We All Fall Down, Page 2

  I stop at the halfway point, looking out over the river and trying to think of a plan. She’s texting, I think, but she’s patient because she’s Paige and never minds my wandering—and, shit, I have no idea how to do this with her. She knows all of my tricks, so how does this work?

  I take a breath that sticks halfway in. “Come here for a minute.”

  She comes closer, tapping out the last bits of her message, her hair floating into her heart-shaped face. I wonder if some part of her is still kind of into me. I used to think she was, but now I’m not sure.

  Screw it, maybe I’ll try to kiss her—see what happens. I reach, but she turns at the last minute, and my hand lands clumsy and heavy on her shoulder. My stomach shrinks.

  “Hey, is it true people are going to touch the flag tonight?”

  I laugh. “Assholes, alcohol, and an urban legend. I think it’s a given.”

  She squints up at the labyrinth of beams overhead, and I can tell she’s wobbly in her high-heeled sandals. I force my eyes away from her legs to look up too, but I already know what she’s talking about. A hand-painted American flag at the top support. One of the workers from way back painted it, Denny says. Kids get drunk and try to climb up and tag it for luck. Kind of a miracle no one’s died doing it.

  Yet.

  “I don’t know why they haven’t painted over that thing.” She chews her pinkie nail, and I stare at her mouth. I am such a creeper right now.

  “Do you think everyone will do it?”

  “I doubt it will be required for party entry.” I tug at her sleeve and she ambles forward, distracted but not wary. Not the worst sign, right?

  “I don’t think I can do something like that, Theo.”

  “I’ll be your safety net.”

  “Safety net? How?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll distract everyone. Jump around at the top. Maybe fall off and break my leg.”

  She cocks a brow, looking cute as shit. “You’ll probably do that anyway.”

  “Well, Paige, I think I owe it to the Portsville emergency-room nurses to keep up with my quarterly check-ins.”

  We both grin. In the water below, a fishing boat is coming in for the night, sliding under the bridge with a slow putt-putt-putt. Maybe this is as good a moment as any. I touch her face and she lets me, sighing. She makes it harder to breathe. And easier.

  “You know I won’t let anyone make fun of you, right?” I say.

  She nods, cheeks pink. “You don’t think Chase would make fun of me, do you?”

  “Who?”

  “Chase.” Her blush intensifies, and I feel like I’ve swallowed a rock, a brick—something hard and heavy that is sinking through my middle. “Chase Moreland.”

  I drop my hand, and Paige fiddles with one of her dangly silver earrings.

  “You worried about impressing Chase Moreland all of a sudden?” I toss it out like a joke, but she doesn’t laugh.

  “Sort of. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  She does know. And now I do too. It’s like a sucker punch to the throat.

  “Color me surprised,” I say, my grin so forced that I’m sure she’ll see right through it.

  But she’s looking at her phone, and I suddenly know who she’s been texting. “It’s not a big deal. I need to get out there more. You always say that.”

  The shit of it is, I do say that. I’ve said it for years, so all I can do is nod. My stomach is turning to stone, then to lead, and then it’s melting out through my feet, but I’m nodding and nodding like a bobblehead.

  She waves her hands, says it’s no big thing. That he’s nice to her, and the party sounded like fun and that’s why she wanted to come—and I can’t listen to this. I stumble against the railing, locks clattering against the metal. Paige is still babbling, but all I hear is the pinball machine in my brain, my thoughts whirring and banging off Chase-shaped bumpers.

  Chase Moreland had the worst voice cracking of any of us back in the seventh grade. He used gel in his hair when the rest of us still weren’t washing behind our ears. He rode a fluorescent green bike and played guitar, and he lives two streets over, so he’s almost a friend.

  He’s also a bit of a dick, one who’s too thin and too hawkish, but somehow still crazy irresistible to girls. Maybe it’s the guitar.

  Paige checks her phone and teeters in her pretty sandals, and my mind is popping and buzzing, but there’s not a thing I can do. I’ve had all the time in the world. If she likes this guy, I need to suck it up and deal.

  Hopefully Jolie and her crew will be there, because I’m going to need something to drink. A lot of something.

