The Upside of Falling

is Okay.
“Because you miss him?” I prodded.
“Of course I miss him when he’s gone.”
“But you weren’t happy when he came home.”
My mom tensed, looked down at her lap. Then she patted the bed beside her
and I sat down. She grabbed my hands. Hers were cold. I stared at the wedding
band on her finger.
I tried to remember the last time we’d talked like this and couldn’t. I was
always talking to my dad about football and college. My mom was always
listening and smiling. That was the dynamic. And now I couldn’t even read her
face to see if something was off because I didn’t know how to.
“I must have been preoccupied with something else, Brett. I’m always happy
when your dad comes home. You know that.”
“But you weren’t happy. You just stood there. You didn’t walk down the
driveway to talk to him. Then that night during dinner you spilled wine
everywhere. You started to cry, remember? Then you went up to your room and
Dad followed. And I heard you guys talking—”
Her hand tightened around mine. The ring cut into my finger. “You heard
us?”
“Well, no. The doors were closed. I couldn’t hear much. What were you
talking about?”
“Your dad and I talk about a lot of things. Many of them you don’t need to
worry about. I must have been having an off night. That’s it.” She smiled,
pulling herself together. “There’s nothing you need to worry about. Your father
is home and the hotel is opening this weekend. This is a good thing, Brett. A
happy time, okay? Don’t worry about me and your father. Everything is fine.”
No wonder I was good at pretending to be Becca’s boyfriend. Apparently
being a good actor was genetic.
Now I felt even more lost than I had when I walked in. There were no
answers. At least not for now. Maybe I should have felt relieved that my life
would stay the same for another few weeks. But that didn’t really feel like
enough anymore. That doubt was always going to be there in the back of my
mind until someone gave me a reason not to be doubtful anymore.
“Mom,” I said, “if something was wrong between you and Dad, you’d tell
me, right?”

---

“We’re fine, Brett.”
“But would you tell me?”
She sighed. “Of course.”
“And you’d want me to tell you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, if I thought something was off with Dad . . . you’d want to know?”
I could see it then, in her eyes. Because my mom was always gentle and soft-
spoken. She never got angry or raised her voice. I couldn’t even remember a
time when she’d yelled at me. Maybe that’s why it was so clear to me that she
was upset.
“Brett.” Her voice was low and she kept glancing at the door. “Did you—”
The door to the bedroom opened and my dad walked in. My mom jumped and
whatever she was going to say was long gone. She stood up too quickly and
smiled at him. All traces of anger were gone. “There you are! Brett was just
trying on his suit for the hotel’s opening.”
My parents turned to me, waiting.
“Yeah. It, uh, fits.”
My dad dropped his luggage on the bed and pulled me in for a hug. I felt like
I was suffocating. “How was your game?” he asked, releasing me.
“We won.”
“And your girlfriend?”
It took me a second to remember he knew about Becca. My mom, however,
did not.
“What about her?” I asked.
“I’m assuming she’s coming this weekend,” he said, unpacking his clothes.
They were stacked perfectly in his luggage. It reminded me of the papers on his
office desk. The snooping. The lies. “Your mother and I want to meet her.”
I was torn between keeping Becca away from this mess and selfishly wanting
her there. The entire reason I started this fake relationship was for this exact
purpose, having my dad think I was dating. But now, spinning a lie to impress
him seemed like a mistake. At least lying was something we had in common.
“She’ll be there,” I said, forcing a smile.
By the way my dad smiled back, he didn’t suspect a thing.

