Continuum (18 page)

“I never thought I would know more about a topic than the smartest girl at Everest Heights.  I’ll have to make you a playlist.” 

“I’m not that smart, I just--”

“Read a lot,”  I finish and Fallon’s quiet laughter is muffled as she presses her face against my shoulder.  The sound is magical and I start laughing along with her.  She looks up at me and her green eyes are alight with joy.  

For the first time since I laid eyes on her, she looks carefree.  

Our eyes lock and her expression gives me courage.  Suddenly, time slows to a crawl and the world stops spinning.  The sound of the music fades out, the faces in the crowd melt away and it feels like there is only the two of us on the dance floor.  We have stopped dancing.  We stand in the middle of the floor staring at each other for seconds?  Minutes?  Hours?  It’s hard to tell.  I tilt my head and gaze down at her, overcome with the desire to kiss her.

Fallon must see something in my expression because her eyes go round with alarm.  She holds my stare for a heartbeat before blinking rapidly and looking away, suddenly flustered.  The moment passes and the noise of the dance fills my ears once again.  

The song winds down in a final mellow note before fading into an upbeat dance number.  Couples start pulling apart to move at a faster tempo.  Fallon takes a small step back and starts pulling her hands away from my neck.  Her breathing is shaky despite our slow dancing.  Her hand pauses on my chest, right over my racing heart.  Her voice barely a whisper above the din of the music, “Thank you for the dance, Ethan.”  She doesn’t look up as she pulls away and walks off, leaving me standing alone on the dance floor.

I feel a strong hand grasp my shoulder, “Let’s blow this joint.  We need to get you wasted.”  Sam is my friend.

Groaning, I reluctantly peel back my eyelids.  My brain is cloudy.  It cannot be morning already.  Another loud clang sounds from the kitchen below.  I shift onto my side and reach over to my bedside table, pulling the alarm clock so it’s facing me.  I squint trying to focus my fuzzy vision.  Crap!  I drop back down on my pillow.  It’s barely 10AM.  

My mom’s flight got in early this morning.  Judging by all the clatter, she must be cooking me breakfast.  As I had predicted, Homecoming turned out to be a very long night.  I pull my pillow over my head and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to go back to sleep.  My brain has a different agenda and last nights events start replaying in my head.

Fallon Pierce.  Her little black dress paired with her favorite motorcycle boots.  Her flawless bare skin in the moonlight.  Our dance next to the forest.  Her arms wrapped around my neck.  My hands on her waist.  Our second dance inside Homecoming.  Her luminous green eyes staring up at me with carefree joy.  Her body so close to mine.  It almost doesn’t seem real.

I wanted to kiss her in that moment, but then she left me on the dance floor.  Groaning again, I toss my pillow to the side of the bed.  I wasn’t going back to sleep now.  The sunlight bleeding through my drawn shades makes me wince.

Mackenzie was pissed at me last night.  Pissed probably doesn’t begin to cover it.  Livid, furious, murderous rage.  That might cover all the bases.  I would have bailed but then I would have looked guilty.  I was not guilty of anything since Mackenzie had agreed to go to Homecoming as friends.  Sam didn’t try to chuck an empty plastic cup at my head.  Liam didn’t go ballistic on me for dancing with another girl.

The guys wanted to attend Emma’s after party, so I went since I had technically been invited prior to Dancegate.  Since Mackenzie was moody, I tried my best to avoid her for the rest of the night.  But whenever we fell into the same circles, she alternated between giving me the death glare or studiously pretending I didn’t exist. 
Girls.

A loud clatter sounds from downstairs and the sound seems to vibrate through my skull.  My head is pounding in earnest now.  I had gotten a different kind of pissed last night and I would be paying for it this morning.  Two nights in a row, I haven’t partied like this since last spring when my parents’ marriage was in a downward spiral.  I had better slow down and let my liver catch up.  

Kicking off my duvet, I swing my legs off the edge of the bed.  My legs buckle as I stand and I grab onto the bed frame to steady myself.  I am still wearing my dress shirt, which is badly wrinkled, and my boxers.  My suit and tie are lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of my bed.  Bending to pick them up, the world spins momentarily and levels out again as I straighten up.  I swallow back the urge to throw up.

