Free The Falls by Eric Walters Page B

He
hates
him. What’s that all about?” Candice asked.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œMaybe you could ask your father.”
    â€œCan’t.”
    â€œDoesn’t he live with you?” she asked.
    â€œHe doesn’t live with anybody. He’s dead.”
    â€œI didn’t know . . . I’m so sorry.”
    I took a slug from the bottle. “That’s okay. It was a long time ago. I was little.”
    â€œHow old were you?” she asked.
    â€œThree . . . almost four.”
    â€œThat’s terrible. Do you even remember him?”
    I shook my head. How could you remember somebody you’d hardly ever met? I stood up and tipped back the bottle, draining it.
    â€œMy father mentioned that your mother was pretty young when she had you,” Candice said. “Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like your father.”
    â€œMaybe. She just turned seventeen on the day I was born. We have the same birthday.”
    â€œWow, that is young.”
    â€œIt is,” I agreed.
    â€œBut if your father and my father went to school at the same time, then your mother couldn’t have been that much older when you were born.”
    â€œShe was in her twenties,” Candice said.
    â€œAre you sure?”
    Candice nodded her head. “She’s thirty-five now so if you subtract my age that would mean that she was . . . she was twenty-two or twenty-three when I was born.”
    â€œThat can’t be right. If she’s thirty-five now and she was twenty-three when you were born, then that would make you—”
    â€œI’ll be thirteen in two weeks.”
    I felt like somebody had just kicked me in the head. “You’ll be what?”
    â€œI’ll be thirteen on July twenty-fourth.”
    â€œYou’re twelve years old?” I gasped. No wonder her father was mad at me—if she was my daughter, I wouldhave been out there with a baseball bat too! She was just a kid!
    â€œMost people think I look older,” Candice said. “Do you think I look older?”
    â€œYeah, of course!” I exclaimed. If I’d known she was twelve there was no way I’d have been out there in the woods all snuggled up to her and thinking about . . . I jumped to my feet.
    â€œI thought you were fifteen, or at least fourteen . . . honestly!” I stammered. “I had no idea you were twelve!”
    â€œReally I’m thirteen, almost, and people tell me I look older than fifteen. Last month when I was out at a restaurant and the waitress thought I was old enough to drink . . . isn’t that funny?”
    â€œYeah, funny.” I looked at the beer in her hand. “You shouldn’t be drinking!” I grabbed the bottle.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she demanded as she jumped to her feet.
    â€œYou’re only twelve! You shouldn’t be drinking!”
    â€œI’ve been drinking for a long time!” she exclaimed. “Over two months!” She reached for the bottle and I pulled it away so she couldn’t get it.
    â€œGive me back my beer!”
    â€œYou can’t have it!” I turned around and tossed the beer into the trees. I heard the bottle smash.
    â€œWhat are you, some sort of psycho?” she demanded. “That was my beer!”
    â€œIt was my beer, and you shouldn’t have had any of it! Go!” I shouted. “Go back to the clearing, now!”
    â€œYou can’t order me around!” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips.
    â€œFine . . . stay here if you want, but I’m leaving.” I started walking away in the opposite direction from the clearing.
    â€œWhere are you going?” she yelled.
    I turned around. “Can you find your way back to the clearing?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThen you’d better do that.” I turned and started to walk away again. She kept yelling at me. I didn’t turn. I didn’t