Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,33

more careful. There’s gravel all over the concrete around here. The ladder isn’t steady.”

Faint concern rings at the end of his words, almost like he cares. It softens my resolve, but just barely.

Stomping down the ladder, I yank it out of his grip and drag it to the other end of the house. The harsh sound garners confused stares from surrounding volunteers, but I don’t care. If the only time Tate cares to talk to me is to lecture me about what a construction noob I am, I don’t want to speak to him at all.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, okay?” he calls after me.

I roll my eyes in an attempt to mask my embarrassment.

At this opposite corner of the home’s exterior, the sun is behind me, meaning I can get a much clearer photo. I set up the ladder and make the wobbly climb once more, nerves shooting through my stomach. I should have made sure the ladder was on sturdy ground before I scaled it. I can’t ask Tate to run over and hold it steady, not after rejecting his help. I’d look like a fool.

With shaky hands, I adjust my hard hat, take a bunch of quick photos, then scale back down.

“Emmie, wait! It’s not steady—”

The whine of metal scraping against concrete shrieks against my ear. Then I hit the ground.

nine

When I open my eyes, I’m lying facedown on the concrete. Slowly, I lift my hand up and touch my cheek. Bits of gravel dot the side of my face. My limbs are numb, but then the fiery burn sets in and radiates through my body. It’s not just my right side anymore; I’m aching everywhere now.

I try to push myself up, but I don’t get more than an inch off the ground before I fall back down. My head is spinning, and white dots cloud my vision. A meek, pitiful yelp leaves my mouth. Firm hands on my back and shoulder gently haul me up to stand.

“Are you all right?” Tate asks.

I try to push him away, but he holds me tightly. I give up and lean into him. My head is as unsteady as a spinning top toy.

“Hey, answer me.” His voice is urgent, but not unkind.

“Obviously not. I just ate concrete.”

“I can see that.”

The sunshine is blinding, and when I squint up at him, I can barely make out his face. He seems to notice and moves, blocking the glare with the back of his head. I get a better look at him and am surprised at the deep crease of concern in his forehead.

He brushes the gravel off my face. “Your hard hat slipped partway off when you fell, and you hit your head.” Worry fills his eyes. It’s the strangest sensation knowing that it’s meant for me.

I wiggle out of his grip for a moment, wobbling on my own. “Um, I . . .”

“Here. Sit down.”

He lowers me down to the ground, leaning my back against the wood beams of the house. I search my brain for words to speak, but I can’t seem to find any. It’s like an invisible blanket has covered all the words I want to use.

Blinking over and over is my only clarity. Then I notice that the entire Nuts & Bolts homebuilding crew has stopped working to stand around me. Seconds later, my ears register an angry tone. Tate’s angry tone.

“So no one thought it would be wise to make sure the worksite was cleared of debris?”

Slowly, I spin my head to look at everyone. They all have frightened, wide-eyed stares. I don’t fault them. Hostile Tate is scary.

Tate crouches down to me. When he speaks, his tone is now soft, an impressive flip from the anger he displayed just seconds ago. “You look like you have a concussion. You need to go to the hospital.”

I rub the left side of my head, which I now realize is faintly sore. “What are you, a doctor?”

“No, but I’m taking you to see one right now.”

“I can go on my own.”

“Like hell you can. I’ll take you.”

“Crap, Emmie, are you okay?” Jamie appears out of thin air on my right side.

I open my mouth to speak, but Tate beats me to it. “She fell off a ladder and hit her head. She’s clearly not okay.”

Lynn scurries over, and the three of them stand above me, converging in urgent tones. I try to focus so I can properly eavesdrop, but my head is a cloud. Nothing