The Fallen (15 page)

“Chloe,” Brian said, looking around nervously, “it almost killed a person.”

“Whose bright idea was it to encroach on mountain lion territory with condos, anyway?” Chloe demanded. “Jesus Christ, what did they
think
was going to happen?”

“All right,” he agreed, “it wasn't nice to destroy more of their environment. But the houses and condos are there
now.
They're not moving. How are you going to keep the lions from attacking people?”

“Big fences? Signs that say, Don't Jog at Night by Yourself, Dumbass?”

“You really don't feel anything for the guy who was almost killed?” Brian asked quiedy.

“Of course I do.” Chloe sighed. “The poor schmuck wasn't really doing anything wrong—aside from buying a new condo recendy built up against parkland, which merits
some
kind of punishment. But is hunting down and killing the cat the right answer?”

“The problem is that it's no longer afraid of humans, and now it has a taste of their blood.”

“So we have to exterminate anything that's not afraid of us. Yay us, evolved monkeys.” Chloe snorted.

“I
said
I didn't want to work for them anymore,” Brian mumbled defensively.

He shook his head, clearing the air and changing the topic. “What about
you?
What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Chloe sighed again. “I don't know. I've sort of already ruled out rock goddess and movie star. I really like working at Pateena's, fooling with the clothes and stuff. Seeing what people buy and why.”

“So, fashion designer?”

She laughed and shook her head, sending her bob in a neat little flair around her head—which she knew was cute. “No, that's Amy. She's the stylish, crafty one. We always talked about teaming up after school someday— uh, when she finally gives up her dream of being a poet. She would design the fashions and I would manage the store or company: hiring, fixtures, accounts….” Her eyes grew dreamy, then narrowed. “That's why it pisses me off that Lania gets to work the cash register. She sucks, and I totally want to learn that side of it.”

Brian's face was blank for a moment. “Oh, is she that girl who keeps making fun of the way I dress?”

“Yeah.” Chloe snorted. “Good customer relations, no?”

“No,” Brian firmly agreed. “So are you going to get a job in retail out of school?”

“What are you, mad?” Chloe laughed. “I'm going to
college, dillhole. My mom's a lawyer. She'd kill me otherwise. And besides—retail isn't exacdy the best way to realize your life's ambition. I don't think Mr. or Mrs. Gap started out dreaming behind a counter at five-fifty an hour. I'll go to college, and if I still want to do this, I'll get my MBA—isn't that what you do?”

Brian shrugged. “My old man always said that MBAs were charm schools for the slow. But he's old-fashioned and kind of an idiot.”

Chloe looked at him, realizing something. “Are you the first one in your family to go to college?”

Brian blushed. “I'm not there yet. That's part of the problem. My dad is dead set against it. He thinks it's a waste of money and you don't learn anything
real
You're a pretty intuitive girl, you know that?”

She smiled, but when she held his eye for a moment, he looked away.
That explains the books—they weren't just to impress me!

“Feeling any better?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Chloe admitted grudgingly. “I still don't know what to do about Amy, but at least I'm not all crazy about it anymore. I think… I'm going to have to give her some space to finally figure out for herself how she's acting, even though it's pretty lonely out there right now.”

“You're not
completely
alone,” he said with a faint smile.

She
had
told him about the tower, hadn't she? Just
like that. And he hadn't freaked out or disbelieved her— he'd just listened. Chloe hadn't told anyone else, not even Alyec.
Someone to talk to
… “Any more near-death experiences, emotional crises with my best friend, and fights with my mom, I know who to call.”

“I'm your man,” Brian said, giving her a thumbs-up and a wink.

For some reason, it gave Chloe pause. The gesture was familiar somehow.

“Uh,” she said, a little unsure of what to do. “I guess I should get going before Mom realizes that I've overstayed after school.”

“Yeah.” He coughed. “Of course. I'm glad we could meet, though.”

Are you?
Chloe couldn't be sure.

He stood up and pulled the table out for her to make it easier to get up with her book bag and jacket, another completely Brian thing. He didn't do it with flare or a dramatic gesture, he didn't do it with a hello-Pm-being-chivalrous attitude, he didn't apologize for what might have been construed as a patriarchal gesture by some. He just did it. Courteousness without an agenda. I
could
really
get to like this.
Except for the whole not-seizing-the-moment thing. Was he shy?

Outside, Chloe threw her scarf on dramatically twice—what could she say, she was in full flirt mode and hoping Brian would notice. It was the only knitting project she had ever finished, with odds and ends from
her mom's craft bin. In-your-face patchwork and ugly.

“You want to get together again soon?” he asked, shuffling his feet in the cold. “We don't have to do ska. I thought if you wanted, we could go ice skating or something—”

“Kiss me, you idiot,” Chloe said, aware of the fall air, the crackling of dead leaves, the
life
in the environment. She reached up for his head.

Brian pushed her back, gendy but firmly on the shoulders.

“What?”
Chloe demanded, blushing and angry. “Is it because I'm in high school or something? You're only two years older than I am!”

“No—yes.” He changed his answer, thinking it was an easy way out. Then he sighed and reverted to the truth. “No, that's not it. I—I just can't, Chloe. Not now.”

“Why not?” She stamped her foot, not caring how little girlish it looked.

“I like you a lot—” he started.

“You're gay,” she interrupted. “No, wait—
married.
That's why you said you didn't have a
girlfriend.”

“I'm not gay and I'm not married. Chloe, I really do like you. I—” He was about to try and get off with a platitude, but Chloe gave him a warning look. “I
want
you,” he whispered. “I just—can't—right now.”

“Does this have something to do with your father?” she asked. “‘Cause he ain't watching right now, I can tell you that.”