  “We should get going,” Paige says.

  I push off the railing, and it groans so loudly that I jerk. It doesn’t stop. There’s an awful metal grinding that snakes down the railing like a chain reaction. Paige gasps, and the hair on the back of my arms pushes up in goose bumps. The noise is everywhere. Above us and below us. It’s like the bridge is coming apart, and all I can think, all I can hear is—

  You’re going down.

  Paige clamps her hands over her ears, and I grab her arm to run. The awful metal screaming fades. The quiet is sudden and strange, so I laugh, my insides liquid with relief.

  “I thought this thing was going to fall,” I say.

  “Get me off this bridge,” Paige says, her voice strangled.

  No argument here. I know I’ve had enough of this bridge for one night. What I don’t know is that the bridge hasn’t had nearly enough of me.

  Paige

  I peel off from Theo at the docks, heading onto the largest, newest-looking boat. I’m looking for Chase. Somehow, Isabel finds me instead. I barely know her, but she links her arm with mine and walks me through cramped bodies lined up on plastic chairs.

  There’s a musty tarp at the center of the boat. Under that, a string of Christmas lights reveals a cluttered card table. Before I can say a thing, we’re bellied up to that table. All I see are mayonnaise-based salads, casserole dishes, and half-empty chip bags. The back of my neck prickles. I can practically hear the bacteria crawling around.

  “Half the soccer moms sent stuff from their banquet today. You know they’re so chill about the party scene. Ooh, try the mac and cheese,” Isabel says. She doesn’t wait for me to respond. She takes a plastic spoon (also used for the baked beans) and shovels a glop of oozing noodles onto my plate. “Wait, you’re not lactose intolerant, are you?”

  “No.” The plate goes warm on my hands. Is it leaking? Please don’t let it be leaking. I try to hold the plate at the edges, but it folds in the middle, pasta sliding.

  “Anyway,” Isabel goes on, adding a spoonful of something else. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Yeah?” I adjust my grip again. My palms feel sweaty. She’s going for some congealed chicken wings. Why is she doing this? We’re not even friends.

  “I mean we don’t talk much,” she says.

  “Not too much,” I agree. I could say never, but we exchange the occasional Excuse me passing each other in classroom doorways.

  “Well, we should. We should talk more.”

  “Sure,” I say, smiling though I don’t get it. Does she need a ride? A biology tutor?

  I turn to her directly, hoping she’ll get to it. Isabel seems nice enough, but not so nice that I want to spend my entire night making small talk next to the Botulism Buffet.

  “There you are,” Chase says, appearing at my elbow. He gives me that perfect wide, white grin and nods at my plate. “I see you got a little something to eat.”

  He and Isabel exchange a quick greeting. I mumble hello. My cheeks feel hot. I know I’m blushing, and I can’t help it. My plate’s a reeking mess. I must look ridiculous.

  “You look fantastic,” Chase tells me.

  “Oh.” I think I smile too quickly, but I can’t hel
p that either. “Thank you.”

  The boat wobbles, and someone outside swears. Then Theo ducks under the awning, and Isabel perks up when he says hello. Her eyes follow Theo’s every step. Suddenly, We should talk more takes on a whole new meaning. Isabel is a giggling, throat-touching mess, but too bad for her, Theo’s oblivious. My heart squeezes in sympathy. I spent several years pining for Theo. I know when he’s interested in a girl. I’m even better at knowing when he’s not.

  Theo reaches for Chase’s hand, giving it a quick shake. “Hey, man, want a beer?”

  Chase declines. Theo finishes his, and then takes my plate, offering me a small plastic bag of pretzels. Next, he wrestles a bottle of water out of his jacket pocket, proving exactly why I was so crazy about him for so long.

  “Better?” Theo asks me softly.

  “So much.”

  Theo grins and turns to Chase and Isabel. “So, what’s going on?”

  Chase says everything’s cool, and Isabel mutters something small-talky. I don’t say anything. I’m too busy watching Theo shovel one spoonful of macaroni salad after another into his mouth. Then the chicken wing. He even stops to make a face on that one.

