Freefall Page 2

  Turning back to Xander and his yammering, I considered my next move.

  “. . . play a show in Seattle,” he was saying. “I told him we’d have a better chance . . .”

  Kendall didn’t seem to have noticed me yet. I needed to keep it that way. I could sneak away. Or pretend not to see her. If she went along with it, we could ignore each other for hours.

  Not that I’d be staying for any more hours. No way.

  But then it was too late for pretending. I was looking at her and she was looking at me. Her huge, dark eyes narrowed and her pouty lips turned down.

  Busted.

  “. . . wondering,” Xander said, “do you ever play electric bass or any other styles of music besides rockabilly?”

  “Nope.” I looked around for a hiding place. “I haven’t for a long time.”

  Dining room, kitchen, bathroom, garage. Backyard!

  “Well, if you ever want to try something different, my band—”

  “I’m going out. There,” I said, pointing at the sliding glass door. “See you around.”

  I pushed past two dudes, slid the door open, tripped outside, and pulled the door shut again.

  The yard was like an ad for some yuppie resort, with all the matching chairs lined up and a couple of round tables with huge umbrellas poking out of them. I went around to the far side of the pool and fell onto a cushioned lounge chair, where I had a good view of everyone through the huge living room window.

  What the hell was Kendall doing here?

  Or, the better question: What was I doing? This was Kendall’s neighborhood now. These were Kendall’s fancy friends. Of course she’d be here. I hadn’t been thinking when I’d let Daniel talk me into this.

  I finished my beer and tossed the can under my chair. I wanted another but I didn’t feel like going in to get it, so I leaned back and stared at the sky instead. Aside from the people who lived here, everything was better on the Hill than in the Valley; even the fucking stars were brighter.

  There was sound all around me: the conversation of the guys smoking weed by the fence, the whispering of the couple making out on the air mattress, the music coming from inside Pete’s house. But I wasn’t part of any of it. It was all just background, swirling over and around, bouncing off me. Maybe Vicki’s wish would come true and I would end up like Isaac. Maybe I didn’t even care.

  The back door slid across its track.

  Open: loud music/laughing/talking.

  Closed: muffled music/laughing/talking.

  The unmistakable sound of flip-flops slapping the bottoms of feet echoed from across the pool and started coming close. Closer. Closest. The shoes stopped and the chair next to me scraped on the concrete. The cushion made a deflating sound.

  I turned my head, expecting to see that dreaded red hair and Kendall raring to go for round two—of arguing, I mean—but the flip-flops wearer on the lounger was this hot girl with long, black hair. We’d never had a real conversation and I didn’t know her name, but I’d seen her around at school some during second semester.

  “I’ve noticed that in movies about parties, everyone always ends up falling, jumping, or pushing each other into the pool,” she said, waving toward the water. “And yet here we are and no one’s in there. Not one single person!”

  Lying down felt nicer, but I sat up anyway. This chick was too cute to ignore. “That’s easy enough to fix. You stand by the edge. I’ll give you a shove.”

  She laughed, and if there’s any such thing as a pretty laugh, she had one. Just hearing her was enough to snap me out of my funk for the moment. “Actually,” she said, “I think I’m good for now. Thanks, though.”

  To make her laugh again, I said, “All right. Fine. Be that way.”

  It didn’t work at all; I sounded like a dickhead.

  We sat there for a few painful seconds with neither of us saying anything. I glanced toward the window for Kendall or Daniel while Flip-Flops stared at me.

  “I am so glad to be out here and away from everyone right now,” she said. “I hate coming to these parties.”

  “Why’s that?”

  She bit her lip in this sexy, nervous way. “I don’t know. I guess because I don’t really drink or any of that kind of stuff, so being around people who do is just kind of . . . surreal.”

  “Surreal?”

  “Everyone seems fake and weird in there,” she said with a shrug.

  “Oh. Like being surrounded by pod people?”

