Falling Under by Danielle Younge-Ullman Read Free Book Online

feel like you’re dying.
    You’re dying, or something else, something terrible, is going to happen. Mom and Dad’s heads are going to ex- plode, the house will be struck by lightning, the Russians will come in their fast planes and drop bombs, and none of you will make it to the basement because the yelling is so loud that you don’t hear the warning sirens. Or they will burst in the door and find you and send all of you together to Siberia where there are no toilets and long lineups for moldy
    bread, and you will be stuck in a small room with Mom and Dad forever.
    You would prefer Siberia alone. You might prefer Siberia period.
    The shouting continues. It is about nothing.
    You stare down at the floor, afraid to see Grandma and Grandpa’s faces. They never yell. After this they will proba- bly never come back. Maybe when they go, you could go with them. Ha. Fat chance.
    “Stop this right now!”
    Everything stops. Everyone stares at Grandpa. “That is enough,” he adds. “It’s a disgrace.”
    “Mara, dear,” Grandma says, “why don’t you go up to your room?”
    After that, Mom and Dad stop screaming. At least, they stop screaming out loud. Mom tries to smile when Dad comes to the house, only she looks like she wants to bite someone. Dad smiles back. On the weekends he says, “And how’s your mother?”
    “Fine,” you say.
    “Oh, well,” he says, “that’s good.”
    It’s almost funny. And they must think you’re stupid, be- cause they think you can’t see them both, still screaming. They think you’re still five years old, waiting for Santa Claus, but you are not.You know all about life and the things people really think and do.
    6
    “You don’t drink,” Hugo says on this-is-not-a-date num- ber five.
    “You’re observant,” I say. “And you’re sarcastic.” “Touché.”
    “So? Answer the question.” “You didn’t ask one.”
    “You’re funny.” He laughs. “Why don’t you drink?”
    Here we go, getting personal. Ugh. But he’s looking at me with those smart, sweet eyes and I can’t dodge everything forever.
    “You’re wondering if I’m, perhaps, an alcoholic?”
    “Or religiously opposed, or allergic, just don’t like it? I’m wondering, that’s all.”
    “All right,” I say. “I could, at any moment, descend into soul-crushing, mind-numbing, self-pitying depression.”
    “Ah.”
    “Plus, I made a deal.” “That you wouldn’t drink?” “Yep.”
    “Who’d you ... ?” “My patron, Sal.”
    Hugo’s eyes get wide and one side of his mouth twists up into a smile.
    “You’re kidding,” he says. “You have a patron? Isn’t that sort of medieval?”
    “More Renaissance, actually, but no, I’m not kidding. When we started working together, I was a bit of a wreck. Sal made sobriety part of our deal because he knows I can get.. .”
    “Depressed?” “Yeah.”
    “And is that what you’re afraid of, Mara? With me, I mean?”
    I meet his gaze. “Did I say I was afraid?” “Only a hundred different ways,” he says. So much for my brave face.
    “I think it’s kind of normal,” he says. “Being afraid?”
    “Yeah. Everybody’s afraid of something. People don’t get to this point in their lives without some baggage, right?”
    “I guess not,” I say.
    “And hey,” he says and grins, “given the state of things, we should all be depressed.”
    “You think?”
    “Oh yeah. The world’s a mess. We’ve got religious fanat- ics, poverty, human rights abuses, global warming, poisoned water, bullshit advertising, mad cow disease.. .”
    “All right, all right!”
    “Assassinations, kidnappings, polarization of left and right, discrimination, tsunamis, genocide, cell phones, bad wages for strippers.. .”
    I’m shaking my head, but somehow also laughing. And he continues.
    “Genetically modified broccoli, un-muzzled pit bulls, smog, the breakdown of family, puppy mills, gridlock, iden- tity theft, loss of privacy, the Asian longhorned beetle