How to Keep Rolling After a Fall (21 page)

My shoulders collapse in defeat. “Fine. If this is what everyone wants to do … fine.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Sam redirects her enthusiasm in my direction and beckons to Tim to join her at our bench. She offers a quick round of introductions, and we gather our things so we can find our car and follow them to the party. I'm distracted, still wishing Pax and I were headed toward home.

*   *   *

The party's in Eastfield, at the home of some guy who goes to St. Mark's, which is the closest Catholic high school. It caters to a lot of the wealthier Catholic families in the area. The house is huge and impeccably decorated, though judging by the number of people inside, it's probably not going to look like that by the end of the night. Luckily, kids aren't hiding away in the basement or somewhere else Pax won't be able to get to. Small groups cluster all over the main floor—there's a card game going on at the kitchen island and a game of flip-cup being played at the table. Another group is camped out around the huge TV in the living room, and a gaming system is hooked up. Some smokers spill over into the backyard, leaving the patio door open as they come and go, letting cold night air creep into the house. It's a scene that's remarkably similar to any number of parties I checked out last year with my friends after meeting guys from other schools on the boardwalk or at the mall.

A lot of people stare at us. It's not really surprising coming from the girls, who clearly all know each other and are obviously sizing up me and Sam. But even though Sam is the one who's come to the party with one of the guys from their group, their eyes linger on me and Pax a lot longer. The girls look at me, then down at Pax, then back at me. Then they turn away and giggle like there's something funny about it, something that doesn't make sense. I pretend not to see or hear them. Luckily, Pax doesn't seem that clued in to girl code, and he genuinely doesn't seem to notice.

Sam, as it turns out, is a decent judge of character, and Tim seems like a pretty nice guy, including all of us in conversation and introducing us to the host of the party and other people who pass by. We follow him into the kitchen, and after he assesses the scene, he turns and asks, “Hey, you guys want to jump in this game of ‘Never Have I Ever'?” He grins wickedly toward Sam. “Might as well go for full disclosure from the get-go.”

Pax looks at me, narrows his eyes, and smirks. “He might have a point.”

“Please.” I roll my eyes. “I think you know most of my secrets.”

“Oh, I'm sure there are at least one or two I don't.”

“Yeah, well … ditto.”

But Pax refuses a cup of bright red liquid, which tastes a lot like jungle juice when I take a sip. I raise an eyebrow at him. “Wow … what
are
you hiding?”

“Ha.” He smiles angelically. “I'm so damn pure, I wouldn't end up drinking any of it anyway. I'm sure nothing anyone says would apply to me.” Then he's serious again. “No, but you know … I can't get down with the whole drinking-and-driving thing. So you'll just have to take my word on my innocence.”

As the blue Solo cups are being passed around, a final guy joins the group and sidles up to the table. He scans the crowd, and does a double take, his eyes locking in on Pax. He points a finger at him. “I know you, bro.”

I don't like the look of him. He's tall and burly and just looks like a pain in the ass. He's wearing a stupid, profane T-shirt and seems really proud of himself for it.

Pax lifts his chin and meets his gaze. “Oh yeah? Where from?”

“I graduated from St. Mark's last year. But before that I went to Cape County Regional. We played against you guys for water polo in districts.”

“Oh yeah. I remember that game.” Pax nods and smiles pleasantly. “We killed you guys.”

“Yeah, I remember, too.” The kid's lips stretch upward, but he's hardly smiling. “You were a total prick in the pool, if memory serves.”

“Not gonna disagree with you, man,” Pax answers him evenly. “I had some prick moments, admittedly.” He raises his soda can in an impromptu toast. “Good times, though, right?”

“They were good times,” the guy agrees. He looks Pax over from head to toe and nods once. “Damn shame they came to an end, huh?”

His voice is cold and nasty, and I bite back my desire to bare my teeth.

Pax taps both hands on the table, ignoring the asshole. “So who's going first?” he asks. Somehow, amazingly, he doesn't flinch, and his face remains blank.

