Falling Into Us (3 page)

“Hey, Kyle, my man! Whassup!” I faked enthusiasm to cover the rush of nerves.

The hesitation on the other end was louder than a shout. “Actually, Jason, this is Nell. I’m calling from Kyle’s phone…I—I forgot mine.” Nell’s voice hit me in the chest like a ton of bricks.

Then her words registered. “Forgot yours? Where are you? I’m pulling up to your driveway right now.”

An even longer hesitation. My stomach shriveled and sank at her next words: “Listen, I’m sorry, but I can’t go out with you.”

Shit. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. “Oh, I gotcha.” I tried to cover my disappointment, but I was sure she could hear it anyway. “Everything okay? I mean—”

“I just—I may have said yes too quickly, Jason. I’m sorry. I don’t think…I don’t think it’d work.”
 

“So this isn’t a rain check, is it.” I couldn’t disguise my hurt at this point.
 

“No. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, I guess.” I laughed, realizing how stupid that sounded, especially since she could obviously tell I was upset. “Shit, no. It’s not. This is kinda shady, Nell. I was all excited.” I had to get it together. I clenched my fist around the steering wheel and squeezed my eyes shut.

“I’m so,
so
sorry, Jason. I just realized, after really thinking about things…I mean, I’m flattered, and I was excited that you asked me, but—”

I interrupted her. “This is about Kyle, isn’t it? You’re with him, on his phone, so of
course
this about him.”
 
I should have known. I really should have. Everyone always thought they were together anyway.
 

“Jason, that’s not—I mean, yeah, I’m with him right now, but—”

“It’s fine. I get it. I think we all knew this was coming, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I just wish you’d told me sooner.” I sounded like a dick, but I just couldn’t help it.

“I’m sorry, Jason. I don’t know what else to say.”
 

“Nothing to say. It’s all good. I’ll just…whatever. See you in chemistry on Monday.”

I was about to hang up when her voice stopped me. “Jason, wait.”

“What.”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but…Becca has had a crush on you since seventh grade. I guarantee she’ll go out with you.”

“Becca?” Shock laced my words. “Wouldn’t that be weird? I mean, what would I say? She’d think she was my second choice or something. I mean, I guess that’s true, but not like
that
, you know?”

Nell answered after a short pause. “Just tell her the truth. I backed out on you, last minute. You already have reservations, and I thought she might like to go with you instead of me.”

“Think it’ll work? Really?” Becca? She was cool, but she wasn’t Nell. Out loud, I said, “She is pretty hot.”

“It’ll work. Just call her.” She rattled off Becca’s number, and I repeated it back to her, scribbling it on a receipt from a gas station.
 

“Thanks…I think. But, Nell? Next time you’re gonna break a guy’s heart, give him a bit more notice, would you?” I tried to inject some playfulness into my voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jason. I didn’t break your heart. We hadn’t even gone out yet. But I
am
sorry for standing you up like this.”

“No worries. Besides, maybe something will work out with Becca and me. She’s almost as hot as you. Wait, shit, that didn’t come out right. Don’t tell Becca I said that. You guys are equally hot, I was just—” God, I sounded like a moron. Someone stop me.

Nell laughed, cutting me off. “Jason? Shut up. Call Becca.”

The line went dead, and I stared at the rectangular bit of receipt paper with ten digits scrawled messily across the back. Becca? I wasn’t sure if asking her out was a good idea. I didn’t know much about her, now that I thought about it. I had the feeling she came from a pretty strict household, but I was just judging by the fact that she always dressed super-modestly, never showing much skin beyond short-sleeve shirts and knee-length skirts. Nothing low-cut, nothing up past her kneecap. She never hung around guys, never acted flirty, never showed up to parties. She was quiet, studious, kind and polite when spoken to, and people tended to leave her alone or be nice to her simply because she was Nell Hawthorne’s friend.
 

She’d had a crush on me? Really? How had I never noticed that?
 

