Read Online Tumble & Fall by Alexandra Coutts - Free Book Online
Authors: Alexandra Coutts
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has the right idea,” Zan says. “I mean, if the rocket thing works…”
“That’s exactly what he says.” Nick smiles and picks at a flaky piece of skin peeling from the bridge of his nose. His cheeks are freckled and pink. “He’s actually looking forward to the day when everyone else realizes how much time they’ve wasted sitting around doing nothing.”
Nick tries hard to sound teasing, like he sees his dad as a simpler version of himself, but Zan can hear the respect in his voice. Nick is looking forward to that day, too.
Zan leans against the net. It’s been years since she held a tennis racket, but her skin still bristles at all of the things they are doing wrong. Wrong shoes on the court; carelessly stretching out the net. She wishes she didn’t keep so many rules alive inside of her. Leo used to say she and Miranda were more alike than she thought. Nothing made her more furious.
Nick tucks his hands into his pockets and looks over his shoulder at the glowing windows of the Center’s main building. A new band has started, a bunch of old guys with fiddles and guitars. “Guess I should head back,” Nick says with a smile. “Good to see you, Zan.”
He leans in to give her a quick hug, crooking his elbow around her neck and awkwardly pulling her in. Zan flops an arm halfheartedly around his waist—she’s never figured out how to hug boys she’s not in love with—and pulls back to watch him go. There’s something about seeing him walk away that makes her start to panic, like she’s already lost her chance. Like the question she wants to ask and also doesn’t want to ask will never be answered.
“Nick,” she calls out. “Wait.”
Nick turns and walks back, his eyes already searching hers with alarm. “What’s up?”
Zan reaches slowly into her pocket. For a moment she allows herself to hope the receipt won’t be there, that she’s left it at home, in the book, or maybe it fell out somewhere on the way. But the flimsy paper sticks to the top of her damp fingers and her heart sinks as she pulls it out. She stares at it for a quiet moment before passing it to Nick.
“I found this in one of Leo’s books,” she explains, watching Nick’s face pucker as he tries to read the numbers and scrawled ink. “It’s dated the day that he died.”
Nick swallows, the lump of his Adam’s apple suddenly clear and pronounced. He flips the page over to the side with the handwritten note. Zan immediately wishes she could rip the paper out of his fingers.
“I don’t know,” she says, backtracking. “I’m sure it’s nothing, I just thought, you know, since you were the reason he went out that night…”
Nick doesn’t move. His eyes stay trained on the smudged black print, but the air around him feels different. Charged.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean that it was…”
Nick puts a hand on the side of her arm and she stops talking. Right after it happened, she was careful with her words, sensitive not to say anything that might betray the way she sometimes felt. If only you hadn’t cared so much about your stupid boat. If only you hadn’t asked for his help. If only you’d waited the night.
“Nick,” she starts again. “I’m so sorry.”
Nick shakes his head, his hand still on her shoulder. “No,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry. I should have told you before…” He passes her the paper. His voice sounds cool, far away and different.
“What do you mean?” Zan asks. She crumples the receipt and watches as Nick’s hands return to his pockets. He’s staring at the clean white lines of the court. Zan’s stomach twists and coils. “Told me what?”
“I lied,” he says, so quietly it’s almost lost in the amplified chords of the music behind them. “I promised him I’d never say anything, before he left, and when he didn’t come back, I didn’t know what to do.”
The outlines of Nick’s hands turn to tight fists in the wet pockets of
“That’s exactly what he says.” Nick smiles and picks at a flaky piece of skin peeling from the bridge of his nose. His cheeks are freckled and pink. “He’s actually looking forward to the day when everyone else realizes how much time they’ve wasted sitting around doing nothing.”
Nick tries hard to sound teasing, like he sees his dad as a simpler version of himself, but Zan can hear the respect in his voice. Nick is looking forward to that day, too.
Zan leans against the net. It’s been years since she held a tennis racket, but her skin still bristles at all of the things they are doing wrong. Wrong shoes on the court; carelessly stretching out the net. She wishes she didn’t keep so many rules alive inside of her. Leo used to say she and Miranda were more alike than she thought. Nothing made her more furious.
Nick tucks his hands into his pockets and looks over his shoulder at the glowing windows of the Center’s main building. A new band has started, a bunch of old guys with fiddles and guitars. “Guess I should head back,” Nick says with a smile. “Good to see you, Zan.”
He leans in to give her a quick hug, crooking his elbow around her neck and awkwardly pulling her in. Zan flops an arm halfheartedly around his waist—she’s never figured out how to hug boys she’s not in love with—and pulls back to watch him go. There’s something about seeing him walk away that makes her start to panic, like she’s already lost her chance. Like the question she wants to ask and also doesn’t want to ask will never be answered.
“Nick,” she calls out. “Wait.”
Nick turns and walks back, his eyes already searching hers with alarm. “What’s up?”
Zan reaches slowly into her pocket. For a moment she allows herself to hope the receipt won’t be there, that she’s left it at home, in the book, or maybe it fell out somewhere on the way. But the flimsy paper sticks to the top of her damp fingers and her heart sinks as she pulls it out. She stares at it for a quiet moment before passing it to Nick.
“I found this in one of Leo’s books,” she explains, watching Nick’s face pucker as he tries to read the numbers and scrawled ink. “It’s dated the day that he died.”
Nick swallows, the lump of his Adam’s apple suddenly clear and pronounced. He flips the page over to the side with the handwritten note. Zan immediately wishes she could rip the paper out of his fingers.
“I don’t know,” she says, backtracking. “I’m sure it’s nothing, I just thought, you know, since you were the reason he went out that night…”
Nick doesn’t move. His eyes stay trained on the smudged black print, but the air around him feels different. Charged.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean, I didn’t mean that it was…”
Nick puts a hand on the side of her arm and she stops talking. Right after it happened, she was careful with her words, sensitive not to say anything that might betray the way she sometimes felt. If only you hadn’t cared so much about your stupid boat. If only you hadn’t asked for his help. If only you’d waited the night.
“Nick,” she starts again. “I’m so sorry.”
Nick shakes his head, his hand still on her shoulder. “No,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry. I should have told you before…” He passes her the paper. His voice sounds cool, far away and different.
“What do you mean?” Zan asks. She crumples the receipt and watches as Nick’s hands return to his pockets. He’s staring at the clean white lines of the court. Zan’s stomach twists and coils. “Told me what?”
“I lied,” he says, so quietly it’s almost lost in the amplified chords of the music behind them. “I promised him I’d never say anything, before he left, and when he didn’t come back, I didn’t know what to do.”
The outlines of Nick’s hands turn to tight fists in the wet pockets of
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