Page 5 of Falling

“Miles Davis,” I say. She hesitates before slipping her hand into mine. It’s small in comparison, but I ignore the electric shocks that travel through my brain from where our hands meet. Gettingelectric shocksover a girl is new to me.

“Wren,” she replies, pulling back her hand to grip onto her bottle.

Some weird alarm bell is blaring in my brain, saying, STAY, TALK, SPEAK, DO SOMETHING TO MAKE HER STAY. Maybe it’s the thing people say when firefighters get attached to people that they save or the other way around. Maybe her saving me from choking just then has forged some invisible string between us. I’ve never wanted to talk to someone as much as I do her, so, naturally, I don’t say anything. I just stare like a weirdo because nothing comes to my brain to start a conversation with a pretty girl.

“Hackerly,” she blurts out, her face scrunching up before it relaxes. I blink at her, watching all the muscles in her face smooth out, and a splash of color washes against her cheeks.

“What?”

“My last name. It’s Hackerly,” she confirms. I already got that, but for some reason, I’m making this way more awkward than it needs to be. She must be thinking it too because she goes on. “I felt like I should have said it since you told me your last name, but given you know my mom, I guess you already knew.”

I blink at her again because that’s what I’m reduced to as I try to decipher her word vomit. I’ve only known her a few minutes, but she seems like the put-together, has an itinerary for when she goes to the bathroom type. The kind that schedules every second of her life to perfection, leaving things like parties and random get-togethers in a frat basement at the bottom of her well-crafted list. Having Miss Hackerly as a mom, I wouldn’t be surprised.

I clear my throat, forcing words to come out so I don’t completely embarrass myself. “Thanks for confirming that. I don’t know how I would have coped without that information.”

Her eyes narrow. “Well, you were just staring at me and not saying anything.”

“I didn’t mean to stare, it just started… happening,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut to find a better response. Of course, nothing happens.

She laughs, and the sound is unnerving. It’s carefree, stupid, and beautiful all at the same time. “No, you just caught me off guard, that’s all. I wasn’t really expecting to interact with anyone today. Let alone save you from choking on a beer.”

“Well, thank you for saving my life,” I say, my mouth twitching up into a smile. She just shrugs like it’s no big deal, and I can tell she’s debating cutting this conversation and making a run for it. I want her to stay. Her company is the most I’ve had outside my team since we lost Carter, and wallowing in a corner is starting to get old.

“Why would you come to a party if you don’t want to socialize with anyone?” I ask.

“My friends can be very persuasive.” She shrugs again, locking her hands behind her back, the bottle crinkling beneath the pressure. Her eyes meet mine, and she sighs. “I got some pretty bad news earlier, so they thought this would cheer me up.”

“Is it working?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m—” A loud screechpierces through the music, and our attention is drawn to the living room, where I didn’t notice a very heated game of Just Dance is being played by a group of girls, some of my teammates mingling around trying not to be obvious as they stare. I turn back to Wren as she buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god.”

“Are those your friends?” I gesture to the two brunettes dancing with their hands in the air, not at all following the instructions on the screen. The girl with curly hair is doing some weird body roll thing while the other one films her, both of their faces red with heat. Wren peeks through her fingers, shaking her head at them.

“Unfortunately,” she replies, grumbling. “They really shouldn’t be allowed outside of the house, let alone anywhere near alcohol.”

The girls look like they’re having a good time, but Wren looks mortified. I can’t help the grin that pulls at my lips at her secondhand embarrassment. I bump my shoulder into hers. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. Those idiots that are checking them out aremyfriends, Harry and Grayson. I’d much rather have them dance like your friends than be the weirdos in the corner daring each other to do stupid shit.”

She snorts, covering her mouth when the sound leaves her. “Right. So, what’s your excuse for not hanging out with them? You seem like the type to… What the fuck are they doing? Are they trying to drink beer through spaghetti?”

“Nottrying,Wren. They are mastering the art of Spaghetti Straw,” I say. She shakes her head, watching them with a curious expression. That’s just the kind of people Grayson and Harry are. Harry’s the youngest on our team, and I’m sure Grayson bribed him in one way or another to do his bidding. “It’s the same reason as yours actually. I got some bad news from my coach, and I’ve been benched, so my friends thought this wouldcheer me up too.”

Turning to me to echo the same question I asked her, she asks, “Is it working?”

I shrug. “Now that I’ve got someone to talk to, yeah.”

She lets out a snobby little “hm” sound, probably assuming I’m doing some dumbass play to hook up with her. If I had the energy, I probably would. She’s easy to talk to and fucking beautiful, but I’m not interested in doing anything more than having a good time.

I break the silence between us by saying, “Do you ever just wish you could drink all day, say fuck it to the consequences, and spend all the time you want in your room?”

“You can. It’s called alcoholism.”

I don’t even respond to that because I know how stupid I must sound. I can’t remember the last time I had an actual conversation with someone, and it shows.

We watch our respective friend groups from this side of the kitchen, both of them so different yet so similar at the same time. Neither of us have said anything, and I’ve forgotten how to make friends. How to talk to people without being awkward. It’s never been hard for me, but Wren doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would want to be friends with someone like me anyway.

When her friends—Kennedy and Scarlett, I figured out when she yelled at them to calm down and neither one of them listened—have moved on to a different dance, roping in some other girls, I turn to Wren.

“Do you wanna dance?”

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