Risk the Fall Read online

  I push myself too hard at gym, hoping to prolong the workout as long as possible. I want to stay in the protective, brightly colored walls, where the outside world doesn’t matter. All that matters in gym is how high I flip and how firmly I stick a landing. These are easy things in comparison to what’s weighing on my heart and mind. I methodically analyze every movement in my floor routine, repeating each step over and over again in an attempt to perfect any possible flaw. Perfection. That’s what I’ve always striven for. Finally, Sam forces me out, saying I’ll be too sore to come back in the morning if I don’t give it a rest for the night. I begrudgingly gather my things and drive to Trevor’s house. I spend the drive trying to convince myself that I did nothing that I should feel guilty about. I was simply thanking Grant for staying after to help me to my car. I shouldn’t be beating myself up over something so trivial.

  Still, when I pull up to the modern two story home, I sit in my car for several minutes before getting up the nerve to walk up to the front door. Trevor answers wearing a pair of loose gym shorts and no shirt. Crappity. His parents are involved in a lot of social events in the community, and I don’t have to ask to know that the dark house behind him means that they’re out at some function. He holds my hand and leads me down to his bedroom, which is actually the converted basement. It’s a far different feel from the sleek, Swedish style furnishings of Grant’s bedroom, but really, why am I even comparing the two? Trevor’s room is more what I think a typical teenage guy’s room would look like. There’s a pool table near one side and a large, dark brown leather sofa. The other side of the room houses a flat screen TV with an array of chords connecting countless video game consoles, and his floor is littered with clothes, books, and video game controllers.

  “Sorry about the mess,” he says.

  “It’s fine,” I say. I stare at the floor, not to inspect the clutter, but because I’m avoiding eye contact with him.

  “You’re in a weird mood, what’s wrong?” he asks, taking my slight wrist into his large hand. When he kisses my knuckles, I feel relief course through me. Things are okay. I’m where I’m supposed to be.

  “Nothing, just a long workout,” I sigh. I hope I sound convincing. It was a long workout, that isn’t a lie.

  He sits down on the enormous bed and pulls me on to his lap. His hand presses into the back of my neck as he draws me in for a kiss. The force behind the movement is unusual. Heated and almost angry. His lips don’t move with the same tenderness they had earlier today. He’s kissing me like he has something to prove.

  I finally pull away from his firm grasp, breathless and confused, and glance around the room awkwardly. What the hell? I spot my pearls on the edge of the nightstand and brush past Trevor to pick them up. I pause for a moment, letting myself admire them and feel a pang in my heart for my mom.

  “Well, I’m beat. I’d better get going,” I say, fumbling with the smooth pearls in my hands.

  “Already?” He asks, stepping closer.

  “Yeah, sorry, babe. I’m just worn out and I still have homework,” I say.

  I close the space between us and stand on my tiptoes to kiss him lightly, hoping that he’ll let me go without a fight. I desperately want to shower and get to bed and have this day be over with.

  But he doesn’t kiss me back.

  “Where were you this afternoon?” he asks. His entire presence has changed like someone’s flipped a switch. Anger blazes across his normally calm face. He grabs at my wrists, not in the normal caress with which he usually touches me with.

  “I told you. I was at gym,” I say. I try to pull back, attempting to ease his crushing grip, but it only hurts worse.

  “Really? Because I saw you with him after school,” he spits.

  It takes me a minute to process what he’s actually accusing me of.

  “Oh!” I say. “Grant? He was just helping me get our project to my car. Because I’m saving it. For Maisy.” I’m rambling, and Trevor’s grip hasn’t relaxed on my now throbbing wrists. I turn them each way trying to pry myself free, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Trevor, you’re hurting me,” I finally squeak out.

  He still doesn’t release me. It’s not like the too-tight-hand-hold. It hurts. Plain and simple.

  “I thought I made it clear that you were to stay away from him.” The words seethe through his teeth.

  “Trevor!” My anger and fear are both flaring. “We were just talking. Now seriously, let go of me.”

