The Upside of Falling

Congratulations message. His daughter’s name was Penelope. I had a sister.
Half sister. All those years of being an only child flashed through my mind. I
stumbled on the sidewalk. My knee scraped against the concrete. I felt the blood
begin to trickle down my skin.
A sister.
A pair of white sneakers appeared. There was a woman staring down at me,

---

face creased with worry. Her mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear a word. All
I could focus on was her stomach, flatter than before.
“Are you all right?” my dad’s new wife (or was it girlfriend?) asked, holding
out her hand. I noticed the ring. Wife.
I stood up on my own and brushed the dirt off my clothes. “I’m fine,” I said,
the same second both our eyes drifted to my knee, which was covered in blood
and loose pieces of cement.
“I’ll grab you a Band-Aid and a warm towel.” She walked up the driveway,
pausing to look over her shoulder when she reached the porch. “Follow me,” she
said, stepping inside and leaving the door open.
I walked up the steps in a daze. I was thinking that she must know who I am.
Why else would she invite a complete stranger into her home? My second
thought was that, oh my god, what if he was home? I noticed the empty
driveway for the first time. Thankfully, his car was gone.
I kept walking, my feet hovering on the doorstep. I felt that familiar feeling
of guilt twist inside me. I was imagining my mom and what she would say if she
knew I was here, about to walk into his house. It felt like a betrayal of her. It
always did. But there, right beside the guilt, was so much curiosity. I just wanted
a glimpse into his life. One little peek. And then maybe that would be enough.
Maybe then I’d never return.
I stepped inside.
All the walls were blue. It looked like someone grabbed a handful of the sky
and threw it everywhere. There were framed photos covering nearly every inch
of empty space. Most were of my dad and his new wife, smiling at the camera
with sunlight in their eyes. A few were of their baby. She had big brown eyes
and a little dimple in her cheek. It was like a shrine to his new life. Where were
the photos of me? The other family he had for twelve years? How could my
mother and I spend the last five years trying to piece our lives back together
while he was here, rebuilding his so easily?
His wife returned, holding a towel. I wanted to ask her name. How they met.
When they got married. Did they know each other before the divorce?
“Here,” she said, “use this to wipe off the blood.” I had this weird thought
that she’d use it for DNA testing to find out who I was, but grabbed the towel
anyway because that was ridiculous.
The cut stung when I pressed the cloth to it. I wiped off my leg and noticed
how quiet it was. There was no baby crying. No radio or television noises in the
background. My mom always kept the radio on, even when no one was home.
Now my skin was starting to crawl, and I felt weird and dirty all over. I wanted
to get out of here. Fast. I kept picturing my dad’s car pulling into the driveway

---

and the moment he would step inside. What would it be like? Watching his two
worlds collide?
“What’s your name?” the woman asked, holding out a Band-Aid.
I guess she really didn’t know who I was. Made sense. My mom and I
clearly weren’t important to my father.
“Cassie,” I said. She smiled. I noticed the small gap between her front teeth
and the way she blew her curls out of her eyes. And I hated it. I wanted her to be
rude. Or have some flaw that would make it easy to dislike her. Instead she
seemed nice. Really nice, the type of person who hands out Band-Aids to
strangers.
“Do you live around here?” she asked.
I shook my head. Took a step back. The guilt was twisting higher, reaching
my lungs, making it hard to breathe. This felt wrong. So wrong. I mumbled a
goodbye and left, ran down the driveway while scanning the street like a crazy
person. I was a few houses down when I swear I heard someone call my name. I
didn’t look back. I kept running until I was inside my apartment, out of breath. I
locked the doors, locked everyone out, and sank onto the floor with my knees to
my chest. I shut my eyes and waited for my heart rate to slow down.
I thought I’d feel different.
I thought this would feel better.
Instead I was even more confused.
Their house seemed normal. There was nothing special about it. Nothing
extravagant. His wife seemed nice. But my mom was nice too. He had a
daughter now. But he had me before. So why swap out one for another? I
thought going there would give me answers, not more questions.
I groaned, stood up, and sulked to my room. I shouldn’t have done that. I
should have gone straight home and minded my business.
Even though my dad lived a few streets over, it felt like a different world.
And I should have kept it that way. I shouldn’t have let the worlds collide. And
if my mother found out . . . Would she be hurt? Betrayed? Would she think this
life with her wasn’t enough for me? Because it was. It so was. But five years
wondering why is a long time, and wanting answers to questions I’m unable to
ask makes it even harder.
My heart was beginning to hurt, the same way it did the day he left. It was
slow at first, a subtle burn. And then the flames began to grow, devouring
everything in their path. So I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed a
book. Any book. I didn’t even bother reading the title. I flipped to the last
chapter because I needed the happy ending right now. I read and read and read
until reality faded into fiction.

