Page 13 of Then Came the Fall
Matt shook his head. His response made me feel suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
“I’ll write to you. Maybe we can even see each other during the school year.”
I nodded, frowning. “Sure.”
“Hey, it’ll be okay.” Matt awkwardly wrapped his long arms around me and squeezed me into a hug. I sobbed into his shoulder, and when I was done, he pulled me back to look at me. “I swear I won’t say a word. Cross my heart.”
He kept his promise.
In hindsight, I think that may have been the moment I fell in lovewith him.
August 30, 2004
Dear Taylor,
What’s up? Everything is good here. Thank you for the package you sent me at camp last week—that was a cool surprise! The Kit Kat melted, but I ate it anyway. I got a package from my mom and dad earlier in the month so I really wasn’t expecting another one. The kids in my cabin were so jealous!
How is everything going with your dad? Did he find a new job yet? How was the rest of your summer? Oh, I talked to my mom, and she said we could make plans to hang out sometime. So that’s good news.
Hey, when do you start school? I start a week from today. I’m not really excited about fourth grade. Summer went by too fast.
Well, I gotta go. Write back!
Your friend,
Matt
Chapter seven
Present
“Bye, Miss Taylor!” the little girl with two front teeth missing calls over her shoulder. “Thanks for waiting with me.”
“No problem, Nia. Get home safe, honey,” I reply, waving at the girl’s mother in the driver’s seat of the white Benz with windows that are tinted way too dark to be legal. I can’t see Nia’s mother, but that’s probably for the best.Of course she doesn’t get out of the car. She knows I’ll come at her for always being late.I'm supposed to close the center at 7:30 p.m. sharp, but once the 10-minute grace period for lateness ends, I'm always stuck in a predicament. I can either stay until God-knows-when with my late kids, or call the police for an escort to the precinct. I've never made that phone call. I hate the idea of doing that to an innocent kid whose worst crime is inconveniencing her mother simply by existing.
I close and lock the front door of the old school building where I run the after-school drop-in center in Jamaica, Queens. I walk across the parking lot to my car, being watchful of my surroundings. Lately there’s been a string of carjackings in this area.
I climb safely into the car and punch the door lock button before starting the engine. The snow from earlier in the day has melted to gray puddles of slush, which splash up on the car doorsas I drive past the delicatessens and dollar stores down Jamaica Avenue, heading towards the parkway. I turn on the radio, flipping through stations until I settle on a played-out pop song.
I’m merging onto the parkway when my cell phone rings. Seeing Matt’s number appear on the screen, I feel my throat close. It’s been just over a week since I saw him. I figured that at this point the dust had settled from my surprise visit and he was never going to call. I try to swallow.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I croak. I clear my throat.
Silence follows, and it’s oddly comforting. His breathing is a little bit slow and possibly labored, although I might just be imagining the worst. The sound makes me feel close to him. It’s weird to hear dead air on the line, buthecalledme, I remember, so I can wait to hear what he has to say.
“So,” he finally begins.
“So,” I echo.
“I’ve thought about it.”
“And?”
