Summer of Supernovas Read Free

undies!
    “Wil? What’s wrong? Why’d you—”
    “Don’t look up!” I shriek.
    “Why, what’s…” Silence. Blaring silence.
    I squeeze my eyes shut. “If you’re finished with your study of my backside, can we keep moving?”
    “I, uh…” Grant clears his throat, snapping his head down. “I don’t know how to answer that without being offensive. But thank you,” he says over the resuming creak of the ladder.

    “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Ever.”
    “No, I just mean”—he chuckles nervously—“for a second there I almost forgot my fear of—”
    CLUNK!
    “Grant!” Twisting my neck, I see he’s missed a rung completely and has slid down to the next. There’s a groan of rusted metal giving way. Part of the ladder is breaking. I scramble to close the space between us, to try to catch his flailing arm. “Grab my hand!” Knees slightly bent, I lean back. All my muscles quiver as I strain to reach him from above. “Grab it!”
    Shouts erupt. Sirens woot. The firemen jostle to position.
    Grant’s brown eyes are wide and terrified as his grip loosens. In sheer panic, he reaches out. His hand clamps around my ankle.
    I am not prepared for that.
    The bottom of my ballet flat slides, slipping effortlessly beneath me. Corrosion scrapes my palm. My knee gongs against the metal. I scream.
    And Grant is falling.
    Correction… we are falling.
    We sink like graceless stones through darkening sky. My yellow dress flaps—useless, broken wings at my sides. For a nanosecond, I wonder if I’m flashing the world my full moons. Butts aren’t meant to be seen moving at this velocity.

    Then it hits me. I could die!
    And here I am, traveling at the speed of ass, and I can’t form a single profound thought. Pray. Yeah, I should pray….
    Dear God, please don’t let me die. I promise to be a better person and be more efficient with my laundry and…and to never wear these devil’s panties again.
    “Aaameeennnnn!”
    Grant yells, too, but I doubt he’s bargaining with God over his choice in Skivvies.
    He touches down first with a muffled thud.
    My impact closely follows. “Uuuhhh!” The trampoline stings my skin; all the air is slapped from my lungs. I bounce and my head strikes something hard.
    I see stars. I blink to clear my vision.
    Faces hover in a frantic circle above, red lights streaking across them. Mouths are moving, but I don’t hear what they’re saying over the ocean in my ears. A fireman with a push-broom mustache is directly over me. He spittles when he talks. He needs a bigger mustache.
    If this is heaven, I want my money back.
    There’s a dip in the fabric as someone moves. His face appears inches from mine. Full lips, prominent straight nose, and those striking brown eyes all volley for my attention. Lush. If Webster gave me only one word to describe Grant’s features, that’s the one I’d pick. Did I notice that before? Yes. No. Maybe. My head is fuzzy. It’s made fuzzier by his concerned gaze. His lips compress in a tight line. I want to tell him not to worry. I’m alive. Honestly, I’ve never felt more so. And my heart is slamming so hard, I’m sure it registers on a Richter scale somewhere.

    “Wil?” My name tumbles from his lips; it is the only sound I hear. Like sound didn’t exist until this very moment. “Wil? Are you hurt?” He brushes back the hair at my cheek, inspecting my temple.
    The grin on my face feels crooked, like a picture frame you tap this way and that, impossible to level. “Grant…”
    He leans closer, eyes searching. I can smell the fabric softener and summer on him. His fingers continue to linger on my face. “Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”
    “I hear you, Grant…Parker.”
    His shoulders drop as he lets out a shaky laugh. “It’s Walker, actually.”
    “Whatever,” I mumble.
    The earth spins faster and faster, blurring the people and commotion around me. Dark clouds mushroom my vision, leaching color from the world.
    I must be