---

Brett
ME AND MY MOM WERE
waiting on the porch Sunday morning when the taxi
parked outside our house. My dad stepped out, smile on his face, luggage in
hand. I ran down the steps to help. He patted my back, asked about the football
game, and apologized for not coming back on time. I thought back to what
Becca said after the arcade, to remember all the games he attended. I told him it
was okay, that we won anyway, and we walked up the driveway. I was grinning
now, happiest when my whole family was home.
We had dinner together that night. My mom ordered food from my dad’s
favorite restaurant. She was being really quiet during the meal, hardly eating. I
asked her a few times if she was all right and she’d pat my hand and nod. I asked
my dad question after question about his time in New York: What did he do?
Did he go to Central Park? He said he was too busy with business to sightsee.
Which made sense.
When he said he had to leave again next weekend, my mom dropped her
glass of wine onto the table. It spilled everywhere, staining the white tablecloth
red. We all froze for a second before she ran off into the kitchen, returning with
a roll of paper towels. She was crying, hands shaking, and she wouldn’t stop
apologizing under her breath. My dad grabbed her hands and they walked away
together. I heard the door to their bedroom shut. It was weird. Really weird.
I grabbed a towel and cleaned the table. I put all the food away and brought
my dad’s luggage upstairs. The door to their room was still closed. I could hear
them whispering. My dad was apologizing for being away so much. “I’m doing
this for us,” he was saying. I could hear my mom crying still. I knew it was hard
on her when he left, and he’d been leaving more often than usual in the past few
months. It started off as a weekend here and there. Lately, it had been almost
every weekend. It was hard on her. It was hard on me. But he always came back.

---

Wasn’t that what mattered?
When my parents stopped talking, I ran back to my room before they opened
the door and caught me eavesdropping. I felt weird having to tiptoe around my
own house. My parents never kept secrets before. My mom never acted that way
on the rare occasion she spilled a drink. We always stayed up laughing when my
dad came home. This was a first.
I lay in bed, waiting for my dad to knock. He always brought me back
something from his trips. Last time it was a hat from Chicago. Before that a
watch from Washington and a key chain from North Carolina.
This time he brought back nothing.
Another first.
It rained the next day. The sky was gray all morning, thunder beating
through. Becca made a huge deal about having to eat lunch in the cafeteria. She
was moping the whole time, even when I cleared a table in the corner for the two
of us. Sure, people were staring, but I ignored them. When she pulled a book out
of her bag and started to read, I didn’t question it. I was stuck in my own head
too.
My mom was acting strange this morning before I left for school. She was
still in bed when I woke up. My mom never slept in later than eight. I peeked my
head through the door to ask if she needed anything, make sure she was okay
after last night. She said she was fine. I didn’t believe it. I left anyway to pick up
Becca.
My dad was back in town now. Things were supposed to be going back to
normal. Instead, it felt like something was off. And the worst part was that,
whatever it was, my parents were keeping it a secret.
“What are you reading?” I asked Becca to distract myself. Without taking
her eyes off the book, she shushed me. “Come oooooooon. Show me.”
She kept ignoring me.
“Just one little peek. Please?”
Her eyes remained locked on her book.
I reached out, quick as lightning, and grabbed it from her hands.
If looks could kill.
“Brett! Give it back!” She was in a bad mood. Like, very bad. I was kind of
scared. But I really wanted to know what this book was about.
“The Last Song,” I read aloud. I flipped through the pages, read the synopsis,
did it one more time just to be annoying (what was up with me today?), then
handed it back to Becca. “Is it any good?”
She ripped it from my hands a little too aggressively. “Yes.”
“Can I ask you a question?”