  “These are kinda nasty,” he comments. He finishes it anyway and opens a second beer.

  I clear my throat, and Theo hands me his keys…but two beers in ten minutes? Something’s up. Is it his parents? Is it history? God, I hope he’s not failing history. I also hope he doesn’t throw up. Because that whole plate is a warning poster on food safety.

  “Paige?” Chase smiles at me. “You want to take a walk?”

  I pull my thoughts away from foodborne pathogens and academic failure. “Sure.”

  Theo looks like he wants to say something, but Isabel pushes his arm, laughing. She tells him he can’t eat off the serving spoon. He tells her that John Baler is taking a leak off the bow, so he’s a saint by comparison. Chase and I leave them, and the boat, behind.

  Chase is nothing like Theo. Theo is noise and energy every second of every minute. Chase is confident. Relaxed. He’s also almost a stranger, so there’s a lot of small talk.

  We walk up the stairs and behind the shops to a tiny, narrow park along the river. I can taste the start of spring in the air, damp grass and loamy dirt in the flowerbeds. It’s getting chilly, though. I try to hold back a shiver, but Chase gives me his hooded sweatshirt.

  We walk aimlessly along the riverbank. The grass is cold and wet against my sandaled feet, and a few late snowdrops peek up at the edges of flowerbeds. I walk as carefully as I can, but I’m sure my sandals will be a mess. The outfit is overkill, but I feel pretty. I wanted that tonight.

  Our walk isn’t perfect. Our elbows bump now and then, and the silence is awkward. Without our playful study banter, we run out of things to say.

  When I finish my pretzels, we walk back, and Chase stops at the top of the stairs, hesitating. My hand clamps onto the cold metal rail, the one that curves right to the ramp up the bridge or left to the stairs to the docks. I think of the noise I heard earlier with Theo. The way the bridge shuddered. I want to go down those stairs right now.

  Chase has other plans.

  “Ready to head back?” I ask, hope lifting the last word to a whole new octave.

  “Hold on, check it out.”

  Whatever response I want to make is strangled with the first squeal. Chase points, and I see them right away. People from the party are climbing the bridge.

  I can hear them more than I can see them, the hollow clang of shoes against metal. The shrieks and laughs of people inching their way up. It’s all dark shapes and occasional cell phone flashlights illuminating glimpses of beams, limbs, a swath of the flag. They’re still low enough not to kill themselves, but they’re whooping and squealing, shoes scrabbling. Legs dangle where a few have given up and are sitting on a lower crossbeam, enjoying the view.

  Even that’s enough to give me the spins, so I look away, trying to focus on the soft trill of the wind chimes on one of the boats below.

  “Come on.” Chase catches my hand and tugs me to the ramp. I stumble after him in my ridiculous shoes. The bridge looms closer, and I can see myself up there earlier tonight. And the time before, when I was fourteen. I remember that too.

  My trips to this bridge don’t end well.

  I hesitate, Chase’s hand tightening on mine as he notices my resistance. “You okay?”

  I let out a weird sound that’s supposed to be a laugh. “Sure. Funny shoes.”

  “Want to try it?” he asks. “You could climb barefoot.”

  “Oh. No, not really my thing,” I say, tugging my hand away from his and pulling them both inside his sweatshirt sleeves.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “She won’t do it,” someone says. It’s a group of girls. They are leaning against the railing with the locks. One of them is rooting through a rolling cooler. Another, the one who spoke, ruffles her hair in a way that lets me see the cascade of thin bangles up her wrist. Jolie.

  “She’s afraid of heights,” she says, looking at Chase, not me. “She freaked out on the rope climb in gym last month.”

  “Be nice, Jolie,” Chase says without much bite to his tone.

  Jolie’s girls snicker, and the wind chimes kick up in the breeze. Jolie sighs. “I’m not being a bitch. She’s got anxiety issues or something. Don’t you, Paige?”

  I try to respond, but there’s a fist-sized lump in my throat. I can’t swallow it down.

  “She doesn’t have an anxiety thing.” Chase touches my side. “We’ll prove it.”

