The Girl Who Fell (32 page)

“Zephyr?” I hear the way surprise nearly steals his breath.

“Hi Dad.” A bridge.

“It's good to hear your voice. How are you? How's school. Merry Christmas.” His sentences come rapid-fire. Like he doesn't know what to say and can't say it fast enough. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything's fine, Dad.” It's a lie but I'm not sure how much I'm willing to share with him yet. I pace the kitchen, my thumb trailing along the island.

“You had me scared there for a minute.”

“You're scared because I called you?”

“I guess you caught me by surprise.” I hang on the cadence of his words, the depth of each syllable, and it is a relief that this part of him has not changed. His voice, here in the kitchen with me now, it fills me. “What really scared me, Zephyr, was thinking I'd never talk to you again.”

“Same.” Because it's always been that. Even when I convinced myself I was scared of running into him around town—even then I was more afraid of never seeing him again.

“You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that, Zephyr.”

“Dad . . . I-I was wondering if you maybe wanted to meet up for dinner.”

“Yes.” An intake of breath. “I would love that.”

We decide on a Chinese restaurant halfway between here and him. Neutral ground. After the holiday.

“I'm so glad you called.” I hear the relief in his voice, feel it in my own chest. It is the first time in months that order feels like it could be restored. Or at least, redefined.

I curl up in front of the television with Finn and find a showing of
Miracle on 34th Street
before there's a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

Lizzie pops into the kitchen under a dusting of snow. She kicks off her boots but doesn't take off her jacket. She joins us in the living room, twisting her hands for heat. “You doing okay?”

“I'm good.” I scrunch my legs, make room for her on the couch. “I called my father.”

“No shit.”

“Shit.”

“What did he say?”

“We're gonna meet for dinner.”

She leans back, lets out a surprised
hmm
. “I think that's great. What brought on your sudden change of heart?”

“I've been thinking about it for a while and it seemed like the right time. Christmas and all. I figured I won't be here next year so . . . time's running out.”

“Because you'll be in Michigan.”

I pet Finn, avoid Lizzie's gaze. “That's the plan.”

“Is that your plan or Alec's?”

I cut her a look. “That's not fair, Lizzie. You don't even know Alec.”

“I'm aware. You've had considerably less time for me since you met him.”

“Why don't you just say what you came to say, Lizzie? That Alec fucked up and—”

“He did, Zee. What I saw last night was beyond fucked up.”

“Agreed. He got crazy jealous and admitted what he did was stupid. And hurtful. We've all done stupid shit for the right reasons. There. Now, can we move past it? I have.”

Lizzie throws up her hands. “No boy is worth losing a friendship over. I don't need you going to Michigan hating on me.”

“I could never hate you, Lizzie. But I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing.”

“Okay, if that's what you need.” But even now I hear her doubt. “Listen, I can't stay.” She gives Finn a quick pat. “Gotta do some stuff at the house before Saint Nick gets here. I just came by to make sure you were okay.”

“I am.”

“Good.”

She stands and suddenly I don't want her to go. I don't want to be alone with my doubts. “Lizzie? Thanks for coming over. For checking on me. Last night too. It means a lot.”

She nods, considers. “Course, Zee. Always.”

Always. Since my father left, I've been consumed with redefining the word, but as she throws a wave from the door, I know Lizzie's definition of “always” remains unchanged.

I curl tighter against Finn and check my texts.

Alec:
Call me

Alec:
What r u doing?

Alec:
Where r u?

And then one from Gregg:
Are you around to talk?
I read it a few times. My curiosity swells for how that talk would have gone.

Alec:
Going for a drive. Text when u get this

Alec:
Zephyr, I'm officially worried

Alec:
Call me. Now. Please. Let me know ur okay

And one just after midnight:
Can't even sleep I'm so worried about u

Then:
Where are u???!!!

Six more from this morning, almost exactly the same.

