Rise (Excerpt)

Part 2

FALLON

Cool air seeps between cracks at the window. Winters at the Trevino apartment are always too cold, summers too hot. The view itself is unimpressive. Parking lot, mostly. Another row of apartments across the street. A dozen or more cars filling spaces, one of which is on blocks and has been since my mom and I stayed here last summer.

But something else happened in the last few hours—this winter storm charging in as predicted, layering everything in a clear coat of ice, crystallizing the world. Beneath streetlights even the expired, tire-less car raised above the others seems magical.

So do the trees.

And sidewalks.

And even now tiny flakes of ice fall to the ground, catching light.

I imagine everything is slick. Breakable. An entire world made of glass.

Nick returns with two puffy winter jackets. One black and one royal blue. Christmas gifts from their Yaya and Yayo—Gloria's parents. Tags still attached.

"Here."

I take the largest from him—Michael's. It smells brand new, still stiff. Way too big.

Michael is a cornerback on the defensive line at Lawrence State. He has never been small.

A rush of wind bites my cheeks and nose as we enter the storm.

Nick goes first, the steps frozen solid, smothered in a thick glaze. I grip the railing to stay steady, trying to think "heavy" as the thin soles of my ballet flats meet the ice, but I'm not wearing gloves and the metal is so cold it burns my fingers.

So when Nick offers his hand, I take it.

NICK

Her hand is small in mine. Cold. She takes a confident step toward me and slips, left foot sliding out from beneath her. In a second my free arm hooks around her waist, our bodies pressed together as she hovers precariously above the sidewalk.

"You okay?" I ask, breaths fast and hard, smoke fading between us, vanishing.

"Yeah."

It's like a slow dance, righting ourselves, taking extra care not to fall. I hold her until she finds her balance, until she steps off concrete and onto grass.

She gasps at the sound of ice shattering, crunching beneath her thin shoes. Her lips turn. Almost smiling. "Do you feel that?"

What she's asking is if I feel the power of my weight in this delicate world, the crushing of every shard of every blade. But this isn't the only thing I feel. The pounding of her feet matches the pounding of my heart, every part of me wanting to reach out to stop her, to tell her. . . .

I fell in love with Fallon Oakley the first day I saw her. It was a Saturday. Our moms cleaned rooms at the same motel at the time, which mostly involved stripping sheets and gathering still-damp towels from bathroom floors. Removing other people's garbage.

Mike was playing football by then—junior city league—so he wasn't available to watch me, even though he was only a couple of years older and not much in the way of "responsible." Babysitters were expensive, and Mom didn't feel comfortable leaving me home alone, so she took me to work. Fallon and I met on the playground. Her mom couldn't afford a babysitter, either.

We played for hours that day. She took a tumble off a ladder and skinned an elbow, told her mom it was an accident, but I'm pretty sure I pushed her. Details are hazy—it's been years. And I didn't know I loved her. Not yet. She was scrawny, with stringy blonde hair that always needed washing and thick glasses. She was just starting to play the violin, and whenever she practiced. . . . God—it was awful. The instrument hissed and shrieked. It practically refused to play. I covered my ears, told her she sucked. Over and over and over again.

Until one day she was sitting on the rusted merry-go-round, practicing scales on that wretched instrument. Up and down, up and down and back again.

"Why are you wasting your time?" my ten-year-old self demanded to know. "You suck. You're not even getting better."

It was a lie. She was getting better. I could tell.

She lifted her bow, pulled her violin away from her chin, pushed her glasses further up her nose, frowning. She was good at frowning, even back then. "Oh, yeah? Well, at least I'm doing something. All you do is sit around and tell people they suck. What's the point of that?"

She called me out. The bony little girl with her flat, dishwater hair called me out on my shit.

She was right.

I was already a lost cause, even back then.

I move closer to a taller version of that little girl, feeling the crackle of ice beneath my feet.

"It's insane," Fallon says, eyes bright. "I've never seen anything like it."

I study the roofline of our row of apartments, icicles grasping the edge. "Came out of nowhere," I agree.

"I was kind of hoping for snow, but this is way better. Can you imagine what it'll look like when the sun comes up tomorrow? The whole world is going to sparkle."

Fallon is still scrawny. Still blonde. But the glasses were lost to contacts by junior high, and now you can see her crazy-big gray-blue eyes. Her violin-playing has improved a hundred times over.

And I love her like mad.

"Fallon?" But my voice hits this weird pitch. Too high. I cough. Try to clear the nerves out of my throat.

Her eyes catch mine, reflecting the streetlight. "Yeah?"

And standing out here in the cold it's like we're the only two people left in the entire universe. And if there is ever a right time, this is it. It doesn't get any better than this. The two of us. Alone. A new year ahead.

And so I reach for the sleeve of that over-sized winter coat, pull her closer, and bend low, my lips grazing hers.

And it must be my imagination that she comes alive against me.

For just a second.

Or two.

Maybe three.

Until she jerks back, breaths exhaling tiny puffs of smoke.

"Oh my God," she moans, feeling her forehead.

"Fallon, I—"

"What was that?" she asks, eyes searching mine.

My shoulders lift as I shove my hands in my coat pockets. "I, um. . . . It seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

"The right thing to do? Nick! You can't just go around . . . I'm not one of your girlfriends that you can just . . ."

"What are you doing out here?" Mike yells at us from the door. Fallon takes another step backward, distancing herself from me. I wipe my lips—the evidence—heart pounding its way out of my chest. "It's too freaking cold!" he continues.

Fallon's eyes flick toward mine. A warning.

Did he see us?

"You have to come out here!" she calls back.

"I can't. You stole my jacket."

"Correction. I stole your jacket," I clarify.

"You could fit two of you in there," he teases Fallon, ignoring me as he makes his way down the steps at a turtle's pace. Because God forbid he fall and break something important.

She pulls the coat tighter, hugging her elbows. "I know. It's toasty in here."

"I'll bet." He meets her mid-lawn—the tiny strip of grass barely qualifying as a yard—and wraps his massive arms around her.

I turn away from this moment, knowing it's over. Whatever I thought would happen if I kissed her—if I told her how I feel—it's gone.