Falling into Place Read online

  The only reason he knew was because he lived a block away. Gossip reached Liam slowly; usually by the time he heard about parties, they were over. But on that night, in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, he was close enough to hear the screams and laughter.

  Staring at the invisible ceiling, he wondered what it was like at these parties. He wondered what it was like to get drunk and not care.

  That night, not for the first time, he yearned to be a part of it.

  Normally, Liam was quite content to be a misfit. He did not particularly care that he sat in the outer ring of the cafeteria during lunch. He was not concerned with what people said about him. A lot of bullying was indirect and a lot of bullies didn’t know they were bullies, and maybe some of them didn’t even mean to be—he could see this quite clearly, and it no longer bothered him. He knew who he was.

  There was a certain freedom in being on the outside. He watched instead of being watched. After Liz had shredded his reputation during freshman year, Liam surrendered to things he had earlier resisted for the sake of appearance. He read Thoreau in public, stopped spending money on uncomfortable clothes, took down his posters of bikini-clad models and covered his walls with song lyrics and quotes. He embraced his weirdness, and it was nice.

  But sometimes—tonight—he wanted more.

  The noise kept him awake until about two in the morning, when someone finally called the police and the party dispersed, and in the silence left behind, Liam heard someone puking.

  He tried to ignore it, but—God, those were some awful retching noises. He sighed and got out of bed and pulled his curtains aside to see a figure walking unsteadily through the park, which was really more of an overgrown field with a tetanus-ridden playground, by his house. Dammit. He had to be a good person now, didn’t he? He put on a jacket and went out to investigate.

  He found Liz Emerson lying on the wood chips, shivering.

  Liam just stared at her for a moment, wondering what the hell he had done to deserve this, a very drunk girl whom he’d had a crush on since fifth grade, half asleep and all alone beside his house.

  Almost alone, he thought, and crouched down beside her.

  Liz Emerson was generally a pretty person, but with her eyes bloodshot and dribbles of vomit still hanging on her chin, she was decidedly not tonight. She was not pretty, but there was something beautiful about her all the same.

  “Damn it,” he said under his breath. “Damn it all. Liz?”

  “Jake?” she asked groggily, and tried to kiss him.

  Liam had spent many hours devoted to fantasies of kissing Liz Emerson, but in none of them had she smelled of puke and alcohol, and in none of them had she believed that he was Jake Derrick, so he declined. He propped her upright and held her by the shoulders when it became evident that she could not sit on her own.

  “Liz,” he said. “Did you drive?”

  “No, silly,” she mumbled. “Julia.”

  “Damn it,” Liam muttered, looking closer at her eyes. “You’re not high too, are you? God. You are.”

  Liz laughed muddily and tried to get to her feet. “Julia went home ’cause she’s too goody and stuff, an’ I told her Kennie’d take me home . . . but Kennie and Kyle are swallowing each other . . . so I’ll walk . . . s’all right . . .”

  “Right,” said Liam, and pulled her up. “Okay. I’m going to drive you home.”

  She made no reply, only leaned into his shoulder and passed out.

  “Damn it,” Liam said again.

  He walked a few steps like that, dragging Liz behind him, and then he gave in and picked her up. I am holding Liz Emerson, Liam thought, and then he thought it again because he couldn’t quite believe it. Liz Emerson is in my arms.

  She was warm, and smaller than he’d thought she’d be.

  He put her in the front seat of his beat-up LeBaron and briefly considered going inside to tell his mom about his late-night trip across town, but decided against it. She wouldn’t wake up, and he didn’t know how to explain, anyway.

  “You . . . kidnapping me?” Liz mumbled as Liam backed out of his driveway.

  “Depends,” he replied. “Are you going to puke in my car?”

  She did.

  “Damn it.”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. Liam knew where Liz lived—everyone knew where Liz lived. This, however, was the first time he had ever seen her house up close, and he didn’t know why the idea of going inside made him so uncomfortable.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Liz, do you have your keys?”

  She didn’t answer. Liam turned off the car and asked again in the silence, and then twice more before she finally slurred, “Doooormat.”

  Liam got out of the car, and then went to the passenger side and dragged her out behind him. He climbed the steps with Liz limp in his arms and crouched awkwardly with her propped against his shoulder, and rummaged around until he found the key taped to the underside of the welcome mat.

  “That,” he said, “is depressingly stupid.”

  He heaved both of them up and unlocked the door, and fumbled for a light switch. Inside, the house was just as big as it had looked on the outside; beautiful, he supposed, all clean lines and sharp edges, but lonely, somehow. As he walked through the foyer, it struck him that perhaps the idiotic placement of the spare key was not the most depressing thing about this house, after all.

  He tried to lower Liz onto a white couch in the living room but ended up kind of dropping her—he was tired, and Liam was not exactly well off in terms of upper body strength. Then he stood there and looked around, and when he looked back, Liz was untouchable again. This was where she belonged, and he did not.

