Falling Into Us (9 page)

I swung my backpack around to my front, ducked down into a squat in front of her, and swept her onto my back in a piggyback ride, bursting into a full-out sprint down the hallway. She squealed and wrapped her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder and laughing, demanding that I put her down. I just wanted to get her mind off being nervous so she wouldn’t stutter, not that it bothered me, but because it did her.

“Put me down, you lunatic!” She slapped my chest. “This is scary!” The fact that she didn’t stutter and said it laughing told me was having fun, so I kept running down the empty front hallway, past the main office, where Mrs. Jones, the secretary, looked up and peered at us over her glasses in disapproval. 

We approached the doors that led to the parking lot, and I slowed enough to kick the crash bar and open the door, ducking through and skipping down the steps. My backpack jounced against my stomach, my books hitting my bruises painfully, but I didn’t care. I had her legs wrapped around my waist, her arms around my neck, her breath in my hair, and her sweet laughter in my ear. 

I made it halfway across the parking lot before she started wiggling in my grip, so I slowed to a stop and let her down. There were no cars in the parking lot, so I looked around in confusion. “Where’s your car?”

She twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “I don’t have one.” She said it carefully, clearly upset by the admission but determined not to show it.

“So how are you getting home?” I asked.

“Ben is probably waiting for me at the circle. He picks me up after school since Mom and Dad are both working.”

“Well, shit, that’s on the other side of the school. Why didn’t you say something?”

She gave me an incredulous look. “I tried! You were carting me through the school like a caveman dragging his woman to his cave!”

I laughed. “So you admit it! You’re my woman.” I grabbed her wrist and jerked her against me, and faked a deep, gruff voice. “Me Jason. You mine.”

She seemed to melt, just a bit. Her eyes widened and wavered, dark and luminous like black coffee glinting in the rays of sunshine. “Fine. Me Becca. You mine.” She said it barely above a whisper, as if she couldn’t believe her own words.

I felt my stomach flipping, my heart rabbiting. Her lips were parted, waiting. Shit. I was gonna kiss her, wasn’t I? 

Yep.

I slowly, carefully lowered my lips to hers, giving her plenty of time to back away. She tasted like vanilla lip stuff and smelled like citrus and melons and cleanliness and an indefinable, intoxicating something else. Her lips were soft and wet against mine, still at first, but then as moments passed and the kiss continued, her lips began to move, tilting to gain a better fit. I lost my breath, lost track of everything except her body flush and soft against mine, her hands sliding slowly up my spine to rub against my close-cropped spiky blond hair. 

A car horn blared from a few feet away, and we both jumped guiltily. 

“Becca! Whoo-hoo! That’s how you break the rules, girl!” It was Ben, Becca’s brother, skidding his battered red Trans Am to a stop next to us. “I’ve been waiting for you for ten minutes, Beck. I guess I see why.” 

“I wasn’t breaking the rules, Ben. Shut up.” Becca had my hand in hers, a kind of declaration to her brother. Clearly she trusted him not to say anything to their parents.

Ben just laughed, black hair hanging loose around his shoulders in a glossy, messy tangle. “Sure you weren’t. I wouldn’t rat you out, but you know you wouldn’t want
Father
to know I caught you making out with this punk in the school parking lot.”

I watched Becca’s eyes narrow at her brother. “You wouldn’t dare. Don’t forget I know about your little dryer-sheet trick. I bet
Dad
would be interested to know about that.”

They were both emphasizing the different words they used for their dad, which made me think even her brother thought it was odd that she called him “Father.” I was curious about the dryer sheet trick, though.

Ben ran his fingers through his hair, flipping it back over his scalp. “I just said I wouldn’t tell, didn’t I? And wasn’t I the one who offered to help you sneak out so you could see this kid?” He pointed at me with his thumb.

I knew of Ben de Rosa. He was kind of a legend around our high school, notorious for skipping classes, getting into fights, cursing out teachers, and playing high-profile but ultimately harmless pranks around the school, but then always able to talk himself out of the punishment he deserved. He was our town’s stoner, the kid you always knew had pot, and was probably high every time you saw him. No one ever ratted him out, though, and he’d never been arrested somehow, despite the common knowledge of his activities. I’d never been able to figure out how he did it, and now that I’d come to understand more about Becca’s life, it was even harder to comprehend how Ben could do anything he wanted and get away with it, when Becca couldn’t even go out on a date with me without getting grounded for a month.