I sat in the driveway for another few minutes, thinking. I nearly peed myself when someone knocked on my window. I rolled it down. Mrs. Hawthorne’s gentle, pretty face was scrunched up in confusion.
 

“Jason? Is everything okay? Nell isn’t here. She went out running with Kyle.” Mrs. Hawthorne was the kind of woman you wanted to be
your
mother. Slender, with fine blonde hair and pale skin, she was the epitome of wonderful, always smiling, showing up to football games to cheer us all on, and she usually had baked goods. She knew almost everyone in town by name, and she liked to hug people. She usually smelled like cookies and faint perfume.
 

My own mother was barely a person, hiding out in her room and watching soap operas and reality TV, staying away from the battleground that was the living room. Dad knocked her around sometimes, but as soon as I was old enough to take it, he turned his fists on me and left her alone except for the twice-weekly thumping of the headboard against the adjoining wall between my bedroom and theirs.
 

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Everything’s cool. I thought we were hanging out, me and her and Kyle, but I got the times wrong.”

Mrs. Hawthorne frowned at me. “Now, it’s not nice to lie, Jason Dorsey.”

I grinned at her. “Me? What would I have to lie about?”

She frowned ever more at that. “I’ve known you since you were in diapers, Jason. I know when you’re lying.” The corners of her lips turned up in a smirk that reminded me a lot of Nell. “I also know Nell and Kyle had some kind of argument, and I suspect I know what it was about.”

“They argued?” This was news to me. “I just talked to Nell on Kyle’s phone. They didn’t sound mad at each other, I can tell you that much.” I think I might have sounded slightly bitter.
 

She glanced at the ground, almost awkward, if such a graceful creature as Mrs. Hawthorne was capable of awkwardness. “I think they made up.” She met my eyes. “You’ve always liked Nell, Jason. I know that, but
she
doesn’t.”

I blew out a breath of frustration. It seemed like Frankie really
had
been right when he said everyone knew I liked Nell but Nell. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. I have a feeling she’s with Kyle now.”

Mrs. Hawthorne nodded. “Yeah, that’s my thinking. It wouldn’t surprise me. I’m sorry, Jason. I know that must hurt.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine. It always did seem kind of inevitable that those two would end up together, though, you know?”

Mrs. Hawthorne nodded again. “Yeah, I’ve always thought so.” She turned a sharp gaze on me. “What are you going to do now?”

I fiddled with the gearshift knob, tracing the white lines and numbers. “I dunno. Nell said I should ask Becca out, but I don’t know about that. I don’t want Becca to think I was just doing it because I had no one better to ask, you know?”

“Hmmm. That’s not a bad idea, actually. I think if you told Becca the truth, she’d respect that. It might be awkward at first, but she’s a very understanding girl. She’d understand where you were coming from. Make it casual, though. Just go and talk to her.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I’m sure. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” She touched my hand. “Jason? You know if you ever need anything, you can come here, right?” There was an edge to her voice, something deep and sharp. As if she knew something no one but Kyle would know.

I just stared at her, unsure how to respond. “Thanks, Mrs. Hawthorne. You rock.”

She smiled at me, and I was sure there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. As if she suspected. But it wasn’t like she could do anything, even if she did know, even if I did tell her what happened in the Dorsey living room.

I knew Becca lived in one of the newer subdivisions a few miles away, so I headed in that direction after leaving Nell’s house. I stopped near the entrance to the subdivision and dialed the number that Nell had given me.

TWO: Second Choice; a First Date

Becca de Rosa

September, sophomore year of high school

I swore under my breath as I tried to hurry through the last ten questions of my calculus homework. I hated calculus. It was tedious and difficult, but I had to be in all advanced classes to please Father. Or, rather, to maintain his approval, since pleasing him was all but impossible. The loud bass thumping of my brother Ben’s stupid rap music made it even more difficult to concentrate, especially since he’d turned it up louder after I’d asked him to turn it down. I loved my brother, but he was so very difficult, especially when he was in one of these moods, the depressed, angry times.
 