  So he left.

  He was only halfway through the foyer when he heard her.

  “Liam,” she sighed. “Thanks.”

  He hesitated. He almost turned around, stayed with her.

  Instead, he kept walking, through the high-ceilinged foyer and out the door. He turned off the lights before he stepped into the cold and left her to sleep in darkness.

  Liam told himself that Liz would be too drunk to remember. On Monday, when she gave no more acknowledgment of his existence than she ever had, he figured that he was right.

  He wasn’t.

  When Liz woke up, she ran to the bathroom and puked. After, she leaned against the toilet and put her head against the wall, and she thought of him. She wondered. Why.

  She was tired. Gravity pulled at her more aggressively than usual. When she closed her eyes, she could feel it, dragging her deeper, deeper.

  I would have pulled her back. I would have saved her from falling, but she didn’t see my hand.

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  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Thirty-Eight Minutes Before Liz Emerson Crashe d her Car

  Gravity.

  That was the ultimate force, wasn’t it? The last acceleration. And then the crash.

  Maybe, she thought, he sees something that no one else can see.

  In me.

  And then she laughed.

  She didn’t really understand gravity, but then she didn’t really understand Liam either. She drove and remembered his eyes in the light of the ridiculous chandelier, the odd grace of his fingers, the way he called her stupid without scorn.

  They were very hazy, the memories, and she supposed that was her own fault. Alcohol and pot—she didn’t remember much of that night, but she remembered Liam.

  It was ironic because she had other, much clearer memories of Liam that she would much, much rather forget, and never would.

  But she supposed that was her fault too.

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  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Glances
/>   Julia and Kennie sit with Liz’s mom. Both of them watch Liam, and both of them are trying to keep the other from noticing.

  “I hope my mom doesn’t come back,” Kennie says quickly to Julia, when Julia catches her glancing around the waiting room again.

  “She won’t,” says Julia. “Doesn’t she have a church meeting or something? I’ll take you home. I don’t know where my keys are, though.” She looks across the room, though her keys are in her pocket.

  And so it goes.

  Julia is tempted to go over and finally apologize for what they did, but why should Liam listen to her? Kennie, on the other hand, remembers all the horrible things she’s said about him and starts crying again, because she doesn’t remember exactly when she turned into such an awful human being.

  Liam stares out the window.

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  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Thirty-Five Minutes Before Liz Emerson Crashed Her Car

  They had acceleration, she, Kennie, and Julia. They had mass. They goaded and mocked and multiplied each other, and so they had force. They were the catalysts, the fingers that tipped the first domino. They started things that grew into other things that were much greater than themselves.

  A touch, a nudge in the wrong direction, and everyone fell down.

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  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Falling

  On the first day of fifth grade, Liz was sitting on the swing beside Liam’s at recess, falling and flying. Her hair fanned out behind her and her eyes were closed, and that was what had caught his attention, her closed eyes. She looked a little bit silly and very much alive, and Liam couldn’t stop watching.

  Liz, on her part, was aware that the boy beside her was watching, but she loved swinging too much to care what he thought. She loved the wind hitting her face and the brief moment of suspension at the top of the arc and the falling sensation that was magnified by the darkness of her eyelids. She imagined that she was a bird, an angel, a wayward star.

  At the height of the arc, she let go. And she flew.

  Liam watched with his mouth hanging wide open, expecting her to crumple on the asphalt and die tragically before his eyes.

  She didn’t, and when she walked away, Liam’s heart followed.

  The year after, they started middle school and chose electives for the first time. Liz and Julia chose choir. Kennie and Liam chose band, which was fine, but they both chose to play the flute, which was not.

  Liam became the first boy in the history of Meridian to sit in the flute section, and he didn’t mind because he was damn good.

  Kennie did mind, because Liam was damn good, better than she would ever be, which meant that she would be stuck in second chair for the rest of her life.

  On the second day of freshman year, Kennie stomped out of band fuming about how Liam was a kiss-ass and a dick and totally full of himself, and Liz, tired of her crap, interrupted to say, “Then do something about it.”

  Kennie stopped short. “What?”

  Liz shrugged. “You always complain, but you never do anything about it. So let’s do something about it.”

  The plan fell into place very quickly after that.

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  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The Ruining of Liam Oliver

  There were three phases.

  Phase one took place during lunch on the first day of their freshman homecoming week. The inner ring was empty, because they were all standing in the hallway, waiting to vote for the homecoming court. The outer ring stayed put. What was the point? Everyone knew Liz Emerson would win, and probably Jimmy Travis. Whatever. Too much trouble, making crowns and shit, they told themselves. The only way any of them would ever make it onto court would be if Liz Emerson herself made it happen.

  For freshman homecoming, that was exactly what she did.

  She told everyone to vote for Liam Oliver, the only boy to play the flute. The guys laughed and threw the word gay around, and the girls shrugged because they couldn’t care less which boy was voted onto court.

