Falling into Place Page 2

  There’s only me.

  I can only watch.

  Stay alive.

  I watch the doctors arrive. I watch the flashing scalpels, the eyebrows that curve downward. I watch the hands, the white latex splashed with red.

  I watch, and I remember the time Liz fractured her shin in kindergarten playing soccer, already too in love with the sport and already too vain for shin guards, and how we went to Children’s Hospital instead of this one. That surgery room had a border of giraffes jumping rope, and Liz had held my hand until the anesthesia pulled her away.

  But there are no giraffes jumping rope here, and Liz’s hand is broken. This isn’t like that surgery, or any of the other ones—the one at St. Nicks’ when Liz tore her ACL during a powder puff game, or the one at the dentist’s when she’d had her wisdom teeth removed. During those, the doctors had been relaxed. There had been iPod docks in the corners, playing Beethoven or U2 or Maroon 5, and the doctors had seemed . . . well, human.

  These surgeons are all hands and knives, cutting and peeling Liz apart, sewing and sewing her back together as though they can trap her soul and lock it away under her skin. I wonder how much of her will be left when they finish.

  Stay alive.

  But she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to.

  I try to remember the last time she was happy, her last good day, and it takes so long to sort through the other memories, the unhappy ones and the empty ones and the shattered ones, that it’s easy to understand why she closed her eyes and jerked her wheel to the side.

  Because Liz Emerson held so much darkness within her that closing her eyes didn’t make much of a difference at all.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Five Months Before Liz Emerson Crashed Her Car

  On the first Friday after the start of Liz’s junior year, only three topics were discussed at lunch: Ms. Harrison’s plus-size miniskirt and fishnet stockings, the sheer number of freshman skanks, and the enormous beach party Tyler Rainier was going to throw that night. Over her tray of healthy (by government standards) and inedible (by everyone else’s standards) lunch, Liz declared her intentions to go. Which meant, of course, that everyone else was going to go.

  Everyone were the others sitting at the three tables reserved for Meridian High School’s elite: the petty, the vain, the jocks, the idiots, the beautiful, the rich, the accepted and admired sluts. In particular, her statement was directed at Kennie, who would immediately text Julia—who, due to a scheduling conflict resulting from an overload of AP classes, had a different lunch hour—with the plans.

  Liz, Julia, Kennie. That was the way things were, and no one questioned it anymore.

  After school, Liz drove home with the radio blasting. She was more lenient on the gas pedal than usual, because she knew she would return to an empty house. Her mom was either in Ohio or Bulgaria that weekend—she couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. There was always a business trip, and always another one.

  Once upon a time, Liz had loved that her mother traveled. It was like magic, like a fairy tale, to have a mother who crossed oceans and knew the sky. Besides, when her mom wasn’t home, her dad let her eat on the couch, and he never nagged when we wanted to jump on the bed or skip brushing our teeth or play on the roof.

  But then her dad died and she grew up and her mother still went on her trips, and Liz had learned to be lonely.

  It wasn’t thе aloneness that Liz minded. It was the silеnce. It echoеd. It bounced off the walls of the Emerson’s ovеrsized house. It fillеd thе corners and the closеts and thе shadows. In reality, Liz’s mom wasn’t gone as oftеn as it seеmеd to Liz, but thе silеnce magnifiеd еvеrything.

  It was her oldest fеar, that silence. Shе had always hatеd when thеrе was nothing to say, hatеd the minutеs of darknеss at slеepovers as everyone driftеd but didn’t quite slеep, hated study hall, hated pauses in phone calls. Othеr little girls fеared the dark, and they grew up and lеft their fears bеhind. Liz was afraid of silence, and she kept hеr fears clenchеd so tightly in hеr fists that they grew and grеw and swallowеd her whole.