  I pull my hands back with all of my strength, sending the pearls flying in slow motion across the room before crashing to the ground, the necklace breaks instantly. I glare at him with hot tears quickly forming in my eyes. But there’s nothing there. No apology. No look of remorse.

  I scramble to the floor to pick up the still intact bracelet and a small handful of pearls that haven’t rolled under the bed before turning back to him. He’s finally stepped toward me with his arms extended. As if his holding me would somehow make things better.

  “You! Stay away from me,” I yell. I rub my sore wrists.

  “Syd, I’m so damn sorry,” he says, still reaching for me. The sight of his outstretched arms makes me queasy. Nothing about tonight makes any sense.

  I grab my keys off of the bed and rush back up the stairs without saying a word. Trevor follows behind me, easily keeping pace as I hurry out the front door. I let it slam behind me, but he’s back at my side as I fumble with my car keys at the driver’s side door.

  “Please talk to me. I’m so sorry,” he says.

  I open my car door the smallest possible crack and slip in, then lock the doors behind me. I don’t glance up before backing out of the driveway and racing home.

  I don’t sleep well and am already up and dressed before my alarm goes off for gym. I’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to make sense of Trevor’s reaction. He’d obviously seen me touch Grant’s hand. Was what he did to me my payback? Surely he didn’t mean to hurt me like that, though. I’d never seen him so upset.

  My wrists are achy, but I haven’t turned a light on to inspect them yet. Mostly, I’m just devastated about the demise of Mom’s pearls. How in the world could I let that happen to something so irreplaceable? Even if I could find some like them, I would never be able to forgive myself for ruining something so precious.

  I beat Sam to the gym for once, so I’m able to have a few more minutes to myself. Once inside under the bright fluorescent lights, I’m horrified at the deep red bruises that decorate my wrists. I quickly fetch my wrist guards and grips from my gym bag and hurry to put them on before Sam comes in. I can’t believe that I’m having to use guards that are meant to reduce the friction with the bar and minimize rips to my hands to conceal bruises. Bruises caused by Trevor. Thankfully, they camouflage them well without me having to add any extra athletic tape. If I did that, Sam would freak, worrying that I had some sort of injury. I can’t afford that. I wince as I tighten the Velcro straps of the guards on my swollen wrists.

  Sam comes in just as I'm prepping the bars with chalk.

  “Good, we need to work on the Arabian double front today,” he says.

  I nod and do a kip to mount the low bar, cringing from the pain. And from his choice of skill.

  I drive slowly to school. I’ve already been up for hours and am exhausted. I’m hoping to miss the first bell and make it to class with just enough time to not have to socialize at all. I’m glad it’s raining lightly; everyone has taken refuge in their classes by the time I drive up. I grab a hooded sweatshirt out of my backseat and pull it over my head, making sure it covers my hands and walk furtively to class like I’m a criminal.

  I’m relieved to see Grant did in fact go out of town. I wonder what the likelihood of him deciding not to come back from New York is. I immediately feel guilty for even thinking that. It’s not his fault that I’m so damn miserable. Still, Grant being away for a few days is probably good. Hopefully, his absence will at least prevent any more drama
between me and Trevor.

  The day drags on slowly. Quinn notices my foul mood in English, but doesn’t pester me about it since we’re both trying to avoid another round of detention slips.

  By the time lunch rolls around, I’ve pretty much convinced myself that I overreacted. There’s no way that Trevor meant to hurt me. It was just a stupid misunderstanding.

  I set my tray down in my usual spot just as Trevor walks up. It’s the first time I’ve seen him today and he looks uneasy. His hair is disheveled, and his eyes look swollen and tired. His atypical appearance and the obvious reason behind it tug at my heart a bit.

  “Hi,” I mumble. Quinn’s eyes dart up at my tone. No bubbly Sydney today.

  “Can I talk to you, alone?” he asks.