  I had no idea where I came up with that. I didn’t even know what I was talking about.

  “Kind of the opposite, maybe,” she said. “See, these pod people are normal humans until they get loaded and suddenly start thinking whatever they say and do is super-great. But in Body Snatchers, they’re emotionless, freaky alien creatures. So it’s a little different.”

  Huh. So pod people were from a movie, then?

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said.

  It was another lame attempt at humor because, obviously, I was partway loaded—just like probably everyone except her—but I still knew full well that I wasn’t funny or interesting or deep.

  For some reason, though, she missed my meaning.

  “Really?” she asked, smiling. “So you’re saying I’m not the only non–pod person here for once?”

  I didn’t want to have to tell her she’d pegged me all wrong, that she was looking happy and beautiful for nothing, so I nodded. It wasn’t exactly a lie, I figured. Somewhere in that huge house was someone else who was sober. Maybe.

  Another silence.

  Flip-Flops looked toward the door. Was she thinking of going in because I wasn’t talking? Should I say something to make her stay?

  “My car has at least enough gas to get to the ocean,” I blurted out.

  She leaned toward me and I could see right down her strappy top. Nice.

  “That’s good,” she said. “Are you taking a trip?”

  “Um, well, I wasn’t for sure planning to,” I tried my hardest to sound serious and sober. “But I’ll take you if you want. Since you hate this party so much, I mean.”

  She laughed again. Such an awesome laugh. If I had a recording of it, I’d play it on repeat for hours. “That’s a very sweet offer. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to pass.”

  “Let me guess.” I sounded ridiculously jokey to my own ears. It was like I couldn’t stop. “A girl like you doesn’t take rides from a guy like me?”

  Before she got a chance to answer, the back door was opening again and a big group came out. Carr and Daniel were with them. Almost everyone started toward the pool, laughing and making a bunch of noise, but Daniel hung back and lit up a cigarette.

  I watched Carr, hoping he’d take the opportunity to drown himself. Instead, he dragged a chair over and sat down next to Flip-Flops and me. “You okay out here?” he asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  She smiled. “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” Carr stuck his lips by her ear and used a whisper voice that was so loud the people inside the house could almost have heard him. “This guy’s pretty hammered,” he said, gesturing toward me. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t harassing you like he was Vicki a few minutes ago.”

  Her smile faded. She eased away from Carr and studied my face like she was making sure she could identify me in a lineup. Carr was watching me too, and I wished I’d knocked the bastard out in the dining room when I’d had the chance.

  Then the wailing of sirens cut into the night. You’d think they’d have come quietly so they could catch us offguard, but here in Kenburn, Washington, the boys in blue were all about the scare tactics. “Cops,” Daniel said, rushing over. “Time to bail.”

  No shit.

  I tried to jump up but caught my foot on the cushion. The lounge chair and I crashed side by side inches from the edge of the pool. The beer can I’d stashed came rolling out and hit Flip-Flops on her foot. She glanced down at it for one long second, and then headed for the gate without
looking back. I pushed myself up to get going too, but Carr gave me a hard shove, and I fell again.

  Right into the pool.

  The chlorinated water stung my nose and plugged my ears as I hit the shallow, tiled bottom. Being tossed in cold water while wearing all my clothes felt wrong and somehow more intense than anything I’d experienced for weeks. But thanks to the air pockets that had formed in my shirt, I surfaced easily. Carr was gone, and Daniel was poolside looking panicked. “Dick, this isn’t what I’d call a good time for a swim.”

  The sirens sounded close now. And from what I could see through the sliding glass door, everyone inside was freaking out. Such amateurs.

  I paddled to the steps and pulled myself out.

  “Hurry up! Unless you want to get busted?” Daniel yelled over his shoulder as he went for the gate.

