Page 11 of Before We Fell

Her smile dimmed and she bit her lip. Then she nodded quickly.

“Sometimes, after school, when I’m here alone, I skip down the hallway.” Total lie. If teachers or administrators saw me skipping down the hallway, they’d never let me live it down, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Her eyes flashed. Warm and bright and her shoulders shook, not with her usual shrug, but with glee.

“Would you like to skip with me?”

Another head nod, more rapid, more happy.

I squeezed her hand and turned down the hallway. Before she could pull out of my grip, I skipped.

Like a fool. Like an utter moron. It didn’t matter. By the time we reached my door at the end of the hallway, I was breathless from rushing and giggling. At my side, Riley’s grin was so full, her eyes alight with so much joy, tears sparked behind my lids.

Footsteps clicked on the linoleum floor behind us and we whipped our heads in the direction.

Behind us, Noah Wilkes was there, headed our way. A faded green shirt curved over his chest and dark-washed denim jeans fell to his feet where he wore black, shined, dress shoes.

Yikes. The man was prettier in person than he was in his photo in the newspaper.

I yanked my eyes off his body to his face as Riley tugged her hand from mine. As I caught the fierce expression etched into the features on his face, my own smile evaporated. He held himself rigidly, arms tight at his sides, quick steps carried him toward us as if he was intent on squaring off with me.

His jaw jutted out like he was disgusted at the foolishness he’d witnessed.

I pushed through the unease swirling inside me and held out my hand. “Hello. Mr. Wilkes?”

“Noah,” he said, and his eyes narrowed, shoulders fell as Riley stepped away from me. He held out his hand, not even sparing me a glance, his focus solely on his niece. “Miss Fisher, correct?”

“Frazier,” I corrected. “Miss Frazier.”

I typically didn’t mind parents calling me by my first name, but in the presence of the students, I always used the more appropriate way for their sake.

“Right.” Still looking at Riley, he continued, “How you doing, Squirt? Good day at school today?”

His voice changed when he spoke to her, went friendlier but still tense. Like he was trying…but too hard and she didn’t know what to do with it.

She nodded once, head bobbing and her tangled curls bounced before she turned and walked into my room. From my view in the doorway, she went straight to her desk and pulled out a notebook and pencil. Head down, she proceeded to act like we weren’t even there.

“So, what’d you want to talk about?” Noah said, and his voice was closer than it’d been before. I turned and almost slammed into him. As I had watched Riley, he had moved closer, eyes on her as well, and it was then I noticed the stress lining his eyes, hardening his features in a way that made an ache pierce my chest. “She okay?”

“I think that’s what I wanted to ask you.”

His gaze slid to me and narrowed. Tiny lines dug into the outer edges of his eyes and his lips pressed together. “I’m assuming you know her story. And if that’s the case, then her parents are dead. How okay is she supposed to be?”

He spit the words out at me quietly but forcefully, making me take a step back. He was too close, anger bubbling off him in palpable waves, and who could blame the guy?

“I understand that,” I replied. “But there are still concerns I have, and it’d help me if you could at least speak with me about what she’s like at home, what sort of things she likes.” He continued glaring at me. I could hardly stand the force of it without shaking in my ballet flats. “I want to show you something.”

I turned and headed into my room, leaving him in the hallway and hoping he stayed there. The last thing I wanted was Riley overhearing us talk about her.

I grabbed the folder holding her drawing from yesterday and on my way back, paused at her side. “What are you drawing, Riley?”

She pushed the paper away from me, keeping her head down. On the page was nothing more than angles. Sharp lines and scratches, marked with a heavy hand based on the jagged edges and small tears in the paper. This girl was in so much pain. She killed me.

“Hey,” I said, bending down. “I’m going to talk to your uncle for a minute outside, but while I’m gone, why don’t you draw a picture of something for him? Something that would make him smile?”

She peered at me through her thick mass of hair, lips twisting. “Okay,” she said, quietly, so quietly I could barely hear her, but it was still the most beautiful sound to me.

“Good.” I brushed my hand over the top of her head, smiling down at her, and when I stood up, my smile fell.

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