  For a whilе, she sat in thе garagе with thе Mеrcedеs still purring bеnеath her, the radio blasting linе after line of rap shе could barеly understand. Shе wishеd that shе’d asked Julia or Kеnniе to comе over after school so she could put off the silencе for a little longеr. But she hadn’t, and she told herself that regrеt was stupid and she pullеd her keys from the ignition. The silеnce hit her physically, surroundеd her as she unlocked the back door, swallowеd her as she wеnt insidе, strangled her as shе slid out of hеr shoes and microwaved somеthing called a Pizzarito (“a mеlting pot of flavor!”). Briеfly, shе thought about going for a run—opеn gym for soccer would start soon, and shе was out of shapе—but though thе air was crisp and part of her wanted that еscape through movemеnt, a grеater part was unwilling to go upstairs for hеr running shoеs, comе all the way back down, lacе thеm up, dig hеr keys back out of her purse, lock the door. . . .

  The microwavе beеped, and Liz fetched the Pizzarito and flipped through channеls until the borеdom became intolerable.

  Thеn, with the silencе still pounding inside and outside of her, Liz went to thе bathroom, slid her fingers down hеr throat, and carеfully transferred thе mеlting pot of flavor from her stomach to the toilеt.

  In her lifе, Liz had flirtеd with a numbеr of dangеrous things—drugs, bulimia, the pеrvеrt stonеr who worked at RadioShack. Bulimia was the only onе that stuck. She had broken thе habit for a whilе—she’d startеd puking blood for a bit, which frightеnеd her, bеcausе shе hadn’t wanted to die. Not then. But she was going to be grinding in a swimsuit tonight, and shе wanted to bе happy. She wanted to be bright and laughing and thin.

  She flushed thе Pizzarito and brushed her teeth, but the taste was still there, so she went down to the basement and dug through her mother’s enormous wine cabinet and swiped a skinny bottle of—actually, she wasn’t really sure what it was, because the words weren’t in English, but it was alcoholic and smelled like berries, and the label was pretty—and uncorked it on her way back upstairs. She drank it in bursts, quick head-thrown-back shots, as she went to her room and opened her closet to consider her collection of swimsuits.

  The yellow, frilly bikini made her look like a daffodil in the worst way, the red one was a bit too slutty even for her, and the white bottoms had faded and stretched so much that they now vaguely resembled granny panties. Liz finally settled on the striped maroonish one she’d found on sale at Victoria’s Secret a few months before, and she was scrutinizing her hips in the mirror when she caught sight of her fat, bald, hairy, leery, generally pedophilic neighbor standing on his lawn in his bathrobe, squinting at her window.

  Liz flipped him off and went back down the hall.

  Sometimes, she thought, this house really is depressing. But tonight was not going to be one of those nights. It might have started out as one, but the—wine? She thought it was some sort of wine—was taking care of that nicely.

  She went back to the living room and turned all of the couch cushions over before she flopped down. The wine sloshed and spilled, and new lavender stains splattered across the older splotches. Once upon a time, she had worried that her mother would discover the mess. She knew better now. Monica was not the type to relax on her overpriced couch. Liz wished she were—she wished that her mother would dig for the remote just once and find the bottoms of the cushions splotched with alcohol, because Liz didn’t know how she would react. If she would be angry, if she would finally install a lock on the wine cabinet. If she would care.

  Doesn’t matter, she thought as she tilted the bottle sharply. Doesn’t matter.

  The liquid spilled over her chin and down her neck and shoulders, and she thought suddenly of the
first party she ever went to, the summer before freshman year, and all that had changed since then. She’d had her first beer that night, and her second, her third. She had gotten drunk for the first time, so there wasn’t much that she still remembered, not much that she wanted to remember.

  She thought of the lights, the bodies, the heavy and shattering music. The air, hot with sweat, humid with guilt.

  Doesn’t matter.

  By eight, half the wine was gone. She could feel the alcohol in her blood, making the world oddly delicate, as though everything had turned brittle and was on the verge of falling apart, and Liz Emerson was the only substantial thing on the planet.

  And it was nice, being invincible.

  “My god,” Julia said as she slid into the passenger seat. “Are you drunk already?”