---

“No.”
“You know, Becca, I’m having a pretty rough morning and my girlfriend
being mad at me is not helping.”
Now she looked up, ever so slowly, and shut the book.
“What happened?” she asked. Then Becca looked around the cafeteria, as if
just remembering we were inside, surrounded by people, and shrank down in her
seat a little.
For a brief moment, I considered not telling her. Whatever it was that my
parents were going through, it felt weird to admit it out loud. It was like lifting
up a curtain and finding a huge mess hiding behind. But then Becca was sitting
there, in the middle of the cafeteria she hated, giving up her lunch to be with me,
and what else could I do but tell her the truth? She looked like she genuinely
cared, like that moment in the car after the arcade. And maybe she did care.
Maybe I could trust her to help me figure this out.
So I told her about the weird dinner last night, the whispered conversation
my parents had, my dad not bringing me home anything from New York, and
then about my mom this morning. She didn’t roll her eyes and say I was
overreacting. She didn’t get angry like Jeff did, saying I looked up to my dad too
much. She didn’t make me feel like a baby for being hurt that my parents were
keeping something from me. Instead she reached across the table and held my
hand. And I didn’t think it was for show either. It was only for me this time.
“That is a little weird. Did you ask your mom?”
I told her that no, I hadn’t. “She was half asleep when I left this morning.
And she seems kind of sad. I don’t want to make it worse.”
Becca was nodding, eyebrows creased in the middle. She was really paying
attention.
“I don’t think you should read too much into it. It was one weird night.
Right? Wait and see what happens before you start to freak out.”
Easier said than done. I was already nearing freak-out zone.
“What you need is to distract yourself,” she continued, picking up her book.
“Reading helps me. It’s like I’m in another world when I read. And all the
problems in my life don’t exist anymore. It helps.” Then, realizing she’d said
something sort of personal, she started to blush. “You need something to distract
yourself with.”
Being so caught up in my own problems, I didn’t realize that something was
bothering her this morning too. She wasn’t just mad. What did she need
distracting from?
“What did you do yesterday?”
Becca picked up her book again. “Helped my mom at the bakery and studied

---

for calc.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
She wouldn’t look up from her book.
I polished off my burger and Becca had flipped through a couple of pages
when Jeff slid into the seat beside me. There was water dripping off his hair and
clothes, soaking the table and forming a puddle on the floor. “Forgot my lunch in
the car,” he explained, pulling a half-squished sandwich out of his pocket. He
shook his hair out like a dog. Water sprayed everywhere. Becca shrieked and
quickly hid her book under the table.
I elbowed him in the ribs.
“What?” Lettuce hung out of his mouth.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Having lunch with my best friend and his girlfriend.”
I glanced at Becca. She was eyeing Jeff like he was of an alien species.
“Becca,” I said slowly, “this is Jeff. Jeff, Becca.” He smiled again, lettuce
everywhere, and Becca slowly placed her book back on the table.
“You’re in my calc class,” she said.
“Think so.” Crumbs fell from his mouth. “Think you failed that test today?”
Doubt it. She’d been studying for a week.
“Aced it,” Becca said. I felt kind of proud, like yeah, my girlfriend is smart
as hell and happy to own it. Then remembered that wait, she’s not my girlfriend.
Still proud, though.
“You two coming to the marsh party this Friday?” Jeff asked once he
finished eating.
I smacked myself a little because I’d forgotten to tell Becca about that. It
completely slipped my mind with everything that happened this weekend.
“What’s a marsh party?” she asked.
I explained how bordering Crestmont and the neighboring town was Lovers’
Lake. How it used to be two separate lakes but the water levels changed over the
years, and how the strip of land separating them started to shrink. Now they met
in the middle, and it sort of looked like two broken pieces of a heart. At the edge
of the lake was a marsh, which was just a huge grassy area covered in water
before it stretched into the forest. After the second football game of the season,
the team and a bunch of seniors would spend the night there, celebrating. It was
a bit of a tradition at Eastwood High.
“It’s this Friday,” Jeff cut in. “The whole team’s going.”
I watched Becca’s face, waiting for some type of sign. She was nodding,
thinking. Did she hate it? Did it sound cool? Would she go with me? To be

