Free The Falls by Eric Walters Page A

goodness she smiled.
    â€œHey,” I said. So much for a brilliant opening line.
    â€œHey.”
    â€œI didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” I said.
    â€œMe neither . . . I mean, I didn’t know you were going to be here, but I knew I was going to be here . . . at least, I didn’t know right away but later on . . . you know what I mean.”
    I nodded. Somehow her being nervous made me feel less nervous.
    â€œDo you want another beer?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t think there are any left.”
    â€œYou have to know where to look. Come on and I’ll show you.”
    She said something to her friend, who giggled, and then she got up. She followed me as I circled back around the fire. Now I wasn’t imagining it—everybody
was
looking at us as we walked. I stopped at the top of the path leading away.
    â€œIt’s this way,” I said, and started down the path. She followed.
    â€œIt’s dark,” she said. “I can’t really see where I’m going.”
    â€œHere.” Without thinking I reached back and took her hand . . . wow, that was smooth. Maybe that was the secret: don’t think. That would explain why Timmy did so well . . . he never thought about anything.
    â€œI know where I’m going,” I said.
    â€œIs it far?” Candice asked.
    â€œNot far.”
    The path got narrower and I had to walk in front. I still held on to her hand, pulling her along behind me. Was my hand getting sweaty? Maybe she’d think it was her hand.
    I stopped in front of the little creek. It wasn’t very big— a few little drops that accumulated as it trickled through the forest before plunging down to the river below.
    â€œWhy don’t you have a seat?” I said, gesturing to a rock. Candice sat down while I knelt and began fishing around in the water. It was cold . . . refreshing. Timmy
had
put the bottles in here, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t have been just screwing around with my head . . . that would be so embarrassing. My hand knocked against one of the bottles—right where it should be—and then a second one.
    â€œHere we go, Candice,” I said as I stood up, brandishing the bottles. I put one down by my feet, twisted the top off the second—a gentleman always took the cap off—and handed it to Candice.
    â€œThanks,” she said. “But you can call me Candy if you want . . . all my friends do.”
    â€œSure . . . okay . . . Candy.” That sounded good. I had a sweet tooth and liked Candy.
    I grabbed the second, twisted off the cap, and sat down beside her. The rock wasn’t very big so I was pressed rightup against her. I took a swig of beer to lubricate my throat so I could talk. Cold beer certainly was better than warm.
    â€œI went by your place on the way here,” I said.
    â€œYou didn’t call on me, did you?” she asked anxiously.
    â€œNah,” I said, shaking my head. “I figured you’d probably be gone by the time I got there. Besides, I didn’t think your father would be that happy to see me.”
    â€œYou’ve got that right, but don’t take it personally. He doesn’t like any boys calling on me. He says all boys are jerks.”
    â€œAnd most men,” I added. “But don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”
    â€œIt’s funny, though,” she said. “He
really
doesn’t like you.”
    My stomach did a flip. “I guess you heard what happened.”
    â€œI
saw
what happened.”
    Whatever chance I had of getting with her was now gone. Maybe it would be better to just get up and leave.
    â€œI told him that I thought you were a nice guy,” Candice said.
    â€œI
am
a nice guy,” I agreed, suddenly feeling better. “It’s just that he really doesn’t know me.”
    â€œBut he does know your father.