Tumble & Fall (21 page)

Nick had given up knocking and Gretchen was packing a bag. She had seen the flyer stuck to a lamppost, the same flyer Zan had been given at the bar
. Sleep-In at the Common
. Even in her weepy haze, Zan could hear it in Gretchen’s voice. She didn’t want to go alone.

“I don’t know,” Nick hedged. It sounded like he was still in Vanessa’s room. The idea made Zan’s stomach turn again. How was she supposed to pretend that none of this had ever happened if Nick was still sitting on Vanessa’s bed? “We should probably be getting back. We don’t have a car, and I have no idea how long it will take…”

“People will be there from all over,” Gretchen reasoned. “Tomorrow morning, after the announcement, you’ll be able to find a ride. There are no buses running, anyway. You might as well wait.”

The announcement. Tomorrow morning they would know for sure if the rocket had hit, and what damage, if any, had been done. Would Persephone break into a million harmless pieces? Or would she charge ahead on her path, untouched?

Zan felt, suddenly, solid, as if something was holding her up. It seemed only right that on the day her world was changed forever, the universe was changing, too. One way or the other, things would never be the same.

She ran the tap, took a cool, long drink from the faucet, and slowly opened the bathroom door.

“She’s right,” Zan said, walking briskly down the hall, not daring to look at anyone, or anything, until she’d reached the front door. “Let’s go.”

*   *   *

It’s Zan’s first time at the Boston Common. Miranda, born and raised in Manhattan, hated Boston, and any time they left the island for “the real world,” they headed to her family’s apartment on the Upper West Side. Boston was too provincial, Miranda liked to say, and Daniel tended to agree. The art scene was too sleepy, nothing like the galleries in Chelsea, and all of Miranda’s old dance pals were in Brooklyn. They called New York “the City,” as if it were the only one.

Zan liked visiting Manhattan, but on the few occasions she’d been to Boston, on school trips or outings with Leo, she had to admit that she preferred the slower pace. It felt more like a real place where actual people lived, and less like the set of a hundred movies, all mashed up against each other and competing for attention.

The Common, a big public green in the heart of the city, has been completely transformed. At least that’s the way Gretchen tells it. “Usually this place is pretty quiet,” she marvels as they cross Boylston Street. She is swaying ahead of them, a giant bottle of champagne clutched in her birdlike fingers. She’d been in charge of collecting the booze, and had stuffed an old purple backpack with whatever she could find in the apartment. Zan had a feeling it was taken from Vanessa’s stash, but couldn’t bring herself to ask.

Nick hasn’t said much since they started walking. Every so often she feels him stealing glances in her direction, probably to make sure she hasn’t started crying again. Zan is surprised at how well she’s been keeping it together. Something about walking, about the steady pace of Nick’s confident steps, is making it easier to breathe.

Nick is much more comfortable in the city than she ever would have imagined. Even Leo, she finds herself thinking, became somebody else when they ventured off-island. Sure, he was full of ideas and adventures, but he was always looking over his shoulder, or getting them lost and pretending it was part of the fun. She always got the feeling that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite hit his stride anywhere but home. She used to find it endearing. Now, as Nick holds out an arm, shielding her from a group of rowdy bicyclists as they zip around a corner, she realizes it was actually kind of lame.

“I can’t believe this!” Gretchen squawks, tilting the bottle back to her lips and passing it over to Zan. “I used to come here on my study breaks. It was totally peaceful and quiet.”

Gretchen gestures to a square of open space that is now anything but quiet. The entire green is covered in tarps and tents, and a massive stage has been set up at one end of the biggest field. Amplified music wafts in distorted clouds around them. On the outskirts of the park, there are clusters of performers: A man wearing only a layer of bright body-paint and a thong, throwing devil sticks into the air and catching them easily behind his back. A pair of contortionists, twisted into pretzels on the grass. It’s like Cirque du Soleil meets Woodstock, meets Boston, Zan thinks.

Gretchen hurries ahead, quickly losing herself in the crowd. Zan stares at the bottle in her hand, wondering if she should call after Gretchen to return it. Nick stretches to keep an eye on the uneven bob of her purple backpack. “Think we should go after her?” he asks.

