The Upside of Falling

been hiding from him for a week. Shut up shut up shut up.
“How has he been?” I asked then, lowering my voice. “With his family.”
Jeff kicked stubbornly at the grass. “I don’t know. He won’t talk to me about
it.”
But I knew he’d talk to me.
“You think he’s home right now?” I checked my phone for the time. “I can
walk there in twenty minutes if I take the side roads,” I said, thinking out loud.
“I can give you a ride,” Jeff said, nodding toward the field. “We’re almost
done here. Mind waiting fifteen?”
I told him that no, I didn’t, then made a beeline inside. With half the contents
of my locker piled into my backpack and my arms, I sat on the front steps and
waited. Twenty minutes had passed when Jeff showed up. “This way,” he said,
leading me to an old red pickup truck that was equal parts car and rust. It looked
like it was going to crumble apart at any moment. Suddenly, walking to Brett’s
house felt like a better option.
“The car’s fine,” Jeff said, reading my mind. “I got the brakes fixed last

---

week.” How reassuring. I sat down anyway. Desperate times and all that.
“You’ve met Brett’s parents?” I asked when we were driving through town.
“Loads of times.”
“What do you think of them?”
“Before all of this happened? I thought they were cool, like any normal
parents. Always holding hands, coming to the football games together, that kind
of stuff. I never would have guessed that his dad . . . I don’t think anyone saw
that coming. Especially Brett. The guy practically worshipped his dad.”
“He hasn’t said anything to you about his family?” I asked again.
“Brett’s private, I guess. I tell him he can talk to me about this stuff but he
won’t. At this point I just figured if he wants to talk, he will. I won’t push him.
We’re here.”
I nearly flew out of the car before we were even parked. “Thanks for the
ride,” I said, then ran up the driveway. I knocked once. Took a deep breath in.
Blew it out. Knocked again. I was beginning to think no one was home when the
door pulled open and Brett was there, standing in front of me, staring into my
eyes in that way that made my fingers shake. My first thought was, Wow, he
looks different. Stubble lined his jaw, and he looked like he had just rolled out of
bed. His eyes went from my face to the hoard of textbooks in my hands.
“Becca.” He said my name slowly. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re failing English,” I said.
His eyebrows scrunched together. “How do you know that?” Then he spotted
Jeff’s pickup in the driveway and put the pieces together. “Of course he told
you.”
I had to remind myself he was going through a lot right now. Yelling out of
frustration would not make this any better. “You should have told me,” I said,
trying to sound as calm as possible. “I know you said you needed space, Brett,
but this seems like the kind of emergency that takes priority over that.”
“It was one essay. I’m working on rewriting it.”
“Do you want some help?” I asked. I was shifting on my feet, waiting for
him to say no, shut the door, and go back to his separate little world.
He opened the door farther. “Sure.”
I headed straight to Brett’s kitchen and slammed my textbooks down onto
the table. I took out my notebooks and pens and rearranged them into a neat little
row. “Grab your essay,” I called, assuming he was listening, “and bring it here
so I can read it over and see what needs to be fixed.” I waited to hear footsteps
or some sign of movement. There was nothing. I turned around. He was standing
in the doorway, watching me. “Brett? What is it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”

---

“Then would you sit your ass down so we can get started, please?”
“Did you just say ass?”