Read Online The Edge of Falling by Rebecca Serle - Free Book Online Page B

parents let you wander the city alone at ten, send you on a plane to visit your grandmother in the South of France or your father in Italy. You grow up faster. Not maturitywise, not at all, but something in the way you move. Those experiences age you. Seeing things, even bad things—especially bad things—that ages you.
    Claire bites her lip and tosses her shoulders back. I grab her arm. “What are you doing?”
    I’ve been the victim of Claire’s flirtations before, and it’s never something I wind up loving. One particular incident in Cabo comes to mind. We were on vacation with her parents in the spring of our sophomore year. After a night at our hotel, we ended up back at the villa of these two college guys. University of Wisconsin, classic frat boys. Popped collars, crew cuts, the whole bit. I hadn’t wanted to go, but Claire had begged me, and as soon as we got there, she disappeared with one, the one she had been flirting with all night. I was stuck out on some lawn chairs with the other one. He was nice—I was lucky; he didn’t even try to kiss me—but I was still so angry at Claire. I was with Trevor at the time, and I was so pissed at her for putting me in that position that I didn’t talk to her the entire rest of the trip. It was only when we were headed home, on the plane, that she turned to me, these pink sparkly sunglasses on. They were bedazzled, and across the top were the words “I LOVE CAGGIE.” It was an impressive feat, for being in Mexico, and I couldn’t help myself—I popped them off her face and onto mine.
    “We’re here for Band Guy, remember?” I say to her.
    “This isn’t for me; it’s for you,” she says, still smiling at the bar guy.
    “I doubt he’s going to come over for me,” I say. “You’re practically giving him a lap dance from across the room.”
    Claire’s head snaps around to look at me. “I’ve had it,” she says.
    “What?”
    “This.” She contorts her face, sticking her bottom lip out and making her eyes big like puppies’.
    “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
    She slings her arm over my shoulder. “Come on, Caggs, it’s time to move on. Trevor was great, and totally adorable in that clueless kind of way”—she tilts her head to the side, like she’s pulling up his image in her mind’s eye—“but he’s old news. Kaput. Finito. Ex travaganza . You dig me?”
    “I dig you.”
    “So flirt a little,” she says, giving me a push toward Bar Man. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
    Great question.
    So I step forward. It only takes one for Mr. Bar Man to come toward me. As he gets closer, I see that I’m right: He’s about my age, maybe a little bit older. He’s dressed well—tailored shirt, black pants—and he’s got dark, dark hair and eyes. Even inside, in this poorly lit music hall, it’s easy to spot that they’re so brown they’re almost black.
    “Well,” he says when we’re within speaking distance. “This is a surprise. Nice to see you.”
    I frown. “Excuse me?”
    He doesn’t answer, just keeps looking at me. It makes the back of my neck feel hot.
    “Do we know each other?” I ask.
    I cross my arms. He runs his tongue over his top lip. “We used to.”
    I feel my heartbeat quicken. I hadn’t actually expected him to say yes. I thought he meant that he was surprised I came over. Or that I wasn’t Claire.
    “You look perturbed,” he says.
    I shake my head. “I don’t think we do.”
    He takes a sip of his drink. Sets it down. Exhales. “We do.”
    “Well, I have no idea who you are. No offense or anything.”
    He smiles. “I wouldn’t expect you to. It was a long time ago. You’re Mcalister, right?”
    More heart pounding. “Yes.”
    “Of the Caulfields?”
    Ah. Yes. “Do you know me, or have you just heard of me?”
    He whistles. “Impressive. Spunky. I like that. No, I went to school with your brother. Patrick?”
    “Peter.”
    “Right. Nice kid.”
    “You didn’t go to