  I bolted after him. My socks and shoes were sloshing, my T-shirt and jeans were heavy and suctioned against my skin, and my coordination was for shit. But I didn’t stop running until I’d caught up with Daniel at the edge of the woods. “What about the car?” I asked.

  “I hate to break it to you, but you’re in no shape to drive and neither am I,” Daniel said. “We’ll get it tomorrow.”

  I followed him into the woods to go the back way home. It was a forty-minute walk, and by the time it was over, I was covered with dirt after tripping my way down the hill, through bushes, over fallen trees and branches, and across the river in soaked clothes and shoes that wouldn’t stay tied.

  What was it Flip-Flops had been saying about movies, pools, and getting pushed in? Because as far as I could tell, it sucked balls in real life.

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7

  6:34 A.M.

  Three days later. It was the first morning of eleventh grade, and I was up at a sickeningly early hour. I had to make it to my meeting with Ms. Naylor in the guidance office at the start of zero period—and not a minute later—or else. Or else what, I didn’t know, but she’d sounded threatening when she’d called, like she just might kill me if I ditched one more appointment.

  Still at home, I was that miserable kind of tired where my eyes ached when I tried to open them wider than slits. My head was like a roll of wet toilet paper, and I was running ragged. After more than two months straight of partying, I was getting sick of being sick, burned out on being burned out.

  My shower didn’t do the job of waking me up, so I threw on jeans and a T-shirt and headed to the kitchen, where I grabbed a Mountain Dew. Then I ripped open the last pack of strawberry Pop-Tarts and set them side by side in the toaster oven.

  The front door screeched open and banged shut. Jared must have been out all night. Or Mom? But ten seconds later, it wasn’t my brother or my mother who came busting into the kitchen. It was Kendall.

  Her bright red hair dye must have mostly washed out, because she was now sporting orangey blond, messy pigtails along with glittery makeup, huge hoop earrings, and a short red skirt.

  “Good morning, lover!”

  She said it in a cheery, offhand way, as if this was how we always started our days. I had no clue what she was up to or how she could pretend like everything was fine. Well, maybe for her everything was fine. It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d hooked up with one of Isaac’s friends.

  Guilt hit me full force once again. Most definitely I’d kissed this girl. Isaac’s girl. I’d touched her. And everything else too. Everything.

  “I already told you,” I said, “don’t call me lover.”

  The corners of her lips turned up. She walked right over to me by the counter, grabbed the pop can from my hand, and took a sip. Standing this close, I could smell her lotion or perfume or whatever. It reminded me of how a bag of gummy bears has cherry, pineapple, and citrus flavors all mixed together. Not a sexy scent, but still kind of nice.

  “This is quite a nutritious breakfast you’re having,” she said.

  “Why are you here?”

  She flipped one pigtail behind her shoulder. “Because I need to talk to you.”

  She needed to talk to me. Not wanted. Needed. Never a good sign. My heart started knocking a little harder as I braced myself for whatever bad news she was bringing. “Is everything cool?”

  Instead of answering, she kept on smirking and drinking up my soda. I hated it when she looked at me like that. It made me paranoid.

  I tried again. “I mean, you don’t think you’re knocked up or anything, right?”

  That sounded pathetic, but I still couldn’t remember what went on with us that night. Not one single detail. And knowing more than I liked about my brother’s close calls with a few chicks over the years, I wanted nothing more than to keep from getting into a situation like that. Jared’s miserable drama had a lot to do with why I hadn’t tried taking any postgig or party hookups all the way.

  Kendall reached over to run her fingers through my damp hair. We were about the same height—five-feet-nine—which made her tall for a girl and me short for a guy, I guess. I ducked back so she’d quit touching me.

  “I thought we had an agreement,” she said. “You’re not allowed to talk about my menstrual cycle and I’m not allowed to sleep in your bed after passionate lovemaking.”

  Passionate lovemaking. She actually said those words.

