Falling into Place (10 page)

Then she laughed.

And Liz aimed for her instead.

Had the defender been familiar with Liz Emerson's reputation, she would have kept her mouth shut. Not just Liz's reputation as a person, but also her reputation of having the hardest kick in the state.

The defender was rushed to the emergency room.

Liz was given a yellow card. The referee decided that Liz hadn't meant to do it—she
had
been trying to score, after all, and the defender had been in the way.

And Liz Emerson got away with one more thing.

The final whistle sounded, but she stayed on the field for a while. She looked around the fluorescent dome, at the cleat marks on the grass, and she didn't want to move. She was so tired. She didn't want to move ever again.

Eventually, though, she went to the locker room to peel off her sweaty jersey, prepared to go home and maybe dig around in her mother's wine cabinet and take a few shots on the white couch. But when she got there, everyone was laughing.

“Damn, Liz, you freaking
pegged her
. Dude, that was
amazing
.”

“
Surgery
. The bitch has to get
surgery
.”

“Hell, yeah. She deserves it.”

It made her sick. Liz closed her eyes for a moment as she shoved everything back into her bag. God. What had she been thinking? She couldn't even remember. It had been plain stupid, and not just that, it had been cruel. The other girl would have to pay for surgery, physical therapy, and she'd definitely be sitting out the season.

Liz imagined the situation being reversed. She imagined missing the entire season, not even having soccer to take her mind off things—

Liz walked out of the sports club and stood in the frigid air. She felt a bead of sweat freeze as it made its way down her spine, and she tilted her head back to look at the sky and asked,
Why?

Then she got into her car, and on her way home, it struck her that she hadn't signed up as an organ donor. She hadn't wanted to when she got her license—her body was
hers
. She slammed her brakes and turned sharply, flipped off the guy who beeped, and headed for the local clinic.

Five minutes later, the clipboard of paperwork lay in her lap. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the pen, and her eyes were closed. In her head, she made a list. It was titled
Things I've Done Right
, and this was the first item.

In a week
, she thought,
I will have two
.

And my heart will beat for someone who deserves it.

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“G
od, Mom,” snaps Kennie. “Why don't you drive even slower?”

“I'm already driving two miles above the speed limit, Kennie.”

Kennie is fairly certain that her mother is the only person alive who has ever been ticketed for driving too
slowly
—it had happened during freshman year; she was late to school, and even the office ladies had laughed at her, the bitches—which makes her all the more upset that Julia had totally ditched her, that her mom wouldn't let her drive to the hospital with Carly Blake.

Liz
.

“I could have driven myself,” says Kennie.

“In light of recent events, I don't think that would have been a good idea.”

And she begins to lecture again, her favorite rant, all statistics about car accidents and insurance, and Kennie ignores her as usual. She looks out the window and searches for signs of the crash.

She doesn't know exactly where it was—Facebook wasn't specific, but she searches and figures that, somewhere along the way, she will find it. She has to see it. She has to see the spot that defeated Liz Emerson, because part of her still refuses to believe it exists.

And just then, she sees it.

A splintered fence, ruined snow all around. She doesn't look twice—can't, because her eyes have filled and the world has blurred. A sob is building, and Kennie grips her seat with both of her hands.

“. . . and Liz was a lovely girl, of course, but her driving has always worried me. I can't say I'm entirely surprised, honey—”

Kennie whirls. “Mom!” she screams.
“Just stop!”

“Kendra Ann! I'm trying to teach you to have good driving habits. You need to learn some responsibility, and that temper of yours! You need to have a meeting with Pastor Phil for—”

“I don't care,” says Kennie.
“I do not care.”

Her mother snaps something back, but Kennie has started crying. She really doesn't care, not at all, doesn't care about anything except the fact that the fence is broken and the snow is dirty, and yesterday in that spot, her best friend nearly died.

She is so busy crying that she doesn't see the actual crash site, when they pass it.

Good thing too. I don't think Kennie could have handled it. If a broken fence from a rogue cow and a patch of trampled snow could push her into screaming at her mother—or rather, made her so terrified that she stopped after screaming that one line—maybe it was lucky that she didn't see the contorted tree, the little scraps of blue Mercedes, the snow still streaked with pink.

“She
is
,” Kennie whispers to herself.

She
is
a lovely girl
.

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T
he answer was
breaking
.

Her childhood ended on the day she watched Melody's feet dangle, and maybe she hadn't realized it then, but what she decided was this: she would no longer be an object at rest. The only other option was to be what Mackenzie was. An object in motion that would stay in motion, even if it meant flattening everything in her path.

And so she broke every promise she had ever made. And with the energy from so many shattered things, she pushed herself into motion.

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“M
om? Yeah, I—okay, yeah, I'm sorry. I fell asleep—

“No, I'm not drunk, Mom. I'm not high, either—yeah, sure, I'd be happy to bring home some of my pee in a coffee cup, if you don't care if it spills. I'm driving your car. Seriously, I'm—

“Mom. Mom.
Mom
.

“Yeah, I
know
you called me twenty-three times. . . . I can see it on my phone—no, it died while I was asleep, I brought my charger—well, I couldn't see it then, could I? I don't sleep with my eyes open—okay, yeah, sorry, Mom. I—no, I don't think aggression is a side effect of meth. Steroids, maybe—
I'm not on steroids
.

