The Girl Who Fell(16)
“You mentioned that.”
He blushes. “Five minutes in and I’m already redundant. What a lame date.”
My gut dips. This cannot be a date. I cannot do complicated right now.
Alec looks at me softly, his eyes apologizing. “No . . . sorry. I just meant . . . it doesn’t have to be a date. Not if you don’t want it to be.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “Christ, I sound like an idiot. What is wrong with me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I sound like a twelve-year-old around you.”
I chuckle.
“It amuses you that I’m a bumbling twelve-year-old?”
“No,” I say, laughing.
“All I’m trying to say—as inarticulately as is humanly possible, apparently—is that I’m glad you’re here.” He looks down, bashful. “Shit, that is actually the third time I’ve said that now.” He unwraps a tuna sandwich and hands me a square. “I might not be displaying it so brilliantly at this moment, but I think you’re easy to be with. I like talking to you.”
“I’m sure you know lots of people who are easy to be with. I see you talking to people in school all the time.” I bite into the soft bread and taste the unexpected crunch of celery and red onion.
“School chat’s easy. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I miss real friendships, you know?”
“I can’t imagine moving to a school without Lizzie.” And Gregg, I almost say Gregg.
“It’s been the hardest part. Leaving the buddies I was tightest with.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, settles back onto an elbow.
“So why did you leave your school?”
He squints against the sun and finds my eyes. “Why, Zephyr actually, that’s a fairly sly way to ask if the rumor is true.”
I feign indifference. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
He sits up, looks off into the distant ball field. “The true part? I had a girl in my room after lights out, which was an expulsion-worthy offense.”
This revelation translates to Complicated with a capital C. I should have gone to Gregg’s instead. Worked things out with him. What am I even doing here with this other boy?
He meets my eyes. “The tricky part is that this girl was my roommate’s girlfriend. She was there with him. Not me.”
“Then how come you got expelled?”
“I took the blame for it, said she was with me.” He picks away the crust along his sandwich. “Honestly, I didn’t even really think about it. I knew my buddy couldn’t take the fall. He was on scholarship and would’ve lost everything. I figured I’d be fine, since colleges only want me for hockey, not my grades.”
Okay, so not totally complicated. It’s more—“Selfless,” I say.
Alec pulls two bottles of water from the basket, opens one and hands it to me. “Not entirely. I mean, he would have done the same for me. Besides, I’d been wanting to come home for a while and saw my chance.”
“I can’t imagine ever wanting to be in Sudbury.”
“That’s because you’ve always been here.” He takes a sip of water. “And it’s not Sudbury, really, I just missed home. My mom. Or . . . I miss the way she used to be.”
“Used to be?”
“She was softer when I was a kid. That probably sounds ridiculous.”
“Not really.”
His eyes lock on mine, hint at trust. “Since my dad’s been working overseas, my mom’s all aggressive and hyperfocused on her company. My coming home hasn’t changed that. Not like I’d wanted it to.”
“My mom’s been the same way since my dad split. Like she’s overcompensating.” This fact is out of my mouth before I realize.
“No small burden. When did your dad split?”
“In June.” On my eighteenth birthday echoes in my head. When the kitchen smelled like lemon basil because Mom took cuttings from her plant to make my favorite pasta sauce. “He wrote a letter to my mom saying he couldn’t do it anymore.” The minute the words are out I want to shove them back into silence.
“Did he write to you?” Alec asks.
“No.” It is a hard word. A hard truth.
“Shit.”
The air feels hollow then, like it did that day. Like breathing is no longer an option. “I used to think my dad was perfect. Until he wasn’t. You know?”
“I do.” His eyes throw me a soft smile and it feels like he really might know.
“My mom’s been trying so hard to hold it together that I think she’ll shatter. It makes me nervous about leaving for college next year. I mean, what if she loses it? Has a breakdown or something?” I don’t tell him how I’m really afraid I’ll never even get into college because I fear I’m deeply flawed and that’s why my own father didn’t want to stick around or at least give me a letter explaining why he left.