Where We Fell by Amber L. Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

end.
                “I could possibly get straight A’s this
semester. If she ends up drunkenly falling down a ravine.”
                She looks amazing, even pixilated and
distracted by other things on her screen, while we talk ‘face–to–face’ over our
laptops. Her hair has grown out even more, and I can see where her blonde roots
are creating a colorless line down her part when she looks down at her lap or
dips her head to scratch her neck every once in a while. I haven’t admitted it,
but I think I like her better with dark hair. Maybe because that’s how she
looked when I began to fall for her.
                I’d gone and retrieved my old yearbook
out of the back of my closet for the sole purpose of looking at her senior
picture. Her hair was parted directly down the middle, corn silk blonde, and
curled down to her waist. It was such an odd thing to see her like that. When
I’d visited her house, most of the pictures of her there were from when she was
very little. No large prints of her in later years. Looking at this blonde girl
with wide hazel eyes made me feel like I didn’t know her at all.
                Still, I keep the page earmarked so her
image is readily available.
                “I should dye it again,” Hannah says one
night as we’re talking about absolutely nothing at all.
                “I like it dark.”
                “Hmm. Maybe.”
                Coco is knocking around in the living
room and it makes Hannah roll her eyes in frustration. She looks back to me
through the screen with a glint in her eye. “Tell me something.”
                “Tell you what?”
                “Anything.”
                I consider telling her that my doctors
have a very good feeling about my next appointment. I think about letting her
know that the last time I had an appointment, they said my tumors had gotten
smaller. That they’re incredibly optimistic that the word ‘remission’ is in my
future and that they said I could start preparing to run again, as much as I
could handle. Which I have by slowly jogging for the past week or so. But I
don’t want to get her hopes up. Or mine. Yet, if they do give me the
news that I’m in remission, I’ve planned to drive to see her that very day to
tell her myself.
    She’ll also be excited to know that I’ve given up
bacon.
    But only because my doctor kinda suggested a more
vegetarian diet for my recovery.
    I don’t want her getting a big head
about it.
                “Huh. Let’s see.” I wrack my brain for
something to talk about that we haven’t said before. Being apart from her and
relying solely on technology to bridge the gap between us has been harder than
I thought it would be.
    I want to touch her.
    A laugh escapes my mouth before I can stop myself,
and immediately I have her unwavering attention.
                “What?”
                “It’s nothing.” My room suddenly feels
small. And warm. The blue t-shirt I have on is clinging to my chest in a
suffocating manner.
                Hannah, in pajama pants and a tank top,
with her hair piled up high on her head, glares at me through the screen. “It’s
not ‘nothing’ if you’re turning the color of my least favorite pepper. What?”
                Reaching around to the back of my neck,
I feel my skin flush hot and I laugh again. “Did I ever tell you that, before
my first chemo, they suggested that I . . .
Uh . . .”
                She quirks a brow and leans in closer.
“They suggested you, what?”
                “Umm. They made me give a sample at the
hospital. For safekeeping. Like. For the future.” I can’t meet her eyes, so I
look away at my bedroom door, hoping to God that this isn’t the moment my mom
decides she wants to bring in my laundry or something.
                “A