If I Fall Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Logan?”
    “ No, you idiot. Case. The guy you've been drooling over.” He was definitely drool worthy. Even I would admit that.
    She giggled. “ He really is cute, isn't he? I'm not sure he's into me, though. But he's the only reason I'm going.”
    I laughed, too. Our friendship was easy today, normal, and I had a sudden urge to tell her about the For Sale sign that was due to go up in my front yard in a matter of days and to tell her the truth about last weekend. There were things I wanted to share with her —with someone— but I couldn't bring myself to do it. So I just stood in front of my mirror and continued brushing.
    “ I should probably go,” she said.
    I nodded. “OK.” But it wasn't. I didn't want her to leave. I didn't know why but I just didn't.
    She pushed herself off the bed and reached for the make-up bag on top of my dresser. She found my black eye liner and glided it across my eyelids, winging the end of the line upward. She blew on my closed eyes and her breath smelled like bubble gum. “Open.”
    I did, inspecting her work in the mirror.
    “Perfect. You're beautiful. He'll be all over you.” But her voice fell flat with her last statement.
    “ I'll call you tomorrow,” I told her.
    “ You'd better. I want a full report.”
    She hugged me tight before leaving.
    Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
    “ No turning back,” I whispered to my reflection.
    I hurried down the hall, tugging on my miniskirt and smoothing my hair. I took a deep breath and flung open the door.
    Aidan lifted his sunglasses and grinned. “Hey.” He wore jeans and a plain black t-shirt and I was glad I'd skipped dressing up.
    “ Wait here,” I told him.
    I padded back down the hallway and rapped on my mother's bedroom door. “Mom? I'm going out.”
    No response.
    I called louder this time. “Mom?”
    Nothing.
    I hesitated before reaching for the handle. I turned it and the door twisted open.
    Her room was dark and musty, like the basement in my grandma's house, a dank place with wet, cement floors and damp, mildewed walls. It smelled old and stale and I wrinkled my nose and adjusted my breathing to short, shallow breaths. My eyes adjusted and I spied her curled up in bed, her knees as close to her chest as her swollen stomach would allow. I moved closer, taking in her sweat-dampened hair and her mouth puckered in a crooked O. Her arm curved around a bottle, a dark bottle of merlot with a duck on it. It was empty. I fixated on that bottle. Fragile and drained. Like my mother.
    She sighed then and shifted positions. I backed out of the room and clicked the door shut behind me. I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to forget the image of her and that bottle, intimately intertwined. I turned toward the front door and saw Aidan inside, lounging against the living room wall. His hair looked as white as snow against the moss green walls.
    “Everything OK?” he asked.
    “ Yep.” I hoped I sounded convincing. “Just saying goodbye to my mom.”
    He looked around. “Your dad's not home yet?”
    “My parents are divorced.” The words rolled off my tongue easily and this surprised me. It was the first time I'd had to tell anyone. All of my friends had lived through the saga with me.
    He nodded. “Mine, too. When I was six.” He changed the subject then, his eyes roving the length of me. “You look...nice.”
    It was a loaded word and I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. He laughed and nudged me toward the door. “Come on. Let's go.”

EIGHT

    Scotty Mitchell's house was a Spanish-style two-story nestle d in the hills above Pacific Beach. Cars lined both sides of the narrow, winding street, a mix of older model cars and brand-new BMWs and Mercedes. Aidan found an empty spot of pavement half a block away. He spun the steering wheel of his battered VW with one hand as he maneuvered the car into place.
    I could hear the music from where we parked, an old Blink song blaring from an open window. Aidan walked quickly,