How I Fall (4 page)

I swallow and my heart starts fluttering against my chest with a panic attack. Did I forget to turn off the camera’s sound? Did he hear that shutter sound and that’s why he is now not looking away? Okay. Okay. Whatever. I’m always taking photos, everyone knows this and sees it every day.

*Vows to be cool.  Act cool. Stay cool!*

I fight against the heat flooding my cheeks and lock in a bored expression. This is so I can hold his gaze without looking guilty. But instead of him looking away or back at his cell phone like everyone does when I stare back at them, his eyes never waver off me!

So…I stare back, equally unblinking, because I’m not looking away first. No. Way. I’ve never been this close to him and at this close range…
holy-mother-of-beauty
…

*Quickly starts the Name The Eye Color Game: Lake fog in headlights! Back lit campfire smoke! Moonlight behind thin moving clouds! Oh, that’s the one! Moonlight. Clouds…*

*Passes OUT from holding her breath.*

I breathe in as calmly as I can without gasping for air and he pulls his backpack straighter on his shoulder like I’ve suddenly made him nervous! Then he gives me this tentative looking smile—an act that somehow makes his eyes go one shade brighter!

*Catalogues the little, very cute smile-crinkles that just appeared around the edges of his eyes. Wonders what a whole smile would do to that face. Dies.*

Butterflies choke the back of my throat. It’s all I can do to keep my face passive while I completely question my levels of what’s real and what’s not right now. This is because I lack consistent oxygen to my brain from trying not to gasp this whole time, and because I’m getting this odd sensation that he’s going to cross through the crowd and walk over to me. As in,
right now
.

I shake my head slightly as if to discourage any movement on his part, and then wonder if I’m hallucinating? Maybe my morning breakfast was accidently a drug-laced batch of oatmeal that will later be exposed on the news this afternoon once I’m hospitalized from all this.

I decide I have to end this—somehow—and now. Can I make him believe somehow that
I did not
just take a random, impulsive stalker photograph of him?

Absolutely.

I hold up my iPhone and skate my gaze to a spot just behind and above his head, then shoot a ton of shots while making a face that looks like I’m concentrating, and that he’s actually in my way! It works, because suddenly his expression flickers with doubt. His smile drops as quickly as it came and he turns to look at the tree behind him, too.

Before he can turn back, I flip my braid over my shoulder and spin around on my good leg fast, because I’m about to turn all shades of red. To calm my exploding heart and to make it look like I’m busy and not at all noticing what he’s doing, I text the girls-huddling photo to Patrick and add:
What do you think?

Patrick:
Nice shot. Those girls are ridiculous in flip-flops. Swear you’re okay? Swear it again. Getting on my bus now. Good luck.

Me:
Double swear.
All good.

“I’m
so-so-so-so-
cold,” Bella-Jane shouts out again, distracting all of us with more drama. “I swear, you guys, I feel like I’m about to get major pneumonia here! We should all sue or something.”

“I-I-you could—you should y-y-yes.” Tanner always stutters when talking to her because—
who knows why
—he’s been in love with Bella-Jane since high school started. He takes off his jacket and holds it out, before trying again, “Y-y-you can use my jacket. If it helps.”

Suddenly it’s hard to hate him like I want to, because his eyes go rabbit-soft with longing as he smiles at Bella-Jane. Even on Tanner Gold’s annoying face, love is so adorable.

Bella-Jane rolls her eyes. It’s obvious love will never change her, but she wants that jacket more than she enjoys tormenting Tanner with her evil powers over him. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t crush him and instead says only, “Aww, thanks, Tanner.” She skips over to him, taking the jacket. Paige and Jennie giggle even more loudly now.

Someone shouts out, “There it is! See? Just in sight at the end of the lane.”

Tanner adds, “Finally, but it’s still a long way off.”