---

honest, I’d go without her. I’d been looking forward to this since sophomore
year and I wasn’t about to miss it because she’d rather stay home and read. Then
I regretted thinking that because it was kind of rude. But really, would she
come? It would be fun. And even with this fake relationship, our worlds had
stayed separate. I mean, this was the first time she’d spoken to one of my
friends. I was curious what would happen if our two worlds overlapped a little
more.
“Lovers’ Lake,” she repeated. “Why haven’t I heard of that?”
“The real name is Crestmont Lake,” Jeff explained. “Kids started calling it
Lovers’ Lake because of, you know, the things that happen there.”
Becca was blinking, totally not understanding. “What kind of things?”
“Like . . .” Jeff’s mouth was hanging open like a fish, and he turned to me,
looking a little mortified. “Take it away, Wells.”
“He’s saying people go there to hook up,” I explained, laughing when she
choked on her water. “It’s a lake in the middle of the woods, Becca. It’s dark and
private and Crestmont is boring as hell. You gotta make fun out of what you
can.”
“It can get a little crazy,” Jeff added, a little too enthusiastically.
And then, by some miracle, Becca said the last thing I expected. “Okay.
Sounds fun.”
Jeff pumped his fist in the air, screamed, “Hell yeah! Knew you’d be in,”
then reached into his bag and took out a little white box. Becca spotted it the
same time I did. She leaned across the table so quickly she knocked her water
bottle over.
“Is that . . .”
Jeff opened the box and, to both of our shock, pulled out a jelly bell. He ate it
with his eyes closed, making this uncomfortable moaning sound.
When he opened his eyes, he stared between the two of us. “What?”
“That’s a jelly bell,” Becca said.
“And?”
“You went to my mom’s bakery,” she said, dumbfounded.
“Your mom owns that place? That’s cool. Jenny was handing out flyers to
the team during lunch. Thought I’d swing by and take up that free cannoli offer.
That place is amazing. . . . Why are you staring at me like that?”
Becca’s mouth was literally hanging open. “Jenny handed out flyers?” she
said.
Jeff looked at me. “What is going on?” I shrugged. Hell if I knew. He pulled
a pink crumpled ball out of his pocket and smoothed it down on the table. It was
a flyer for Hart’s Cupcakes. Becca picked it up, held it to her face like she was

---

conducting a scientific analysis.
“Jenny gave you this?” she said again.
“Yes.” Jeff gave me a look, picked up his bag, and left.
I turned to Becca, who still looked dazed. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t you think it’s weird?” she said. “Jenny handing out flyers to my
mom’s bakery?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
She nodded to herself. “Very weird.”
I steered the conversation back on track. “You don’t really have to come to
the party if you don’t want to.”
She carefully folded the flyer into a square and put it in her pocket. “I don’t
mind,” she said, now looking at me. “And it’ll be good for people to see us out
together somewhere other than your football games. Make this seem more real.”
Sometimes I actually forgot that we were supposed to be dating. Our
friendship already felt so normal. I reached across the table and grabbed her
hand then, just in case.
“I think people are buying it,” I said. “My teammates haven’t said a word.
Even Jeff hasn’t doubted it. Back to Lovers’ Lake, I didn’t think you’d say yes.”
“It’s not my usual scene, sure, but it sounds sort of fun. And it’s not like I’ll
be awkwardly alone. You’ll be there, and you’re pretty good company.”
“Pretty good?”
“Definitely above average.”
“I’ll have you know I’m somewhat of a hot commodity in these halls, Hart.”
“Then lucky me for being the one dating you. Now tell me”—she lowered
her voice, leaned across the table—“ever brought a girl to Lovers’ Lake?”
I leaned in too, until our noses were almost touching.
“No,” I said. “You’ll be the first.”

