The Upside of Falling

Oh, whatever. I took the chains off.
“Yeah,” I told Brett. “Yeah we can.”
The hotel’s grand opening was way too glamourous for Crestmont, a town
that always smelled a little like sewage. This party was better suited for an old
Hollywood movie.
It was being held in the hotel’s lobby. The floors were marble, and you could
hear the sound of women’s heels tip-tapping along. Waiters were floating around
too, carrying flutes of champagne and hors d’oeuvres that I wasn’t entirely sure
how to eat. I felt like Ariel in that scene from The Little Mermaid where she uses
a fork for a hairbrush. Like I’d been picked up from my life as Becca Hart and
dropped into an alternate universe of lavish food and expensive gowns. Two
things I knew nothing about. If it weren’t for Brett smiling at my side, the entire
night would have felt like a dream.
To be fair, Brett may have made this even more dreamlike. As soon as I
thought he had reached his peak level of attractiveness, he put on a suit and blew

---

my freaking mind.
His parents surprised me the most. I was still so deep in detective mode that I
had expected his dad to be secretive and guarded, like those villains in movies
that suspiciously stand in corners and watch the crowd. I thought his mom would
have this sadness lurking beneath the surface, the same way mine used to.
Instead they were all wide smiles, nonstop hand holding, and dressed to the
nines. And I got what Brett meant by not being able to figure out the truth. From
an outsider’s perspective, his family appeared picture perfect.
“Having fun?” Brett’s voice in my ear made me jump. He put his hands on
my hips and it had a different effect on me now. Knowing that we weren’t
pretending tonight changed everything.
“This place looks incredible,” I said.
“Right? I feel like we’re not even in Crestmont anymore. Or Georgia. You
still have to meet my parents,” he said. His mom and dad had been so busy
talking to all the guests that Brett hadn’t had a chance to introduce me yet. I was
feeling more nervous by the minute.
“Where are they?” I asked.
Brett pushed my hips a little until I was facing the other side of the room. A
bar had been set up along a wall entirely of windows. It looked like it led to an
outdoor seating area. He pointed toward his parents, who were talking to another
man and woman. “See that couple?” he said. “The woman is an interior designer.
She did all the decorating.”
“Wow. Where’d they come from? New York?” There was no way this style
was inspired by Georgia. There was too much glam and not enough comfort.
Brett grabbed what looked like a mini hot dog off a waiter’s tray and popped
it into his mouth. “They live here,” he said. “You don’t recognize them?”
I looked a little closer, tried to see behind the glitz and glamour. Then I
remembered their faces from years ago. “They’re the McHenrys,” I said.
“Jenny’s parents.” As if on cue, Jenny walked right up to the bar and stood
beside them.
“For the record, I didn’t know she’d be here until this moment. . . . You can
meet my parents later,” he said, reading my mind. “Let’s go get some air.”
Brett led me through the crowd and out a set of glass doors. There was a
small outdoor patio overlooking the pool that we were standing on. With the
moon high in the sky and the humidity nowhere to be found, it was the perfect
night. And it was quiet. So quiet. I could hear how quickly my heart was beating.
We were leaning against the railing, staring out into the darkness. Brett’s
eyes shifted to me, then down to my toes. “I like your dress,” he said. His fingers
reached out, touching my ironed curls. “And I like your hair when it’s like this.”

---

Then he grabbed my hand, pulling me against his chest. “And I like us like this.
Without the pretending.”
“Me too.”
Brett smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “You do?”
“Yeah.” Maybe it was the darkness or the quiet that made my lips a little bit
looser, because then I was saying, “I like you, Brett. Which was never supposed
to happen. That’s why I was okay with our relationship being fake, because it
was safe. It was supposed to prevent all of this so I wouldn’t have to worry about
getting my heart broken. And now we’re here and everything feels too real and
it’s scaring me.”
“Tell me why you’re scared,” he said.
“Because relationships never work out. Look at my parents. I always thought
they were so in love, that they’d last forever, and then one morning my dad
woke up and decided that we weren’t enough. That his life wasn’t enough.
People always talk about falling in love but no one ever talks about falling out of
it. And look at your parents—” Brett flinched. “Sorry. Forget that. I don’t know.
It’s like I said, people always leave. Parents, friends—it doesn’t matter. It’s all
temporary and I’m not sure I can handle another person walking out on me.”
“Then let me show you that I can be the one who stays.”
“As sweet as that is, Brett, there’s no way you can know for sure you’ll even
want to. Relationships are just one big gamble where the odds are always against
you. And on a night like this, when I’m wearing a dress for the first time in years
and it feels like we’re in an entirely different world? It’s easy to get caught up in
the moment. To over-romanticize the little things.”
“You’re saying you think I’m going to, what, wake up tomorrow and decide
that I don’t actually have feelings for you?” he asked. I nodded. “That’s
impossible, Becca. I started feeling like this way before tonight. And I promise
you I’ll feel this way tomorrow too, and the days after that.” Brett touched his
finger to my forehead. “You’re stuck in your own mind, overthinking this too
much and looking for every fault. There doesn’t always have to be a negative
side.”
“I’m confused,” I said, “because one day we were strangers and then, bam,
we were pretending to be in love. All these lines between what was real and
what was fake started to blur and I can’t tell the two apart anymore.”
“Just because we were pretending doesn’t mean it wasn’t real,” Brett said.
Maybe he was right. That day we kissed in the hallway had changed
something inside me, dredging up all these feelings I never wanted to feel. We
were pretending to date one day, then secretly being friends the next.
Somewhere in the middle of all that—between our time spent at the arcade and

