The Catastrophic History of You And Me (13 page)

CHAPTER 22

every time I see you falling, I get down on my knees and pray

T
hey say that when you fall from somewhere super-high—like a plane or a skyscraper or a bridge, for example—you don’t really have time to panic. That you can’t actually process what’s happening while you’re falling and, by the time you finally land (yikes), you’re basically already dead from the shock of the fall.

Well, guess what, boys and girls.
They
are lying.

Big-time.

This time as I fell, the seconds seemed to slow down. I knew the wind was screaming all around me, but I couldn’t hear it. I knew my limbs were buckling through empty space, but I couldn’t stop flailing for something to grab on to. I knew the dark water was rushing up toward me like a parking lot, but couldn’t bear to look. In my entire life, there had never been anything so terrifying.

Pretend it’s a game,
I heard Patrick whisper.
And it will be.

A GAME? Are you NUTS?!!

“Eat air, Cheeto!” Patrick yelled. He zoomed right in front of me, cutting me off.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Watch it!”

All of a sudden I felt an old familiar sensation work its way under my skin and into my veins. My old competitive streak kicked into automatic.

Oh no you don’t. You are going down, Dead Boy.

I threw my arms straight out in front of me and shot forward, spinning past orange suspension cables and giant steel beams with rivets as big as my head.

“And another thing!” I cried, gaining on him. “Don’t call me
Cheeto
!”

The ocean continued to rush up, closer and closer.

Three hundred feet.

One hundred.

“Wahoooo!” Patrick howled. “I feel the need, Cheeseburger! I feel the need for speed!”

Seventy-five
.

“Here we go!” He pulled his knees into his chest and tucked his chin way down. “
Cannonballlllll!
”

He was totally out of his mind. We were falling way too hard and way too fast. I knew from diving that if I didn’t hit the water at just the right angle, things were going to be ugly. I tried to make my body as straight and vertical as I possibly could. Head down, arms together, toes pointed toward the moon.

Ten feet.

I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself for crash-down.

One foot
.

For the briefest moment, all I could hear was the sound of my beating heart—or the memory of it. Then suddenly I was hurtling through a giant wormhole, a vortex made of planets and stars and the ageless Pacific, spinning headfirst into the black, starless night. An intergalactic washing machine set on turbo blast.

But as I let myself go—as I gave myself up to the all-consuming dark—a single, smoldering, furious thought ignited in my brain.

Jacob.

If I couldn’t have him, nobody could.

“Hey Cheeto, you alive? Well, not alive-alive. You know what I mean.”

I clutched my stomach and groaned. “Why must you always be talking?” My entire body felt limp. My hair was soaked and matted and my arms and legs were twisted up and made of jelly. I tried to open my eyes, but the glare was still too bright.

“How’s it feel to be the rotten egg?” Patrick teased. “I’d say you had nice form, overall, but your jackknife really had nothing on my cannonball. Next time, you might want to try being a little more creative.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I reached up and wiped a giant piece of seaweed from my face. Peeked my eyes open and realized we had washed up on the beach at Crissy Fields, right on the edge of the Presidio.

“Well, that’s interesting,” said Patrick.

“What is?”

“I had no idea this was a nude beach. California’s really come a long way since my day.”

“What are you talking about? It’s not a nude beach.”

But suddenly I felt the slightest draft of breeze dance across my left butt cheek.

Oh my GOD, I’m NAKED
.

“Where are my clothes?” I cried, trying desperately to cover up. “Turn around, Patrick!”

“Don’t worry.” He covered his eyes. “I didn’t see anything.”

I reached up to touch my neck, and breathed a giant sigh of relief when I realized my charm necklace was still right where it was supposed to be, thank goodness. But then a fiddler crab crawled out from underneath my armpit, causing me to shriek and then jump about a foot in the air.

“See? I said you weren’t ready to come back,” he said. “We just got here and you’re already freaking out.” He sighed.
“Women.”

It took me a few seconds of scanning the beach, but I finally spotted my dress, soggy and crumpled against a stray piece of driftwood, just a few yards from where I’d washed up on shore. I stole a glance at Patrick. “Stay exactly where you are, my friend, or suffer the consequences. Do you hear me?”

“Sorry?”

“I said, do you hear me?”

“What was that?”

“Are you deaf or something? I asked you if you could hear me!”

He cracked a sly grin. “Yes, Cheeto, I heard you. You’ve really got to lighten up.”

I sprang to my feet and tiptoed across the sand, doing my absolute best to cover my boobs. Not that there was a whole lot of boob to cover, but still. I peeled my waterlogged dress off the sandy, seaweedy beach, and shook it out. After a lot of pulling and tugging, I finally managed to get the thing back on over my head. The only problem was, the dress had shrunk.

A lot.

“You look . . .
good,
” Patrick said, once I’d allowed him to open his eyes.

