The Risk Of Falling (Edited)

THIRTY FIVE

The smell of pancakes wafted through my room from downstairs. I rolled over in bed with a small smile on my face. Dad never made pancakes, only when it was a special occasion. I didn't know what the occasion was, but I was excited. Pancakes were my favorite.

I hopped out of bed, not even bothering to get dressed. Thundering down the stairs, I said, "Daddy, you're an awesome father for making me pancakes."

I walked into the kitchen, plopping down at the island. He stood at the stove. "I figured you would want it since it's almost Christmastime."

Dad set a plate stacked high with pancakes down in front of me, and I grinned. "These look amazing."

"They are," Mom said, appearing in the kitchen. "I had my fair share earlier."

I grinned before digging in. I didn't need any syrup on the pancakes; they were perfect as they were. Mom slid into the seat next to me, holding her tablet. "Dad, these are amazing!"

"Thanks," he said, sitting on the other side of me.

I glanced at both of them, frowning. They were staring at me, creeping me out. "What are you two doing?"

"We want to know why you sat on the deck in the middle of the night a couple of nights ago," Mom said, showing me a video of myself leaving the house. I stared at the video and wondered when they got security cameras. "You're not in trouble, but we just want to know why you did that."

"I sure feel like I'm in trouble."

Dad chuckled, shaking his head. "You sound exactly like Leila when she got caught sneaking out. Though, she was actually in trouble then."

"So? Why did you go outside in the middle of the night?"

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. I pushed the pancakes away, not hungry anymore. "One of my . . . uh, friends from school is having a hard time right now, and he called me in the middle of the night."

Mom cocked an eyebrow. I knew she already figured it out. "He?" I nodded, biting my lip. "What's his name?"

"Drake."

"You've never spoken of him before," Dad commented. However, he had no idea what was going on. He gave a smile and said, "Is he nice?"

"He's very nice," I said, nodding enthusiastically. "We actually met from texting each other. There was this trend where people would text their number neighbor, so he did that. It happened to be me. We realized that we went to the same school." I didn't know why I was telling them that. Maybe I wanted them to approve of him. "You don't have to worry about him. He's nothing like Wes."

"You like him," Mom said, saying it as a statement instead of a question.

"Maybe," I said, looking down at my hands. "But we haven't exactly met yet. Like, as Luna and Drake. I met him a couple of times, but I didn't know it was him. He didn't know that it was me, either."

Dad patted my shoulder, standing up. "He better treat you good."

"He does. At least, over text he does."

Dad started washing the dishes, but Mom stayed put. She kept staring at me like I was fragile. I didn't like it. "Can we talk out on the deck?" she asked quietly. "It's been a while since you've been home."

"Sure," I said, standing up. She placed her hand on my back, leading me through the house and outside. "What do you want to talk about, Mom?"

"Are you okay?" Mom looked over at me with concern in her eyes. "You seem . . . I don't know, distant, I guess."

I sighed, sitting down on the steps. Mom sat down next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. The winter sun was warm even though there was a slight chill in the air. At least it wasn't snowing. I didn't have a jacket on. "I'm fine."

"You know I can tell when you're lying, right?"

"Yeah," I said quietly. "Charlotte called a couple of nights ago, telling me that Wes showed up at our dorm room." Mom sighed, so I said, "You don't have to worry about me crawling back to him. What he did to me showed me that he wasn't worth it. Nothing about how he treated me was worth it."

"Your dad and I never liked him," Mom said, laughing slightly. "Is that all that happened?"

"There was another guy I liked, but he turned out to be a butthole." I shrugged, looking out at the backyard. "I think that's about it."

We were silent for a few minutes until she said, "Your siblings miss you."

I looked over at her, my eyes wide. "Do they really? I was such a terror to them before I went off to the Fitzgerald School for the Gifted."

"You've matured and they know that," Mom said, nodding. "You can talk to them later and hear for yourself what they think."

I nodded slowly. "I think that would be nice."

"Me too."