Becca just shook her head at her brother, then turned to me. “I’ve gotta go. I’m supposed to be home by four-thirty.”

I glanced at my phone and cursed when I saw the time. “Shit! It’s after four already! Coach is gonna rip me a new asshole. I better go dress out before I spend the entire practice doing down-ups.” I hesitated, then bent down and touched her lips quickly with mine. “Midnight? Right?”

She pulled away with a self-conscious glance at her brother, then nodded. “Yeah. Midnight. If I don’t show up, it’s because I couldn’t make it, not because I didn’t want to.” She slid gracefully into her brother’s car and waved out the open window at me, holding her hair in a temporary ponytail with the other hand.

Coach made me run two miles at full speed with a sandbag across each shoulder, then do down-ups for twenty minutes before letting me run scrimmage with the guys.

Totally worth it for my first kiss.

FOUR: Midnight in the Garden

Becca

Later that night

I clung to the drainpipe, frozen in fear. “It’s going to break, Ben,” I whispered, my voice a raspy whimper.

He just stuck his head out the window above me and grinned. “I know it seems like it, but it won’t, I promise. I climbed up on a ladder last summer and nailed that fucker to the wall real good.”

I laughed, picturing Ben up on a ladder, trying to juggle a hammer, nails, and a joint, all so he could sneak out at night without falling. I’d crept into his room at a quarter to twelve and told him I wanted to sneak out to see Jason. He just grinned at me and shoved open his window, pointing at the drainpipe a few feet.
 

“Look down—I even put some footholds on there and painted ’em white so you can’t see them.” He sounded pleased with himself.

I glanced down, my stomach wobbling at the distance beneath me, but eventually focused on the drainpipe and saw that, sure enough, he’d nailed a piece of wood crossways between the pipe and the wall so you’d have somewhere to put your feet as you slid down. I wondered that Father had never noticed, but then realized that he never really went outside the house. He came home from work at seven every night and left at six in the morning, and went golfing most of the day Saturday and Sunday. He’d have no reason to make a circuit of the house or to examine the drainpipe for secret escape routes. My brother was hiding his egress route in plain sight, it seemed.

I slid down a bit further, touched the foothold, and then slid down some more. “Is there another foothold beneath me?” I asked.

“Yeah, I put in two. Should be another a few more feet down.” Ben watched me descend, his hair hanging loose around his face.
 

I shimmied down until my hands caught the foothold and lowered myself farther, until my feet found another hold. At that point, the ground was only a few feet down, so I jumped free. I happened to glance up at Ben as I did so, and he had his hand out and his mouth open as if to protest. I fell a lot farther than I’d thought I would, and hit the ground with a hard thump, my ankles jarring. I tumbled backward and hit again on my tailbone, cursing under my breath as my ankles and my butt began to throb.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked in a whisper-shout. “I was gonna say, that seems like a lot closer than it really is. You gotta keep climbing down and not let go until your hand’s on the foothold. I almost broke my ankle the first time I climbed down that way.”

I rubbed my tailbone and rotated one ankle and then the other. I’d be sore for a while, but nothing was injured. “I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks, Ben.”

“I don’t want to know where you’re going or what you’re doing. I need some kind of plausible deniability,” he said. He ducked back in his room and then reappeared with a backpack in his hands. “Catch this.”

He dropped it and I caught it in my arms, unzipped the main compartment to find a few old ratty T-shirts wrapped around a fifth of Jack Daniels. I glanced up at him, and he winked at me. “Can’t have much fun without some booze, can you? I didn’t think you and Dorsey would want pot, or I’d give you that.”

“You’re not supposed to encourage us to drink, Benjamin.”

Ben laughed too loud and clapped his hand over his mouth. “God, you are such a goody-goody, Beck. What the fuck’s the point of sneaking out at midnight if you’re not gonna do it right?” I just shook my head, re-zipped the bag and slung it over my shoulder, and had turned to make my way through the side yard when Ben stopped me with a
pssst.
“I want the rest of whatever you don’t drink, so bring the bag back. And…don’t drink it all. You’ll get sick.”

I rolled my eyes at him, even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m not stupid, Ben. I know better than to drink an entire fifth at once.”