“I have a feeling she’ll find us if she wants to.” Zan shrugs. She brings the bottle to her lips and takes a long, thirsty sip, sharp bubbles stinging the back of her throat.

“Easy there,” Nick says with a gentle smile. He reaches for the bottle but Zan tucks it under her arm protectively.

“Come on,” Zan says, grabbing on to the soft, worn fabric of Nick’s T-shirt and guiding him through the crowd.

They move deeper into the action, stepping over outstretched legs and blankets and half-ravaged baskets of food. “What’s happening there?” Zan leans forward to shout in Nick’s ear. She points to a big white tent with hundreds of people stuffed inside, clapping and swaying in unison. As they get closer, it becomes clear that it’s some sort of religious sermon, with a man in a long white robe leading a choir, and gospel music booming from a pair of tall speakers up front. Hippies, acrobats … and God.

They make their way down one of the narrow paved paths to the stage, where hordes of people are pumping their fists to the pulsing rhythm of a local indie band. Zan takes another sip from the heavy green bottle and offers it to Nick. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he shouts over the music.

Zan feels herself being jostled by bodies packing in around her. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, the tingling bubbles reaching her head.
Okay.
Is she okay? She feels light, like something inside her, something heavy and dark, has been cut free. She feels unattached. Brand-new.

She opens her eyes and takes another deep breath, as if she could harness the energy around them. She looks out at the sea of heads, the hundreds of people who are here, now, together. She thinks of who each of them may have been, before this moment. People with problems, fears, disappointments, broken hearts. Where else should they be, today? Should they be locked in their rooms, alone, crying, afraid? What’s the point?

The only thing that matters, she thinks, is that she’s alive. Right now, she’s alive, and she wants to be here. She wants to be with all of these people she doesn’t know. She wants to be with Nick. Even if it doesn’t make any sense. If ever there was a time to push boundaries, to be someone she’s never been able to be, to stop making sense, this would have to be it.

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I’m okay.” A stranger knocks her sideways and she steps on the tops of Nick’s feet. He puts out a hand to steady her, catching her on the side of her ribs and setting her straight beside him. “Thanks,” she yells. He smiles. She hopes he knows that she means it.

CADEN

Arthur is still asleep when they pass back over the bridge.

The highway is all but deserted and the moon flashes in and out, low and orange between a quick series of green exit signs. Joe has the radio on soft, and every so often Caden can make out the hushed intonations of a sermon. Religious leaders of all denominations have taken over the airwaves, reading from sacred texts or preaching words of hope and consolation.

He regrets it already.

Not Camille. Not running away. He regrets letting Arthur find him. He regrets getting into the car.

He’d seen the headlights from his hiding place, which, if he was being honest, wasn’t all that hidden. He’d camped out around the far side of the barn, just inside the beginning of the trail they’d taken to go hunting. There was a big cluster of rocks and he’d perched on top of the tallest one. He didn’t have a plan, other than never to go back.

He’d heard voices in the driveway, heard the car rumbling down the dirt road. The lights cut across a section of brush and he saw the silhouettes of little creatures ducking for cover. His stomach was twisted in knots. He thought of the little boy he used to be, the prince, hiding from the dragon in the woods. Back then, he’d wanted to be found. Now, he would have given anything to truly disappear.

The car stopped at the barn and he heard a door slam, then Arthur’s voice as he tramped across the field. “Caden!” He called for him for a good long while, over and over and into the darkness. “Caden!” After a while, Caden began to think how bizarre his own name sounded out loud.

Eventually, Arthur began to get angry. He kicked a pile of dirt. He squeezed the sides of his misshapen head with his hands. “Caden,” he said. “If you can hear me, I need you to know that I’m leaving. I’m leaving, right now, and I need you to come with me. I can’t come back for you. This is it. I’m getting in the car, I’m waiting three minutes, and I’m driving away. All right?”

He stood, frozen in the glare of the high beams, before climbing back into the SUV and shutting the heavy door.

Caden weighed his options. There was something uniquely no-nonsense about his father’s voice, as if none of what had happened even registered as worthwhile anymore. He knew he could find his own way off the mountain—how hard would it be to find
down—
but what would he do once he got there?

