Before I Fall

reminding me of Izzy.

I’m telling you, I can’t have any more flower homicides on my conscience, I said. You could take them home. Do you have a vase?

She paused for a fraction of a second more and then broke into a dazzling smile, transforming her whole face. I’ll keep them in my room, she said.

Kent cocks one eyebrow. “How do you know that I’m the one who sent it?”

“Come on.” I roll my eyes. “No one else draws weird cartoons for a living.”

He puts a hand on his chest, acting offended. “Not for a living. For the love of it. Besides, they’re not weird.”

“Whatever. Then thanks for your totally normal note.”

“You’re welcome.” He grins. We’re standing close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him.

“So are you going to be my knight in shining armor or what?”

Kent does a little bow. “You know I can’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“I knew I could count on you.” The hallways are empty now. Everyone is at lunch. For a moment we just stand there smiling at each other. Then something softens in his eyes and my heart soars. Everything in me feels fluttering and free, like I could take off from the ground at any second. Music, I think, he makes me feel like music. Then I think, He’s going to kiss me right here, in the math wing of Thomas Jefferson High School, and I almost pass out.

He doesn’t, though. Instead he reaches out and touches my shoulder once, lightly. When he removes his fingers I can still feel them tingling on my skin. “Until tonight, then.” A flicker of a smile. “Your secret better be good.”

“It’s amazing, I promise.” I wish I could memorize every single thing about him. I want to burn him into my mind. I can’t believe how blind I was for so long. I start to back away before I do something wildly inappropriate, like jump on top of him.

“Sam?” he stops me.

“Yeah.”

His eyes are doing that searching thing again, and now I understand why he told me before that he could see through me. He’s actually been paying attention. I feel like he’s reading my mind right now, which is more than a little embarrassing, since most of my thoughts for the moment involve how perfect his lips are.

He bites his lip and shuffles his feet a little. “Why me? For tonight, I mean. We haven’t really talked in, like, seven years….”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” I keep backing away from him, skipping a little.

“I’m serious,” he says. “Why me?”

I think of Kent holding my hand in the dark, leading me through rooms crisscrossed with moonlight. I think of his voice lulling me to sleep, carrying me off like a tide. I think of time stilling as he cupped my face and brought his lips to mine.

“Trust me,” I say, “it can only be you.”

SECOND CHANCES

Kent’s Valogram was only the first of several adjustments I made in the Rose Room this morning, and as soon as I enter the cafeteria I can tell that Rob got his. He breaks away from his friends and lopes up to me before I can even make it over to the lunch line (where I’m planning on ordering a double roast beef sandwich). As always, his stupid Yankees hat is barely balanced on his head, twisted around to the side like he’s in some rap video from 1992.

“Hey, babe.” He goes to put his arm around me, and I step away casually. “Got your rose.”

“Thanks. I got yours too.”

He looks around, sees a single rose looped through the handle of my messenger bag, and frowns. “Is that mine?”

I shake my head, smiling sweetly.

He rubs his forehead. He always does this when he’s thinking, like the act of actually using his mind gives him a headache. “What happened to all your roses?”

“They’re in storage,” I say, which is kind of true.

He shakes his head, letting it go. “So there’s a party tonight….” He trails off, then tips his head and smirks at me. “I thought it would be fun to go for a bit.” He reaches out and clomps a hand on my shoulder, massaging me hard. “Like, you know, foreplay.”

Only Rob would think that pounding foamy beer from a keg and screaming at each other counts as foreplay, but I decide to let it go and play along. “Foreplay?” I say, as innocently as I can.

He obviously thinks I’m being flirtatious. He smiles and tilts his head backward, looking at me through half narrowed eyes. I used to think it was the cutest thing when he did this; now it’s a bit like watching a linebacker try to samba. He might have all the moves down, but it just doesn’t look right.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I really liked what you wrote in your note.”

“Did you?” I make my voice a purr, thinking about what I scrawled out this morning. You don’t have to wait for me anymore.

“So I was thinking I’d get to the party at ten, stay for an hour or two.” He shrugs and adjusts his hat, back to business now that he got the flirting out of the way.

I feel suddenly tired. I’d been planning to mess with Rob a little—to get back at him for not paying attention, for not being there, for not caring about anything except partying and lacrosse and how he looks in his stupid Yankees hat—but I can’t keep up the game anymore. “I don’t really care what you do, Rob.”

He hesitates. This was not the answer he was expecting. “You’re sleeping over tonight, though, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

His hand flies up to his forehead again: more rubbing. “But you said…”

“I said you didn’t have to wait for me anymore. And you don’t.” I suck in a deep breath. One, two, three, jump. “This isn’t working out, Rob. I want to break up.”

He takes a step backward. His face goes completely white, and then he turns bright red from the forehead down, like someone’s filling him with Kool-Aid. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m breaking up with you.” I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m surprised by how easy I’m finding it. Letting go is easy: it’s all downhill. “I just don’t think it’s working out.”

“But—but—” he sputters at me. The confusion on his face is replaced by rage. “You can’t break up with me.”

I unconsciously shuffle backward, crossing my arms. “Why’s that?”

He looks at me like I’m the dumbest person alive. “You,” he says, almost spitting the word, “cannot break up with me.”

Then I get it. Rob does remember. He remembers that in sixth grade he said I wasn’t cool enough for him—remembers it, and still believes it. Any sympathy I still feel for him vanishes in that moment, and as he’s standing there, bright red with his fists clenched, it amazes me how ugly I find him.

“I can do it,” I say calmly. “I just did.”

“And I waited for you. I waited for you for months.” He turns away and mutters something I don’t hear.

“What?”

He looks back at me, his face twisted with disgust and anger. This cannot be the same person who a week ago nestled against my shoulder and told me I was his personal blanket. It’s like his face has dropped away and there’s a totally different face underneath.

“I said I should have screwed Gabby Haynes when she asked me to over break,” he says coldly.

Something flares in my stomach, leftover pain or pride, but it passes quickly enough and is replaced again by a feeling of calm. I’m already gone from here, already flying over this, and I can suddenly understand exactly what Juliet feels, must have felt for some time. Thinking about her brings my strength back, and I even manage to smile.

“It’s never too late for second chances,” I say sweetly, and then I walk away to have my last lunch with my best friends.

Ten minutes later, when I’m finally sitting down at our usual table—scarfing an enormous roast beef