---

sharing secrets in his car—fake became real and I was too busy ignoring my own
heart to even realize it.
But maybe I didn’t want to ignore it anymore.
Maybe it was time to undo the locks and open all the windows. Maybe
falling in love didn’t mean you were doomed and the future couldn’t be
determined by the past. Maybe I had to stop living my life through books and it
was time to rip off all the caution tape and see what happened when I let myself
feel. Or when I let myself fall.
And I wanted to feel everything with Brett.
“Brett?”
“Becca?”
I leaned my head into his chest. “Don’t break my heart. Okay?”
His hand tilted up my chin until our eyes met. He was all shadows and
moonlight.
“I won’t,” he said.
Right when Brett was about to kiss me, the patio doors opened and a woman
stepped out. The only thing that kept her black outfit from blending into the
night was the silver camera hanging from her neck. “There you are! Can I get a
photo of you two?” she asked, lip ring catching the moonlight. Brett was
groaning at the interruption. “Can I get you to turn a little so the moon is behind
you? That’s perfect. Smile!” she yelled before the flash went off. She didn’t
need to tell us, though. I couldn’t seem to stop smiling. She looked down at the
camera and nodded her approval, lifting her eyes back to ours. “Great. You two
make a cute couple.” She walked away and the words were there, floating
around.
That was the first time someone thought we were a couple when we weren’t
pretending to be one.
From the way we were facing, I could see down the side of the hotel. There
was a small path that led to a side entrance to the building and eventually opened
up into the parking lot. It was dark, but the lamps created enough light for me to
make out that someone was standing there, behind a car, in a way that it would
block anyone looking from another angle from seeing them. I could see their
face, though.
“Brett,” I whispered. “Look.” He followed my eyes to his father. Then, while
we both watched, a woman stepped out from behind the car. Only it wasn’t
Brett’s mom. There was no mistaking it this time. No more clues worth
searching for. The answer was right in front of us.
“It’s the same woman from the diner,” he breathed.
I peeled my eyes away to find Brett. So many emotions flickered across his

---

face like a slideshow. First surprise. Then sadness. It ended with anger. He let go
of my waist and his hands balled into fists. His eyes looked as dark as the sky,
not a star in sight.
The rest happened too fast. Brett was walking down the path, then he was
running. I chased after him, yelled his name. He was too tall, his footsteps too
quick. Then he was standing in front of his dad, yelling. I watched the woman’s
eyes go wide. His dad’s were wider.
“You brought her here!” he was screaming, waving his arms around. “To this
hotel with Mom right inside?”
It was like watching a car crash. I couldn’t look away.
His dad’s mouth was moving but there were no words coming out. It made
sense—what was there to say in this moment? There was no excuse to make this
better. There was only the truth and the aftermath.
Then Brett was crying and I reached for him, placed my hands on his
shoulder. “I saw you at the diner,” he was saying. “I didn’t want to believe it,
Dad. That you’d do this to Mom. That you’d lie to us for all this time and spend
all those weekends away from home—and for what? For her?”
I looked at the woman for the first time. She had her hands covering her face.
I thought she was crying, but then I realized she was shocked. This was all a
surprise to her. She was looking between Brett and his dad like she too was
putting her own puzzle together. Did she not know she was dating a married
man?
“Brett,” I said, trying to pull him toward me. His feet were lead. The doors to
the hotel swung open and a stream of people poured out, coming to check on all
the noise. The four of us were standing there, covered in tears, with just enough
moonlight to illuminate the truth for everyone to see. I saw Brett’s mother at the
front. She walked toward us, stopped right beside me.
“What happened?” she said. I watched her face fall as she gazed between her
husband and his mistress, and then it felt like I was standing on my father’s
driveway all over again, trying to keep it together when the world was tearing
me apart.
I had never seen someone look more broken than when Brett turned to face
his mom. But she didn’t look surprised, not like the mistress did. And in that
moment, we both realized that his mom had known all along. Her face was not
one of a woman who’d just found out her marriage had been a lie. It was the face
of a woman who had kept a secret that was now out in the open.
Brett almost fell over. His hand reached out and grabbed the car and I was
there, holding him up as much as I could, but he was too heavy for me to carry
on my own.