Ben lifted an eyebrow. “Well, maybe some of us aren’t as smart as you. It’s one of those ‘fun at the time but a bitch later’ things.”

I just shook my head. “I’m leaving now, Ben. Bye, and thanks.”

“Plausible deniability starts now. I don’t know you.” I heard his window slide closed with a faint squeak.

I laughed as I ducked under the low-hanging branches of the huge pine trees standing between our house and our neighbors. The grass was wet with dew and the air had a bite of cold to it, making me glad I’d decided to change into jeans and put on a heavier sweater. The sky was clear of clouds and dotted with stars, a thick wedge of white-glowing half-moon rising midway through the silver-studded black. My breath puffed in faint clouds of white as I dodged along the trees and out to the road. I saw Jason’s truck idling with the headlights off, a cloud of exhaust roiling around the back of the truck. The interior light of the cab was on, bathing Jason in a pale yellow glow. I could see the top of his head bent toward his lap, the hedgehog spikes of his blond hair still held in perfect place by the gel he used, his neck thick and tanned by hours in the sun.
 

He glanced up as I approached the passenger side of the truck, a happy grin spreading across his features. He hopped out of the truck, and I heard the strains of country music turned down low escaping into the night. Hurrying around the front, Jason had the door open for me before I could even touch the door. I stepped up and slid in across the cloth seats, and immediately felt at home. Somehow I had a feeling I’d be spending a lot of time in this truck. I loved it already.
 

I thought of the first country song he’d played for me, and took inventory of the inside of his cab. The seats were gray cloth, a console in the middle with two black cup holders between my seat and his, a nearly empty bottle of Mountain Dew Code Red in the holder nearest the driver’s side. Scattered across the armrest section of the console were a thick history textbook open to the Civil War section; a notebook filled with a neat, slanted, all-caps scrawl; and a to-go bag of Cheez-Its. On the floor at my feet was a faded maroon Jansport backpack, his green-and-white varsity letter pinned to the outside pocket. Several empty bottles of Mountain Dew and Gatorade were piled up on the floor near the vent at my feet, along with empty packets of beef jerky and sunflower seeds. A zipped-closed CD case sat on the dashboard, wedged against the windshield, fat with discs and faded with age. On the floor between the seats, stuffed between the gearshift
 
and the seat front, was a thick U of M stadium blanket, and balled up on top of that, a black Carhartt hooded sweatshirt, thick, zippered, and clearly much worn. Peeking out from between the sweatshirt and the blanket was a strap of some kind, like for a camera case or some other protective bag.
 

As Jason stuffed his books in his backpack, I pushed the sweatshirt aside to get a look at what was beneath it. I discovered an expensive-looking backpack-style Nikon camera bag. Jason had the truck in gear and was pulling around in a U-turn to speed onto the main road, flicking on his headlights. I tugged the camera bag free from beneath the sweatshirt and lifted it onto my lap, unzipped it, and gasped at the enormous, professional-grade camera nestled inside.

“Is this yours?” I asked.

Jason glanced at me, and then a look akin to panic swept over his features. “Yeah, it is. Can you put it back, please?” His voice was calm, too calm. He looked almost angry.

I hurriedly zipped the bag closed, clicked the clasps in place, and re-covered it as I’d found it. “I’m sorry,” I said, unsure of what I’d done wrong. “I was just curious. It’s a really nice camera. Was it a gift?”

Jason fist tightened on the wheel. “No. Bought it myself.”

“How’d you afford this kind of camera? These cost, like, two thousand dollars.”

“That’s a D800. They’re three grand retail. I got that one online for a little over two.” He twisted his fist around the steering wheel. “I saved up to buy it.”

“You have a job? I didn’t know that.”

Jason blushed, more from anger than embarrassment, it seemed to me. A vein in his temple throbbed. “I don’t have a job.”

“Then how?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. A traffic light turned red, and we slowed to a stop. “This stays between us, okay? Not even Nell can know.” I nodded, and he blew out a long breath. “My dad pays me two hundred per game we win, plus twenty bucks for every touchdown I score. I also get a thousand dollars if I get straight As for an entire year. If I maintain a 4.0 average all four years of high school, he’ll go in half on whatever car I want. So that’s how I bought this truck. My uncle Rick was selling it, so he gave me a good deal on it. Then I bought the camera.”