  Liam was in band, fingering through “Fate of the Gods,” when Dylan Madlen, the senior class president, came on the intercom to announce the court, and Liam nearly dropped his flute when he heard his name follow Liz Emerson’s.

  For a wild moment, he thought that this was the beginning of something—maybe the money he’d spent on new clothes hadn’t been a waste. But then he looked around and everyone was sniggering, and reality set in.

  Well.

  What an exquisite joke.

  He stared at his flute, at his warped reflection, and he didn’t look up again until the bell rang.

  They executed phase two the next day, during sixth hour. Liz had a fake pass to the guidance office, and she used it to get out of geometry. Kennie left Spanish to go to the bathroom and met her under the stairs. Julia took a little longer—it had taken some convincing to get her out of honors biology at all—but eventually she showed up, and together they headed for the band room.

  “Idiot,” Liz said to Kennie as they walked through the deserted hallways. They looked ridiculous—that day’s homecoming theme was the seventies, and they were all in neon leggings and oversized windbreakers. “How the hell are you going to explain why you were in the bathroom for half an hour?”

  Kennie frowned. Her face was barely visible under all her teased hair. “Digestion troubles?”

  “Feminine needs,” Julia suggested. “Say you had to go find a tampon or something. Jacobsen’s afraid of women.”

  “Ooooh,” said Kennie, perking up. “Can I borrow a tampon?”

  “You don’t actually need one, stupid,” said Liz, stopping in front of the band-room door. “Now shut up. Let’s go.”

  Liam had study hall this hour, and more often than not, he used it to practice his flute. Liz, who had never played an instrument in her life, found it difficult to believe that he was actually practicing. And since he wasn’t practicing, he was definitely doing something else—hopefully something monumentally and hilariously embarrassing. She was going to catch him at it.

  “Come on,” she said unnecessarily to Julia and Kennie, and they snuck inside.

  The practice rooms were along one wall of the band room, and in the far one, someone was playing.

  They peeked through the narrow window.

  Liam’s back was to them. He was playing his flute.

  They waited five, ten, fifteen minutes.

  Liam kept playing his flute.

  “This is stupid,” Liz finally whispered.

  Except she didn’t really mean it. She wasn’t bored. She listened to Liam play and was mesmerized, because it was so obvious that he was happy. It made her remember that there had once been a time when she was in love with the sunshine and the wind and each brief flight.

  It was like watching the sky change colors, his playing.

  And then it made her jealous, because Liz Emerson was never at peace like that. Not really. Not anymore.

  Very suddenly, Liam stopped. They dropped to their stomachs with their breaths sucked in—but Liam hadn’t seen them. He was just fixing the music stand, or he was trying to.

  “Damn it,” Liz heard Liam mutter. “Just . . . pull . . . out . . .”

  Kennie stifled a snort against Liz’s shoulder. “That’s what she said,” she giggled.

  And there it was.

  The brilliantly, monumentally, hilariously embarrassing moment.

  Liz pulled her phone out of her pocket so quickly that she nearly elbowed Kennie in the face. She pulled up her camera app, angled
the lens at the crack beneath the door, and pressed the record button.

  “And here,” she whispered, “we see Liam Oliver in his natural habitat, enjoying the primary pastime of his species: playing with his flute.”

  Liam walked past, the bottom of his jeans worn, his Converses on the brink of falling apart. That was all they could see, really, but that was all they needed. There was some banging, and Kennie giggled again.

  “Come on,” came his muffled voice. “A little higher, damn it.”

  And then he actually grunted, and not even Julia could keep from laughing. The camera shook as they pressed their faces in each other’s shoulders, trying to keep quiet.

  There was a dull crash—Liam had lost his balance and fallen against the wall, but it didn’t look that way on camera. Kennie gave a half giggle, half hiccup, and on the other side of the door, Liam froze.

  But by the time he looked out the window, they were gone.

  Liz sent the video to her entire list of contacts. By the end of the day, it seemed like everyone had seen it. Someone had put it on Facebook, and someone else had uploaded it to YouTube. At her locker after the final bell, she saw people laugh when Liam walked by in the hallway, and Liz turned away, because it made her feel weird, somewhere deep, when she saw his bewildered face.

  Still, she went home and prepared for phase three.

  Liam Oliver is a pervert.

  Liam Oliver is gay.

  Liam Oliver is in a threesome.

  Liam Oliver gets turned on by inanimate objects.

  Liam Oliver chewed on the lead paint of his crib as a child and is therefore permanently fucked up.

  Liam Oliver will screw anything.

  Those were the more appropriate rumors.

  Phase three should have been an easy victory. Of course, everyone said that the football game would be too, and by the end of the first quarter, they were down 14-0. All of Meridian was packed onto the bleachers, soaking wet and screaming. The air smelled like rain and fish—the booster club always held a fish fry before the homecoming game, and tonight the sky was made of scales and oil and losing.