---

“You knew?” he said, looking at his mom. “You knew all this time?”
The five of us stood there in silence. The crowd was watching, waiting for a
show. And with a town as small as Crestmont, Brett’s parents would be talked
about all over town tomorrow morning. The curtain had fallen on their perfect
family and this was all that was left.
The look on his mom’s face reminded me of my mom’s, that kind of
heartbreak that eats at you slowly, tearing you apart. I understood why she
hadn’t told Brett. It was the same reason my mom turned to baking. They were
just trying to hold it together, contain the heartbreak in their own chests and not
let it spread to their children.
But Brett couldn’t see that right now. He was too angry.
“You knew,” he said again, louder this time. “And you”—he spun around to
face his dad—“how could you do this?” His voice broke. I thought he was going
to cry, to collapse completely. Instead he lunged. His fist connected with his
father’s face in a horrifying sound. His dad was on the ground, clutching his
nose, blood streaming down.
My mouth was hanging open.
I stared at Brett with blood on his fist.
I stared at his dad with blood on his face.
I stared at his mom and the other woman, who were both crying.
Then I grabbed Brett’s hand and this time I was the one pulling him away.
We ran through the parking lot and I ignored the way my feet ached in my heels.
I took a left down the street on a whim and we kept walking until Brett fell over
onto the grass. He was lying there, face to the sky, bloody hand clutched in his
chest.
I sat down.
It was so quiet. Not even a car drove by.
I looked down at my dress and saw the blood on it. Brett must have heard me
gasp because he started apologizing. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Becca.”
I pulled his head onto my chest, ignoring his bloody hands. “It’s okay. It’ll
be okay,” I said. But this time I wasn’t entirely sure.
“I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have punched him but he deserved it
—and my mom. Oh my god, my mom. Did you see her face?” He was crying
again. “She knew, Becca. She knew this whole time and didn’t tell me.”
“You’re angry at your dad, Brett. Not your mom. She’s in as much pain as
you are.”
He stood up, wiped his tears. “I have to go back,” he declared. “I can’t leave
her there with him.” He began walking back down the sidewalk. I ran after him,
grabbed his arm, and spun him around.

---

“No,” I said. “What you need is to stay here. I’ll go get your mom if that’s
what you want, but you can’t go back there, Brett. Not like this. You’re too
angry. You’re not thinking straight. And you’re going to do something much
worse than punch him this time.”
Brett was breathing heavy. I tried to read his face and failed. But I knew
what he was feeling. I was no stranger to the confusion, the guilt, the sadness—
the way all three of them mixed into one gigantic mess until you couldn’t
decipher what was what anymore.
“My dad deserved that,” Brett said, sounding angry.
“He did. I know he did. But all those people didn’t need to see it. You know
how they talk—”
“I don’t care what people say about my family or what they’re going to
think, Becca! My dad’s a liar. Everything has been a fucking lie! Shouldn’t
people know that? Why should his image be protected?”
“That’s not what I meant. At all. This,” I said, gesturing back to the hotel, “is
already going to be hard enough without the entire town’s opinions weighing
in.”
There was no getting through to Brett now. His mind was made up. “I’m
going to get my mom,” he said. “Please don’t try to stop me.”
So I didn’t. I let him walk away and then I lay down on the grass. It was
damp, a little cold. It was probably going to stain my dress green, which didn’t
matter since it was already stained red. Remembering the blood, I scrubbed at
the fabric with my thumb, but it was too late. That was the thing with blood; it
stained. Whether it was there for a second or a minute, you couldn’t get rid of it.
It soaked itself into the fabric so deeply that it became a part of it.
I raised my head off the grass and stared down the sidewalk, toward the
hotel. A car was driving this way. It had to be Brett and his mom. I sat up,
brushed myself off, and walked to the side of the road. The car pulled over, the
window rolled down, and it was the last person I expected.
“Becca?” Jenny asked, staring down at the mess I had become. “You look
like you could use a ride.”