  This was entirely too fucked-up. Kendall and I were tight when she still lived next door, but I never thought we’d be hooking up. In fact, I’d kind of made it a point over the years to be sure we didn’t. And that it happened like this only made it worse. We were both there that night, but she was the only one with memories of my first time. I mean, how sick is that?

  “When did we make the agreement?” I asked. “Because all I remember is waking up, feeling like shit, and you calling me lover. And while I was trying to figure things out, you were telling me I’m an asshole and stomping—”

  “How exactly do you expect a person to react when you say they’re an STD-ridden whore who wants to have your baby?” she interrupted.

  “I never said that!”

  “You implied it.” She crossed her arms over her chest, smiling like she was enjoying this. “Seth, you were a complete dick. Just admit you didn’t handle it well, beg for my forgiveness, and maybe we can move on.”

  I shook my head. She was unbelievable. Sure, I’d freaked out a little, asked a bunch of questions about how the hell we could have done this, and stressed about whether we’d used protection. None of it seemed out of line to me, and now Kendall was twisting everything around. Like she always did.

  “I didn’t handle it well?” I asked. “Hey, at least I wasn’t screaming and throwing things—”

  “What things? I threw your shirt only because you acted like it was oh-so-offensive that I was wearing it in the first place!”

  I rubbed my temples. I had a Kendall-induced headache coming on.

  “Look, I didn’t come here to talk about this,” she said, leaning against the counter. “I just need a favor from you.”

  Of course she did. “Does the agreement we supposedly made include you not asking me for favors? If not, it should.”

  “My car’s on the side of the road. I want you to take a look.”

  The brand-new MINI Cooper her stepdad bought had crapped out already? “I can’t help you.”

  “Don’t be a prick,” she said, sighing. “Seriously.”

  “Sorry, but I seriously have to get to school in a few minutes.”

  “Uh-huh. You really expect me to believe you’re taking a class during zero?”

  Zero period at the start of the day—just like seventh period at the end of it—was set up for those overachievers who couldn’t get enough of learning during the regular hours we were trapped in school. As Kendall and everyone else knew, I’d sell my left nut before signing up for extra classes.

  I didn’t get a chance to explain—not that I owed her an explanation anyway—because right then three of my senses were hit at once: I smelled smoke, I heard the smoke alarm, and I saw oran
ge flames all over my breakfast.

  “Shit!” I said, yanking the toaster oven door open as the alarm practically blew out my eardrums.

  I grabbed one of Mom’s cow-print dish towels and tried smacking at the fire, but it didn’t help. The flames got higher, and then the towel started burning too. While I was stamping that out against the linoleum, Kendall pulled something from the cupboard above the stove and pushed me out of the way to throw a handful of white powder. The flames in the toaster oven went out instantly. Magic.

  She held up an orange box of baking soda and gave me a pointed look as she yelled over the alarm, “You realize that to keep that from happening you’re supposed to clean out the crumbs and melted cheese that fall under the rack, right?”

  I stuck my fingers in my ears to block out the beeping and Kendall’s voice.

  During the commotion, Mom had come out of her room in a satiny green robe. She stood in her doorway with her auburn-from-a-bottle hair a tangled mess, managing to look dead tired, confused, and annoyed all at once. “What’s going on?” she shouted over the racket while Kendall picked up the singed dish towel and started waving it toward the ceiling to redirect the smoke.

  After about twenty torturous seconds, the noise stopped, but the smell lingered on.

  “Sorry, Mom. It’s nothing,” I said.

  “Right, nothing at all.” Kendall shook her head. “Your son is just setting everything on fire out here.”

  Mom had been pulled from sleep after probably only a few hours, but she still managed a small smile. Kendall was like the daughter or little sister she never had, and they were always doing girly things together like painting their nails and watching Gilmore Girls reruns. They just clicked for some reason, and even after Kendall’s mom got married and moved with Kendall and her sister from the trailer next door to some fancy place on the Hill two years ago, Kendall still kept coming around.