I
had
to finish this calculus, because if I didn’t, I knew I would never do it, and that meant I couldn’t leave the house. My parents were hideously exacting when it came to my academics. They demanded a weekly progress report, including all upcoming tests and exams, completed homework assignments and those due, and any possible extra credit. I was allowed three hours of personal “free” time every day, but only after all homework was completed. Which, seeing as I was in all AP courses, meant that I often did not get even as much as a single hour to myself. I usually labored over homework until nine or ten every night, and after ten I was not allowed to leave the house. I spent much of my time in my room, away from my constantly bickering parents. When I was not doing homework, I would write, read, or watch a television show on my laptop. I had precisely zero social life outside of school.

I had never been on date, nor would I ever, I often despaired. My life would be consumed by studies, words, numbers, tests, and exams. Even as I hurried through the last problem and then opened my notes on required terminology, I found my mind wandering. Calculus terms became something else, became what most things became in my mind:

Poetry.

I watched my mechanical pencil scribble across the page of my journal, which was always open near me, no matter where I was. I did not try to understand the things pouring onto the page. When my pencil stopped moving, I read what I’d written:
 

THE CALCULUS OF BOREDOM

The average rate of change
 

Seems to define my axis of rotation.

The area of an ellipse

Definitely defines the constant term

Of my life.

My daily pattern of being

Is the end behavior of my

Bounded function.

Degenerate, derivative, differential,

Essential discontinuity,
 

Explicit differentiation,

Explicit function:

Exponential Decay.

I have no me,

I have only

The conditional convergence

Of their constant term
 

Of continuous function

Of disapproval.

Each decision seems to be

Part of a chain rule,

An annulus,

Or,

The region between two concentric circles which have different radii; or,

In other words…

My

Fucking

Parents.

I sighed, feeling a whisper of pleasure at the words. They expressed a part of me. I had four notebooks filled with poetry from the last few years, and the current one was two-thirds filled already. Poetry was my only pleasure in life, the only thing that allowed me any personality, any expression. Everything else was school and speech therapy and piano lessons. I liked the piano, and I knew I was good at it, but it wasn’t for me. It was expected of me, demanded of me.
 

I shook myself out of my reverie and returned to memorizing the terms for the current lesson, as well as the ones for next week. If I got next week’s homework at least started, if not finished, I might even manage some kind of free time. I finished the calc terms and moved on to economics, which was easy enough that I could put on headphones and listen to music. The first song to come up on my Pandora playlist was “Demons” by Imagine Dragons, and god, it was so apropos. So perfect.
 

I finished econ and was halfway through my reading assignment for my eighteenth-century Lit class—which actually counted for college credit—when my phone rang. My cell phone was the one concession my parents made toward me having some kind of social life. I was allowed to have a cell phone and an unlimited text and data plan, so I could text as much as I want. The only catch was, my parents would, without warning, take my phone and read through my text messages to make sure there was nothing untoward occurring in my life—where untoward equals fun or exciting or in any way interesting.

 
Even my private thoughts sounded like calculus equations.
 

The only thing that I kept private from my parents was my poetry, and I hid those notebooks in a shoebox buried in the depths of my closet. The notebook currently in use was never out of my sight, either in my purse or my backpack, disguised between textbooks and notebooks filled with school notes. I would rather burn my notebooks than let anyone read them; they expressed my every thought, my every emotion, all my deepest, darkest demons. To read my notebooks would be to read the very substance of my soul.

I answered my phone without looking at it, since only Jill and Nell had my number. “Hello?”
 

“Uh…hey. Becca, it’s Jason…uh…Jason Dorsey.”
 

Jason Dorsey was the very last person on the planet I’d ever expect to call me at seven-thirty on a Friday night, especially when I knew for a fact he had a date with Nell tonight.