How to Keep Rolling After a Fall (18 page)

Even though Pax is wearing headphones and I'm sitting several feet away, I can make out the high-pitched voice on the phone. The woman is in hysterics.

He lets her go on for a minute before interrupting her, his voice gentle but commanding at the same time. I gather that she's elderly. “I'm going to need to interrupt you for a moment, ma'am. Are you safe right now? Is there anything to indicate an intruder is still in the house?”

Pax listens for another minute, his fingers typing as he does so, and then he nods. “That's good. I'm glad you're safe, ma'am. You're safe now. I'm going to stay with you for now, though. My name's P—… Matthew.

“A police car is already on its way to your house. I'm confirming your address from your phone number. Are you calling from home?” Pax listens and nods again. “Okay, good.” He glances at a second screen. “The squad car is on its way and will be there in less than six minutes now.”

I pick up on tears over the line—from relief or shock or worry, I don't know. But Pax isn't rattled. His voice remains calm and even. “Ma'am, I can hear how upset you are, and I understand how frightening this is. Can you try to take a few deep breaths for me?”

A moment later, he checks back in with her. “Thank you, that's good. Do you have any health issues we can help you with? I know you're upset, and if you need any medical help, I can take care of that for you, too.”

The next time the woman speaks, I can detect that she has calmed some, and I notice the subtle way in which Pax's shoulders have relaxed. “Okay … okay. That's good. We'll wait for the officers to assess the situation and go from there.” He studies the first screen again. “It's going to be all right. Less than four minutes and counting, Ms. Jeanne.”

He's quiet again as she responds. “I know it must feel like forever. But I'll stay with you till they get there. I'm not going anywhere,” he assures her.

My heart swells with something unfamiliar and feels a little bit like it might burst. I think of the way my parents talked about him exactly one week ago. Man, they have no idea.

“Do you happen to have a pet, Ms. Jeanne?”

A moment later, he smiles. “That's good. Is she … what's her name? Daisy. That's a nice name. Is Daisy okay, too?” He pauses and waits for her response. “Good. I'm glad to hear it. What kind of dog is Daisy?”

He's quiet for longer this time, and I get the sense Ms. Jeanne is being drawn into the conversation. He's taking her mind off things.

“From a shelter, really? When she was eight years old? That was really kind of you.” His eyes flash back and forth across the screens as he talks to her. “I bet she takes good care of you.” He listens and smiles. “Oh yeah? She's in your lap right now? That's awesome. Daisy'll take care of you there, and I'll take care of you at this end of the line. The officers are less than a minute out now.”

Then Pax's face grows serious. “I understand you're anxious to check on things, but do me a favor and hang on for the officers, okay? You mentioned broken glass, and I want to make sure you and Daisy don't get hurt.”

A moment later, he sits up straight. “Okay, good, good. Now just do me one more favor, and ask them for their badges before opening the door all the way. Take the phone with you if you can. I'm staying on the line.”

He waits, as promised, and Ms. Jeanne must do what he says. “I'll let them take it from here, then. It's going to be okay, Ms. Jeanne,” Pax says a final time. “Take care of yourself.”

Pax disconnects the call. He tugs his headset off and pushes his hair back out of his face before putting the device back on his head. Then he turns to look at me and finds me staring. His eyes widen in slight surprise. “What?”

I shake my head. “I don't…”

I stand and walk toward him. I throw my arms around his shoulders, and I squeeze him tight. I look him in the eye for a long minute, and then I kiss him again. It's nothing like the way I just kissed him a few minutes ago.

It's nothing like any other kiss I've had.

Before, I've been driven to kiss guys because it was fun flirting with them, because they were hot, or funny, or confident, or (D) all of the above. But I know for a fact that my heart has never so directly driven me to kiss someone, in a way that had nothing to do with me. And everything to do with them. The feeling that overtakes me is scary in how powerful it is.

The fear of losing something valuable.

“What was that for?” Pax whispers.

I have a hard time meeting his eyes directly, meeting this realization head-on. “You're just pretty freakin' awesome is all.”

