The Jump That Left Me Stranded

Chapter 4

"Sorry," I mumble, shoulders shaking as I blink - blink hard and fast - trying to wash away the tears. I turn my face away so he doesn't see, cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

"It's fine." He tells me, but his voice is quiet with some sort of curiosity, soft and attentive like the stroke of a hand. When I'm satisfied that my eyes are dry enough - because they're never fully dry any more - I look at his face, which breaks out into a wide grin. A smile enough for the both of us, since all I can manage is a grimace of mortification. 

"I never usually..." Frowning, I focus my eyes on the zipper of my jacket; pull it up, pull it down, the hiss of metal on metal filling the silence, standing in for the words I can't muster any more. 

"Nah, it's cool." He says, setting his hand down on the decking between us. 

Still drifting from inside is the thump of another song, new and techno, something I've never heard - and people are still dancing, their worlds still turning, but here I am, and every time I sit and cry I feel like I'm whittling away at borrowed time, feel like I need to explain it so it's less selfish. But then I remember he's a stranger, that they're all strangers, and no one really cares. That's one thing I've learned from all this; no one really cares as much as you think. 

"How come Jenny didn't talk to you, at Mills?" I ask him. His eyes snap away from the pool, vacated now by the lower school kids, and land on me. Skim over my face - which is still flaming red. He swallows and his brows slip into a frown, drawn tightly together. 

"They do it out of courtesy." He looks like he's almost wincing, but quickly smooths it over with a smile. A gentle tug of his lips. "I'm not, you know, loaded like most of these guys are. I need that job, they don't really get it." He says it with a strange fondness, sweeping his arm around us, some beer glugging from the lip of his bottle. I nod along, but my mind is swept up as I remember the stack of bills on the table last Saturday, all red-coded and scary, and the way mum and dad looked at them as though they were explosive. 

"So, did you get lucky?" I snap my gaze up to him, jaw slack as I try and work out what he means. "Sorry - I meant with the lottery card." He adds quickly, as a look of mild mortification creeps into his eyes. 

"Oh, I don't know. My mum's watching..." I say, but even so I bury my fist in my pocket and feel my hand curl around the ticket there. I forgot. 

"Ah, my fingers are crossed for you." He smiles, holds up his free hand and twists two fingers around each other, waving them a little too haphazardly in front on my face - maybe he's more tipsy than I thought. I try and return his grin but I mainly feel nerves buzzing in my veins. Drunk strangers maybe aren't the best people to hang out with. 

"Listen, I better...you know," I lift my head up, nod it around mindlessly as if that will - somehow - convey the urge to leave that had suddenly consumed me. Heart beating fast? Body shaking? Breaths ragged? I need to get out. I need to get out before I-

Breathe. 

The grin slips from his face, only momentarily, only for a split second before he recovers and hoists up that look of delight - the kind that should belong to a child and not someone at university. People that old should know better than to walk around smiling, like the evils of the world don't exist; he smiles an ear-splitting smile like he's trying to restore equilibrium. And yet, it throws me. 

Not nearly as much as when he stands up, almost unfolding himself into a sprawl of limbs that tower over me, and reaches out a hand. I swallow my anxiousness and take it, let him pull my to my feet and even shoot him a hesitant smile of my own, a small 'thanks' because apparently I can't form sentences any more.