“Um, I'll go,” Sam pipes up quickly. “Never have I ever…”

And so kicks off the game. There are the standard statements, like “Never have I ever fantasized about someone in this room” and “Never have I ever masturbated in someone else's house.” The guys start upping the ante, trying to out-raunch each other, and come up with winners like “Never have I used a pube as dental floss.”

We go around for about ten minutes, and mostly it's all in good fun. I've taken a few sips of my drink, so my guard is down, and I'm not expecting the zinger the St. Mark's douche bag delivers without any apparent provocation.

He looks around for a minute, taking his time as he tries to come up with something. “Never ever have I had sex in a wheelchair.”

Our group goes silent, and no one laughs.

Sam's hands fly to her hips, and she glares at him. “You're a dick,” she declares.

Pax puts a hand on her forearm to hold her back. “It's cool, Sam,” he says quietly. He reverses away from the table. “Game's over. It's no big deal.”

“Yes, it—”

“Sam. It's cool,” he repeats. “Game's over.”

He shows no visible sign of being riled, but I sure as hell am, wanting nothing more than to punch that absolute dipshit right in his ugly face. But my responsibility is to Pax, and ultimately, the other guy's not worth it. Not a bit.

Sam, Tim, and I follow Pax back into the living room and regroup. I dig for my vest in the pile of jackets and coats on the couch. “Time to go,” I decide.

“No.”

I turn in surprise at the harsh sound of Pax's voice.

He shrugs at me, something hard and unfamiliar in his eyes. “You can leave if you want to. But it's not my style. I don't really bow down to assholes that way. Never did. Sure as hell won't now.”

I shake my head, searching his eyes for the person I know, confused. “That's not what it's about.…”

I just really want to go.

“We told Sam we'd give her some time,” he says. “And it's a big house. That guy, whatever.” He looks around the room and stares down a hallway. “D'you know where the bathroom is?” he asks Tim.

Tim directs him toward the hallway, and Pax looks at me one more time, lips pressed together and resolute. “I'll be back in a few. We're not leaving.”

I stare after him as he goes, deciding I'm definitely getting a glimpse of the stubborn side his mom warned me about, the one that sometimes prevents him from making good decisions. Gloomy and weary, I collapse on the couch to wait for him after someone pulls Sam and Tim into conversation.

A couple of minutes pass, and my attention is drawn toward the huge television, which is hooked up to a Wii. There's a rowdy group taking on Just Dance, which is set to Challenger mode, and girls and guys are taking turns trying to one-up one another with their dance moves. A cute guy with short dreads is actually pretty entertaining to watch, and even though it's a solo performance, he keeps grabbing girls at random and pulling them into the show with him. He maintains a running commentary of his bank of old-school moves as he dances, and I'm struggling to keep from giggling as I observe.

The guy whirls around and stops, mid-spin, when he notices me watching. “You ain't exempt, sweetheart,” he calls to me, pointing. “You're up.”

Shaking my head, I protest quickly. “I'm all right. I'm just waiting for someone.”

He gyrates over to me, which also makes me laugh, and tugs on my hand, pulling me to my feet. “You've got time for one dance.” He raises an index finger. “Come on, now. Just one.” He starts to shimmy again, in perfect rhythm, right along with the pulsing David Guetta beat. “This beat is unstoppable. It's unnnnnnn-stoppable.”

Again I find myself smiling against my will, and he presses his advantage. “You're so pretty. Come dance with me.”

He doesn't leave me much choice in the matter, grabbing my hips with his hands and forcing them to follow the beat. I roll my eyes in mock submission and allow him to take the lead, thinking the sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get back to the couch and back to Pax.

“I'm Craig.” Craig pulls me all the way against him, so that I can feel his hips grinding against mine, and leans closer to speak in my ear, over the loud music. “What's your name?”

“Nikki.”

“What?” He spins me around once and then grabs me close again, my body damn near colliding with his as he shifts his leg between my knees and moves our bodies toward the ground. Geez.

“Nikki!” I shout, shifting my head toward his so he can hear me, so we can finish this, so I can go.

“I like dancing with you, Nikki,” he tells me, winking and grabbing my side, taking me by surprise and tickling me, which causes me to double over with laughter and collapse against him.

