Falling Into Us (6 page)

“You play the piano, too?” he asked.

 
“Yeah, since I was four. I have to practice at least two hours every day.”

“Plus all AP classes and courses at a community college.”

“And don’t forget speech therapy.”

“What?” He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“My speech impediment? The stuttering? I didn’t just wake up one day and decide not to stutter anymore. I go to speech therapy twice a month. I have to work at it, all the time.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Work at it how?”

I shook my head. “You don’t want to hear about this.”

He smiled, and this wasn’t a flashy, cocky grin, but a slow, sweet smile that melted something inside me. I’d been working the whole dinner to keep my pattering heart under control, to just enjoy the time I was getting to spend with Jason and not expect anything, but this smile…it made me feel like he liked me. Like this could be something.
 

“I do too want to hear about this,” he said, taking my hand in his and rubbing the back of my thumb with his.
 

It was an intimate gesture that had my every pore tingling, my scalp tightening, my heart hammering. I pulled my hand away and twirled a curl of hair around my index finger.

I composed my thoughts and tried to answer him in a way that would make sense. “Well, there’s a lot to know, honestly. I’ve had my whole life to figure all this out. Some kids have stutters when they are young, but they grow out of it. For them, it is just a difficulty in the process of learning correct speech. For others, like me, it is a lifelong battle, something I will never completely be free of.”

Jason was focused and interested, toying with his straw as he watched me. “So do they know what causes stutters?”

“
They
, which will someday be me, don’t know exactly, other than that it is a combination of elements. It is thought to be both genetic as well as environmental, and there is evidence showing a difference in brain structure as well. It isn’t an indication of intelligence, nor is it the same as childhood apraxia of speech, which is a different kind of developmental disorder.”

Jason sat back in his chair, seeming stunned. “You really know a lot about this. You sound like…I don’t know. Like a doctor or something.”

I smiled shyly. “Well, since I suffer from stuttering, I decided a long time ago that I should know about what it is I’m dealing with. I plan to major in speech therapy in college and eventually pursue it into post-graduate studies to become a researcher. I want to help find new ways to help children with stutters overcome it, if finding a cure isn’t possible.”

“So you really are going to become a doctor.”

I nodded. “Yes, definitely. I’ve known since I was eleven that I wanted to be like Mrs. Larson, my speech therapist. She’s helped me more than I can ever express. Not just in fluency techniques, but in learning to be confident and to like myself despite my stutter.” I paused, not sure I should share the next part of my speech, but something about Jason drew me to him, made me trust him. “Mrs. Larson was the one to suggest I write to express my feelings.”

“What do you write?” Jason asked.

I shrugged, spinning a tight curl between my fingers. “Just stuff. What I’m thinking, what I’m feeling. The things I can’t necessarily say, or wouldn’t say.”

“So is it like a book? Or poetry?”

I squirmed. Nell knew I had poetry journals, but even she had never seen them. I barely knew Jason, and this was getting intensely personal and very difficult. His bright green eyes like pools of sunlit jade pierced me, drawing my secrets from me, drawing words from me that I hadn’t intended to speak.
 

“Poetry,” I said in a barely audible voice.
 
“But not like rhyming, Shakespearean sonnets about flowers and things. It’s different. Free-verse, I guess you’d call it. Just words on a page that come from inside me.” This was more than I’d even told Nell about why I write. My heart hammered, and I felt nauseous.

He just smiled at me. “I think that’s cool. I wish I could do that. Write poetry or whatever. Words aren’t something I’m good with, especially writing. I get the thoughts sorted in my head, but then they just don’t end up on the paper like I’d thought them.” He tossed his napkin on his plate and pushed it away, but his eyes never left mine. “Could I read something you wrote sometime?”

I shifted in my seat. “I don’t know. It’s kind of like a diary for me, you know? It’s…really personal. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Jason. It’s…” I felt my nerves rising, threatening to erase my fluency. “It-it’s…no one has ever read it before. Not even Nell. Ssss-so I don’t know. Not yet. I’mmmmm—I’m sorry.” My entire face was hot with embarrassment, my eyes shut and my head ducked down.

