The Upside of Falling

everything went wrong. I never bothered to ask my mom either. We never talked
about it. I was too scared to hurt her. So we dodged the subject by baking and
reading and I was left always wondering why he left. Maybe that’s why I still
came here, for answers.
I waited twenty minutes (it was always twenty minutes) for his car to pull
into the driveway. He stepped out wearing a gray suit, glasses low on his nose,
and was barely up the driveway before the front door was pulled open and the
woman walked out. I still didn’t know her name. I wondered if he knew her
before the divorce, or if they met after. Maybe she was the reason he left in the
first place.
My dad smiled as he kissed her, then both their hands went to her pregnant
belly that had grown a little since I was last here. I watched as he got onto his
knees and kissed her stomach. I wondered if a day would come when he’d
abandon that child too. I really hoped it didn’t. I hoped he’d choose to stick

---

around so that little baby would never have to go through what I did. I hoped
they’d never have to hide behind a bush and watch their father love his new
family the way he couldn’t love his old one.
It was only when the door shut and they went inside that I began to walk
home. That night, when my mother asked me where I’d gone after school, I lied.

---

Brett
EVERY THURSDAY ENDED THE SAME
at Eastwood High, with a pep rally after
last period. All students filed into the bleachers after the bell rang. The rally
would open with the cheerleaders doing a routine and the football team sitting in
the front row. There was always some sort of announcement Principal Marcus
had to make. Last week, it was that our vice principal was retiring. It would have
been sad if the cheerleaders hadn’t done a routine directly after.
Today I was running late. Becca agreed we’d go together but she still hadn’t
shown up at her locker, where we agreed to meet. Where are you? I texted,
bouncing on the balls of my feet impatiently. Library, she sent back, almost
done. I could hear the band begin to play as I ran down the hall, toward the stairs
that led to the library.
I found her sitting in the back corner against a shelf with her legs crossed and
a book on her ankles. Lost in whatever she was reading, she didn’t notice me
standing there until my shoes were touching hers.
“Hey,” I said. She jumped and shut the book quickly.
“Hi. Sorry. I was trying to finish this.”
I sat beside her and picked up the book in her lap. “Romeo and Juliet?
You’re still reading this?”
“What do you mean still?” She grabbed it from my hands and tucked it under
her arm. “We have a test on it next week.” I nodded, pretending like I knew that.
“Did you want to leave?”
“The band just started. We still have a few minutes,” I said. “Keep reading.”
“Okay.”
Becca held that book more carefully than I’ve seen people hold babies. I
couldn’t understand why—it was already ripped and frayed at the edges. She
read with her finger tracing each line as she went. I had a strange urge to ask her

---

to read out loud, but I was sure that violated the library’s number one rule: being
quiet.
“I can’t read when you’re staring at me,” she said.
“I’m not staring at you.” She looked up quickly and caught me. “I was
staring at the book. It looks like it’s been through a lot.”
“When was the last time you were in here?” she asked.
I thought about it for a second. “Freshman year.”
She rolled her eyes. “Wow. Wow.”
“Is that the kind of girlfriend you want to be?” I joked. “A judgmental one?”
“You’re just . . . such a jock,” she said with a laugh.
“I’ll have you know I’ve read all the Harry Potters.”
She did not look impressed. At all.
“That doesn’t count. Everyone’s read Harry Potter. It’s practically a
childhood rite of passage.”
She had a point.
Becca reached for her backpack and our knees bumped against each other’s.
I stared at her socks sticking out from her sneakers as she packed up her things.
They were white, with cat ears on the top. I was laughing when she said, “You
know, no one else is in here.”
“So?”
“So we don’t have to pretend to be dating when no one’s around to see us.”
Another solid point.
Becca gathered her things and we headed out into the hall. I was leading her
toward the door to the field when she tugged on my arm, stopping me. “What?” I
asked, a little annoyed. I wanted to be at the pep rally with my team.
“Is it cool if I head home and skip the rally?” She was chewing on her lip
like she was afraid to ask me. “I have a calculus test on Monday and I want to
start studying.”
“Becca, today’s Thursday.”
She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “Exactly. I should’ve started studying
a week ago.”
I couldn’t decide if she was being sarcastic.
There were hundreds of students in the bleachers already. I doubted anyone
would notice if she wasn’t there. . . .
“Okay,” I agreed. “You’re still coming to my game tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
I smiled and took a step backward. “Have fun studying, then.” Becca waved
and headed down the hall, that book still in her hand.
I ran onto the field a few minutes late. The principal was talking and Jeff was