My heart grows heavy again with dread as I also spot the bus in the distance. I pray all the way to heaven and back that I won’t get stuck sitting next to Tanner or Bella-Jane. At the very least, the universe owes me that small kindness. My iPhone dings against my hand again and again. I ignore Patrick, just as I’m trying to ignore how our bus looks over bright against the white snow like a shiny, horrible black and yellow wasp.

I work to rally every shred of courage plus all hidden bits of muscle strength I can find by
flexing my calf and twisting my ankle all over again. All calf spasms have faded to a dull ache so there’s no reason to worry. None. None at all.

I’ve already been to hell and back more times than I can count. One more little, harmless bus ride is easy compared to hell.

Turning away from everyone again, I activate the camera on my iPhone. I already know taking some last shots while the others load up can settle my nerves.

It always does.

cam

Everyone quiets, watching the bus creep all stop-and-start along Lakeshore Drive like it’s a movie being played over a bad internet connection. I imagine the white knuckles on our lame driver gripping the steering wheel are just like the ones I’ve been trying to unclench ever since Ellen Foster and I made eye contact a few minutes back.

Significant eye contact.

At least, I think it was significant eye contact. Even though she didn’t smile back, I did manage to get a small smile out at her. And this, for me, is a start.

Damn…do I hope.

Focus. Focus. Stick to the plan. You never know what can happen. Just try. Try…

I dart another glance at Ellen. She’s stepped away from all of us to photograph more things. She always does this—then gets on the bus last—because I think she doesn’t like standing in line. She’s so absorbed taking shots of the snowy sidewalks you would think she doesn’t even care that the bus is finally almost here. Why would she? Riding the bus has to suck compared to what she’s probably seeing in her photographs.

I can’t wait to ask to see her shots when she and I are sitting side by side. I hope she’s got her iPhone still in her hand and that can be an easy…sort of…ice breaker.

A little too forcefully, I push toward the front of the line, surprising everyone around me. But whatever. I’m a desperate man.

Man with a plan…man with a plan…man with one awesome plan…

I figure the best way to sit by her is to grab the first seat nearest the driver to reserve it, discourage anyone else from sitting there, and then move over just when Ellen Foster boards.

I replay my strategy backward and forward, looking for any possible variations or loop holes where she might slip away from me, but I think I’m solid. If all goes right, thanks to the crowd behind me, and the fact that I’m first in line, she’ll have no other seat choices except mine.

My eyes feel like they’re going as wild as my thoughts because I’m trying to track the bus, then back to Ellen’s location and keep an eye on everyone around me all at the same time. Panic-laced quicksand chokes the back of my throat and I move to avoid Bella-Jane who’s carelessly bumping into everyone while trying to squeeze into Tanner’s jacket along with Jennie and Paige.

She’s made some comment way too close to the back of my head that ended with, “Right, Cam? Right?”

I reluctantly glance back because of her comment, stopping myself from looking into her eyes by pondering the freakish way she’s over-coated her eyelashes into thick black spikes. She’s blinking like she’s waiting for some kind of answer.

So, I fake it, force a nod and add in, “Yep,” then add, “Maybe.” Because you never want to accidently commit to anything when you aren’t listening. 

Then I realize my fatal mistake. If I board first and in front of Bella-Jane, this girl is going to think we just had a conversation and try to sit next to me. Quickly, I add, “You three ladies should go first. You really do look like you need to get warm.”

This seems to satisfy all of them. Bella-Jane calls me a
real gentleman
in this creepy voice and pulls a hair flip that almost takes my eye out as she and her friends push ahead of me.

Hopefully, they will make the usual beeline for the back of the bus where we all usually sit. Until today, that is.

I pull in a long quiet breath and square my shoulders, glancing one last time at Ellen who’s still crouched over a small puddle.

Until I became Ellen Foster’s new bus-buddy and started sitting up front. From this day forward…

Oh…I hope…do I hope this all works.

Trying to keep my face straight, I wonder if anyone else can tell my heart has relocated to somewhere behind my eyeballs.