---

Brett
OUR HOUSE WAS SILENT.
My mom was asleep in her bedroom. She stopped crying sometime after
midnight. After I went back to the hotel to get her, the entire crowd that had
gathered was gone. The parking lot was empty. Like everything was a bad
dream. I found my mom sitting on a couch in the lobby. She had her arms
wrapped around herself like she was physically trying to not fall apart. There
was makeup smudged down her face. My dad was standing at the bar,
surrounded by hotel staff. He looked completely fine. Still put together. I
ignored him and grabbed my mom. She didn’t speak, didn’t say a single word. I
held her up and walked us to my car.
“I’m sorry.” She kept repeating those two words for the entire drive home.
That’s what hurt me the most. That she thought this was her fault.
“You don’t have to be,” I told her. There was nothing else to say.
My mom had a death grip on my arm as we walked from the car to the front
door, like I was her anchor in all of this. I didn’t know how to tell her I was
drowning too.
I brought her to bed and wiped the makeup off her face with a warm towel. I
tucked her in, pulled the blanket right up to her chin like she used to do for me. I
kissed her forehead. “I love you,” I said. I thought back to what Becca said about
the climax and the resolution. The calm after this storm. “We’re going to be
okay, Mom.”
She opened her eyes, placed her hand on my cheek. “I wanted to protect
you,” she said.
“You did. But now we’ll protect each other.” I wouldn’t let her carry this on
her own anymore.
I sat on the edge of the bed until she fell asleep. It didn’t take long, maybe a

---

few minutes. When her face looked peaceful again, I left and went back
downstairs. I sat on the couch and waited. I didn’t take my eyes off the door. He
had to be on his way home. Any second, he’d walk inside.
An hour later the door opened.
My dad was standing in the doorway, his tie hanging loose around his neck. I
was still trying to adjust to all of this. When you’ve spent seventeen years
thinking you know someone, how are you supposed to train yourself to see them
differently? I’d looked up to him for so long. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to
learn from him. I wanted to impress him. And now what? How was I supposed
to just shut that off? The anger was still swirling inside me, a neighbor to the
sadness, but there was relief there too when I saw him. Because he was my dad.
He was supposed to be the one protecting me. He was supposed to tell me what
to do now, where we went from here.
Instead I was left alone, trying to separate my dad from the person standing
in the hallway. And I couldn’t.
All the lights in the house were off so he didn’t see me sitting on the couch.
He started walking up the stairs. What was he going to do? Jump into bed with
my mom and sleep beside her? Then we’d wake up tomorrow morning and have
one big family breakfast?
Didn’t he realize that everything was different now?
My voice cut through the darkness. “You can’t stay here.” His footsteps
faltered. “Not anymore. Not with Mom here.”
My dad looked different as he walked into the living room. Maybe it was the
blood covering his white shirt or the broken nose and the fresh purple bruises.
Everyone always told me I looked like my dad more than my mom. Now? I
couldn’t find a trace of myself in his face.
He sat down, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted.
Not sad. Not guilty. Just tired, like the truth finally coming out was this huge
interruption from his regularly scheduled life.
“Let me explain,” he said.
And then the weirdest thing happened. I didn’t want him to.
I was sitting there in the middle of the night and all I could think about was
Becca and how she spent five years with all these questions that were never
answered. And here I was, every answer within reach, and none of it even
mattered. Because there was no explanation. There was no excuse. Whatever
reason my dad had for cheating wouldn’t make me forgive him. Not if he spent
the rest of the night apologizing. All I knew was that my mom had been
completely embarrassed tonight and spending another second talking to the
person behind it felt wrong.

---

What good was the truth when it was too late for it?
I didn’t care what the woman’s name was, where she lived, how they met, or
if she had kids. There was really only one question I wanted to know.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Three months,” my dad said.
“How long has Mom known?”
“She found out in August.”
I felt so damn useless. How long had I spent obsessing over football to
impress my dad? Practicing day and night? I even dragged Becca into this,
agreed to date her to impress him too. And for what? For him to miss every
game this season? For him to be off living this second life? And I just sat here
and let him. I was too blinded by trying to be him, pick up his life from where he
had left off, that I couldn’t even realize he was the last person I ever wanted to
be.
I got up and walked out of the room, pausing at the stairs. “You can’t stay
here anymore,” I said again. Without waiting for a response, I left my father
there on the couch. I didn’t go to bed until I heard the front door open and close,
then the sound of his car leaving. For a second I thought that maybe he’d go stay
with this other woman. But it didn’t matter anymore. None of it did.
Everything felt tainted. Dirty. I and all my hobbies were extensions of my
dad. And now I couldn’t figure out what parts of myself were really me. Like
football; did I even enjoy playing it? Was it all to impress my dad? Would I have
started playing on my own if he hadn’t forced a football into my hands when I
was a kid? Then there was Becca. That was the worst part. Our entire
relationship began because of how desperate I was to please my dad. I knew it
had grown from that, but it still felt wrong that he was the reason for everything
good that had happened and everything bad.
I didn’t know what to do, where to go from here.
I felt like what I needed was a fresh start. A clean slate to figure out who I
was without him.