---

waving me down, an empty spot beside him. I snuck in as incognito as possible.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“You’re late,” he whispered back.
“Was with Becca.” Jeff gave me a look, then turned his attention back to the
principal. He probably took that as meaning we were hiding somewhere making
out, not sitting in the back of a library. I didn’t correct him. At least it added
some credibility to this.
The rally ended in an hour, and I was halfway back to my car when my
phone rang. It was my mom. I answered on the second ring. “Hey, Mom. What’s
up?”
“Everything okay?” she asked. “You’re usually home by now.” I didn’t miss
the change in her voice. It happened whenever my dad was gone. She sounded
kind of lonely. Maybe a little sad.
I reminded her about the pep rally and promised I’d be home soon. I was
driving through town when I spotted a bakery and impulsively pulled over.
Maybe some desserts would cheer my mom up. A bell rang when I opened the
door and the smell of vanilla hit me. There were tables lining the wall and a huge
glass dessert display. The place was empty. I walked to the counter and rang the
bell. An older woman with short blonde hair came out from the back, smiling.
“What can I get you, hon?”
I wasn’t sure what my mom liked since she never really ate dessert, so I got
her an assortment. Some cupcakes, some fruit tarts. A few croissants and these
white balls with jam in the middle. “Those are my daughter’s favorite,” the
woman said when I pointed at them.
“Then I’ll take three,” I said. “Do you have any cannoli?” I think I may have
seen my mom eat those once at a wedding.
“We’re making a fresh batch now. They should be ready.” She turned around
and called, “Bells, bring me out some cannoli!”
I smiled and handed her a few bills. “Thank you.”
The woman, whose name tag read AMY, was dropping the change into my
hand when someone walked out of the back. I looked up and froze. It was Becca.
She had flour all over her face and was wearing a pink Hart’s Cupcakes T-shirt.
“Becca?” I said slowly.
She dropped the entire tray of cannoli on the floor.
The woman, who could only be her mother based on how similar they
looked, spun around and shrieked, clamping her hand over her mouth. “Becca!”
she yelled. “What happened?”
“I—” Her cheeks were bright red. My hand was still outstretched over the
counter, money in my palm.

---

“Just clean this up. I’ll go get more.” Then her mom turned to face me and
said, “I’m so sorry, hon. Give me a minute.”
As soon as she disappeared into the back, Becca ran to the counter. “What
are you doing here?” she whisper-yelled, leaning across and pointing her finger
at me.
I held my hands up. “I came to buy some stuff for my mom. I didn’t know
you worked here . . . Bells.”
“It’s a nickname,” she hissed, “and my mom owns this bakery!” She kept
glancing frantically behind her shoulder. “Hart’s Cupcakes? Becca Hart? You
didn’t piece the two together?”
Oh.
“I thought you were studying for calculus,” I pointed out. She ducked behind
the counter and began picking up the broken cannoli shells. “Need some help?”
“No,” she snapped, then sighed. “Sorry. I was studying, but my mom called
me and asked me to come in and help her. There’s a big last-minute catering
order for tomorrow morning.”
At that, her mom came back in, holding another tray of cannoli. She took
three and placed them in a box. “On the house, hon. Sorry about that.” She
looked between us then, like she’d just realized we’d been talking. “Do you two
know each other?” she asked, her face lighting up.
I held out my hand. “Yeah, we do. I’m Brett. Her boy—”
Becca jumped up from the floor and screamed, “Friend! He’s Brett. My
friend, Mom.”
Before I even had a chance to be offended, the door to the back opened and a
girl with brown hair stepped out—the girl from Becca’s profile picture. She took
one look at me, then Becca, then her mom. She grinned, leaning against the wall
to watch.
The whole situation was weird, and I was happy when Becca’s mom handed
me the box of pastries and said, “Nice to meet you, Brett. Enjoy, and sorry
again.”
I walked out of the bakery in a daze. Becca never mentioned she wanted to
keep us a secret from her mother. But that was clear now. Crystal clear. And her
mom owned a bakery? I really knew nothing about the girl I was supposed to be
dating. That had to change. No one was going to believe this otherwise. Then I
remembered my game tomorrow night and how my parents were going to be
there. With Becca.
I crossed my fingers and hoped that would go well.
And that Becca wouldn’t back out last minute.

---

Becca
FOUR HOURS HAD PASSED SINCE
the whole Brett bakery fiasco and my mom
still hadn’t stopped talking about it. Not because she was mad I dropped an
entire tray of cannoli, made from her grandmother’s secret recipe. I would have
preferred that. Instead she’d been talking about Brett, all googly-eyed and weird.
We were closing up the bakery, just the two of us. Cassie had already left
after wishing me luck. She was right. I needed it. My mom’s brain had entered
that obsessive love zone and there was no escaping until she got it out of her
system.
“How do you know each other again?” she asked while sweeping the floor.
“English class,” I said for the third time.
“He’s your age?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“Mom!” I threw the wet rag at her. “Can you stop? Please?”
“All I’m saying,” she continued, not listening, “is that it sounded like he
started to say something before you yelled about you two being friends.”
She eyed me suspiciously over the broom.
“I don’t know. I’m not a mind reader,” I mumbled.
She laughed. “Right, Bells.”
I’d be lying if I said part of me wasn’t considering telling her Brett and I
were dating (leaving out the fake part, duh). Mom will finally lay off about me