I scowled.

“Not that you don’t always. Look good, I mean. Um. Because you do.”

I felt myself blush as I pulled my dress down over my butt, which I couldn’t help being grateful hadn’t expanded with all the pizza slices and Frostys I’d gotten used to. Patrick might have been annoying, but he was still a guy. And, I couldn’t lie, a pretty cute one at that. I’d become used to him teasing me all the time, but this was the first time he’d ever really mentioned my looks before.

Not to mention seen me naked.

Kill myself.

“Can you, um, zip me?” I grunted, swiping at the back of my dress.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, I can definitely do that.” He made his way over and I felt his fingers graze my neck as he gently lifted my hair.

Suddenly, the air tasted like smoke. And my skin was on fire.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I warned him.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said matter-of-factly. “I did have three sisters, after all.”

Three sisters?

For the briefest moment, I could almost see them. Two older, both with honey-colored hair, and one younger, a blonde. Their names floated into my head.

Julia, Kate, and Alex.

But how could I know that?

“I think I’ve just . . . about . . .
got it
.” With one final tug, he’d done it. Patrick stepped out from behind me, looking pleased with himself. “Your wish is my command.”

I tried to think of a reasonably cool response but felt my cheeks flush an even brighter shade of red.

Brie, don’t be dumb. Say something. Say anything.

“You all right?” he asked. “You seem sorta weird.”

“I’m fine,” I blurted out. “Just dizzy. From the fall.”

The sun slipped behind a cloud, casting a long shadow across his face. I shivered a little and looked up. The fog would be rolling in soon. “We should get going.”

He paused. “Okay, Cheese Puff, you lead the way.”

I reached out slowly and took his hand, visualizing our exact destination, like it had said to do in the
D&G
. “Here goes nothing.” I focused on the place and on the exact spot I wanted us to land. Wished I’d had another slice of pizza before takeoff.

But then the winds picked up and the sun disappeared and I felt the world spin out from underneath my feet, until,
BOOM!
we slammed down onto a grassy field, collapsing in a heap.

“Nice,” grunted Patrick. “You’re a real natural. Now can you please get off?”

“Sorry.” I rolled off of him and tried to get my bearings. Breathed deeply and scanned the field, taking in a giant lungful of earth and grass and sky. “We’re back.” I smiled. “We made it.”

The journey had been a little on the rocky side, but all that mattered was that I’d successfully zoomed us back to Half Moon. I felt incredible. Totally free, and totally in control.

Best. Zoom. Ever.

“Not to brag,” I said, “but I’m getting pretty good at this.”

Patrick was too busy checking out our surroundings to answer me. I didn’t blame him. The California coastline was just beginning to wake up from its winter nap. The hills had started to sprout flowers, and their petals sparkled in the sunlight. Pansies, poppies, star lilies, fiddlenecks, and rambling patches of blue and gold forget-me-nots.

Ha. I can think of two people in particular who could use a giant bouquet of THOSE delivered to their doorsteps.

The trees even seemed to stand a little taller somehow, reaching and stretching their sleepy limbs toward the light. The air was sweet and full of spring.

Spring
.

And now there was officially nothing standing in my way. That is, except rows and rows of white granite headstones.

“Destination reached,” I said, suddenly feeling very much home. I mean, not that I should have been surprised.

We had landed at the cemetery.

CHAPTER 23

hey, hey, you, you, I don’t like your girlfriend

I
walked up to my grave and sank down to my knees. There was my name, carved into powdery white stone.

“Doesn’t seem real,” I murmured.

“Funny thing is,” Patrick said, “I’m not sure it ever will.”

Scratching. Screaming. Suffocating.

I felt the slightest tingling in my eyes. “Don’t cry,” I scolded myself. “Do
not
cry.”

Aching. Searing. Ripping in two.

But I couldn’t help myself. A single, lonely tear ran down my cheek and into the long, uncut grass, where wildflowers stuck up in random, scraggly clumps.

“Does anyone even come to visit me?” I wiped my nose and tried to smooth down the earth, but couldn’t make contact. My hand didn’t even leave a mark. “Why can’t I do this?
Why
?”

“Here,” he said, kneeling down. He put his hand on mine. “Feel the ground. Feel the pulse of it.” He pressed down harder. “Feel the way the light hits it. Feel the way it breathes.”

I tried to do what he said. I stared at our hands, all mushed into the ground. “I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t feel anything.”

“Control yourself,” he said. “Remember what the book said. It’s not about controlling the thing. It’s about controlling yourself.”

But how? How can I control what I feel?

“Fake it if you have to,” he said. “Fake it ’til you make it.”

I wiped my face with the back of my free hand and took a deep, shaky breath. I focused on feeling strong. I focused on feeling aware of everything around me.
Control.

I felt Patrick’s fingers lock together with mine. Our hands a muddy mix of dirt and sand and teardrops.