---

Becca
THE NEXT MORNING PLAYED OUT
in a strange series of events.
I woke up in my bed, that was normal. I was still wearing the dress. There
was enough sunlight coming in through the blinds to confirm that, yes, there was
still blood on it and yes, there was still blood on my fingertips. Another sign that
last night really happened and wasn’t a weird dream my brain concocted while I
was asleep.
I winced thinking of the punch, felt this weird tightness in my chest at the
memory of Brett walking away from me. And then there was the weirdest part of
all, Jenny. I remember accepting her ride home and crawling into bed that night.
But I didn’t remember what happened between that. It was like my brain decided
to completely shut down due to information overload.
There was a knock at my door. My mom stuck her head in. “Good, you’re
awake.” She walked inside, opened all the blinds even when I protested, and
grabbed clothing out of my dresser. She said, “Get up, take a shower, and come
have breakfast. There’s someone waiting to see you,” then left before I could ask
who it was. But it could only be one person: Brett. Which meant he was
currently sitting alone in my kitchen with my mom.
I never showered so fast.
Ten minutes later the bloody dress was in the hamper, red stains on my skin
were gone, and my hair no longer smelled like grass. I walked into the kitchen in
a rush because Brett had already spent way too much time alone with my mother
and I had to intervene as soon as possible. Only it wasn’t Brett sitting at my
kitchen table. It was Jenny.
I froze halfway through the doorway. They both turned at the same time to
stare at me. I felt like an animal in a zoo exhibit. What will Becca do now?
“Are you hungry?” my mom asked like this was a normal breakfast setup. “I

---

made you banana pancakes. Your favorite.” They were my favorite, but I was
too confused to even think about eating.
“Jenny came over,” my mom continued when it was clear I wasn’t going to
speak. “She told me what happened with Brett’s family last night. It’s terrible. I
hope he’s all right.”
Great. So the news was slowly making its way around Crestmont.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Jenny said. Note to self: a town
tragedy was what it took to have Jenny speak to me again. “You seemed to be a
little in shock last night. You didn’t say a word the entire drive here.”
My brain was still struggling to understand this breakfast dynamic when my
mom checked her watch and made a big show of standing up. “I have to get to
the bakery. Will you ladies be all right here?” I think I nodded because she kept
going. “And Becca, if you talk to Brett, tell him he’s welcome to come here
whenever. I don’t think his house is where he wants to be right now.”
“Sure, Mom. Thanks.”
Then she left. It was awkward without her to fill the silence, be the middle
man.
Jenny spoke first. “I always liked your mom,” she said. There was a half-
eaten jelly bell on her plate. “It’s cool that she tries to be involved in your
life. . . .” Her eyes met mine. “Her baking improved a lot too. I still didn’t really
believe it until I ate this.”
“Why are you here?” It came out harsher than intended. And okay, I should
probably at least try to be a little nicer to her. I mean, she did kind of save me
from being stranded on the road last night.
“I told you. I wanted to make sure you were okay after last night.”
“But why?”
Her face scrunched up. “Am I not allowed to still care about you? We were
best friends.”
“Two years ago,” I pointed out.
Jenny stood up in a hurry. “Coming here was a mistake. I’ll leave.”
“Jenny, wait.” I held my face in my hands. She sat back down. “I’m sorry,
okay? Don’t go. . . . I’m just trying to make sense of this. Last night and now
this morning? Nothing feels normal anymore.”
“I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I came here. Figured you could use
some sense of familiarity. And . . .” Her words trailed off.
“And what?” I asked, wanting the distraction.
“And you were right. I wasn’t a good friend to you. I haven’t been for a long
time. And, like, I don’t expect us to become besties overnight or whatever. But
maybe, eventually, we can be okay again. . . .” Jenny sighed. “I just feel bad.