I felt a hesitant finger push away a tendril of hair and then I felt my face rising, gently lifted by Jason’s hand. “Hey, it’s fine. No big deal. If it’s private, it’s private.” I heard the smile in his voice, how much he wanted me to understand that it really was okay. “For real, Becca, don’t worry about it. I didn’t realize it was a diary, or I wouldn’t have asked.”

I could only shrug and focus on breathing. Once I had myself calm enough to speak without embarrassing myself, I forced my eyes to his. The understanding and compassion in his green eyes was so palpable I could feel it radiating off him and into me.
 

“Thanks for getting it,” I said.

He just waved his hand. “Nah, I shouldn’t have asked.” He looked around and flagged the waiter down. “You want some tiramisu or cheesecake or something?”

“I’d love some cheesecake,” I said with a grin. Cheesecake was my weakness. I just couldn’t say no, even if it meant an extra twenty minutes on the elliptical in my basement.

 
Jason smiled happily. “Will I sound like a tool if I say I’m glad you’re not the kind of chick who eats like a bird? The fact that you like to eat and seem to enjoy your food makes me happy. I’m a foodie, and dessert has always been my favorite part.”

“A foodie?” I asked. I’d never heard the term before.

He shrugged. “I love food. I love to eat. I work out so much that I need a lot of calories. My dad will eat pretty much anything put in front of him, and my mom could burn water, so I do most of the cooking at home.” His eyes hardened at the mention of his father, and I realized that was probably the reaction he’d have every time.

“What’s your favorite thing to make?”

He thought about it for a moment. “That’s a good question. I make a lot of pasta, because it’s good for carb-loading, but I can put different kinds of meat in it for extra protein, plus veggies go great in pretty much all kinds of pasta. I love to grill, too. I’ve been known to grill burgers in the snow, all bundled up in my coat and gloves and everything.” He laughed at himself, and I laughed with him, easily able to picture Jason bouncing up and down in the snow with a knit cap and thick gloves while burgers sizzled on a grill.

Our cheesecake came, and we stopped all conversation, demolishing the big wedge of strawberry-topped deliciousness within minutes. Jason paid the bill and held the doors for me again, waiting until I’d tucked my skirt out of the way before shutting the truck door. He pulled out of the lot, cranked up the radio, and rolled down the windows to let in the warm late summer air.

“This is my favorite band,” Jason shouted over the music and the wind. “Zac Brown Band. Song’s called “Whatever It Is.’”

I dug in my purse for a hair tie and put my hair back so the wind wouldn’t tangle it, then closed my eyes and let the music wash over me. He didn’t dedicate this one to me, thankfully, but I could feel his eyes on me, flicking over to me as he drove and then back to the road. We weren’t headed back to my house, I realized after a few minutes. We were zipping down a two-lane blacktop road, away from everything, the late evening haze shifting from dark gold to deepening gray.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He just shrugged. “I don’t know. This way.” He pointed at the road ahead of us with a snarky smirk. “Just driving.”

I nodded and let my right hand hang out the window, and settled my left hand on the console between us. The song shifted to some slow and sleepy ballad, and Jason left it on but didn’t tell me who it was or the song title. I didn’t care, I realized. It was perfect music for a date, romantic and sweet. I felt Jason’s proximity like an inferno beside me. His hand was out the window like mine as he drove with his right, slowing down and turning us onto a narrow dirt road with trees growing up at the very edge. Fields stretched out into the distance beyond the trees, and the road twisted and turned, gravel bouncing off the tire wells and dust kicking up in the side-view mirrors.
 

My heart palpitated when Jason switched hands on the steering wheel, settling his right hand on the console inches from mine. I wondered if he would take my hand, and what I would do if he did. I bet his hand was warm and rough and strong, and I could almost picture my small dark fingers nestled between his larger, tanned white ones. My heart hammered, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his hand, which was somehow closer to mine than it had been. I watched as Jason’s eyes shifted to mine, then to our hands, then out the windshield again. His left foot was bouncing crazily, and his hand was beating a rhythm on the steering wheel in time to the Carrie Underwood song playing on the radio.

I wanted to hold his hand. Nothing else mattered. I wasn’t sure where we were or where we were going or what time it was, and I didn’t care. I turned my head and met his eyes, and then, with a deep breath, slid my hand underneath his. His eyes widened and his breath hitched, but he didn’t hesitate to wind his fingers between mine. He smiled, and everything was better than fine.

