Tumble & Fall by Alexandra Coutts Read Free Book Online Page A

have no idea,” she says. “I guess my dad’s an optimist.”
    Owen slaps absently at a bug on the back of his neck. He checks his hand for evidence. “Not that it matters much anyway,” he says. “I mean, if this thing hits … I’ve got a bunch of buddies building some type of amphibious boat. If you ask me, they’re the only ones who stand a chance.”
    The word amphibious scrolls through Sienna’s head and she smiles, imagining a bunch of Owen-clones riding the back of a mechanical frog. She thinks about the rocket in the paper and wonders if she should bring it up, but just the idea of the asteroid makes her veins twitch, her pulse race uncontrollably. Casual conversation about a nuclear space explosion isn’t really an option, just yet.
    “I should get going,” Owen says. “My parents are all worked up about family nights these days; they made me promise I’d come straight home. We’ve been playing the same game of Monopoly for, like, weeks.”
    Sienna has a weird panicky feeling in her stomach, like she wants him to stay and go at the same time. For months, she only spoke to people who were paid to listen, or to the other kids in Group—kids who refused to talk at all, or were awkwardly learning the language of recovery. How to assess their symptoms, manage impulses, regulate nonproductive thoughts. Small talk wasn’t exactly on the agenda.
    “Try to make it tomorrow night,” Owen calls as he shuffles down the hill, careful not to trip on any of the gnarly hidden roots. “It was really nice seeing you again.”
    Sienna thinks about calling out a goodbye, but quickly decides against it. She waits until she can’t see him anymore and then takes off toward her house. The walk home feels shorter and she’s halfway to the door before she realizes she’s still smiling.

 
    DAY TWO

 
    CADEN
     
    There’s an electric throbbing that wakes him, an obnoxious grinding noise that might be inside his head. He opens one eye and waits for the room to make sense.
    It’s oddly shaped, with dormer windows and steep, sloping walls. The sheets on the bed are clean, white, with lace at the edges. Caden’s faded black Vans hang limply from his feet. He’s wearing most of his clothes.
    The mechanical whirring stops. A vacuum, or a blender maybe. Downstairs? Which would mean that he is upstairs. He doesn’t remember stairs of any kind.
    He remembers running. The car. The men. And then, quiet. Darkness.
    Caden sits up too fast. The pounding in his head feels familiar: the thickness of a hangover, but worse. Way worse.
    He walks to the window and pulls back the sheer ivory curtain. The house is on a bluff, jutting out over the ocean. If he presses his face against the screen he can follow the curves of a paved, narrow road. At the end of the road is a stoplight.
    There are no stoplights on the island.
    The light in the room is soft and there’s something strangely familiar about the color of the walls, a green so pale it’s almost white, and the dense, floral pattern on the bedspread. It’s like he’s dreamed of waking up in this room before.
    Or maybe he’s dreaming now.
    On the back of a chair by the door is his sweatshirt. He swipes it free and digs into the pocket for his phone. But all that’s left is a handful of sand.
    Caden swallows hard and looks back outside. He’s three stories up. There are a few sturdy-looking branches that might hold his weight. He tries to guess how quickly he could make it to the end of the road, the stoplight. The ground below is rocky and uneven. If he’s really dreaming, he’ll be fine. If not …
    The blender starts up again. There has to be an easier way out.
    He opens the door and peers down a long, quiet hall. He scans the walls for photographs or other clues, but there’s nothing but kitschy watercolors of boats, and hand-painted signs with feel-good quotes like “You and Me, By the Sea” and “It’s Never Too Late to Live Happily Ever After.”
    His head is