---

What you said at the marsh made me realize how selfish I had become. And the
worst part is that I don’t even know when I became like this. So, fine, I’m trying
to make it up to you. Repent for my sins or whatever.”
Surprisingly, this confession wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened to
me in the past twenty-four hours. And maybe it was because of how much my
life had changed recently, but suddenly the thought of reconciling with Jenny
didn’t seem all that crazy.
“Have you spoken to Brett?” she added.
I’d been in such a rush to barge into the kitchen I’d forgotten to even check
my phone.
“No,” I said quickly. “Not yet. Why? Got any advice?”
Jenny laughed, ate the other half of the jelly bell. “No. Not this time. It’s
weird, right? His family is, like, worshipped in this town or something. Goes to
show that every family has their secrets. What?” She grabbed a napkin and
wiped her mouth. “Is there sugar on my face?”
“No. It’s just— It’s weird seeing you here. But it feels normal at the same
time. Does that make sense?”
“Tell me about it. It was weird coming here two years later. I wasn’t sure if I
even should come, but you seemed really not okay last night, Becca. Like, your
mind was in a different world or something. Without the book this time.”
I sat down at the table across from her. “My life is starting to feel like one.”
We both laughed. For that second, it was like the past two years never
happened and we were two fifteen-year-old best friends again.
“Do you hear that?” she asked, glancing around the kitchen. “It sounds like a
phone ringing.” It was a phone. My phone. I ran to my bedroom to grab it.
Brett’s name was on the screen. I let out a huge sigh of relief.
“Brett, hey. How are you?”
“Are you home?” His voice was muffled. It sounded like he was driving with
the windows down. I told him I was. “Can I come over? I need to talk to you.”
“Of course.”
I hung up and ran back to the kitchen.
“Brett?”
I nodded. “He’s on his way.”
“Guess that’s my cue to leave.” Jenny stood up and we walked to the door. I
had to restrain myself from opening it and shooing her out. I wanted to talk to
Brett. I needed to know he was okay. But then Jenny turned back around,
looking like she was debating whether or not to say something. “I, um, hope
everything’s okay with him. My dad and his dad are friends. I don’t want it to be
weird when people start choosing sides.”

---

I must’ve said something because she waved and left. She was halfway down
the hall when I called her name. “The hotel looked great, by the way. Brett told
me your parents furnished it.”
Jenny used to have this huge smile before it turned tight-lipped. The kind
that completely took over her entire face. I hadn’t seen it since freshman year.
Until now. “Thanks, Becca,” she said.
The elevator doors opened and Brett walked out. He glanced between me
and Jenny, looking confused, said something to her, then kept walking. “What
was that about?” he asked once he was in front of me. He looked disheveled. It
was clear he hadn’t slept.
“Long story. How was last night?” I reached out and wrapped my arms
around him. He patted my back a few times, then let go. I looked up at him. His
face was unreadable. “Brett? Is everything okay?”
He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
I gazed at the door for a moment, twirling the key around in my hand. It felt
too private, bringing Brett inside when no one else was there. So I made my way
to the elevator, knowing he’d follow, and pressed the button to the roof. We
didn’t speak as we rode up, and Brett trailed behind as I walked over to lean on
the cement ledge overlooking the town. He stood beside me, his side against
mine. It wasn’t normal, what that did to my heart.
I waited for him to grab my hand like he usually did when we were side by
side.
“I used to come here as a kid,” I explained.
“To read?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. Not to read. To think. There was something about
standing up here that made my problems shrink, made the world feel a little bit
smaller. A little less scary.” I glanced at him. He was nodding along. “You’re
being really quiet.”
Brett looked the same as he did last night. Still angry. Still a little confused.
His eyes were scanning the town below us like he’d find answers written in the
rooftops.
He may have looked the same, but he felt far away.
“My dad came home late last night,” he said. “I told him to leave, that he
couldn’t stay there with me and Mom.”
“Did he explain what happened with that woman?”
“You mean his mistress?” he said, gripping the ledge a little tighter. “He
wanted to but I wouldn’t let him.”
“You didn’t want answers?” That made zero sense to me. I’d give anything

---

for a few explanations.
“I thought I did until he was sitting in front of me. Then I realized that it
doesn’t matter anymore, Becca. Answers, the truth, whatever you want to call it.
None of it matters because it’s too late. Nothing he says will fix what he’s done
to my mom, to our family. Maybe there’s some truths that are better kept as
secrets.” His head fell into his hands. “This sucks. This really sucks. My mom
didn’t get out of bed this morning. She thinks I can’t hear her crying but I can.”
I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, but I knew all too well that my
sympathy wouldn’t take away a fraction of the pain. They were empty words,
like trying to use a single Band-Aid to hold an entire shattered heart together.
So I reached through the space between us and held his hand. The wind blew
a strand of hair onto his forehead and I brushed it away, waiting for him to
continue.
Brett let out a long breath. “I’m sorry for leaving you last night,” he said.
“It’s okay. Jenny gave me a ride.”
Now that caught his attention. “You guys are friends again?”
Were we? “I’m not really sure.”
He nodded, staring back at the sky. “I didn’t come here just to talk about my
family. I want to talk about us.”
It was selfish, but I perked up at this. Until he let go of my hand.
“I’ve been thinking,” Brett continued, “that so much of my life was based off
my dad. I started playing football for him. I based all my plans for college off
what he wanted me to do or what he would have done. I always felt like it was
my responsibility to live the life he wanted for me. Like it was my fault for being
born and taking those opportunities away from him. It’s weird to think about, but
it feels like my life hasn’t really been mine. I don’t even know if I like football,
Becca. Or if I convinced myself I did because I had no other choice.”
I wasn’t following. “You’re going to quit the team?”
“No. I can’t do that to my teammates.” Then he finally turned away from the
sky to look at me. I wished he hadn’t. His eyes held all the truths. “You
remember why we both agreed to start dating? How I did it for my dad?” I
nodded, knowing where this was heading. “That was just another thing I did for
him. And I don’t want us to be like that. I don’t want our story to start because of
him. Everything in my life has happened because of my dad and I need one thing
to feel like mine.”
“I don’t understand.” But I did understand. I just didn’t want to.
“I think we need to break up. Stop this fake relationship for a little. I just
need some time to think. Some space.”
My first reaction was to laugh because I couldn’t believe people actually