We drove until darkness had fallen, taking turns listening to country music and talking. Jason told me about his dreams of going pro, and I in turn told him about my proposed career path in speech therapy. We talked about school, about the various cliques, and realized we were both only really part of the “in crowd” because of who we were friends with. I didn’t believe Jason at first, but then he explained that he’d learned to be outspoken just so he didn’t get completely lost in Kyle’s shadow.

“See, Kyle doesn’t mean to steal the spotlight,” Jason said. “It’s just how he is. He’s just one of those people who takes the center of attention without trying. I’ve been his friend since I don’t even know when. First grade, maybe? Forever. It’s always been that way. I’d get so frustrated, because everyone would want to be around Kyle, want to be his friend, want his attention because Kyle’s just
that cool
. I wasn’t that kid. I had to learn to put myself out there, talk loud enough to be heard, you know? Just so I didn’t get lost in the glow of Kyle’s golden-boy brilliance.”

“Do I sense bitterness there?” I teased.

He laughed. “Nah, not at
all
.” His voice was laced with sarcasm. “For real, though. Kyle is my boy. I’d do anything for that kid. No matter what’s happened, he’s always made sure we’re in it together. But it can be tough being best friends with the star of the town.”

I nodded. “I know what you mean. Nell is like that. She doesn’t even realize it— she’s just naturally cool. Everyone likes her. She’s popular, and she doesn’t even know it.”
 

Suddenly it was full dark and we were still spinning around corners on dusty dirt roads, Jason’s headlights cutting a swath in the darkness. Panic hit all at once as I realized I had no clue what time it was.
 

I dug my phone out of my purse frantically, then let my head slam back against the seat as I saw the readout: 10:10 p.m. “Shit, shit,
sh-sh-sh-
shit
!” I felt tears welling up. “Stop the truck, Jason. Stop, please. Right now.”

Jason skidded to a stop and turned to look at me in concern. “What’s wrong?”

I swallowed hard. “I—I didn’t tell Father I was leaving with you. He thinks I’m with Nell. I was supposed to check in at ten. If I call him now, he’ll demand to talk to Nell, and he’ll be mad. I’m in s-so-
so
much trouble, Jason.”

“It’s only ten minutes, what’s the big deal? It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. We’re just driving around.” Jason genuinely didn’t understand.

I shook my head, breathing slowly to calm myself down. “You didn’t hear what I said. I told him I was with Nell. I
lied
.”

“Why’d you lie?”

I shrugged, not quite sure I could explain. “He wouldn’t let me go if he knew I was with you. I’m only allowed to go out with Nell and Jill, and even then, we’re not supposed to be hanging out with boys. If he knew I was alone with you? He’s gonna kill me. Besides, he wouldn’t approve of you. I just know he wouldn’t.” I didn’t think about how that last part would sound to Jason, but I felt awful as soon as I saw the hurt on his face.

“He wouldn’t, huh? Guess I get that. Not really the kind of guy you bring home to Daddy, am I?” His voice was bitter.
 

I touched his arm. “It’s not like that, Jason. I didn’t say
I
didn’t approve of you, just that
he
wouldn’t, and he won’t approve of anyone. I’ll die an old maid if he has his way. Don’t be angry.”

Jason relented and shoved the gearshift into park. “Well, let’s make sure you don’t get into trouble. Call Nell and then make it a conference call. Maybe your dad will think you’re with her.”

I nodded. “That just might work.”

I called Nell and quickly explained the situation and what I wanted her to do, not letting her get a word in edgewise. She readily agreed, and I dialed Father’s cell phone number, merging the calls before he answered.
 

“You’re late,
figlia.
” His voice was low and angry. “Where are you?”

“
Mi dispiace
, Father. I’m w-w-w-with Nell. We lost track of time. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again,
prometto
.”

“Let me speak with Nell.”

Nell’s voice came over the phone, sounding canned and far away to me; this wasn’t going to work, I just knew it. “It’s my fault, Mr. de Rosa. We were watching a movie, and we just got carried away. Don’t be mad at Becca, please.”