Free Fear of Falling by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

again.
    Dad’s shoulders slump, and he looks tired. “You have to believe me, David. I know I messed up.” He looks at me, silently pleading for me to understand.
    I don’t say a word.
    â€œI have been trying to get a new job in Philly,” he admits, “but it is so I can be closer to you and Ashley and Brian. That’s why I was asking Isaac Jackson for help. He might have a lead on a good job—”
    â€œYeah, right.”
    â€œIt’s true!” he insists. “Listen, there are a lot of other places I could look for work—and places where I could probably make more money. But I don’t want a job anywhere else. I know that now.”
    I stare at him through narrow eyes.
    â€œI miss you, David. I miss my family, more than I ever could have imagined. But…” He jams his hands into his pockets and rocks on his feet. “I know it’s going to take time before you trust me again.”
    â€œHorse-time,” I interject.
    â€œNot that long, I hope!” Dad jokes lamely.
    I don’t even crack a smile.
    â€œDavid, please—hear me out!” He gazes down at my face, begging me to listen. “I love you, son,” he says hoarsely. “I love all of you. It’s just that…” He runs a shaky hand through his thick blond hair. “Lately everything has been kind of confusing.”
    â€œTell me about it,” I retort. “Couldn’t be as confusing as it is for Ashley.”
    Dad winces. “OK, I deserve that. But David, try to understand—”
    Enough of his weaseling excuses. I cut him off. “No, thanks. I’m not really interested anymore.” I turn around and this time I’m really going.
    â€œDavid!” Dad calls after me. “We’ll talk some more…tomorrow. After you calm down.”
    I whirl around. “Forget it, Dad! Don’t even bother to come. We don’t want you at our Thanksgiving dinner—because you’re the last thing we’re thankful for this year.”

Chapter Ten
    I run up the driveway and grab my bike from the garage. Hopping on, I pedal furiously toward the stables. My bruised body feels every tiny bump in the road, but I don’t care. Nothing hurts as badly as the way I feel inside.
    I pedal harder and reach Quinn’s in record time. Tossing my bike down on the gravel, I head for Comet’s stall. I realize I forgot my new riding helmet, but I don’t even want it now. I’ll just wear my bike helmet.
    I don’t need Dad to teach me how to jump. I don’t need Dad for anything. I don’t need that fancy new helmet, and I especially don’t need his show-off horse—a horse he bought with money he should have sent to Mom.
    Mr. Quinn doesn’t seem to be around, but he’s told me I can ride Comet on my own. I brush and saddle her, breathing in her comforting horsey smell. Then I fling myself onto her back and take off.
    Comet doesn’t question or judge me, just goes willingly where I ask. Instead of turning into the ring, I ride away from the barn, past Mr. Quinn’s big stone house, past the duck pond, and along the edge of a green pasture until I pick up a trail. Comet seems glad to be out of her stall, and once she’s warmed up I let her stretch out and run. It must be great to be a horse and just run because it feels good, instead of being driven by fear and anger.
    We gallop and gallop along the edges of fields and up a big hill. Comet breaks a sweat and I can feel her sides heaving, but she doesn’t slow down. I lean low over her neck and feel myself become part of her rhythm.
    Gradually my anger burns off, and the wind in my face seems to blow away some of the pain. Finally, as it starts getting dark, I turn back to the stables.
    I take Comet through the jumping arena on our way to the barn. The white stripes on the jumps seem to glow as the world shifts from color to shades of gray. The whole