  “Of course,” Liz said. She caught a corner of the mailbox as she backed wildly out of Julia’s driveway. Later she would find the scratch on the Mercedes, but she didn’t care right now. There was something romantic about the idea of being young and tipsy and having somewhere to go on a Friday night.

  She handed the berry alcohol stuff to Julia. Julia unstopped the bottle and tilted it back, and though Liz knew that Julia kept her lips tightly closed, she said nothing. It was easier to ignore it. Liz had her occasional trips to the bathroom after dinner, Julia had ziplock bags of illegal substances hidden around her room, and they had an unspoken contract to act as though their own secrets were still, in fact, secret.

  “Kennie’s riding with Kyle, so you don’t need to pick her up,” said Julia, handing the bottle back.

  Liz snorted. The car swerved as she took a swig, and she laughed as Julia yelped. “She’s riding on Kyle, you mean.”

  “That too.” Julia paused for a moment to tighten her seatbelt and then said, quieter, “I can’t believe she didn’t break up with him.”

  Liz said nothing. Kennie, of course, was covered by the contract too, and this fell under the list of things Liz didn’t want to talk about, things she especially didn’t want to talk about tonight.

  Stupid, she thought. Four words, four for Kyle to convince her: But I love you. And of course they worked, because Kennie would do anything for love.

  Stupid, stupid Kennie.

  But now Julia was quiet too, remembering that when it came to staying with cheating boyfriends, Liz had very little to preach about.

  Liz pressed down on the gas pedal, then took a hairpin turn that threw a screaming Julia into the door, because tonight, they were unbreakable.

  They arrived at the party nearly an hour late, and by then the bonfire was huge and the crowd could be heard from ten blocks away. People were already leaving, because a party of this size, with this much beer, would surely draw as many police officers as a donut buffet. Tyler Rainier was an idiot to throw such a party on a public beach, but Liz didn’t care. She took another swig as she got out of the car to make sure she didn’t.

  Smoke was everywhere, a haze of bonfire and marijuana. There were strobe lights and colored spotlights, and it seemed as though the sky had descended and turned them all to hazy stars. The music made Liz’s brain tremble. It was only a matter of time before everyone scattered, but it didn’t matter. Not tonight.

  Liz glanced at Julia, who was observing the entire thing with an expression that could almost be called disdainful. People called Julia stuck-up because she was quiet and rich and chic and had the posture of a ballerina and was something of a killjoy at parties. Julia was destined for a world of charity balls and pearls. She was a little too smart, a little too graceful, a little too conscientious for this hammered crowd.

  And sometimes it made Liz jealous, but tonight was not one of those nights. Tonight, she looked over at Julia and had to fight down the urge to hug her, because Julia was uncomfortable and beautiful and hers.

  “C’mon, killjoy,” Liz said cheerfully. Julia followed after a moment, and the lights swallowed them together.

  “Liz!” Liz almost fell over as Kennie bowled into her. The bottle flew out of her hand and spilled all over Julia.

  “Dammit.” Julia sighed, looking down at her soaked cover-up. Kennie giggled and licked a drop off her shoulder, ducking away as Julia slapped at her head.

  “Get off, lesbo,” said Julia, but she was laughing too.

  “It’s good,” Kennie said, picking up the bottle off the sand. She squinted at it. “Oh, my god. I’m not that drunk already, am I? Why can’t I read this?”

  “Because it’s not in English, stupid,” said Liz, and Kennie laughed and threw back the rest of the wine. Her hair tumbled down her back, then fanned away as she tossed the bottle at Liz.

  “Come on!” Kennie said, grabbing their hands and dragging them into the smoke. The heat was unbelievable; it made Liz’s throat itch, and she lifted the bottle again, but it was empty. She dropped it into the sand.

  “Careful,” she shouted to Julia over the noise. “Don’t get too close to the fire! That much alcohol on you—”

  “Bitch,” Julia called back, shrugging off her soaked clothes. “God, I smell like—”

  “Like a Russian!” Liz hollered. She slung an arm around Julia. “Like you’re sexy!” She didn’t know exactly what she was saying anymore, but who cared? She didn’t. She also didn’t care about whatever Kennie was babbling about—either Kellie Jensen’s outrageous flab or Kyle Jordan’s outrageous abs—or about the s’mores and beer that she was trying to pull them toward, so Liz broke away and let the crowd surround her.

