Dare to FallAuthor: Estelle Maskame
Release Date: December 4, 2018
Publisher: Sourcebooks Fire
ISBN: 9781492670315
Description:
A brand new book from the internationally bestselling author of Did I Mention I Love You
The higher the stakes, the greater the fall.
MacKenzie Rivers knows the kind of impact
death can have on those it leaves behind. She’s felt that grief
firsthand. So when Jaden, her crush and almost-boyfriend, loses his
parents in a car accident, MacKenzie steps back. It might not be the
right thing to do, but with an alcoholic mother and a father who deals
with their family problems by not dealing at all, self-preservation is
her only option.
Praise for Dare to Fall:
“A beautiful romance for readers who appreciate a character-driven novel.” –Kirkus
· Praise for Did I Mention I Love You:
“A solid romance with a tantalizing helping of forbidden love.” —Booklist on Did I Mention I Love You?
1
I’ve
never known why Monday gets all the credit for being the worst day of
the week. I disagree entirely. Sundays are. There’s just something so
quiet and still about Sundays that I’ve really grown to hate. Maybe it’s
because half the town goes to church in the mornings, while the other
half attempts to cook a pot roast before giving up and finally ordering
takeout. That tends to be the case in my family at least. Or maybe it’s
because half the people we go to school with are at home rushing to
finish all those assignments that have been left until the last minute,
while the other half spends the entire day in Dairy Queen because
there’s nowhere else to go. We belong to the latter half.
“Do you want another?”
I
didn’t realize I’d zoned out until now. Tearing my gaze up from the
table, I blink a couple of times at Holden while straightening up a
little from my slouched position in the booth. I didn’t even notice him
get up. “What?”
Holden
looks down at me and nods to the remainder of my iced coffee. There’s
only a small dribble left. “Do you want another?” he repeats.
“Oh,” I say. “No thanks. I’m good.”
As
he turns around and heads to the counter to order again for what must
be the fifth time tonight, I rub my hand over my face, remembering too
late that I’m wearing two thick layers of mascara. I curse under my
breath and grab my phone from the table, opening up my camera. My eyes
are now smudged and rimmed with black. I reach for a napkin and try my
best to clean up the mess I’ve made, but I only seem to make it worse.
Will
lets out a laugh, and I fire a heavy glare across the booth. He’s
chewing on the straw of his chocolate shake, but he quickly ducks when I
scrunch my napkin into a ball and hurl it at him.
“You’d think you were hungover,” he says as he sits back up, flicking his hair out of his eyes.
I can’t remember the last time he had a haircut, but he definitely needs one.
“I’m
just tired.” I breathe a sigh and turn my attention to the trash that’s
amassed on our table. I swear, all we do on Sundays is eat because
there’s nothing else to do in this town. There are at least half a dozen
empty cups, three of which are mine, and most of the food wrappers are
Holden’s. The ice-cream tubs are Will’s.
“Have
you noticed who’s here?” Will asks, lowering his voice. He tilts his
head down and leans over the table, subtly giving a pointed glance over
my shoulder. “I think this is the first time I’ve actually seen her
out.”
I shift in the booth and steal a quick glance behind me, and I spot her immediately: Danielle Hunter.
Over
in the booth right by the door, Danielle is sitting with her hands
wrapped around a cup, her black hair falling over her eyes. She’s with
three other girls, all of whom are engaged in conversation, but Danielle
is staring blankly at the table as though she is entirely tuned out of
her surroundings. As I study her from across the restaurant, a lump
forms in my throat. It’s a surprise to see her here. She rarely goes
out. No one ever sees Danielle Hunter anywhere other than school these
days.
“Well,”
I murmur as I turn back around to face Will. “That’s new.” I steal
another glance over my shoulder, feeling strangely unnerved by the sight
of her. I haven’t spoken to her in a long time, so I am praying she
doesn’t spot me, but I am intrigued by how alone she seems.
I
only turn my attention away from her when Holden returns to the table
with another burger, his third of the night, and slides back into the
booth next to me. The football team lost against Pine Creek yesterday,
so he’s in a sulky mood, disappointed with his performance, and Will and
I have agreed not to mention it.
“Last one, I swear,” Holden says as he takes a huge bite.
I shoot him a repulsed sideways glance.
“Sure it is,” Will says with an air of sarcasm.
