Page 28 of Break Your Fall

“Point taken,” I say with guilt on my face.

“Now that the right people are together. . .” Shelby meets my eyes for a slight second, then looks away as she finishes with, “Are you going to—”

“I don’t think we should talk about that,” I cut in, knowing right away where her question was going. She meets my stare again, her lips still puckered around the last word. “I mean, doyou?”

She blinks, then echoes, “Point taken.”

I look out over the heads in front of me to the ocean, and I look back when I feel her hand squeeze my arm. “What’s meant to be will find its way, Tommy. And I believe she will.” Her voice is soft and her hand is still on my arm. I open my mouth to offer …somethingto her saddened stare when she releases me and brings her knees to her chest. “Shouldn’t at least two other people be sitting here then? And one pushed off to the side?”

I grin thinking about the year Camille shunned Banks from the blanket and he had to take the sand. I must stay in the memory, because Shelby then says, “I’ll get out of whoever’s seat,” as she stands, then jokes, “I’m probably the last person you wanna be sitting here with.”

“Second to last,” I tease up at her.

“Oh, that humor. And here I thought I missed you.” Her ponytail swings with the words and I laugh.

“You can stay,” I tell her. “I don’t mind.” She holds my stare as a twinge shoots through me at a realization I’d almost forgotten. Shelby can be sunshine, too.

She drops back down. “There are worse blankets I could be sitting on.” We share a small smile at the first crack of a firework. Our faces light up and I look to the sky, hear the cheers as a shower of blues and reds rain down over the water.

My smile slips as the colors fade out and I check my phone again.

Still no response. Still no sight of Reyna.

She’s not coming.

8

Better Off

Reyna

“I told you tocometo dinner, notcrashit,” Mom hisses at me as she yanks the plate of lobster rolls she’d ordered off the bar, her hair now red and curled to her shoulders.

Pop-pop-pop-popsounds off behind her and she spins around. “Will youstopdoing that?”

Banks stares, his hands paused around a sheet of bubble wrap. “It’s the Fourth!”Pop-pop.

I snicker, keeping the smile on my face as my mom spins back to me. “It’s the Fourth,” I echo.

She leans in close, her breath minty and earthy. “Don’t ruin this night.”

You’ve already ruined mine,I think as she walks the plate to the table where her date and his son are waiting.

Her date and hisson. Aspen, the date, seems like a nice enough guy. He greeted me with a smile and shook my hand, not once insinuating he’d like to touch me elsewhere, not once making eyes at me. He dressed up; a light blue button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a belt securing his pants, his dark hair combed back. Mom dressed up, too, in a simple black blouse and beige skirt, the outfit concealing all the filth underneath.

Riley, the son, is around my age with a blond buzz cut, wearing a Foo Fighters T-shirt and jean shorts. He’s the one making eyes tonight, but surprisingly and welcomely, they’re not at me. They’re at another blond in this room who’s too busy making eyes at the “fireworks” in his hands.

Pop-pop-pop.

“Reyna,” Mom hisses again. “Get over here. And bring those glasses.”

Four glasses rest on the bar—wine glasses. Banks and I already had ours before we got here. Beer is better than wine and could get me into trouble. It was hard to stop, but I’d drunk just enough to feel tipsy. When I wanted to keep drinking, Banks swiped the rest for himself. He likes taking beer from his parents.It’s like a heist, he told me.And they deserve it.

I have the glasses by the stems, two in each hand, and I’m turning for the table when my mother rushes over with, “Did you pick up your room?”

Nope. Hurricane Reyna is still in effect. “Oops.” Mom’s face hardens, her mouth opening to hiss some more when I add, “He’s not going into my room.”

“He might,” she insists. “He’s a realtor.”

---