Before I Fall Page 0,141

innocently as I can.

He obviously thinks I’m being flirtatious. He smiles and tilts his head backward, looking at me through half narrowed eyes. I used to think it was the cutest thing when he did this; now it’s a bit like watching a linebacker try to samba. He might have all the moves down, but it just doesn’t look right.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I really liked what you wrote in your note.”

“Did you?” I make my voice a purr, thinking about what I scrawled out this morning. You don’t have to wait for me anymore.

“So I was thinking I’d get to the party at ten, stay for an hour or two.” He shrugs and adjusts his hat, back to business now that he got the flirting out of the way.

I feel suddenly tired. I’d been planning to mess with Rob a little—to get back at him for not paying attention, for not being there, for not caring about anything except partying and lacrosse and how he looks in his stupid Yankees hat—but I can’t keep up the game anymore. “I don’t really care what you do, Rob.”

He hesitates. This was not the answer he was expecting. “You’re sleeping over tonight, though, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

His hand flies up to his forehead again: more rubbing. “But you said…”

“I said you didn’t have to wait for me anymore. And you don’t.” I suck in a deep breath. One, two, three, jump. “This isn’t working out, Rob. I want to break up.”

He takes a step backward. His face goes completely white, and then he turns bright red from the forehead down, like someone’s filling him with Kool-Aid. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m breaking up with you.” I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m surprised by how easy I’m finding it. Letting go is easy: it’s all downhill. “I just don’t think it’s working out.”

“But—but—” he sputters at me. The confusion on his face is replaced by rage. “You can’t break up with me.”

I unconsciously shuffle backward, crossing my arms. “Why’s that?”

He looks at me like I’m the dumbest person alive. “You,” he says, almost spitting the word, “cannot break up with me.”

Then I get it. Rob does remember. He remembers that in sixth grade he said I wasn’t cool enough for him—remembers it, and still believes it. Any sympathy I still feel for him vanishes in that moment, and as he’s standing there, bright red with his fists clenched, it amazes me how ugly I find him.

“I can do it,” I say calmly. “I just did.”

“And I waited for you. I waited for you for months.” He turns away and mutters something I don’t hear.

“What?”

He looks back at me, his face twisted with disgust and anger. This cannot be the same person who a week ago nestled against my shoulder and told me I was his personal blanket. It’s like his face has dropped away and there’s a totally different face underneath.

“I said I should have screwed Gabby Haynes when she asked me to over break,” he says coldly.

Something flares in my stomach, leftover pain or pride, but it passes quickly enough and is replaced again by a feeling of calm. I’m already gone from here, already flying over this, and I can suddenly understand exactly what Juliet feels, must have felt for some time. Thinking about her brings my strength back, and I even manage to smile.

“It’s never too late for second chances,” I say sweetly, and then I walk away to have my last lunch with my best friends.

Ten minutes later, when I’m finally sitting down at our usual table—scarfing an enormous roast beef sandwich with mayonnaise and a plate full of fries, hungrier than I’ve been in a long time—and Juliet comes through the cafeteria, I see she has placed a single rose in the empty water bottle that is strapped to the side of her backpack. She’s looking around, too, her face cutting the curtain of her hair in two, checking each and every table she passes, searching, looking for clues. Her eyes are bright and alert. She’s chewing her lip, but she doesn’t look unhappy. She looks alive. My heart skips a beat: this is the important thing.

As she weaves past our table, I see a folded note fluttering just under the petals of her rose, and even though I’m too far away to read it, I can see what’s written there clearly, even when I close my eyes. A single phrase.

It’s never too