I
think he likes to push Holden’s buttons sometimes, but it’s always
harmless, and I find it entertaining to watch. He leans back against the
window, closes his eyes, and angles his head away from us.
I
pick up my phone to check the time while Will snoozes and Holden
devours that gross burger of his. It’s just after nine thirty, and
pretty soon the manager will begin making her way around the booths to
kick everyone out so they can close up. I nudge Holden. “Let me out for a
second.”
With his burger still clenched tightly in his fist, Holden begrudgingly moves his legs aside just enough to let me slide out.
Sighing,
I gently whack his bicep. “And stop beating yourself up,” I tell him,
breaking the pact I made with Will. Football season has only just
started; I can’t put up with months of Holden being grouchy every time
the team loses a game. He gets temperamental every single season, but
he’s been even more so this year. He’s barely said two words to us all
night. “You’re playing Broomfield on Friday, right? You guys will win
that game for sure!” I reassure him as I squeeze past.
Holden shrugs his shoulders. Reluctantly he flashes me a small smile. “I guess we’ll see,” he says.
“I guess we’re still being monosyllabic,” I retort, rolling my eyes.
Will
heaves a sigh and opens one eye, though he doesn’t move an inch.
“Broomfield isn’t that great though, right? So maybe you’ll actually
catch a pass this time.” As he closes his eye again, he’s smirking.
Holden seizes the opportunity to throw his balled-up burger wrapper at Will, hitting him square in the forehead.
“Catch that, asshole,” he says, grinning.
Idiots.
I
leave the two of them goofing around and head to the restroom. The
closer it gets to ten o’clock, the more empty Dairy Queen becomes,
though there’re still some people from school hanging around. Once the
manager kicks us out, that’s it: there’s nowhere else to go other than
back home. I briefly give Jess Lopez a smile and a “hey” as I pass her
table, but she’s with some girls I don’t know all that well, so I don’t
stop to chat.
I
continue into the cramped restroom instead and lock myself in one of
three tiny stalls. While I’m there, I send my dad a quick text to let
him know I’ll be home within the next hour, resigned to the fact that
Sunday is almost over. I slip my phone into the pocket of my jeans as I
unlock the door and swing it open. My heart stops for a split second
when I glance up and there’s someone there, standing motionless in front
of the sinks. I hadn’t heard anyone come in, and the moment I realize
it’s Danielle Hunter, I freeze on the spot. Her back is to me, but in
the mirror’s reflection, her eyes meet mine.
I
haven’t said more than a few words to Danielle since last year. I’ve
barely seen her, and when I have, I’ve never known how to act or what to
say. So I just don’t say anything at all. What are you supposed to say
to someone who’s grieving the death of her parents? I don’t know. No one
does.
But
right now, I can’t just turn my eyes to the floor and keep on walking
like I would do otherwise. I’m suddenly aware of how small it is in
here, and she’s watching me with those blue eyes of hers. They are such a
stark contrast with her newly jet-black hair that it just doesn’t quite
look right. Her entire face is blank, emotionless. I swallow and shift
past her to the sink farthest away. I turn on the water, staring
robotically at my hands as it cascades over my skin. Do I say something?
I know I should, but I don’t know what and I don’t know how. My cheeks
feel hot from the pressure bearing down on me while I deliberate over
whether now is the right time to finally say something to Danielle
Hunter. I have always wanted to talk to her again but never could.
I
glance back up at Danielle in the mirror, only to find she’s still
staring at me. I am going to go for it. I am going to talk to her, and I
am going to do it right now before I overthink it. With as much courage
as I can muster, I force myself to look directly at Danielle. The smile
I plaster upon my lips is supposed to be normal and sincere, but I’m
trying too hard, and she knows it. “Hi, Dani,” I say. Saying her name
gives me goose bumps. “It’s really nice to see you out.”
Danielle
narrows her eyes at me, and I allow my smile to slowly collapse because
I know she can see the reality behind my expression. I’m looking at her
the way most people look at her: with pity. There is a hint of surprise
in her blue eyes that I’ve actually spoken to her, though she doesn’t
say anything in response. Her frown doesn’t so much as tremble as she
looks back to her reflection in the mirror, pressing her hands to the
edge of the sink.
Her
silence is worse than any other possible reaction because now I’m
unsure how to navigate the situation. I’ve done what I should have: I’ve
told her it’s nice to see her out. That’s what I’m supposed to tell
her, but she doesn’t seem to appreciate it. Her expression is so blank,
so empty, that it is impossible to read.
