Free Falling From the Sky by Nikki Godwin

coolers.
    “There’s a little disaster in everything,” Tuck says before blowing another smoke cloud. “There’s so much I want to see. A life that wasn’t shattered, a ship that didn’t sink, a bullet that wasn’t fired, a–”
    “A plane that didn’t crash.” I should apologize for interrupting, but I don’t.
    It’s true. That’s the one thing I wish I could see. I didn’t actually see it crash, but I’ve pictured it in my head enough to convince myself that I was there when my dad fell from the sky and went up in flames. In the rainforest, of all places, the fucking rainforest. But there wasn’t enough rain to put out those flames or keep those passengers from burning or to keep my dad alive. And now that song from the shoe store comes back through my mind. I don’t know what I would do if I was falling from the sky.
    Micah and Tuck stare at me, the same stare I get at school when I stop to pray for an airplane. Tuck’s face is surprisingly sympathetic, like he understands.
    “I lost my cousin,” he says. “Justin, he was the first running back on Damien’s football team. He was killed just before our senior year.”
    “My dad…plane crash. A year ago,” I say.
    That’s all I can say. I really hate talking about it.
    “I’m sorry,” Tuck says.
    I look over at him. “Me too.”
    He’s right, though, about a little disaster being in everything. We have to just live among the wreckage. I think some people just got the short straw and have more disaster than others. I got my disaster plus Micah’s. He hasn’t said anything, but I can’t see him having any disaster. He’s too happy, too carefree. Maybe he’s naïve. But turmoil isn’t a piece of him. And that’s a good reason to stick with him this summer, even if he doesn’t get it.
    “I think the shipwreck will be cool,” I say to change the subject.
    The disaster part of it will even be cool, kind of like Titanic without all of Mom’s crying. Just the disaster, the action – the cool stuff.
    “Yeah,” Tuck says. “Pax is working on a shark design, and Damien is working on the treasure chest and skeleton. It’ll be hardcore. You going to the Pecan Grove Festival? You’ll see the finished product there.”
    “We’re going,” Micah answers for me.
    The festival must match up with a horse. I can’t figure out which one in my head, though. But I’d have never placed the royal horse with the Graffiti Kings either.
    “Good,” Tuck says. He looks back over his shoulder to see how things are coming along. Pax has more paint on himself than the walls, and the shark is beginning to look like it’s half-eaten rather than about to be eating. “You guys can hang around if you want. I’m going to go fix the shark attack over there.”
     
    The air conditioner in Micah’s truck feels awesome. I really want to change out of this shirt. It sticks to my back, and I feel as gross as I do when I leave basketball practice. If nothing else, at least I’m not as sore today. I readjust the vents even though Micah has the A/C on full blast. The radio is off, so silence lingers around us.
    “I’m sorry about your dad,” Micah finally says.
    I know what comes next. He’ll give me the ‘if you need to talk’ speech. He’ll say how he’s here for me and a great listener, and it’s better to get those emotions out than to hold it all inside until you break. Because you will break. It’ll eat you alive. Don’t let yourself bottle up those feelings. C’mon, Micah. Say it. I’ve heard it all before.
    “I don’t know what that’s like,” he says instead. “I’ll save you the lectures. I know you’ve heard it enough. But I’m here if you need me…for whatever.”
    “Thanks,” I say. What I need right now is a shower, but I don’t tell Micah that.
    We arrive back at the mall. Micah pulls up next to my car, his driver’s side facing mine. He rolls his window down and rests his arm on the sill, his chin planted on his arm. He