When I disentangle and right myself, I realize that even though I was attempting to make this dance quick, I wasn't quick enough. Pax is back, sitting right on the edge of the makeshift dance floor, watching. His face is blank, and his eyes are unreadable.

I literally shove Craig away from me and go to Pax. “Oh my God. That guy—” I try, but he interrupts me.

“You know what? Maybe I do feel like leaving.” He turns away at once, wheeling furiously toward the front door.

I don't have time to alert Sam. I don't have time to grab my vest. I stomp out the door after Pax, hurrying to catch up with him as he rolls down the block at record speed. “Pax!”

It's like he doesn't even hear me. His rhythm is uninterrupted, and I'm forced to actually break into a run to catch up to him. “Pax! Wait!” When I reach him, I grab hold of his chair, and finally he slows. I lean over, gasping for breath. “What the
hell
?”

Finally, something—anger—reveals itself in his eyes, and he spits onto the sidewalk. “I knew it would turn out like this.”

“Like what? I didn't
do
anything.”

“That's not exactly how it looked.”

“Are you kidding me?” I shriek. “I wanted to leave ten minutes ago. Hell, I didn't want to come here in the first damn place! I was waiting for you, I wanted to leave with
you
, and that guy damn near molested me in the name of dancing.”

Pax clenches his jaw. “Yeah, you looked really miserable.”

I shake my head so hard it feels like it's going to jerk right off my neck. “That's so
damn
unfair.”

“It's not just about that!” Pax explodes without warning, his voice drowning mine out and echoing in the dark, empty air. He slams his hand against one armrest. “Jesus
Christ
!”

I jump back, stunned into silence.

“I will
never
be able to dance with you. You will
never
be able to walk into a party and not draw stares. I will
never
be able to do the corn maze with you. I will
never
be able to go on a hayride with you. Never, okay, never.”

“Those are, like, the silliest things ever.”

He raises an eyebrow, challenging me. “They sure as hell didn't feel silly, not when I watched how miserable it was all making you tonight.”

I huff, trying to come up with something to say, but in that second find it impossible to argue with him.

“You will never be able to go anywhere without drawing some level of attention, without people wondering why you're there with me.”

I shove my hands in my pockets. “That's the biggest bunch of bullshit I've ever heard.” I stare at him, my eyes scanning his face, trying to recognize who this person is. I don't know if it's the recent sickness and the toll it took, the particular combination of the events of the night, or just the jerk in the kitchen. But something has stolen the boy I spent the last month and a half with. “What the hell is this?” I ask. “This isn't you.”

“Yes, it is,” he argues. He stares up at me, and I can finally detect a trace of sadness behind his fury. “This isn't a temporary thing, Nicole. It's not going to change. This is me.”

“That's not what I'm talking about.”

He ignores me, continuing. “I've had two years to process it, and I can accept what it is. You haven't. And tonight…” He shakes his head. “I don't know. Just seems like reality is setting in. And I'm not so sure you particularly like that reality.”

“That's not true,” I whisper.

He pauses for a minute, staring into the distance. “I just keep thinking … I keep remembering how sad and alone you were when I met you. It's not like that now, you know? Your family is going to come around, and you have Sam, and apparently you have lots of other guys to pick from.” Pax swallows hard. “You have a future, away from here, and I full well know that, even if you don't yet.”

Then he turns back and looks up at me. “Maybe I'm done with my part. Maybe I was just a crutch till you got strong again.”

Something horrible and painful cracks open inside my chest, and I struggle to catch my breath. “That was cruel.”

“Not trying to be cruel,” he says matter-of-factly. “I'm just sayin'. One day you'll get to the point I've been pushing you toward, and when you get there, I don't really think you're going to want this.”

A cold, frightening realization grips me, the trauma of sudden, unexpected loss. “How can you say that?” I remember the first time he allowed his lips to meet mine, in the pool. I remember the sight of him at the bottom of my steps, facing my parents, taking them on. For me. The crack inside me widens. I remember how comfortable and right it's started feeling in his arms, how I miss him the moment I walk away from him at the end of every night spent together. Now tears garble my words as I repeat the question. “How can you say that? I don't see you like that,” I whisper.