It’s
been a rough year for the Hunters, and the entire town of Windsor knows
this. I’ve witnessed how drastically Danielle has changed, how broken
she’s been, how big an impact her parents’ deaths have had on her. I
remember when her hair was triple its length, when it swayed down her
back in blond waves, when her cheeks were always flushed, when she was
known for having the loudest laugh in every single one of her classes.
She’s not the same girl she was a year ago, but who can blame her? No
one has forgotten the Hunter tragedy, and no one knows how to deal with
those left behind. Especially not me.
The
thing is, I haven’t just been avoiding Danielle for a year now. I’ve
been avoiding her brother too. Jaden, the second half of the Hunter
twins, who still smiles at me whenever he sees me. Jaden, who I’m not
brave enough to stop and talk to. Jaden, who I don’t know how to act
around anymore. Jaden, who I’m terrified has changed just as much as his
sister has. I can’t bring myself to be around either of them. I can’t
deal with the constant fear of saying the wrong thing. I can’t cope with
the effects such a devastating loss will have had on them. It’s not
that I don’t want to. God, I want to. But I just…can’t.
With
water dripping from my hands, I turn off the tap and quickly dry them
on my jeans. I try to look at Danielle again, though I can’t exactly
meet her eyes now. They look so much like Jaden’s. She is still quiet,
and the time has passed for her to reply, so I know I have to say
something else. I feel anxious at the thought of bringing him up, but I
gulp back that fear and quietly murmur, “How’s Jaden doing?”
I
don’t know how Jaden is doing because I have never asked even though I
know I should have. I am afraid the answer is anything other than “okay”
or “fine.” That’s why I am waiting with bated breath, my eyebrows
pinching together with sympathy.
Danielle
immediately tilts her head, and her bangs fall over her eyes. “Why do
you ask?” she responds quietly, and I’m taken aback at the defensive
tone to her voice. “It’s not like you care.”
I
stare back at her, stunned by her words. A year ago, Danielle and I
were friends. She used to joke that if Jaden and I ever got married,
we’d technically be sisters, and she had always wanted a sister. What I
never told her was that I had always wanted one too. “Dani…”
“Because
if you really did care,” she says slowly, turning fully toward me,
“then you would have asked that question a year ago when…” Her sentence
trails off, but I already know what she was going to say. She was going
to tell me that if I really cared, I would have asked how he was doing a
year ago when his parents were killed.
“Dani…”
I shake my head and take a step closer to her. The last thing I
expected to do tonight was confront Danielle Hunter in the Dairy Queen
restroom. “You know I care.”
“You
have a funny way of showing it, MacKenzie,” she says, her tone softer.
She turns back to the mirror and moves her bangs back out of her eyes,
then reaches for the door. However, she pauses and looks back at me over
her shoulder before she leaves, mumbling, “I’ll tell Jaden that you
asked.”
In
that moment, as I stare after Dani, her words left hovering in the air
around me, I feel like the smallest person in the world. I don’t know
why I am so surprised. It’s not as though I expected her to treat me the
way she used to because I don’t treat her the way I used to either. I
guess this is why I have been dreading this moment for so long. I knew
from the second I pushed the Hunters away that things would always be
different between us, but I had no choice.
I
don’t want Holden and Will to wonder where I am, so after a deep
breath, I leave the restroom and head back to our booth. I notice that
almost everyone has left, apart from us and Dani’s group, though they
seem to be getting up to leave. I nudge Holden as soon as I reach him,
urgently shoving him farther into the booth so I can slide back in next
to him. My face feels hot.
My discomfort must be evident because Will immediately sits up. “What’s up with you?” he asks.
“I
just spoke to Danielle,” I tell them, my voice a whisper. “It’s the
first time I have since…” I can’t say it out loud. I glance back and
forth between the two of them, trying to gauge their reactions.
Holden
frowns and moves away from me, leaning into the window and turning his
attention to the parking lot, whereas Will looks curious.
“You spoke to her?” he asks, clarifying that he did actually hear me correctly.
“I had to. She was right there.”
I prop my elbows on the table and throw my head into my hands, closing
my eyes and releasing a muffled groan. The last person I expected to
deal with tonight was Danielle Hunter, and I certainly didn’t want the
Dairy Queen restroom to be the time and place where I did speak to her
again for the first time. I wish I could have said something more or at
least something else. “She hates me. I can just tell,” I mumble against
my palms.