And then another from Gregg:
Talk. You know, that thing where friends exchange words. Sentences even.

I punch up Alec's number and he answers on the first ring. “Zephyr, are you okay?”

“Totally. I left my phone with Lizzie and just got it back.”

“I was so worried.”

I give him the number to the house phone in case he can't reach me again and tell him there's nothing to worry about. I only wish my friends didn't make me doubt my own words.

I go to my bedroom and dive onto my bed, my hip nicking the University of Michigan catalog from the edge of my desk. It flutters to the floor but I don't pick it up. Instead, I let my eyes roam to the acceptance letter from Boston College. It is tacked to my wall, among the photos and cards. Even from this distance, I see the maroon crest. It draws me up, until I am close enough to read the letter, and I remember how happy I was when Alec delivered it to my hands. It seems like a lifetime ago. I look to the date printed in the lines above my name.

I squint my eyes closed, shake off the impossibility. Then look again.

November 11.

Impossible.

I open my desk drawer, frantically dig in my file folder that holds all things Boston College. My fingers clasp the edge of the envelope. The one my acceptance letter arrived in.

In the corner, in eraser-red ink is the postmark date.

November 13.

More than a month before Alec brought me the letter.

An entire month.

I look at the date on the letter again. Two days earlier. It took two days for the letter to be sealed and receive a postmark.

So why did it take a month to reach me?

Did Alec have it before he gave it to me?

And then, the most awful suspicion: Had he been holding on to it? So he'd have time to convince me to hitch my future to his?

And as oxygen drains from my room and the scene from last night reemerges, I think it's possible.

Probable, even.

And that's when I hear Lizzie's words:
Manipulation 101
. And Gregg's:
The kid's got issues
. I remember the times Alec wanted to be with only me. The distance he wanted me to have from Gregg and Coach, even Alumni Weekend.

But didn't I want all those things too?

I do. I did.

I wanted Alec so much, the rest didn't matter.

And it is this realization that collapses me against the wall, sinks me into a blurred heap because I can't separate what is real and what is Alec and what is me.

I knock on Mom's bedroom door even though it's open. She looks up from where she's reading in bed, beckons me in.

“I thought you were going to the Slicers.” I can't keep my voice from cracking.

Mom removes her reading glasses and her eyes lock on mine. “Changed my mind.” She pats the bed, makes room for me. “Zephyr, what's the matter?”

I fall into her arms and the deluge opens. I cry for Boston College. For lines being blurred. For doubting Alec. For believing in Alec. For forgetting me. For believing in the new me Alec made. I hate all of me and most of me and I don't know how to escape the skin I'm in.

Mom strokes my back. “Whatever it is will be okay, Zephyr.”

She has no idea.

“Tell me what's going on.”

Where do I even start? The day at the park? Sex in the woods? Alec bringing me dinner and the news of my future? These things are too beautiful and kind and exactly what I wanted, so how can I be questioning them now?

“I think Alec did something, Mom. Something so bad and I can't know for sure but now I can't take back what I've done.” I sob against her.

“Did he hurt you? Are you in trouble?”

I shake my head.

She comforts me, but then separates us. Our eyes are only inches apart, and I don't like the person I see reflected. “Then let's start with the facts. We'll go from there.”

I nod, thankful for the rational side of my mom, the one that can help separate the truth from my suspicions. I drop my gaze as I tell her about my plan to go to Michigan with Alec.

She tries to hide the way shock deflates her, but I know she's calculating physical distance, the uncharacteristic reasons behind my decisions. “And now you regret that decision? Or did you two break up? Is that why you're upset now?”

I hand her the letter from Boston College and she surveys it quickly. “Look at the date.”

“November eleventh.”

“I didn't get it until a month later.”

“You think it got lost in the mail?”

“Maybe. But, the thing is . . .”

“What?” Mom presses, her word filled with too much concern. “What is the thing, Zephyr?”

“Alec brought me the mail that day, the day the letter came.”