I hastily hang up my suit which worse for wear.  At one point in the evening, I hazily recall someone spilling beer on my pants.  I stumble my way into the bathroom and close the door.  I turn on the shower and hop in, not bothering to let the water heat up.  The cold water will sober me up for breakfast.  

After my cold shower, I hunt down a bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet and swallow two pills dry.  My beard is starting to grow in, but I’m too exhausted and my hand is too unsure to shave.  I follow up with a thorough teeth brushing before dressing in a soft gray sweat sweatshirt and black track pants.

As I plod down the stairs in my socked feet, the smell of coffee and warm waffles waft up to greet me.  My stomach churns and I can feel bile rising in my throat--my body’s punishment for last night.  My mom is bright eyed despite her red eye flight and long drive home from the airport.

She greets me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Good morning, sweetheart.”  I only manage a grunt in reply.  She eyes my sweats, day old stubble, and bloodshot eyes.  Her pursed lips are disapproving, “You look tired.  I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“It’s okay, Mom.  It’s getting late anyway,” I say unconvincingly as my mouth opens in a jaw cracking yawn.

I start fixing myself a cup of coffee while she slices strawberries for our waffles.  She opens the oven door and takes out a tray of sizzling bacon.  As usual, the smoke detector starts going off.  These damn old houses and their sensitive smoke detectors.  

Mom sets down the tray of bacon on top of the stove and closes the oven door.  I grab a food magazine from the kitchen counter and fan it under the smoke detector with my left hand.  Using my right hand, I pinch the bridge of my nose.  My skull is threatening to split open with each drawn out beep that sounds.  I am feeling a tad queasy from the greasy smell of bacon filling the air.

Mercifully, the beeping finally stops.  I toss the magazine back on the counter.  Adding in the rest of my cream and sugar, I take a tentative sip of my coffee.  It is scalding hot and burns my tongue as it goes down, but I chug it like it’s the elixir of life.  The effect is similar.  I set down my empty mug with a thud on the marble countertop and pour myself a second cup.

I sit down on a stool at the breakfast bar, sipping from my steaming mug as Mom moves around the kitchen finishing up our breakfast.  My stomach feels a bit calmer now that I’ve had some coffee.  After last night, I should probably be drinking water but I’m too lazy to get back up.

Standing behind the island, Mom is divvying waffles onto large, square shaped, white plates.  She artfully arranges sliced strawberries on top of the steaming waffles and finishes them off with a light dusting of powdered sugar.  Using tongs, she places two slices of bacon on the side in an X shape.  Reaching over, she sets the plates on the breakfast bar which is already set with cutlery.  Next, she sets out a white bowl of freshly made whipped cream with a spring of mint in the center.  From the microwave, she pulls out a heated container of maple syrup.  I feel a pang in my chest as I watch her put our breakfast together.

This brings back memories of when Scott and I were young.  Dad was always traveling for work and he would be gone for months at a time.  During the week, our schedules were so packed with activities we hardly spent any time together as a family anyway.  Sunday was our only quiet day without school or practice.  Every Sunday morning, Mom would make us an elaborate breakfast--french toast stuffed with cream cheese and berry compote, paper thin crepes with hazelnut spread, chocolate chip pancakes shaped like animals.  We would have a nice leisurely breakfast, just talking about our week.  

Now it’s just me and my mom having one of her elaborate breakfasts.  It makes me miss having Scott around.  After last night, I could really use some brotherly advice.  I glance at the clock on the stove, it’s early evening and almost dinner time over there.  He probably has homework to do so I might not be able to reach him today.  I make a mental note to e-mail Scott after breakfast.

I heap a scoop of whipped cream on my plate and drizzle syrup on my waffles.  Cutting off a small corner of my waffle, I place a sliver of strawberry on it and dip it in the whipped cream.  I chew it cautiously but my stomach doesn’t object.  As we eat, I fill my mom in on the details of Homecoming weekend, going into great detail about the game and skating over the stickier parts of the dance, and completely leaving out the parties.

I help her clear the table before escaping upstairs to my room.  While my laptop is firing up, I try to hunt down my cellphone.  It’s tucked in the inner pocket of my suit jacket, the battery drained.  I plug my phone in as the password prompt pops up on my laptop’s screen.  My phone chimes, demanding my attention as it restarts.  

