Page 13 of It’s All in How You Fall
“I’m your big brother. Your business is my business.” He points a charred fry at me. “It’s my job to help you move on.”
I’d kept my tone pretty light for the amount of bullshit piled upon me over the course of the last few minutes, but that’s over now, my snark out in full force. “I’m going to need to speak to your manager if you think a couple of weeks is enough time to move on from who I was for ten years.”
Nat’s about to respond with some comment that will inevitably up the ante and probably lead us into an actual fight. And because we both know how that will play out, Alex cuts him off with a question aimed at me. “Caro, is there anything we can do to help?”
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.” My eyes snap to Nat’s. “I just needtime.”
“No, you need somethingto dowith that time. Like a new sport.”
“Ugh, is that why you asked me to play basketball today?”
“No, I asked you because you looked like you were trying to sink forever into the carpet.”
I squint at him. “So it was just a coincidence that you and Alex both asked me to play basketball today? It had nothing to do with Dad pushing the same argument on me right after you left for the park?”
Nat swirls the charred pointer fry in a copious amount of ketchup—my anti-vegetable brother getting in two servings in the worst way. He’s like eight percent body fat, but it’s going to be a cold splash of water when he realizes his metabolism can’t save his arteries from that shit. “He may have texted me, but that was about cheerleading, not basketball.”
“Cheerleading? Ew, no.”
“What about—” Alex starts, but Nat isn’t through and cuts him off, eyes blazing at me.
“I dare you to say that again and see if your fancy Greek yogurts don’t taste like soy sauce for the next week,” my big brother says, and ugh, he would. Passive-aggressive pranks that make my life harder are exactly his style. “It fits all your talents and I know people. You do too—Kashvi would totally vouch for you. The squad could use someone who could tumble as well as her.”
Kashvi was two levels below me when she quit Balan’s, so I technically can tumbleway betterthan her. But it doesn’t matter—I push back. “Nat, you’d hate having me on the team.”
“No I wouldn’t.”
“Yes you would, so no.”
“I’m proud of what you can do… I mean, I give you shit but it’s cool. And the squad would think it’s sweet, even if you have to dial it down a bit to play it safe. Why are you fighting this suggestion so much? It’s perfect for you.” Nat glances to Alex for backup and gets a little shrug. “You’ve got the skills, plus it’s low rep, so your back won’t be angry.”
Nat’s watching me—he knows it’s a good idea, a natural one. He’s right. But. No. My head is shaking like there’s no off switch. Again he asks, “Why?”
I stuff a wad of salad in my mouth, swallowing it down as sadness balls up in my throat. Maybe I could get clearance to tumble like we all know I can. Maybe I could perform some cool skills. Maybe I could pretend that is enough.
But it’s not.
When the weight of their double stares and the silence becomes too much, I squeeze my eyes shut and answer into my arugula. “It’s too similar, okay?” I spit the words out, ugly and loud and raw. It’s as if they’ve been ripped straight from my gut and thrust out into the summer night, as palpable as the call of the cicadas, the smothering humidity, the hot-tar asphalt smell so thick it’s almost a taste.
Nat stares at me as if I have two heads. “But isn’t that a good thing?”
“You’re the token boy. It’s not the same. The girls… I can join but I won’t be one of them, Nat.”
And that’s the truth of it.
I know I could make the squad without Nat or Kashvi breathing a word. Cheerleading is competitive enough that if I provide value, I’m on the team. No one will give a crap who I am as long as I can make them look good across the football field or basketball court from some other school.
But they will never be my people. My people are in the gym, and I’m no longer there.
“Are you looking for an after-school activity or rushing a sorority?”
Nat says it like a joke, but it hits all wrong, the sharp edges of sarcasm in the question hooking in and drawing blood. Suddenly I’m actually pissed more than I’m sad. That’s been happening a lot these days. Maybe it’s easier.
“You know, I don’t need this.” I push away from what’s left of my dinner and stand—I need to get away from here. From this argument. From my brother. From the truths that lurk between the lines. “I’m done with this shitty dinner date. I’m walking home. See ya, Alex.”
7
I make it across four lanes of traffic and back into our neighborhoodalone.