  My words finally come then, tumbling and breathy. “I don’t want to prove it.”

  “We won’t go high up.” He says it close to my neck, and his breath is hot against my skin. I try not to squirm, but fear is crawling up my spine. The wooden planks that form the walkway curve up at the edges, warped. I wonder if it’s a sign the wood is rotten, and my breath goes even tighter. I don’t want to be out here.

  “Come on, let’s show her she’s wrong,” Chase says.

  But she’s not wrong.

  Footsteps stomp up the ramp behind me. It’s Theo. He moves right past me with a Hey and heads for Jolie. Or probably toward Jolie’s blue plastic cooler.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” Chase says again, tugging my arm so that I’m at the edge of the bridge. I’m right there with them. Me and Chase, Jolie and her three little cronies, and Theo. He’s got the cooler lid open and is elbow deep, sorting through ice.

  “I need another beer,” he says, sounding like he really doesn’t.

  “What the hell? This is your third!” Jolie’s bracelets jangle. “Mooch off someone else.”

  “Need something to chase the shots I just did,” he says, and then he looks at me. Drunk or not, he knows I’m scared.

  He frowns. “What’s going on?”

  “Not much,” Chase says, shoulders thrown back. “We’re going to tag the flag.”

  Theo doesn’t respond to Chase, because he was talking to me. But I’m speechless again.

  “I’m game if you are,” Theo says. “Wanna race?”

  My insides flutter. I want to run. Hide. Theo just grins.

  “That doesn’t seem like a good idea, Theo.” Chase is already moving us farther onto the bridge. I’m breathless and queasy as we pass Jolie. Theo stumbles after us.

  Theo’s laugh is brittle. “Don’t get preachy with me, you little shit.”

  “Theo.” I look at him, in case my tone isn’t enough warning.

  He shrugs me off. I stop before Chase can drag me to the train side, to the side he wants to climb.

  “Chase, wait.” My little purse slips off my shoulder. I’m cold all over. “Theo, I’m fine.”

  “Don’t pull her,” Theo says, ignoring me.

  “Hold on, Paige,” Chase says, then he tur
ns to Theo. “Are you really going to do this?”

  Theo’s arms cross over his chest. “Define this.”

  “Why won’t you stop?” I ask.

  Theo looks at me, eyes glittering. Too drunk to see his help isn’t helpful. Someone shrieks, high and shrill—I hear the scrape of a rubber sole on steel. Something hits the wood and shatters, metal and plastic. A phone.

  Someone above swears. More laughter. I take the chance to double back, scurrying past Jolie and the cooler until I’m safe on the ramp. Chase and Theo are right there with me.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to go,” Chase says to him. But he takes my arm, his grip tight as he tries to steer me away.

  I pull free of his grasp and tug off his sweatshirt. Something about this makes my belly twist. “Actually, I’m getting bored up here. I’m going to head down.”

  I rush down the stairs, Theo stumbling and laughing as he slip-trips behind me. It’s hard in the sandals, but I move as fast as I can, grateful when I’m on the solid wood of the docks. The shadow of the bridge swallows us, but I feel better here. Safer.

  Chase says my name as soon as he hits the dock, moving quickly toward me.

  “Don’t let him ruin this for us,” Chase says. Then he takes my hand. A vague warning flares in my head. “Look, I know you’re friends, but he’s a total screwup. A wreck. Everyone knows it, and you deserve better.”

  “This has nothing to do with him,” I say, pulling toward the boats. Chase doesn’t let go. Whines my name.

  Theo hits the deck, every step toward us louder than the last. “What are you planning here, man? Gonna drag her back up there?”

  Chase turns, scowling. “Go to hell, Theo.”

  “You coming with me?”

  Chase grabs Theo’s shoulder. He pulls back so hard I flinch.

  “Please don’t do this,” I say. My teeth suddenly chatter, but sweat rolls between my shoulder blades. They’re going to fight. I can taste the certainty of it in the air.

  “You need to back off,” Chase says, stepping closer.

  Theo lowers his head like a bull. “Do I look like the type to back off?”

  “Just let it go!” I tell him.