---

Becca
LOVERS’ LAKE WAS DISGUSTING.
And crowded. And it smelled horrible.
I was trying to remember how I allowed Brett to drag me here when he
tugged on my hand, pulling me forward. Yes, we were wading through grass that
was covered in murky water and yes, I was purposely trying to keep my mind
preoccupied with anything other than this disgusting lake/marsh/whatever-the-
hell-it-was I was currently attempting to walk through. I could hear voices and
see some sort of light farther down. Definitely not a fire. It was too wet. Maybe a
flashlight? That would be nice. Let’s illuminate all the bugs circling my head.
“Stop pulling me!” I hissed, tugging back on Brett’s arm. “I’m going to trip
and drown.”
“The water’s not even a foot deep, Becca.”
Whatever!
We kept walking. It was dark. Like dark enough that the moon seemed to be
ten times brighter than normal. There were people walking behind us and a few
in front, leading the way. Brett introduced me to them when we first arrived. I
tried my best to remember their names, I really did, but one step into this mushy
grass had me forgetting everything other than my new white Converse, which
were currently being destroyed.
I still wasn’t entirely sure what Lovers’ Lake was. And it was way too dark
for me to make out my surroundings. All I knew was that Brett had driven down
a bumpy pathway—I flew into the window a few times—until we came to a
clearing where dozens of other cars were parked. It looked like all the grass had
been crushed by tires so many times it just gave up trying to regrow. That wasn’t
the end of the journey, though. After we exited the car, we had to walk through
this path in the forest and my life was left in the hands of Brett (literally) and

---

whichever teenager with a flashlight was leading us to Lovers’ Lake.
For the record, my expectations weren’t high.
I could not believe people willingly came here for fun. Let alone took their
clothes off and did whatever else in the trees. I kept glancing around and
shuddering. I wanted to take a shower just thinking about it. Plus, the marsh had
that weird fishy smell that fills the air after it rains and there were bugs flying
everywhere. It was too dark to see them—which may have been a good thing—
but they were buzzing in my ears and I kept imagining one flying right into my
brain. The bottom half of my legs were covered in mosquito bites (partially my
fault for wearing shorts). All in all, it reminded me of the summer when my
family, pre-divorce, went camping. We didn’t even last the first night. After the
tent collapsed, we packed up all our stuff and left.
I checked my phone and saw it was almost eleven. I couldn’t believe the
night hadn’t even started yet! My curfew was one, but I suspected my mother
would be okay with me coming home late as long as Brett was the one dropping
me off.
The people in front of us started to cheer then, and I peeked around Brett’s
back to find the narrow path opening into a clearing. Thank god. I could have
cried on the spot. I had no idea what to expect, maybe some blankets or some
sort of organized structure for people to sit on. Instead there were fallen tree
trunks rearranged in a square, a few lawn chairs, and flashlights dangling off of
branches to light up the area. People were sitting around drinking, leaning
against trees, splashing each other with muddy water and, yes, as Jeff said,
sneaking off into the surrounding forest.
It was all very high school. Meaning it was both completely gross and a
weird kind of cool.
Brett let go of my hand when he spotted his teammates. They’d won their
second football game tonight, and he spent the entire ride over replaying every
moment out loud, as if I wasn’t sitting in the first row of the bleachers watching.
The upside was that I was slowly learning football lingo. (My vocabulary had
surpassed “touchdown.”)
I also noticed that his parents weren’t at the game. Again. I tried to ask him
about it and he mumbled something about his dad having just left for Ohio. Two