Bungee jumping? Your activities have quite a range.
I tapped my fingers lightly on the keyboard, waiting for a fast response from Heath Hall like I’d gotten the other night, but was left with lots of white screen waiting to be filled with message bubbles. He couldn’t be online all the time. I shouldn’t have gotten on the computer the second I walked in the door anyway. I should’ve called Amelia and yelled at her for ditching me.
So I did.
“What took you so long?” she responded.
“I started asking Ms. Lin about the best artists she taught.”
“For the Heath Hall thing again?”
“Yes.”
“And did you find out anything?”
“Nope. She acted like she had some legal contract to keep names secret. Kind of like all the people who know who Heath Hall is and won’t say.”
“Well, don’t forget there are a bunch of people who just say whatever random name they think of too.”
“That’s probably part of his game.”
“True. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for you. I tried to text you that, but you must not have gotten it.”
“No, I got them. Too late. So your aunt is in town?”
“Yes, and my mom wanted me to come straight home after practice.”
“Aunt Faye?”
“The very one. It should be a fun week,” she said in a monotone voice. “Oh.” Her voice was back to its animated self. “Guess what I saw online just now?”
“That Heath Hall is going to bungee jump this weekend?”
“You saw that too?”
“Yes.”
“So are we going to witness another Heath Hall event?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I mean, what’s the point? I’m sure he’ll be wearing a mask again.”
“The point is that we have nothing better to do and it’s obvious that you really want to know who he is, despite what you’re saying.”
She was right. I did want to know. I’d been trying to deny it or write it off as curiosity, but it was more than that. “I’m worried it’s someone I actually know. For that second I thought it was Robert, I was terrified.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to be blindsided. Caught off guard. I don’t like secrets. At least not when other people are keeping them.”
“It’s your controlling nature.”
“I’m not controlling.”
She ignored my protest. “Maybe his mask will fall off as he’s flying through the air. Or maybe when he hits the water.”
“Hardly anyone hits the water off that bridge. Did you?”
“No.” Bungee jumping off Whitestone Bridge wasn’t anything new or special. Practically everyone I knew had done it. It was even professionally run by a company called Just Jump that swept in when it became popular. So I wasn’t sure why Heath Hall was making a point of doing it. He had given a speech at the museum about his reasons for displaying the painting. Sure it was a little, tiny, barely-worth-mentioning speech but maybe he’d do something similar before jumping.
“I really hope I can come. I will start wearing down my mom now, but with the swim meet all day and my aunt here, she’s probably going to want me home. She likes me as a buffer.”
“More like a hostage.”
“Exactly. I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up.
I heard my mom come in the garage door. She was midsentence and I figured she was on the phone but I went out to greet her anyway. She waved at me with one hand, her keys, hooked around one of those fingers, jingling as she did. Her other arm held groceries while her cell phone was precariously pushed against her ear by her raised shoulder. I grabbed the bag from her and her hand took over the job of holding the phone.
“So can we count on you for a donation, then?” She waited and I held my breath along with her. “That’s great,” she finally said. “I’ll send you the forms.” She hung up with a smile. “We’re almost fully funded.”
“That’s awesome. This is like record time.”
“Every time it gets easier. That’s the reward of experience.” She gave me a hug. “How was school?”
“Average.”
She smiled. “Are you already anticipating the end of swim season?”
“I’m going to be so bored when it’s over.”
She pulled on the ends of my hair. “Well, even if you don’t like the break, your hair likes it.”
“Thanks a lot.”
She laughed and started unloading the groceries, handing me a few items to put away as she went.
I ended up at the far counter, dumping a bag of rice into a canister that sat right beneath the keys to my brother’s truck. During the seven seconds it took to complete the task, I found myself staring at those keys. For a split second I imagined ripping them out of the box and hurling them against the wall. The thought surprised me. I pressed the lid back on the canister and turned my back to the keys.
“I got stuck at school today,” I breathed out.
“How?”
“Amelia couldn’t give me a ride home.”
“You should’ve called.”
“A friend . . .” I caught myself when I imagined how smug Jackson’s smile would be if he heard me say that. “Well . . . not really a friend but this guy I know gave me a ride home.”
“That was nice of him. Tell him thank you.”
What would be nice would be if I had a car. How come I couldn’t say that out loud? “I’m going to the charity dinner,” I said instead. It wasn’t a good instead. It was a bad instead. It was an instead that gave my mom what she wanted and expressed none of my frustration.
She clapped her hands and rose up on her toes. “Oh, I knew you would. I’m so happy.” She hugged me again. Her hair smelled like vanilla and lilacs. She pushed me out by my shoulders. “Your coach called about it and we had a long chat.”
“Coach called?” I guess DJ gave him the message about why I wanted to talk to him, after all. Thank you, DJ. I owed him a dollar.
“Yes, and I know he wanted us to be at the banquet, but he understands.”
“He does? He wasn’t mad?”
“Of course not. You’ll have so many award ceremonies in the future. Ones that don’t conflict with other important dates.”
She was right. I would. I nodded and then wandered off to my room while she hummed happily in the kitchen.
I clicked on my music, the sound immediately stilling my mind. My computer was open on my desk. I swiped my finger across the trackpad to wake it up and it dinged with a notification.
Heath Hall is a man of many talents, he’d written in response to my claim that his activities seemed to have a wide range.
I sat at my desk. I wouldn’t exactly call bungee jumping a talent.
Really?
Not even close. Now that painting, that was talent.
Well, good thing it’s not about showing off talents, then.
What is it about?
After a long pause that had me wondering if he was going to answer at all, he said, Facing fears. Expressing secrets. Discovering truth.
Expressing secrets? That seems to be the exact opposite of what you do.
True.
That answer was maddening. I thought back to the museum when he had said he’d always feared showing his art in public. That was a fear and now he was facing another one?
So what? You’re afraid of heights? Of falling?
This time he didn’t answer my question. He asked one. Do you have any fears?
The cursor blinked on the screen, over and over. It seemed to blink in time to the beat of the song playing over my speakers. Of course I had fears. Too many. Ones I didn’t want to think about. The song ended and silence filled my room. My chest constricted. When a new song started, I blew out a breath.
I can’t think of anything. Spiders?