---

used that line in real life. Then the words sank in and my throat started to
tighten, the way it did before I cried. “But last night,” I said, thinking back to our
conversation on the patio, “you said you wanted to be together. You said it felt
real even when we were pretending. You said you wouldn’t leave.”
“I know.” Now he reached for my hands. His eyes were begging. I took a
step back, letting his fingers grasp air. “I meant what I said. I meant every word
of it. It felt real, it all did. But that was before everything changed, Becca. Now
my head is a mess and it’s like I can’t separate what feelings were really mine.”
“So this is your solution? To end this?”
Brett took another step closer. “Please don’t cry.”
It only made me cry harder. I felt so stupid. Five years—five years I had
spent locking everyone out because I thought it was for the best. Because I knew
I couldn’t handle another person walking out on me. And all it took was one
night for me to change my mind, to decide that maybe it would be okay to let
someone in. Especially if that person was Brett. I wanted that person to be Brett.
But he didn’t want to be that person. And I couldn’t make him either.
The tears were falling now. My face was hot with embarrassment. I wanted
to run inside. This entire day was a disaster and I’d only just woken up.
I took a deep breath, then said, “I’m sorry about your father. I really am,
Brett. I know what it feels like to be let down by a parent, believe me. I’ve spent
the past five years feeling like that. But I also know what it feels like to run from
it and to want to lock everyone out. It doesn’t work. It makes everything worse.”
“Becca—”
“I think you should leave.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I never wanted any of this to happen.”
“I know,” I said, and I think that was the problem. That his feelings for me
weren’t enough to stand out in all this mess, when my feelings for him were all
that stood out in mine.
When it was clear Brett wasn’t going anywhere, I was the one who left. I
stepped into the elevator and watched him disappear as the doors closed. It
brought back memories of my father leaving. I remembered what it felt like to
wake up to an empty home. I remembered what it felt like when Jenny stopped
caring about our friendship. These memories I tried so hard to block out were
resurfacing. I was starting to drown in them.
But this time I wouldn’t let myself. Because this time was different.
This time, I was the one walking away.
My feelings began to change as the week dragged on. Apparently hiding out
in my bedroom was not an appropriate way to deal with whatever this feeling
was. (Rejection? Heartbreak? A little bit of each?) Dodging Brett at school was

---

beginning to take a toll on my physical health. It was exhausting having to peek
into every hallway and eat lunch behind the football field just to avoid seeing
him. And, okay, maybe avoiding him wasn’t the best solution, but what did I
know? Relationship virgin here. Even books didn’t prepare me for this.
Speaking of books, that’s where I had begun to direct all my anger. I stopped
feeling sorry for myself and created a mental reminder to stop putting all the
blame on Brett. He was going through a lot with his family right now. It wasn’t
fair to expect him to prioritize me in all this chaos. So instead I put all the blame,
again, on these books that were lighthearted and fun. They were about people
falling in love in beach houses and amusement parks, where their only worry
was melting ice cream. There was nothing in those pages about fake
relationships. Or what to do when the fake world you created came crashing
down around you. Why couldn’t I find a book on how to deal with a very fake—
yet very real—breakup?
Where were the books on that, huh?
The worst part was the amount of time I wasted reading these things and
losing myself in fantasies that were never going to happen. And at the beginning,
that was the point. To read something so completely outrageous and find
comfort in the fact that the fictional love and heartbreak would never happen to
me. But it wasn’t even worth it because it did happen to me. I was left standing
here with all these books and a broken heart from a boy I never really even
dated.
I was a colossal mess.
My mom walked into my room while I was staring at my bookshelf. When I
was nearly done with my internal rant, she cleared her throat. “What are you
doing?” she asked. “Thinking about what to read next?”
I shook my head. “Thinking about which to throw away, actually. Maybe I’ll
burn them, watch the romance go up in flames. That could be cool.”
My mom actually gasped. “But you love these books!”
“I loved them.” Past tense.
“Oh, baby. What happened?” she asked, tugging me onto my bed. I guess I
could have told her about Brett. She’d know what to say. But I couldn’t do it.
My mom had spent all my teenage years asking me about boys, waiting for her
daughter to fall in love and have some grand, fairy-tale romance. It never
happened. I knew she thought that I wasn’t really living my life to the fullest,
which was all she ever wanted. I just . . . I wasn’t sure how to tell her that I
finally met someone and it started off fake and then, when it was beginning to
feel real, it got ruined. Completely freaking messed up. Catastrophic chaos.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

