chill in the air, I trailed behind the crowd back inside the building. Giant red and black birds were painted on every wall, poised to peck the eyes out of any who dared to challenge them. Who knew birds could be so intimidating? The huge banners strung from the roof declaring the Craterview Cardinals the ‘Section II Class B Champs’ for several years throughout the school’s history, going back as far as 1976, proved it was true. The ‘State Champs’ banner had fewer years denoted, two of which were the past two consecutive years since Doug took over as team captain.

  Last year they’d made it to the National Championship, but lost. Doug swore up and down that it was bad reffing that cost them the game. I wasn’t there, so I didn’t know. Something Doug was livid about for months after the fact. A supportive girlfriend would have found a way to be there, even if it was out of state.

  Doug’s exit from the locker room was hard to miss, marked by a noticeable increase in preening from the cheer squad. Suddenly bottle blonde hair was flipping in every direction, eyelashes batting like they may take flight. It was almost laughable, really. His eyes came to me first—noting my continuing presence—before swinging in their direction. I lingered along the side of the bleachers, trying my best to go unnoticed, while he checked in with the Doug Summers fan club. With past knowledge of exactly how long that could take, I settled down for the wait.

  Trailing the toe of my sneaker over the boundary line of the basketball court, I contemplated getting started on my homework. There was no guarantee I’d be getting home any time soon and I really didn’t want to be up all night working on it, but Doug wouldn’t appreciate that. It was bad enough I wasn’t one of those pretty, popular girls by his side. I didn’t need to make his girlfriend out to be a bigger dork than I already was.

  Instead, I pulled out my phone. Even that was embarrassing—a relic with no internet, or games, or apps, or anything—but no one had to know that. And holding a cellphone in your hand gave you a good excuse to sit alone without looking like a loser. Smiling at the blank screen, I pretended to press some buttons just in case anyone was watching. Pathetic, I know.

  “You ready to go or what?” Impatient as ever, Doug stood tapping his foot as I scooped up my books from the bench. “You know, they have these things called backpacks.”

  So, I’d heard. “I’m ready to—”

  The locker room door burst open, and Jeff and a bunch of other guys from the team poured out.

  “Hey, Doug!” They congregated around their fearless leader, and I did my best to shrink into the background. Not easily accomplished with Doug’s arm wrapped around my waist holding me firmly in place at his side. Jeff slapped him on the back and offered me a polite, mandatory smile. “I’ve got a party goin’ on at my place tonight, you down? You should come, too, Jade.”

  I was invited? I’d never been invited to one of Doug’s f
riend’s parties. Hell, I’d never been invited to one of Doug’s parties. And there was a reason for that . . .

  “Jade? At a party? In public? Have you seen her social skills?” Doug’s taunting was met with a round of laughter and I bit my cheek to keep from opening my mouth and embarrassing myself further. “Now her private skills . . .”

  My cheeks lit up like the Fourth of July and I damn near died on the spot. Doug and I had never been farther than second base, but his friends would never believe it from the way his vivid imagination worked. It wasn’t the first time I’d overheard him implying more, and I was certain that wasn’t the worst of it, but it was the first time he’d done it right there in front of me like that.

  I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, waiting for some kind of reaction. Not that I had any clue what that reaction should be, other than utter humiliation. My jaw clamped shut and my gaze dropped to the floor. Hearing their snickers was bad enough. I didn’t need to see the smirks and crude looks that went along with them.

  Who was I to complain, though? High school was a shark pit and being with Doug was the only thing keeping me afloat. I knew his rep must have taken a hit for it—he told me often enough. So what if he wanted to recoup a little of that by making up stories? Even if they made me want to dig a hole in the gym floor and bury myself alive.

  “Her personal skills more than make up for—”

  “Hey!” Jeff stepped aside to reveal a livid Kiernan. “That’s your girlfriend you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah.” Doug stuffed his hands in his pockets and puffed out his chest. “So?”

  “Why don’t you try showing a little respect?” Kiernan’s eyes never left Doug and they were hard as steel.

  “Respect?” The way Doug rolled the word around his mouth, it was like he’d never heard it before. Nothing in my experiences with him proved otherwise. “What’s it to you?”