Page 41 of Break Your Fall

We’ve been talking. We’ve been texting. We’ve been laughing. There are the brief moments ofknowingthat will always be there now, stares that hold longer than usual, avoidance of the L word, and my occasional word vomit, but mostly, we’ve been normal. The gray area that’s surrounded us this past week is less gray. We’re still us, and I’m over the fucking moon.

I drum a sock against the top of my hamper, then slingshot it into the washing machine. I do the same with each remaining sock, then ball up a couple of my shirts and shoot them into the machine. I could dothisfor college. Laundryball. I could enjoy myself again and it wouldn’t take over my life.

“This song gives me dingleberries,” comes a shout right behind me, and I jolt so violently the shirt in my hand shoots straight into the air as I slam forward into the hamper, the collision sending the rest of my clothes to the floor. My reflexes catch the hamper and I toss it back to the table as I glare at Banks with heaving breaths. “It’s a bad thing.” He points at me and laughs. “Your face!”

I silence the music, then start yanking up my clothes, shot-blocked by a guy who has no reason to be here. “Why are you in my house?”

“I came to die.”

I right myself with half of my clothes pressed to my chest and stare at him, my face hard, more annoyed now than when he was talking aboutdingleberries.

“Kill me,” he says, standing tall and challenging, and I place my clothes in the washing machine with a headshake as I realize this pea-brain is testing my threat to kill him—days too late.

My desire to murder him has been appeased by spending time with my old friend Jason Voorhees.Sorry, dude.

“I knew you wouldn’t do it.”

I right myself again with the other half of my clothes and jerk my chest out at him. He jerks backward, the skateboard clutched to his side now held out between us. I laugh and fling the clothes in with the rest.

“Why are you in my house?” I repeat when I face him again, realizing the arguing from the kitchen has halted.

“I wanna clean the air.”

I squint, my head tilting forward slightly as I process what’s wrong with that statement. “Clearthe air?”

“Whatever.”

“Because if you want tocleanthe air, you’ll have to leave.”

Banks makes an unamused face at my own amusement. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” I say, then drop the smile. “Really, get out of my house.” I move to push him back, but he pushes against me with his skateboard, the wheels riding into my shirt.

“Oh ho, wait. Hear me out.” He pulls his board back before I shove it away. “I got kicked from a game party.”

And he stops there. Like I’m supposed to see this as the tragedy that led him tomylaundry room.

He’s about to see a real tragedy when he finally adds more words to his script. “There was this livestream—Anyway, they thought I kept having seizures and it wasdistracting.” He makes an offended face, then defends, “There were a lot of jump scares. Then I was thinking, jump scares? Todd likes those! He also knowsBlondiea little better than I do, and now I’m here.”

“I feel really sorry for your brain.” He makes a face as anger flares in me from the night of the Fourth. “I know hera lotbetter than you do, and what do you want with Reyna? You almost got her—” I can’t say the word.

“That’s the thing. Igother. I pulled her out. I saved her. You owe me,” he says with his finger back in my face. I slap it away and his hand knocks against the door frame.

He grits out an “Ow” as I rebuke, “You’re not using Reyna’s life as a bargaining chip.”

“Who cares about chips, dude, I need anin. Give me a move. Something she’ll like.”

“I’m not yourdude.” A frustrated exhale follows the protest, and I’m surprised steam isn’t coming out of my nose.

“Whatever. Help me.”

“Go ask Julian.” Now I’m bitterandfrustrated.

“We’re on a time out.”

“Well, timein, and get out of my house.”

“You owe me,” he pressures, pushing me back again when I move, andshit.

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