---

I expected her to fight me on this and declare some unofficial mother-
daughter therapy session. Instead she patted my back and walked out of the
room.
“Something’s up,” I heard her whisper once the door was closed. “She’s
talking about burning her books.”
“Not the books!” Cassie yelled. Side note: Since when was Cassie here? This
better not be some sort of intervention.
“I can hear you two!” I called back. The door burst open and Cassie barged
through. I think she was trying to seem threatening but it was kind of ruined by
the powdered sugar all over her face.
“This better not be about Brett breaking up with you,” she said, pointing her
finger at me very aggressively. “I’ve waited too long for you to have feelings for
literally anyone and now that it happens, you’re moping around like some tragic
heroine.”
“I’m not a tragic heroine.”
“You are. The super annoying type that won’t tell anyone how they feel. Not
their mom, or even their best friend. Super lame, Becca. The books are ashamed
of you. Can you hear them crying? Can you? Look what you’re doing to them.”
She jumped onto my bed, full face-plant, and sighed dramatically. I had to fight
back the giggles.
Reluctantly, I took a seat beside her. “This isn’t about Brett,” I said. Cassie
gave me a look. “Fine. It may be partially about Brett, but only, like, twenty
percent.”
“How about the other eighty percent?”
“The books,” I said. “I feel like they’re mocking me.” Cassie slapped her
hand over my forehead. “What are you doing?”
“Checking if you have a fever.”
I pushed her hand away. “The only thing making me sick is staring at these
books all day long. With their stupid, false happy endings. It’s a scam. The entire
book industry is a gigantic scam, Cassie. Why doesn’t anyone talk about this?
How is this legal? They’re feeding vulnerable readers lies about love and life
and we’re buying into it like mindless consumers.”
Cassie stood up. “Amy!” My mom appeared in the doorway. She was
obviously eavesdropping. “You need to take it from here,” Cassie said before
walking out of the room.
Then I had an idea. I ran to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets
until I found the box of garbage bags, the extra-large ones my mom uses for
recycling.
“What is she doing?” Cassie mumbled.

---

“No idea.”
I ignored the two of them and marched back to my bedroom. Then I shut the
door and took as many books as I could off the shelves and threw them into the
bag. I started off with the cheesiest ones, the ones with the happiest endings and
the promises of eternal love. Yuck. Then I did the same with the ones that had
made me cry. Then the ones that I didn’t really like but still read anyway
because it was physically impossible for me to stop reading a book halfway.
When the bag was full and half the bookshelf was empty, I tied the top, lifted it
into my arms, and walked out of my apartment.
“Where are you taking those?” my mom called after me.
“Don’t follow me!” I yelled back. “Either of you!”
By some miracle, they didn’t. I guess there was something about a slightly
sleep-deprived teenager shoving books into a bag that scared people off.
I marched to the elevator, pressed the button to the lobby, and waited. My
arms were beginning to ache from the weight of all these books, but I didn’t
care. It was nice to feel that weight somewhere other than my heart.
I was sitting with my feet dangling over the edge of the bridge, the water
lapping beneath me. It made me think of the night I spent at Lovers’ Lake with
Brett. The kiss, the piggyback rides, the moonlight reflecting off the lake—it all
seemed so perfect at the time.
Stupid books. Nothing prepared me for this.
The weird part was that my heart didn’t feel entirely broken. Not the way it
had after the divorce. Now it was like, instead of the entire thing shattering, just
one tiny little piece of it was missing. A subtle ache. But it was there all the
same. And it still hurt.
It was my fault for getting my hopes up. Because before I met Brett, love
was an idea I was fine reading about. It existed on pages, and that was okay
because that was safe. Then I saw it begin to take shape between us. And I think