“I can’t get it.”

“You can.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

I focused so hard I thought I might give myself a concussion. I stared at the ground, aching,
desperate
to connect with my old world. I reached down deep inside of me and gave it everything I had left.

And I still couldn’t do it.

I bowed my head, hating myself.

Then, all of a sudden, something bit me.

“Ow!” I pulled my hand back. “What the hell was that?”

“Ant?” Patrick guessed.

I stared at the small mark on my thumb, already swelling up and turning red. I looked at Patrick, wide-eyed. “It
bit
me. It bit me and I felt it.”

He smiled. “Feels pretty good, huh? I knew you could—”

I threw my arms around him, surprising us both. “Whoa,” he whispered. He let me hug him for a minute, and then slowly began to hug me back. For half a second, our faces only inches apart, I couldn’t remember why we’d come back to Half Moon. All I could think about was the feeling of his heart beating against my chest. Warm and steady.

And as we held each other there in front of my headstone, a memory flashed through my mind. A boy and a girl, running together through an endless field of wildflowers. The sound of their laughter echoing through the crystal night sky.

All of a sudden, a chill raced through me. The memory wasn’t mine.

“We’ve got company.” Patrick’s voice jolted me back and I felt his arms loosen.

I followed his eyes, and saw a figure approaching. Her dark hair and tiny frame. Those bright brown eyes. Smoldering. I’d know those eyes anywhere.

Sadie.

“What’s she doing here?”

Patrick shook his head. “Guess you get more visitors than you thought?”

Her hands were full of sunflowers and daisies. I wished I could throw them in her face.

Give it some practice,
I heard Patrick say,
and who knows?

I got to my feet and faced her. Felt my cheeks flush as she came closer. “What do you want?”

She stopped about a foot from my headstone, looking through me. “Hey, Brie,” she whispered. “I know you must hate me—”

“Yes,” I snapped. “Yes, I do.”

“—but I miss you so much. And I’m so, so sorry. I hated keeping everything from you. But it wasn’t up to me. It wasn’t my news to tell—”

“Don’t you
dare
think you can apologize. Don’t you even—”

“She’s trying,” Patrick interrupted, his voice soft. “You should listen.”

I glared at him.

“Fine.” He shook his head. “Hold a grudge. It’s your party.”

She looked exactly the same as always. Same perfect hair. Same perfect tan. Same killer eyebrows. I hated to admit it, but she looked gorgeous. And even though she was clearly upset, I could tell the months had been good to her. I could tell she’d been happy.

Ugh. I wonder why.

I watched Sadie stare down at my headstone. Watched for any sign of emotion—guilt or grief or otherwise—and wondered how the two of them had managed to keep the whole mess a secret. Right under my nose. And probably, if I had to guess, everyone else’s noses too. Emma and Tess clearly hadn’t had a clue about any of this on the night of my bonfire. I felt sick to my stomach thinking about that; thinking how Sadie had betrayed them too. How she’d pretended to love me.

Because I’m sorry, but that is
not
how you treat somebody you love.

It couldn’t have been easy. There had to have been so much sneaking. So much lying. So many stolen kisses. Kisses she had stolen from me
,
thank you very much.

Man, she had a lot of nerve, coming here. Trying to talk to me when I couldn’t answer. When I couldn’t tell her she wasn’t even remotely welcome on my turf.

“Turf?”
Patrick chortled. “Are you serious? Cheeto, you’re like straight out of
West Side Story
.” He broke into a mock dance number, and started belting out an old familiar Broadway show tune. “Toniiiight, toniiight, we’ll get them back toniiiight.”

I couldn’t help myself and cracked a grin. A baby one, but still.

Then, suddenly, Sadie’s phone rang. She rooted through the brown Coach shoulder bag she’d picked out at the mall with me last year. “A little out of season are we, Sadist?” I said.

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “I can think of one sadist around here, and it’s definitely not her.”

Sadie finally pulled out her iPhone. “Hey, sweetie. What’s up?”

SWEETIE?

A beat of silence.

“Yeah, I’m just running some errands.”

Oh. So I’m an errand now, am I?

Easy, tiger.
Patrick looked worried I might spontaneously combust.

“Sure.” Sadie glanced back toward the cemetery’s gates. “Sounds good. I’ve got my mom’s car. I’ll meet you in fifteen.”

“Ooh, a secret rendezvous,” Patrick said. “Those are my favorite.”

I gave him another evil look. I’d planned to go straight to Jacob after checking in on my grave. But this was the next best thing. No, this was better.

Catch them together. Catch them alone
.

“Man, you are twisted, sister.” Patrick shook his head. “Real twisted.”

I watched Sadie place her flowers down, leaning them carefully against my headstone. As if they could’ve made up for anything I’d been through.

Well, I had news for Sadie Russo.

I may have gone down. But this time, she was going down with me.