  Quinn puckers her brow, questioning me silently with her eyes. I sigh, and give her a slight smile to show that everything is okay, before following Trevor out of the crowded cafeteria.

  He walks out into the deserted quad and sits on a damp cement bench. I fold my arms across my chest and stare at him blankly.

  “So, talk,” I say flatly. He reaches for my hand and I quickly jerk it back, even though a big part of me just wants to crawl up into his lap and make all of the bad go away.

  “Sydney, god, I’m so sorry about last night. I don’t know what got into me.” His eyes are soft and pleading. I don’t respond. I don’t know how to.

  “I am so, so sorry,” he repeats. He looks down and shakes his head back and forth in apparent disgust with himself.

  I stand there silently in the mist, replaying what had happened with Grant. I try to imagine the roles reversed. I imagine that I’d seen Trevor with some hot girl. Knowing the insecurity that I already feel on a daily basis in our relationship, I can’t imagine the added insecurity of seeing him touch someone else. I cringe at the thought. How could I not have immediately seen the situation from his eyes? I uncross my arms and reach for his hand. He looks up at me like a sad little boy, and it crushes my heart.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I say. And I mean it. He pulls me down on to his lap and holds me tightly for a long time, until the mist turns into full-on rain and sends us running. And laughing. And together.

  Sam doesn’t find it odd when I’m ready with grips on to work on the uneven bars again after school. I wish for miraculously quick healing bruises. I’m not sure how many more workouts he will allow me to devote entirely to bars, or how many more Arabian Double Fronts my sanity will allow.

  When I get home from gym, Dad is working in his office as usual. Maisy is at the bar in the kitchen working on homework. I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sit down next to her.

  “Hey Maze,” I say.

  She barely looks up.

  “I was wondering what you wanted to do for your birthday?”

  She closes her book and perks up. She doesn’t want anything crazy, just a sleepover with her friends. I can handle that. It feels good to see her so animated, and really, just to have her talking to me for once. Like I’m doing something right. After we brainstorm, she skips out of the room and she finishes her homework with a rare smile.

  I spread out my books on my bed and try my best to concentrate on my homework, but who am I kidding? The emotional drain from the last couple of days has left me barely functional. I lay back on my fluffy stack of down pillows and frown as I notice the cluster of pearls on my nightstand. I find a small drawstring bag in my jewelry box and scoop the loose pearls carefully into it. It’s early, but I flip the light off on my way back to my bed.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” I say under my breath.

  I slide the books off of my bed, letting them hit the floor one by one with a loud thunk, and curl up under my thick comforter and let the tears take over.

  “I worked on beam today for the first time in a few days.”

  I’m finally able to work on beam again. My long sleeved leotard covers what’s left of the bruises. They’re less ugly now, but still a gross shade of yellowish-green.

  “I’m able to do some of my best thinking up on beam.”

  Unless I’m working on a difficult skill, Sam doesn’t hover.

  “My pike double back dismount is pretty flawless. I stuck the landing perfectly today.”

  My feet slammed into the mat with such powerful force behind them, for a second I didn’t feel so damn weak.

  “This is what I’ve worked so hard for for so many years.”

  “So, what are we doing tonight?” Trevor asks as we walk to class after lunch on Friday.

  “I have detention right after school,” I moan. He snickers at my annoyance. And it’s light. And happy. And normal.

  “That’s okay. Why don’t I come by later tonight?” he suggests. He tilts my chin up with his thumb. “We can just watch a movie or something.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I grin. Luckily, I’ve worked out so much this week, I’ll be able to head straight home after detention and get comfortable while I wait for Trevor.

  I stare out the window of the detention room, watching the rain and wind whip the trees around. What a miserable afternoon. I probably have some homework I could be working on, but instead, I spend the two hours dreaming of getting home and curling up on the couch with Trevor. It’s been such a long week. I’m so glad that once I get out of here, it’ll officially be over.

  I hurry to my car after detention, not even attempting to avoid the puddles. My jeans have soaked up the water and are now saturated past my knees.