  Jake Derrick, Liz’s official on-again-off-again, was out of state for the weekend at some football camp, most likely hooking up with whichever cheerleader had the biggest boobs, but she didn’t care. She grabbed the nearest boy by the belt and he took her hips. It was too smoky and he was too tall for her to make out much of his face, and she didn’t try very hard to get a good look. She wasn’t here to make memories. She was here for the flashing lights and the sweat and the smoke and the feel of someone else’s skin against hers. They were interchangeable, these boys. They didn’t matter. They didn’t matter at all.

  While she was with Boy Number Four, Liz’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a text from Julia, saying that she and Jem Hayden, her potentially gay boyfriend, were leaving to check out some indie bookstore. She hadn’t seen Kennie for a while, but no doubt she was grinding with Kyle somewhere in the mob.

  Doesn’t matter. There was too much marijuana in the air, and it was making Liz dizzy. Nothing mattered, not even the way Boy Number Four kept trying to kiss her. Why should it matter? Tomorrow she would wake up and this party would be a haze of lights. She wouldn’t remember any of it. So she finally turned her face and let Boy Number Four press his pot-flavored lips to hers, and he wasn’t bad.

  They hadn’t been on the beach for long—half an hour, maybe, and Liz knew this because she had grinded with seven boys so far, one for each song—when they heard the sirens over the music, and then, of course, it was over. As the crowd scattered and someone desperately tried to bury the last keg in the sand, Liz ran. Secretly, she loved when parties were busted. The night wasn’t complete without a climax. The sirens, the swirl of red and blue lights—now that was a climax.

  So, with a rush of adrenaline, Liz ran, slipping in and out of the crowd. Maybe, in a distant part of her mind, she remembered the games we played together when we were little, pretending to be spies and heroes, always escaping, always invincible.

  She jumped into her car and shoved the keys into the ignition, and backed out of the sand so quickly that she nearly flattened a police officer. She heard him shouting for her to stop, but she didn’t listen, and he didn’t chase her. Her heart was racing and she was laughing, and she rolled down the windows as she zoomed away so that the night could rush into her car and surround her.

  Liz briefly considered going home, but she missed the turn and it was too late to swerve, so she kept going. She pressed down on the gas and soon found herself on the interstate, takin
g an exit she hadn’t taken in a decade. She drove along the beach until the trees grew taller and the night grew darker, and she turned in to the entrance of the state park. She parked messily by the ranger station, right next to the sign that said PARK CLOSED. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

  She laughed to herself, thinking of seventh grade, when she, Kennie, and Julia had taken over a janitor’s closet and claimed it for themselves. They had made signs like that, VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED. Or at least, she and Julia had. Kennie’s had read PROSECUTORS WILL BE VIOLATED. After thoroughly teasing her for the mistake, they had made that their new motto.

  Liz turned off the car and was surprised by the silence. It always surprised her, somehow. She grabbed her iPod and turned it on, breaking the night wide open with shouting and drums, something angry—and then she changed the song, because she was alone, and she didn’t have to listen to what other people liked when she was alone.

  She forgot, sometimes, that she could make her own choices.

  Liz walked into the trees, knowing that she was probably being an idiot and she should at least turn on her flashlight app, but not caring, not caring about anything at all. She hadn’t been here since they moved, but her feet still seemed to know the way. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d come at all, now that she thought about it, but that didn’t stop her. Liz was beginning to realize that she was drunker than she wanted to admit—enough to be wobbly and careless, and content with being stupid.

  She walked in time to some indie singer, who called her beautiful and stronger, stronger, stronger. Liz liked hearing it. She tried to remember the last time she’d heard something like that in real life, and she couldn’t. People didn’t talk like that anymore, did they?