“Okay.”

“But I'm not sure that's when the letter arrived.”

“What are you saying?”

That Alec may have orchestrated the biggest mistake of my life. “I think maybe he might have had it for a while.”

“What possible motive would he have for that?”

“I think he waited until I was open to changing schools.” And then it all sounds too calculated. A small laugh jumps out at the absurdity of my suspicions. “Oh my god, I sound like a crazy person.”

“Zephyr, I'm not going to lie and tell you I approve of the plans you made to attend Michigan because of a boy, or let you off the hook without telling you how disappointed I am that you didn't talk to me about any of this, but you are not crazy and this is not the end of the world. You can still go to Boston College.”

And the truth hammers me. “No Mom. I can't. I declined their offer. I sent the paperwork. It's done.”

Mom goes rigid, the color erased from her face. “Please tell me that's not true.”

“I wish I could.”

“Oh Zephyr.” Mom releases me fully then, sinks back into her propped pillows. “How could you let this happen?”

It is a question I can't stop asking.

•  •  •

I drive through town, intent on my destination. My knuckles whiten with the death grip I have on the steering wheel, but I can't relent. It's irrational, I know. But if I ease off the slightest bit, I'm afraid I will disappear. That I will be swallowed by all my doubts. When I reach the house, it is an effort to pull my hands free of the wheel and step out into the cold. But I do, because I have to. Mom's advice was dead-on. Do the thing that I can control. Fact check. Talk to Alec. And listen to my gut.

I can't separate out the timing of my letter from Boston College. The scene of Alec and that girl. Alec's jealousy. But then there is the Alec who set aside his jealousy when Gregg got hurt, the Alec who helped me with Finn, the one who keeps me safe in his arms, promises me forever. Confusion circles in my head on an unrelenting loop and spits me out in front of Lani's house now.

When she opens the door, she's as surprised to see me as I am to be here. She doesn't even bother with a greeting, just steps aside to welcome me in. Her look stretches beyond me, searching for Gregg before she closes the door behind us.

The house smells of apple pie. It's surprising the way I remember so much of this living room from when her mom was our Brownie troop leader.

“This is unexpected,” Lani says, crossing her arms, judging me already.

“I know it's weird timing and it's lame that I'm interrupting you or bothering you.”

“No bother. What's up?”

I fumble in my jacket, my fingers grabbing onto the swatch of newsprint. It is flimsy between my fingers, near weightless. And yet it is almost too heavy to exhume from my dark pocket. I fight its determination to stay hidden and haul it up, unfold the news clipping for Lani. “Do you remember this?” I don't look at the paper. Instead, I study her eyes, the way they dart bigger when she reads the taunt etched in red. There is a dash of horror, a spec of disbelief.

“No.” She shudders.

My heart plunges because I know as I watch her reaction that this act of treachery was not committed by Lani.

“I mean, I remember when you signed it at breakfast that day, but that”—she nods toward the slur—“Zephyr, who did that?”

“It doesn't matter.” It is the biggest lie I tell. I crumple the clipping and shove it deep into my coat pocket.

“You didn't think I . . . ?”

“I had to make sure.”

“I might be envious of what you and Gregg have, but I would never.” She cups her hand to her mouth and her voice softens. “I'm so sorry this happened to you, Zephyr.”

And in that moment I'm not sure if she's sorry “SLUT” graffitis my image or if she's sorry for me because I'm out here on Christmas Eve searching for the person who marked me. Either way, her innocence plays with the gravity around me, shifting it so I sway, my feet liquid. Lani reaches out to steady me.

“Are you all right?”

“I'll be fine.” Another lie.

I manage to get into my car and drive down the road before tears rise up. I pull over and squeeze them back, keeping my eyes shut, seeing Alec bent before me, lacing up my skates with such tenderness, sharing his heat under a blanket in the woods. And I see his gifts. The carnation and the cards pinned to my wall.