---

Becca
THE WEEK FLEW BY. SUDDENLY
my fake relationship with Brett was starting to
feel more like two amateur detectives solving a mystery neither of them was
qualified for. If I had known this was going to happen, I would have thrown a
few mystery books into my weekly mix. Maybe then we’d have more to go on
than an iffy parking lot spotting and a gut feeling.
It was Monday afternoon and we were walking through town. I had a stack
of Hart’s Cupcakes flyers between my arms. Brett was holding the tape and
stapler. Mom was so proud to find out that the extra advertisements had worked
(thanks, Jenny) that she had us sticking them up anywhere we could. Half the
lampposts in Crestmont now had a pink sheet of paper stuck to them.
When we had none left, I suggested we reward ourselves for all this intensive
labor. Naturally, we ended up back at the arcade. Brett was playing Whac-A-
Mole. He was hitting them way too hard like he had a personal vendetta against
fake moles. There was no way he wanted another stuffed whale that badly. He
was also ranting about the hotel’s grand opening this weekend and some guy
named Carlos who was poking him with pins. I needed more context on that one.
“She was completely clueless,” he was saying. Whack. “I dropped so many
hints, Becca, and my mom just sat there like she had no idea what I was talking
about.” Another whack. “But she knows something. I know she does. I just don’t
know what she knows because she won’t tell me that she knows it. So how am I
supposed to tell her that I know what she knows?”
I blinked. “What?”
Another whack. The game ended and Brett ripped out the tickets, shoving
them into his pocket. A few fell onto the floor and I picked them up quickly. He
may not have wanted another stuffed whale but I definitely wanted another bag
of those sour gummy worms. Or another ring.

---

“My mom knows something,” he said again, walking over to the air-hockey
table. “I just don’t know what it is.” He put in a token, dropped the puck. I
picked up the red striker and slid it across. “Why can’t school teach us about
this? Like how to uncover secrets from parents who think you’re too young to
know the truth?”
“You’re thinking of spy school,” I said with complete certainty.
Brett slammed the puck. It went straight into my goal. Dammit.
“How is knowing about atoms and molecules going to help me stop my
family from falling apart?”
“Well, technically that’s the point of atoms. They build stuff, keep
everything together.” I looked up. He was giving me a look. I used the
opportunity to slam the puck into his goal. “What? I’m in AP Bio.”
Brett snorted. Then he started chuckling. Then he was doubled over,
completely out of control. He dropped onto the floor with his back against the
table and kept laughing.
I thought he’d officially lost it.
I sat beside him. Our legs bumped against each other’s. I remembered what it
felt like when he said he had a crush on me, the way his lips parted when we
kissed at Lovers’ Lake. And I really wished I was a detective because maybe
then I could figure out the mystery that was my heart and whatever these
feelings blooming inside me were.
“You know the term ‘climax’?” I asked.
“Yes. But I think it’s a different ‘climax’ than you’re referencing.”
I set myself up for that one.
Ignoring him, I said, “Miss Copper was talking about it during class
yesterday. Basically in every book, there’s a sequence of events that happens to
build up to one monumental moment. That’s called ‘rising action.’ It leads up to
the story’s climax, which is, like, the most intense moment, when something
crazy happens and the reader is left in shock. Like the characters break up, a
secret is revealed—that sort of thing.”
“Oh, Becca. I love it when you get all geeky.”
I swatted his arm.
“The point is that after the climax, the final stage of a book is the resolution.
It’s where all the problems are solved, the characters are happy again, and
there’s this sense of relief, Brett. What’s happening right now with your family?
Think of it as the climax, when everything gets crazy. What I’m trying to say is
that you need to hang in a little longer, wait for the resolution. Because then,
everything will be okay. You’ll be okay.”
Brett put his arm around my shoulder. “You’re kind of amazing, Becca

---

Hart,” he said. I started to laugh before I saw the serious look on his face. No
teasing this time, no poking fun. He really meant that.
The butterflies were back.
I shrugged, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “I told you to pay attention in
English.”
“Why pay attention when I’m dating the smartest girl in class? You’re like
my own personal textbook.”
“Wow, I am so flattered. Is that all you like me for?”
“No,” he said. “Not at all.” Then he quickly jumped up and tugged me to my
feet with him. The tickets all fell out of his pocket but he didn’t care. He held on
to my hands, forcing me to face him. He had that crazy look in his eyes again.
This time he was smiling. One hundred watts and all. “Come to the hotel’s
opening with me this weekend.” He said it all in one breath.
I mean, I kind of thought I was already supposed to go, being his fake
girlfriend and all. “Sure,” I said anyway.
“No, Becca. Not like some fake date where we spend the night pretending
and hold hands because people expect us to. A real date this time. Me and
you. . . . Would you want that? Do you want to come with me?”
My heart had grown wings and soared out of my chest.
“I—”
“I want you there. I think I need you there. And for one night, let’s stop
doing things because we have to, okay? Can we do that and see what happens?”
I could feel the chains around my heart loosening. It was wiggling free, inch
by inch. I tried to lock it back up but it wasn’t so easy to restrain anymore.