The bus screeches to a halt and its flashing ‘STOP’ sign flips out.

The driver waits for a passing car to move to a safe distance and then finally opens the passenger door. I head up the first two steps, squeezing in behind Bella-Jane, Jennie, Paige and Tanner when suddenly they all pause on the bus steps and gasp.

As does the driver. All around me, people are muttering things like:  “What the heck is that? Who is that?”

And I’m watching it all too, thinking:
No way! No. Way.

ellen

While everyone loads up, I’ve crouched to get a quick, last shot of a leaf that’s landed on the sidewalk directly into a footprint. As far as leaves go, it’s simply breathtaking. Oak. A favorite fall leaf. Half green laced with shocking tinges of bright reds and yellows that will change all our trees, then have them mostly bare in only a matter of days. As I study it, little droplets of water form onto its waxy surface, highlighting its color intensity even more. 

I lean in, framing it better against the snow, and snap more shots as quickly as I can, already thinking of Instagram tags like:
#OtherWorld #snow #leaves #iloveFALL #extraOrdinary #instaLeaf #instaAwesome.

I decide to pocket the leaf to examine it on the bus and risk placing all of my weight on my good leg so I can reach for it. That’s when I’m hit square in my side by an
I-don’t-know-what!

I wince, catching a glimmer of some rainbow, paisley-skirted-tornado person who’s got arms waving wildly in the air somewhere near me in what possibly was an awkward attempt to catch me from falling…but…nope.

The stuff that used to be in my bag is raining down around me while my brain is cruel enough to register that everyone (on the bus and off) has turned to witness this, just as I enter one of those too-fast but completely slow-motion moments. All sound disappears until it feels like I’m watching from outside my own body, like how people describe near death experiences. Only, I’m not dead which right now, seems utterly and completely unfair!

*Ellen Foster’s body heads into a beautiful arc. Her braid floats to the right, body to the left, bag twirling in mid-air, and iPhone launches into space.*

The water-dammed ice puddle zooms in closer and closer. Until…smack. Sensation returns, along with crushing pain and a sound made up mostly of ringing in my ears. I hear and feel myself trying to pull air back into my collapsed lungs, but I’m only able to choke little gasps. And of course—hello CP—I’m so freaked out right now I’m hardly moving despite huge efforts.

The whirling dervish reaches my side. Because my eyes are the only thing working, I take in that this creature is actually a girl I’ve never seen before. A girl dressed like some sort of hippie/hipster wanna-be, but with more random body glitter than seems possible. It’s all over her face and her wild blonde curls, and now, it’s all over me.

I can feel her too-long skirt brushing against the top of my head as she’s circling me, but I’m so far gone I can’t even turn away from it! She’s muttering something like, “What-to-do,” but I’m not sure, because she’s got a really strange accent.

Is that British English?

Not Australian…that’s for sure…

“Oh. Poor wee-tiny lassie. Can you ever forgive me for what I’ve done?”

Irish. She’s Irish? Take hope. There are no Irish people in the entire township! Maybe I’m okay. Maybe this is a dream. A really bad dream. But not so-so bad, because yeah—the whole school is watching me—but at least I’m not naked?

The wet slush seeping into my clothing is freeze-shocking me. I give up on answering and force myself to breathe in more tiny bits of air and close my eyes.

“Oh. Oh…oh, Lord,” the girl utters the first words I can process as she hunkers down next to me. “Oh-me-good GOSH. I’m just so sorry.”

I open my eyes to watch the girl hauling desperately at my limp left arm which is half-submerged into the ice puddle I now call mine. My bad leg is trapped under me which is better than finding out my good leg is the one that’s trapped, I guess. Despite the fact that I’m breathing more normally, it takes only seconds to compute that the drastic temperature change has killed all communication from my brain to the bad side of my body and it’s not going to fix itself any time soon. Nothing seems to be working.