He shrugs, but I think I see a hint of color in his cheeks.

April comes back into the room, toting her sixty-four-ounce soda, and I stand and smooth my shirt. “I'd better take off.”

Pax kisses me a final time, without shame. “Thanks again for dinner. For visiting. Made my night.”

I smile, feeling strangely shy, and squeeze his hand. “Tomorrow night still good for you?”

“Yeah, I'll just meet you there if that's okay. I have a long day tomorrow, and I know I'm going to be tired going into it. That way I won't worry about rushing. I'll try to rest after my game.”

“You could always take it down a notch on the court.”

“Never.”

I smile ruefully. “All right, killer. I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Night, Nik.”

“Oh, and hey.” On my way toward the door, I turn around to toss something in his direction—the Jell-O cup I smuggled out of the cafeteria before leaving the center. “There was only orange, but better than nothing?”

“Dessert, excellent. You're a lifesaver.” Pax holds the cup in the air and winks.

I shake my head as I walk out of the center, into the chilly evening. He's the lifesaver of the two of us. He just seems really suited for rescuing people.

*   *   *

I relax when I pull into my driveway and a glance at the clock confirms I've made it home within a fairly acceptable window, given the time my shift ended. The house is quiet when I enter. My mom sits in the overstuffed armchair in the living room, television off, reading on her Kindle. A candle burns on the coffee table, giving off the scent of something warm and fall-like and pumpkiny.

It all makes me wish I felt a bit more at home in my house these days.

She greets me without looking up. “Hi, Nicole.”

“Hi.” I hang my coat in the front closet “Where is everybody?”

My parents never miss
Shark Tank
or
Blue Bloods
—they're pretty devoted to their Friday-night lineup.

“Your father has that convention up in New York this weekend.”

“Oh, that's right.” I linger by the stairwell, expecting a short exchange.

“He decided to take the train up tonight so he wouldn't have to rush in the morning.” She glances at her watch. “I gave in and agreed to pick Emma and her friends up from the movies at ten, so I have a couple of hours to kill.”

“No
Shark Tank
tonight?”

A small smile lifts her lips. “Dad made me promise to DVR it.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I put my hand on the banister, and her eyes drift back to the screen. Sneaking another glance at her, I remember what Pax said to me a little while ago:
“You feel guilty because you know there's a reason to feel guilty.”

I don't think I'd change my mind—I'm pretty sure I'd still go over to Pax's house if I had a do-over of Wednesday night. But I don't feel good about it. Two days after the fact, I still feel crappy about my choice.

It would have sucked—the car ride would have been so awkward and
hard
—but still. She wasn't going to fight me on Pax. She made an effort; all in all, she was
making
an effort, and I blew it off.

I draw in a breath. “Hey … um … Mom?”

Her eyes fly up from the screen, like she's surprised to still find me standing there.

Shifting my book bag back and forth on my shoulders, I feel a plastic DVD case inside the bag poke against my spine. “So for my theater class, we have this assignment this weekend. We're supposed to watch a film version of a play and be prepared to talk about the translation. Like, what works and what doesn't. What parts of the play couldn't be included in the film. What elements the filmmaker added. If we think it was better or worse than the original.”

My mom is still looking at me, and I realize I'm rambling.

“I was just gonna watch it tonight on my laptop, since I figured you guys would be watching your shows. But, um … since no one else is here tonight … if you'd want to watch, too…”

I swallow hard and look away, wondering what I'm so nervous about.

I don't want her to say yes.

I don't want her to say no.

Her expression doesn't give anything away. “Which play?”

“What?”

“Which play did you pick?”

“Oh, um,
Cabaret
.”

I twist my bag around and pull out the DVD, mostly to have something to do with my hands.

“Sure.” She powers off her Kindle without another thought. “I saw the play in college, but never the movie version. I know it made Liza Minnelli famous, though. I wouldn't mind watching.”

