She didn’t answer. Liam turned off the car and asked again in the silence, and then twice more before she finally slurred, “Doooormat.”
Liam got out of the car, and then went to the passenger side and dragged her out behind him. He climbed the steps with Liz limp in his arms and crouched awkwardly with her propped against his shoulder, and rummaged around until he found the key taped to the underside of the welcome mat.
“That,” he said, “is depressingly stupid.”
He heaved both of them up and unlocked the door, and fumbled for a light switch. Inside, the house was just as big as it had looked on the outside; beautiful, he supposed, all clean lines and sharp edges, but lonely, somehow. As he walked through the foyer, it struck him that perhaps the idiotic placement of the spare key was not the most depressing thing about this house, after all.
He tried to lower Liz onto a white couch in the living room but ended up kind of dropping her—he was tired, and Liam was not exactly well off in terms of upper body strength. Then he stood there and looked around, and when he looked back, Liz was untouchable again. This was where she belonged, and he did not.
So he left.
He was only halfway through the foyer when he heard her.
“Liam,” she sighed. “Thanks.”
He hesitated. He almost turned around, stayed with her.
Instead, he kept walking, through the high-ceilinged foyer and out the door. He turned off the lights before he stepped into the cold and left her to sleep in darkness.
Liam told himself that Liz would be too drunk to remember. On Monday, when she gave no more acknowledgment of his existence than she ever had, he figured that he was right.
He wasn’t.
When Liz woke up, she ran to the bathroom and puked. After, she leaned against the toilet and put her head against the wall, and she thought of him. She wondered. Why.
She was tired. Gravity pulled at her more aggressively than usual. When she closed her eyes, she could feel it, dragging her deeper, deeper.
I would have pulled her back. I would have saved her from falling, but she didn’t see my hand.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Thirty-Eight Minutes Before Liz Emerson Crashe d her Car
Gravity.
That was the ultimate force, wasn’t it? The last acceleration. And then the crash.
Maybe, she thought, he sees something that no one else can see.
In me.
And then she laughed.
She didn’t really understand gravity, but then she didn’t really understand Liam either. She drove and remembered his eyes in the light of the ridiculous chandelier, the odd grace of his fingers, the way he called her stupid without scorn.
They were very hazy, the memories, and she supposed that was her own fault. Alcohol and pot—she didn’t remember much of that night, but she remembered Liam.
It was ironic because she had other, much clearer memories of Liam that she would much, much rather forget, and never would.
But she supposed that was her fault too.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Glances
Julia and Kennie sit with Liz’s mom. Both of them watch Liam, and both of them are trying to keep the other from noticing.
“I hope my mom doesn’t come back,” Kennie says quickly to Julia, when Julia catches her glancing around the waiting room again.
“She won’t,” says Julia. “Doesn’t she have a church meeting or something? I’ll take you home. I don’t know where my keys are, though.” She looks across the room, though her keys are in her pocket.
And so it goes.
Julia is tempted to go over and finally apologize for what they did, but why should Liam listen to her? Kennie, on the other hand, remembers all the horrible things she’s said about him and starts crying again, because she doesn’t remember exactly when she turned into such an awful human being.
Liam stares out the window.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers ..................................................................
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Thirty-Five Minutes Before Liz Emerson Crashed Her Car
They had acceleration, she, Kennie, and Julia. They had mass. They goaded and mocked and multiplied each other, and so they had force. They were the catalysts, the fingers that tipped the first domino. They started things that grew into other things that were much greater than themselves.
A touch, a nudge in the wrong direction, and everyone fell down.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Falling
On the first day of fifth grade, Liz was sitting on the swing beside Liam’s at recess, falling and flying. Her hair fanned out behind her and her eyes were closed, and that was what had caught his attention, her closed eyes. She looked a little bit silly and very much alive, and Liam couldn’t stop watching.