“It’s just sauce,” I said. Mom used the sleeve of her blouse to wipe away chunks of tomato and specks of oregano. She searched my face for damage with her eyes and her fingertips. Then, finding none, she pushed away from me. She stood up and looked at the mess on the floor, on her clothes, on my face.

“Dammit, Delaney.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Get out of the way and clean yourself up.” Then she dropped to her knees again, this time inspecting the white tile grout for damage with shaking fingers.

* * *

Decker barely looked at me when he picked me up. He was still annoyed about the Carson thing. And Mom was busy putting the fear into him.

“There will be no drinking and driving. Not even a sip. Am I understood?”

We both nodded at the floor.

“And you will call if there is any trouble. Do I make myself clear? Delaney? Decker?”

We grunted together.

She looked at Decker. “You will bring her home safe.” And then at me. “Do not make me regret this.”

“Awkward,” Decker said when we were in the car. He still hadn’t really looked at me.

“No kidding.”

“My dad threatens to take away my car, but somehow your mom is scarier.”

“Rock, paper, scissors on the drinking?” I asked.

“It’s not fair for you. You always pick paper,” he said to the blackness in front of us.

“Do not.”

“Now it’s really not fair because I know you won’t pick paper this time. I’ll pick rock. I can’t lose.”

“I’m brain damaged, you know. That’s just cruel.” He still wasn’t looking at me, but at least he was smiling.

We drove a long loop around the outside of town where the roads were reasonably clear and infinitely safer. Decker cut back toward the center on the other side of the lake, near where we were headed the day I fell.

The lake house was owned by the Baxter family and rented out during summer months. It was deserted in the winter. No tourist wants to visit Maine in December. From the front, trees blocked the view of the lake, which was just fine by me. We pulled to the end of the unpaved road and parked on the grass. The gravel, looped driveway was already stacked bumper to bumper with SUVs. We took the rock steps down the hill to the front door and let ourselves in.

“Oh my God,” shouted an already incapacitated senior. “Look who came to a party!”

I curtsied for good show. Someone handed me a beer, and I batted my eyelashes at Decker.

Our group was sprawled across two couches, and they beckoned us over. Carson launched Kevin off his couch and used his foot to push him to the other sofa. I sat next to Carson in the only available seat. Decker stood off to the side.

A high-pitched shriek preceded Tara’s grand entrance. She skipped out of the kitchen and engulfed Decker in a hug, pressing herself into him.

“Decker! You made it!”

“Don’t get too excited. I’m just the designated driver,” he said, gesturing to where I sat on the couch.

“Oh, hi,” Tara said, not even bothering to fake a grin. She brushed her long brown hair back off her shoulders and looked at Decker. “Well, I’ll be in the kitchen if you get bored out here.” She slid her eyes to me, indicating what exactly she thought Decker might find boring. And then she pranced back out.

The group on the couches kept replaying every detail of my accident ad nauseum. Or, my fall, as they called it. Like I had just tripped and skinned my knee. Like I just stood back up and brushed dirt off my pants. Like it was an everyday occurrence. Decker must’ve gotten bored because he disappeared sometime during the third playback.

“And then Justin and Kevin tackled him!” Carson said.

“They didn’t tackle him,” Janna said. “If they’d done that, the ice would’ve broken.”

“Oh, excuse me. They held securely to his appendages and coerced him back to shore. Better?”

Justin and Kevin were smiling. This was their part of the story. Their moment. I wondered if I would’ve done the same thing for them. I liked to think I would have, but when it came to fight or flight, I had a feeling I was Team Flight.

I couldn’t stop looking at them. Kevin’s brown hair was buzzed short, and I found myself staring at the outline of his skull, wondering at the intricacies of his brain. I wondered what part of his brain made him brave.

I looked at Justin’s head, covered in tight brown curls, and wondered what made him not.

Fortunately or unfortunately, they were both stuck with the reputations they earned at a sixth-grade party. Becca Lowry, who moved away last year, had her twelfth birthday party at an indoor pool facility that was also used to train competitive divers. We spent the majority of the party in the diving tank, daring each other to jump off the ten-meter board.