“Well,”
Will murmurs. His words are slow, his expression cautious, and I slowly
raise my head to look at him. “You can’t exactly expect her not to…
After all, it’s not like she knows why you cut her off.”
“That
isn’t helpful,” Holden cuts in, snapping his head around from the
window again. “Sure, she’s avoiding them, but everyone’s kind of been
avoiding them. It’s not like she’s doing it be cruel.” He glances
sideways at me, searching for confirmation. “Sometimes you just have to
do what you have to do. Right, Kenzie?”
I can only nod.
Before
either Holden or Will can say anything more, the manager pops up in
front of our booth out of nowhere, politely asking us if we can get a
move on because they want to start cleaning the place up before they
close in ten minutes. When I look around, I realize we’re the only ones
still here.
We
gather up our trash, then head outside to the parking lot where Will’s
bright red Jeep Renegade is waiting for us. He had it detailed this
morning, so the glossy paintwork shines underneath the streetlights, and
Holden is scowling as we stroll across the lot toward it. Will’s
parents are pretty rich, whereas Holden’s are in debt. They sold his car
last fall, so now he’s forced to rely on Will the same way I am. Mom
does let me borrow her car sometimes, but it’s not the same.
I
call shotgun and quickly clamber into the passenger seat, slamming the
door shut behind me before Holden can fight me over it. His scowl
deepens, so I stick my tongue out at him as Will slides into the
driver’s seat. I automatically reach for the climate control and turn up
the heat. Now that it’s September, the nights are beginning to grow
colder. Holden climbs into the back seat, but he is over six foot, so
even in this huge car, he still has to slump down a little. I always
find it hilarious the way his head touches the roof.
There’s
not much to do in Windsor on a Sunday at this time. Most places are
closed, and most people are at home. The nights are darker, colder.
There’s school in the morning. Work to go to. We go for a drive anyway, a
quick circle around the town, along the stores and fast-food joints on
Main Street and all the way out to the open fields at Windsor’s
outskirts, before Will asks if it’s okay if he takes us home.
He
drops me off first, just before eleven o’clock, and I tell them both
that I’ll see them in the morning when Will picks us up for school. They
don’t drive off as soon as I get out of the car, but instead wait until
I’ve pushed open my front door and given them my usual wave, then they
head off until I can’t hear the sound of Holden’s music anymore.
Instead,
I hear the sound of my parents. Dad’s voice mostly. They’re arguing in
that gentle, soft sort of way that they do when they aren’t mad, but
concerned, rather. A quiet disagreement, something that is all too
familiar in this house.
I
kick off my flats by the door and lock up, then pad my way down the
hall carpet and into the living room, where the NFL highlights from
tonight are rolling across the TV at a lowered volume. Mom’s sitting
bolt upright on the edge of the couch, her eyes sunken and tired, her
thin lips pressed firmly together. She’s in a tracksuit, hair clipped
back, makeup washed off—nothing new for this time on a Sunday. Dad’s
standing opposite her, on the far side of the room. The coffee table
between them bears an empty wineglass, a smear of lipstick on its rim. I
remember Mom pouring a glass of chardonnay before I left earlier, fresh
out of a new bottle. She promised it would be her first and last for
today. But she always says that, and Dad has the empty bottle in hand to
prove otherwise.
“Oh.
MacKenzie,” he says, exhaling. As though I haven’t already noticed the
bottle, he moves his hand behind his back, hiding it. He frowns. “I
didn’t hear you come in.”
I
give him a closed smile, but I don’t say anything because I’m more
focused on Mom. I take my height from my dad, but I take everything else
from her. We have the same deep brown eyes, the same high, hollowed
cheekbones, the same strong jawbone. “I’m going to bed, Mom,” I tell her
softly as I kneel down on the floor by her side, looking at her with a
gentle expression. She’s not drunk. No, not after one bottle, that’s not
enough now, but the ugly grimace on her face is one that only appears
after a couple of glasses. “Maybe you should too?” I suggest, reaching
for her hand.
Mom
stares at the floor, motionless for a moment, before she lifts her
heavy eyelids up to Dad, looking at him as though this is his fault, as
though it was him who opened the bottle in the first place. Then she
relaxes, heaves a sigh, and nods as her eyes meet mine.