“I'm at—no, I'm not interrupting you—do you want me to answer that? I'm at the hospital—

“I'M FINE.

“No, I have not overdosed.

“No, I don't have alcohol poisoning.

“Mom, just listen—I'm here for a . . . classmate . . . no, you don't know her—she's not
pregnant
! I don't have a girlfriend. No, I didn't have sex last night—I wish—kidding,
kidding
. Chill. I'm fine.

“She got into a car accident. I saw her car on my way to Costco—well, I didn't move them, so I assume all of the groceries are still in the car, unless someone broke a window and stole everything—no one broke a window, Mom. Yeah, I'll check later. Okay, I have to go—no, because people are starting to stare at me like I'm insane. Yeah, there are other kids from school here too—they're all just getting here, school must have let out . . . no, I didn't, I told you, I was asleep. I didn't
skip
, Mom, I . . . overslept a bit. Yeah, pretty much. Until like, one thirty. I haven't slept in ages, Mom. I was up until three the night before last night working on that stupid physics project. . . . Okay. Yeah, I'll come home tonight. . . . Yeah, I know. I know. Sorry.
Sorry
. Yeah, okay. Love you too.”

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J
ake Derrick has not come to see Liz Emerson.

Liam realizes this after he hangs up with his mother and looks around. The waiting room resembles the high school during lunch hour. The cafeteria has a distinctive seating arrangement: the center tables belong to the popular, the outer rings to the nerds and outcasts and dorks and freshmen. Here in the waiting room, the jockiest and the preppiest, the ones who knew Liz the best, have taken over the center area with an air of manifest destiny.

Liam is still beside the window, undoubtedly the least popular person in the room.

But from his position, it's easy to see everyone who comes and goes, and Liam is certain that Liz's boyfriend has yet to arrive. It takes him a moment to remember whether or not they are, in fact, still together. Jake and Liz had established their tumultuous relationship at the end of Liz's freshman year, and Liam has paid attention without meaning to. He can't help it. His crush on Liz Emerson began on the first day of fifth grade, and except for the year or so during which he had hated her guts, he has paid attention.

No. Even then.

But the truth is,
everyone
pays attention. That's why they were all here last night; that's they're all here now. She is Liz Emerson. She matters.

To everyone, it seems, except her boyfriend.

It started when Jake kissed her under the stars in the movie theater parking lot. He was a grade ahead of her, had made the varsity football team in his freshman year, and was widely lusted after. That night, he literally swept her off her feet. According to popular opinion, it was the most romantic thing that had happened all year. According to Liz, it was the definition of cliché, and he had tasted of nacho cheese.

Their most infamous breakup had taken place during sophomore year. It was the night of the homecoming game, and Liz dumped Jake right after he made the winning touchdown.

On the way to some party—Liz hadn't even been sure whose it was, but it had alcohol and pot and people, so it didn't matter, they were going—she told Julia and Kennie, “God, he's just one big cliché.”

Jake Derrick is. He is decently hot but not nearly as hot as he thinks, and only about half as funny. He is not quite as stupid as everyone assumes, remains blissfully and utterly unaware of his own supreme arrogance, and will never, ever deserve Liz.

And certainly Liam is jealous, but he dislikes Jake because Liam is one of the few people who have paid attention closely enough to know that Liz does not like Jake either.

Liz and Jake's favorite pastime is fighting. Jake is the kind of person who is absolutely assured of his own rightness, and Liz is the kind of person whose primary goal in life is to tear such people down. Their fights involved Jake calling Liz unmentionable things and Liz snapping back with comments that hurt where only she knew to hurt him.

Three days before Liz crashed her car, they started arguing about Liz's physics project on gravity. Liz was almost done, and Jake was trying to make her feel stupid by saying some shit about how acceleration is the third derivative of position and telling her to change everything, and it turned nasty very quickly.

Eventually Jake called Liz a bitch and told her to fuck off and go to hell all in one breath, and Liz had laughed in his face and slammed the door behind him.

Liam does not know about the fight. He has no access to the best gossip, and it always takes awhile for news to trickle down to his lowly position among the other nerds and rejects.

It is true, however, that despite the fight, Liz and Jake never actually broke up. Technically. In the end, Liz simply did not want to waste any more time on Jake, even to dump him. She was searching for a reason to live, and he wasn't helping.

As much as Liam dislikes Jake Derrick, it disgusts him that he is not here. Jake and Liz have been a couple for nearly three years. He should be here, at least, pretending to be heartbroken.

Or maybe Jake really would have been heartbroken. Liam doesn't know. He doesn't know Jake well and has no particular wish to remedy that situation, so he makes a halfhearted attempt to withhold judgment.

But the truth is that Jake Derrick's heart is a fickle and melodramatic thing. He has teared up over dead dogs and spectacular football games, and no doubt he will cry over Liz too. But in a month, two, he will be making out with another girl, someone with bigger boobs who will believe him when he lies. Liz will become no more than a pickup line.

“I fell in love in high school. I know that's cliché and stuff, but it's true—Liz and I had something real. When she died, I just . . . I don't know. I was so lost. Maybe I still am. I'm lost.”

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L
iz only stayed with Jake for so long because he kept something inside her alive, some piece of her that still believed in love and yearned for romance. And he could be so sweet, so adorable in the things he did, sending her flowers with notes written on the petals, sneaking up behind her in the hallway to bury his face in her hair, telling her all the time that she was beautiful, that she took his breath away.