Glancing at her watch, she stands up. “Go ahead and get started without me. Your father should be off the train by now, and I'd like to make sure he got to the hotel okay. And I'm going to have to leave to get your sister by nine forty-five. I'll just be a minute.”

“Okay. I'm gonna go change really quick first.”

My mom nods and takes off for the kitchen, and I dash up the stairs, feeling weightless from relief. I feel something close to anticipation as I change into my most comfortable PINK pajamas and fuzzy socks. Returning to the living room, I put the DVD into the player, curl up in one corner of the wraparound couch, and grab the blanket off the back. Set to watch a movie with my mom, warm and cozy on the couch, with the candle burning before me, it almost feels like old times. It's not like our interactions are easy or anything, but tonight I can almost remember what life at home used to feel like. I hit Play and lie down on a throw pillow.

And then twenty minutes pass. I completely miss the beginning of the movie.

With each minute, what starts as a small seed of disappointment blossoms into something bigger. My mom and dad don't really do lengthy phone calls. Clearly, she's not in a hurry to get back.

I felt bad about Wednesday night and wanted her to know, despite how hard it was, that maybe I was interested in trying, too. But now that we're both in the same place at the same time, I'm wondering if her invitation was anything more than lip service, if she was actually hoping I wouldn't take her up on the offer. If she really wants things to get better between us … where is she?

A moment later, she pushes back through the French doors from the kitchen, ushering in the scent of fresh baked goods. Brown sugar. Melted chocolate.

My mom shrugs as she sets the tray bearing two cups of milk and a plate of a dozen chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table. “Why bother watching without cookies?”

She doesn't look to me for a reaction and settles into the armchair. I offer a quiet thank-you and grab two cookies.

My mom nods in acknowledgment and focuses her attention on the screen. “What'd I miss?”

I pop a cookie into my mouth before responding. Maybe her demeanor is still a little chilly, but at least her cookies are as warm as I remember.

 

Chapter 13

Apparently, the regional Arts and Music Showcase for nonpublic schools is held the first weekend in October. I'd never heard of it back at O.I.H.S., and I'm surprised about the hype surrounding the showcase at Atlantic Christian. But from snippets of conversation I hear in the lobby and my classes, I start to understand why everyone's so excited about a school-sponsored event—basically, it's an opportunity for the girls to ditch the boring uniforms and wear something original, paired with the chance to meet guys from other schools.

Sam's all signed up to perform and is, in her words, “mad stoked.” During one of our auditorium lunch dates, she berated me until I broke down and sang something. It was a mistake—for a full week, she kept trying to persuade me to perform at the showcase, too. And I'm not up for it. Anonymous karaoke aided by a sake bomb was one thing; this is a whole other.

I'm more than happy to support her, though, and I'm kind of excited for the show, too. But as I stand alone in the crowded lobby of an area private school, lost in the sea of people trolling around and examining the art projects included in the showcase, I'm really glad Pax is coming to join me. Glancing at my phone and realizing the show's going to start in ten minutes, I hope he's going to get here in time.

The lobby has all but emptied when he finally rolls through the doors. He smiles when he spots me, but it seems forced, like it pains him in some way. When he gets close enough, I see why, and my eyes widen. There's a huge purple bruise spanning his cheekbone to his jaw.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Rough game this morning. Other guy looks worse, though. Sorry I'm late.”

I study him some more, noticing that he looks pale. His hands are kind of shaking, too. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm all right. I'm not feeling that hot, but I probably overdid it this morning, and I was tired to begin with. I think I'm dehydrated, too.” He picks up the plastic water thermos tucked beside him in his chair and takes a long swig. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, “No worries—I'll be all right. We should probably go in, though, huh?”

A voice from inside the auditorium welcomes the crowd over the loudspeaker, and I nod, moving to open the double doors for Pax so that he can enter. It's tricky navigating the darkened aisles of the crowded room, and even trickier trying to find an open seat at the end of a row so I can sit beside Pax in his chair. Everyone seems pretty clueless about what we're trying to accomplish, and it takes several tries before someone finally looks our way and offers to scoot down a few seats to make room for us.