Brian's shoulders sagged and a shadow came over his brow. For the first time since she had seen him, he looked like an entirely different person: haunted, conflicted, and most of all
defeated.

“So what now?” she asked, a little more gendy.

Brian sighed. “I don't know.”

Chloe wandered home glumly, too down to run. But as she walked past a familiar parking meter and car, it suddenly hit Chloe. The night with the other cat person. He had given her a thumbs-up, too, and turned his head like he was winking.

Chloe didn't have
a lot of time to think about her realization immediately; it was pizza night. She and her mom did takeout fairly often, several times a week. But
pizza
was special and they ordered it rarely, keeping the nature of the occasion festive.

Once upon a time a year or so ago, Chloe had gotten all grown up and responsible for a month, trying to make dinner for them at least once a week, but that had been phased out as she and her mom started fighting over things more and more. I
should probably start doing that again.
… It was hard for Chloe to remember that her mom was a
person,
often exhausted and with her own troubles, but when she did, she was genuinely sorry.

And sorry she was such a burden.

They got a large pepperoni and split it with no mention of waists, calories, fat, or anything else. Rarely did a slice make it to a plate—one of them would scoop it up and shovel it directly into her face. The television wasn't on.
The whole thing was a little forced, but they were giggling—especially when her mom got a red Ronald McDonald smile on her face ear to ear from tomato sauce.

“Are you … okay?” Mrs. King finally asked when the laughter died down.

Chloe shuffled in her seat and played with one of the crusts on her plate, which she always saved for last, like a little pile of bread or pickup sticks.

“Mom, I want to go out,” Chloe said quiedy. “With… guys”

Or at least stop lying about it.

Her mother looked up at her, seemingly impressed with her daughter's new, mature-sounding tone.

“Look, I know you said it was like the last thing Dad asked before he left, but… he's
gone”
Chloe said, indicating the two empty seats at the table. “He hasn't been here for the last twelve years. I don't think he has a right to dictate my life from the past.”

“I
never
agreed with your father's views about raising you,” her mom said, ripping off another slice with more force than she had to. “We didn't agree on
anything
toward the end.” She bit and chewed pensively. “Well, we probably didn't agree on anything in the beginning, either, but it was all hidden by the rosy mists of young love. And we both loved
you.”

Chloe didn't say anything, even holding her breath so she wouldn't interrupt her mom's train of thought.

“By the end, you were all that we had in common.”
Her mother sighed and smiled sadly at her. “And we began to fight over you.”

“So by keeping to the one last thing you disagreed with—you were still keeping Dad here somehow?”

“You watch
way
too much daytime TV,” her mother said wryly, but didn't disagree.

“If he loved me so much, it would have been nice if he stuck around a little,” Chloe muttered.

They were both quiet for a few minutes, chewing.

Then her mom sat up straighter and looked Chloe dead in the eye, coming to a decision. “You can't be skipping school and falling from towers and leaving hospitals and spending time with boys alone during school hours. Have you
seen
the news recendy? About that dead girl, stabbed in the alley? They think her attacker knew her. It's bad enough out there, but you've also been lying to me—how am I supposed to be able to trust you?”

Chloe's first reaction was to argue that that wasn't fair, but unfortunately, her mom had a good point.

“All right,” Mrs. King said with resolution. She spoke in her lawyer voice. “From now on, clean slate between us, okay? You can go out and do all the ‘normal' things—and don't think I won't be talking with other parents to see what exacdy is considered normal. But you can't skip school anymore. You have to tell me where you're going and when. And sometimes, now and then, I will be checking up on you. You don't have a very good track record, young lady.” She frowned at Chloe.
“I want to be part of your life, Chloe, and help and protect you—” Chloe tried not to giggle at that part, thinking about what she had done to the bum.
“Capisce?”

Chloe nodded. “Agreed.”

“Good.” Her mother took another huge bite of pizza.

“I got my period,” Chloe said brighdy.

Her mother choked.

At school the next day Chloe found herself reviewing everything she knew about Brian. The kitty cat hat, how he knew so much about the lions, how concerned he was that she might have talked about her survival of the fall with anyone else, like he was afraid of other people finding out her secret. And the thumbs-up just clinched it.
He really
must be
the other cat person!
She couldn't believe she hadn't realized it before. It all made sense, starting with their first meeting and her instant attraction.

But why didn't he just come out and tell her? And why wouldn't he kiss her? Did it have something to do with being cat people? Chloe felt sure he would tell her eventually, that all would be revealed in due time. She couldn't wait. Brian was everything she had hoped for: someone to talk to and someone who could tell her about her cat nature, who could teach her about it.

Making out would be nice, too, though,
Chloe couldn't help thinking.

Gradually she thought about the less exciting parts of their conversation…. Like really, what
did
she want
to be when she grew up? All the answers she'd given him were true, but were they correct? Was going into the fashion industry the right thing to do? Should she look for a higher cause, a nonprofit, something for the good of the world? And what about all those little kid dreams: fireman, astronaut, president. Could she really rule
all
of them out? Was she too young to narrow things down?

I might actually go talk to the guidance counselor,
she decided. It was last period of the day; many teachers would already be warming up their cars or having their last cigarette break. And except for National Honor Society members—like Paul—the counselor was definitely an unutilized school resource. He would most definitely be free. Even if she chickened out of actually talking to him, she could go through all of the brochures outside his office. They had seemed kind of lame before, but some of them were put out by companies, she remembered, and spoke about careers within them. Paul had talked vaguely about publishing at one point, when he had given up on the music industry, and had taken a bunch of pamphlets.

She was walking by the newspaper office and found herself instinctively heading toward it—also probably because she was thinking about Paul—before remembering and continuing to walk ahead. She had
no
desire to see either one of the couple of the year.