Sitting on the edge of the bed with the laptop resting on my knees, I start typing out a quick e-mail to Scott giving him a brief summary of last night’s events.  My phone buzzes, rattling on the nightstand as a flurry of incoming messages coming in from after the battery died.  It stills momentarily before a second wave of messages come in.  

Distracted and curious, I grab my phone and start scrolling through the unread messages.  Sam.  Liam.  Max.  Chloe.  Sophia.  Fallon.  I almost drop my laptop on the floor.  Hurriedly, I shut the lid and toss the laptop on the bed.  I am too anxious about what the messages might contain to open them right away so I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath.  
One... Two... Three...
I hit open and quickly read the text.

Sorry about what happened.  I hope I didn’t get u into too much trouble with mackenzie.

Typical Fallon, apologizing and deflecting.  She can be so bewildering and frustrating.  I rake my hand through my still damp hair.  How do I reply?  I don’t want her to feel weird about what happened.  I start typing and then delete the text, repeating the process a half dozen times before I get a part way decent response.

Nothing to be sorry about.  I’m glad we got a chance to dance together.  What r u up to 2nite?
 I hit send before I can change my mind.  Collapsing on top of my pillows, I await her reply.

My eyes wander alternately from my phone to my alarm clock.  Time seems to have slowed to a crawl.  After five minutes, my phone buzzes again.  I immediately click read, but it’s just a message from Sam.

Feeling oh soooo messed up right now.  Can’t even begin 2 describe it.  Pls remind me to never do this again.

I couldn’t agree more with his assessment, but I smile knowing how Sam likes to party. 
Yea right sam.  U’ll forget this feeling by next weekend.

He replies instantly,
:) True.  Hey, u remember cassidy from last nt?  The blonde 4m lakeside hs?  She wants to meet up 2nite at lakeside lanes like 7ish.  It’s a group thing & I don’t wanna go alone.  After last nite liam is grounded.  Again.

Cassidy from Lakeside High School is a blurry memory from last night.  I would like to get out of the house tonight but I envision myself sitting off to the side as the third wheel.  Sam will end up making out with Cassidy while her friends are bowling and ignoring me.  About as tempting as a root canal without Novacaine... I start tapping out a reply but my phone buzzes mid-sentence.  It’s from Fallon.

I’m glad too.
 She doesn’t respond to the second half of my text.

I change my mind about Sam and tap out a reply,
Sam invited me to go bowling w a group of ppl at lakeside lanes tonite.  They’re all 4m lakeside hs so I won’t know ne1.  Would u come with me?  As friends? 

Her response is immediate,
As friends, yes.

I’ll pick u up at 7?

On ur motorcycle...? 
Most girls seem to like the motorcycle.  But Fallon was not like other girls. 

I can pick u up in my moms car if u prefer.

Thx.  That would be better.  C u tonite.

It’s just before seven when I pull up in front of Fallon’s house.  Despite the cool evening, the short drive has left my hands sweaty.  For some reason, the thought of seeing Fallon tonight makes me nervous.  It’s probably because she’s alway doing something unexpected and I have to stay on my toes to keep up with her.  Especially now after what happened at the dance.  The rejection still sings and I try to push it out of my mind as I hop out of the car.

Wiping my damp hands on my jeans, I walk up her lit up drive way.  I straighten the hem of my navy sweater and unzip my black leather jacket.  I run my hand through my perpetually wild hair trying to tame it some.  I pause at her front door, taking a long deep breath before ringing the doorbell.

My eyes wander around her block while I wait for her to come to the door.  Next door, a dog starts barking as a black SUV pulls into the driveway.  Fallon opens the door a crack and slides out, shutting the door firmly behind her.  I guess she really doesn’t want to invite me inside.  I wait patiently as she locks the front door.

She is dressed simply in a loose fitting blue and white striped sweater underneath a gray leather jacket with dark blue skinny jeans tucked into the same motorcycle boots she wore to the dance.  A shiver runs through her body as she acclimates to the cold.  Her dark hair is swept over her shoulder, her face shadowed by the long strands.  She peeks up at me from under her lashes as she tucks her keys in her jacket pocket.  

Her shy smile is breathtaking, “Hello, Ethan.”