I
reach for her hand and stand up, pulling her with me, our fingers
interlocked. Her hands are warm, and some of her nails are broken. She
doesn’t care enough these days to fix them. Dad watches me with
gratitude on his face, but his eyes tell a different story. They are
apologetic, almost guilty. I wave him away with my free hand and lead
Mom out of the living room and down the hall, into their bedroom. When I
flick on the light, I grit my teeth when I see the mess that greets me.
There’s a pile of fresh laundry that has been carelessly tipped onto
the floor and left there. The bed is still unmade from this morning, and
the drapes are closed as though they haven’t been opened all day.
Usually, I consider it a good day if this room sees sunlight.
Mom
sits down on the edge of the bed, but the watery smile of reassurance
she gives me does little to appease my irritation. “I’ve only had a few
glasses,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Your dad is overreacting.”
I
don’t think he is, and I don’t think it was only a few glasses either.
But I don’t tell her this, only grab loose clothes from the floor, fold
them back up, and put them away. Atop the dresser—next to the framed
photograph of Dad and me so many years ago, back when he still had hair
and I had no front teeth—is another wineglass. Empty, on its side,
abandoned from yesterday.
I
draw my lower lip between my teeth and tilt my head down, slowly
pushing the drawer closed. Mom’s back on her feet now as she shuffles
around their small room behind me, so I pick up the glass and turn
around to look at her, hiding it behind my back. Masking the
disappointment that tugs in my chest, I force a smile onto my face. “I’m
super tired, so I’ll talk to you in the morning,” I tell her. “Will’s
picking me up at seven thirty.”
Mom
doesn’t say anything else, but she does frown when she notices I’ve
stolen the wineglass from her dresser. Her lips twitch, and her eyes
narrow slightly, yet she goes on to pretend that she hasn’t noticed that
it’s gone. Instead, she slowly fluffs up her pillows, and I back out of
the room, pulling the door shut behind me, leaving her alone.
I
stand in the hall and hold the wineglass up to examine it. My grip
tightens so firmly around the glass that for a split second I think it
might just shatter into pieces, but Dad interrupts me before I get the
chance to squeeze any harder.
He’s
leaning against the frame of the living room door, his features ridden
with guilt as he says, “I can take that.” He straightens up and steps
toward me, placing his hand over mine as he pulls the glass free from my
rigid grip. The other glass, the one from the living room, is already
in his other.
Dad’s too young to be bald, and he’s also too young to have so many wrinkles. But he is bald, and he does
have that many wrinkles, and I hate that saddened look in his eyes that
appears every time there’s another glass to wash because it makes him
look even older still. He moves past me, making his way down the hall
and into the dark kitchen, and I stand there, waiting, listening for the
sound of the faucet.
As
the water runs, as Dad scrubs Mom’s lipstick from that wineglass, I
find myself looking at the hall table. There’s a framed photograph of
Mom and Dad on their wedding day, and there’s one of me on my first day
of kindergarten with horrendous pink scrunchies in my hair, and then
there’s the frame in the middle—the one that’s a light pink and never
gathers dust because Mom cleans it at least twice every day. Inside the
frame there are five pink letters, cursive and delicate. Those five
letters are all we have left of her, as simple as her name, our only
memory because we weren’t given the time to create any others.
Baby Grace, who we never got to meet, but who we will never forget.
Danielle
Hunter may think I don’t care about them, her and Jaden, but I do care,
probably more than most people do. The truth is, I’m scared to be
around them. I’m scared because I know the impact losing someone can
have. I know just how badly grief can affect someone. I know how much it
changes people.
I know because I’ve watched it change us too.
Hey! I'm Estelle Maskame and I write the DIMILY trilogy! I'm a total bookworm and YA addict, not to mention a hopeless romantic. I've always adored books and writing while growing up, and all throughout primary school I loved to write stories about talking dolphins and pirate ships. Admittedly, I've moved away from the eight-year-old fantasy genre and now focus on writing YA romance. I grew up in a small town called Peterhead in the North-east of Scotland, and I belong to a huge fishing family! My favourite things include books, hot chocolate (with cream and marshmallows, of course), road trips, new clothes, my best friends, and chicken nuggets. On another note, I absolutely hate terrible drivers, snow, the dentist, and people who wake me up before 10AM.
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(2) Copies of Dare to Fall
Runs December 4th– 31st (US & Canada only)
Runs December 4th– 31st (US & Canada only)