  “Come on. Come on,” I mumble under my breath, as my wet fingers slip on my car key. I finally get the door open and jump inside. The warmth of my car envelops me. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror. My long hair is plastered to the sides of my face and still dripping. I can’t help but laugh out loud. I reach into the back seat and grab a towel out of my gym back and dab at my face and hair, trying to absorb some of the water as I look around the deserted school parking lot. There are only about a half a dozen cars left.

  I toss the towel behind me and then turn the car key.

  Nothing.

  I try again.

  Nothing.

  Why is this even happening? All I want to do is get home and into some sweats. I silently curse myself for being a rule-follower and not bringing my cell phone to school.

  I try unsuccessfully once more to start the Toyota before accepting defeat. I take the key out and sprint toward the front office. At least the major downpour has slacked off. I pull on the door. Locked. This has got to be a joke.

  Just as I turn the corner, I run into someone full speed. Grant. He catches me in his arms before I slip on the wet concrete.

  “Hey!” he says, cheerfully with a wide smile.

  “Uh, hi,” I respond, backing away from him. “What are you doing here?” My tone is more abrupt than necessary. I catch a glint of confusion in his eyes – most likely because I haven’t seen him since the day of the fight with Trevor. The incident in the parking lot floods my mind. How innocent it felt at the time. How much trouble it ended up causing. As far as Grant knows, though, we’d ended things on a positive note.

  “My flight was delayed and I just got in. I came by to drop off my History paper. What are you still doing here?”

  “I had detention,” I say. I look around the empty campus for someone – anyone – else that I can ask for help. “And my car won’t start,” I admit, looking at my feet.

  “Why don’t I take you home?” He offers immediately, just like I knew he would.

  “Actually, that’s okay. But do you have your phone? I can just call my dad.”

  “Sure, no problem,” he says. He reaches into the front pocket of his button up shirt and then hands me his iPhone.

  I dial my dad’s cell phone number and listen to it ring. And ring. And cringe when his voicemail picks up. There’s no answer on the house phone, either.

  “No answer, anywhere,” I say, handing the phone back to him. “Thank you though.” I turn away from him t
o walk back to my car. Eventually, Dad will come looking for me, right?

  “Sydney,” I hear him laugh as he follows behind me. “Where are you going? Let me take you home.”

  When I look up at him, his face is so warm and selfless. Am I really going to turn him down and risk spending the night in the school parking lot waiting for someone to come and get me? No.

  I look around the deserted campus one last time. “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Positive, you know it’s not any trouble. Come on,” he says, motioning to his car across the lot.

  I slip into his dry car, and I’m so happy to be out of the cold rain I could squeal. I pull off my dripping sweat shirt and stuff it into my backpack.

  “So, how was your trip?” I ask. I should keep it short and sweet with Grant. I should have walked home rather than get in the car with him. I know. But still, I can’t help it.

  “It was all right. Dry,” he says smiling.

  I laugh.

  “So, you were able to spend some time with your dad?”

  “Yeah. And my brother. Actually, the main reason for the trip was a friend’s birthday.”

  “Wow, that’s some trip for a birthday party.”

  I’m likely being insanely nosy, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe.

  “Yeah, it was, um…” He runs his hand across his scruffy cheek and pauses for a moment, “It was actually my ex-girlfriend’s birthday.”

  “Oh. Wow. You flew across the country for an ex’s birthday?” I’m impressed. And that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach is something unfamiliar. It couldn’t be jealousy. I have no right or reason to be jealous.

  Grant laughs softly but doesn’t respond at first. Have I overstepped again?

  “Actually, we ended on good terms,” he starts. His voice is thoughtful, which is pretty much standard for Grant.

  In reality, there’s so little that I actually know about Grant. I don’t like that. I want more. To know more, I mean. Grant pulls into my driveway, and I’m surprised that the house is dark. Where is everyone? I should thank him and get out of the car, but he looks as though he might finish his thought. I wring my hands nervously. Stay? Go?