Reluctantly, he slid down the slippery side of the rock. He walked along the trail, the crunch of leaves and twigs a chorus of defeat underfoot. He avoided looking at Joe, who sat with his hands on the wheel, patiently awaiting Arthur’s next instruction. He pulled open the door and sat inside, preparing himself for a deluge of questions, a barrage of mortifying curiosity.

But there were no questions. And if Arthur was curious about anything, he did a bang-up job of not letting on. He acknowledged Caden with a slight, courteous nod, tapped Joe on the shoulder, and they were off, winding down the sharp mountain road and back toward civilization.

Now, as they near the coast, the star-studded sky stretching out before them, Arthur snores gently and his chin lolls deeper toward his chest. Caden looks back out the window. There’s a weird pulling in his stomach. He thinks it might be disappointment. Why couldn’t he be normal, for once? No, Camille wasn’t what, or who, he’d imagined, when he’d imagined his first time. But so what? What is he waiting for, now?

It’s not like he didn’t want to. And it’s not like he was totally clueless, either. There had been a few girls at home. One actual girlfriend, even, the summer after freshman year. Ashley Hall. She had been in his advanced English class, before he got bumped off the honors track. They’d done a couple group projects together, and he could tell she thought he was smarter than he was. He tried to play along.

She taught horseback riding to disabled kids that summer, and he would meet her at the stables to help clean up. They fooled around a lot, but she always stopped him when things got too close. She knew it was ridiculous, she said, but her older sister was a sophomore when she first had sex. She always thought she would be, too. She asked if he could wait a few months. Of course, he said. No problem. And it wasn’t.

Until she cheated on him with a summer kid, one of the lifeguards at their favorite beach. He didn’t have proof, but word travels fast on an island. And the word was that Ashley and the lifeguard had done pretty much everything. Apparently, waiting just wasn’t her game.

Everyone assumed that they’d slept together, Caden and Ashley, and, maybe because she felt like she owed him something, she let them believe it was true. Once it was out of the way, at least in theory, he could go back to holing up in his room, playing video games, or loitering on the docks with the stoner crew. He knew, or at least he hoped, that he would get back on track someday. He just wasn’t sure how, or when.

And now he’s blown it. Twice. First, there was Eliza, on the beach. And now, his dad sets him up with a foolproof plan. All he had to do was show up. Show up, and not freak out.

But he couldn’t even do that.

The car slows as they pull into the driveway of Arthur’s estate, crunching over the seashell gravel. Arthur stirs. Maybe he won’t remember right away, Caden thinks. Maybe they can go back to the way things had been, back before Camille showed up, back when Arthur still thought Caden was worth getting to know. Before he discovered what a helpless, hopeless loser he had for a son.

Maybe, just maybe, they could pretend it hadn’t happened.

That it was all just another bad dream.

*   *   *

Inside, the house feels different.

The big open rooms are dark and quiet, but there’s a lingering energy, like all of the furniture has been moved around and put back.

“Luisa!” Arthur calls into the kitchen, as Joe shuffles their bags upstairs.

Luisa scurries out from the living room, a confused look in her eyes. “Everyone is already outside,” she says in a whisper. “I didn’t know they were coming. Should I cook something?”

Arthur shakes his head and unbuttons the sleeves of his shirt. “No, that’s all right. It’s late,” he allows. “Caden, come with me.”

Caden follows his father through the foyer and into the kitchen. The pool is lit up, neon blue, and hanging lanterns cast a pale yellow glow around the yard. The sculpted hedges lurk in the shadows like frozen demons, waiting to pounce.

As soon as Arthur swings open the patio doors, Caden hears the voices. Children’s voices, first. High-pitched squeals and splashes. Then other voices, boisterous chatter, the clinking of glasses in the dark.

Arthur and Caden stand at the edge of the pool. All around them, men and women are drinking, laughing. A few are swimming, the pale glow of arms and legs squirming in the artificial light. “What is this?” Caden asks.

Arthur puts an arm loosely around Caden’s shoulder. “This is your family,” he says.