This Is Falling by Ginger Scott

Text copyright © 2014 Ginger Scott (Ginger Eiden)

Smashwords Edition

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.

Ginger Scott

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For Mom.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Sneak Peek Into Ty’s Story

Acknowledgements

About The Author

Chapter 1

Rowe

I was feeling brave when I picked McConnell. It was one of those afternoons where everything was suffocating me, and the college packet was just staring me in the face.

Two years of being homeschooled by a woman who taught economics at the state university would prepare anyone for a stellar performance on their SATs. The test was actually easy. I finished quickly and didn’t even spend time checking answers like all of the prep books told me to do. I turned in my booklet to the campus proctor and got the hell out of the testing room. Three weeks later, it showed up in the mail—a 2390, near perfect. That meant scholarships. And scholarships meant options.

For months, I fought the idea of going away to school. I’m not ready to be out, to be on my own. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. Two years of homeschooling also left me a little out of practice when it comes to social interaction. And college is all about social interaction.

My parents were pushing me. I don’t think they thought I’d call their bluff and pick a school a thousand miles away. But I was hoping they’d call mine when I slid the McConnell acceptance across the table to them.

They didn’t. My dad smiled and looked at my mother, both of them breathing deeply, ready to take this step. I wasn’t. I’m still not. I’m not even remotely close to ready. But I want to be. I’m desperate to be ready. I’ve spent the last seven hundred days of my life seeing everyone else live from my self-imposed bubble. My biggest romance was watching some couple fall in love on a reality TV show, and the only prom I attended was in a movie. It’s like I’m caught in an internal tug-of-war with myself—my heart begging to beat from thrill, but caged by fear.

But somehow I’ve gotten myself this far—a map in my hands leading to my room at Hayden Hall on the McConnell campus. My parents made it a road trip. It takes fifteen hours to drive from Arizona to Oklahoma, and my dad powered through the entire trip—I think worried that I would back out if he stopped. I thought about it. I almost broke down at a gas station in New Mexico, bawling my eyes out in a Texaco bathroom. But as badly as I didn’t want to leave the safety of home, I was more afraid of what would happen to me if I stayed.

It’s clear I was dying there. Well, maybe not dying, but certainly not living. I was crossing off days on my calendar, putting one foot in front of the next, living a routine and getting to the next. How could I? My mind was swarmed with guilt that made living impossible.

Now, standing here, my hand gripping the handle of my giant roller trunk and my parents hauling suitcases behind me, I’m not so sure I chose right.

“Rowe—are we almost there, honey? I think I’ve lost a gallon of sweat. This humidity is brutal,” my mom says, fanning her face with one of the programs they handed out during orientation.

Being from Arizona, I thought the heat would be bearable, but I guess I’d never felt real humidity. My tank top was plastered to my back with sweat, and in front of me, my father’s T-shirt was doing the same to his skin. I’d be embarrassed, but everyone on campus looked exactly the same—like we were all trying to win a game of Survivor.

I finally see the marker for Hayden Hall on the walkway and turn to smile at my mom, nodding my head toward it.

“Thank God!” she says, a bit melodramatically. I let it roll off me. In less than an hour, I know Tom and Karen Stanton will be long gone—and I will be completely alone. So as mental as my mother has made me for the last two years, I hang on to every last drop of her personality, terrified of how I’ll manage when she’s actually gone.

We take a small elevator up two stories and find my room at the end of the hall to the right. Three thirty-three—I remember thinking it felt lucky when I got my boarding placement package in the mail. Lucky. I feel so far from lucky now.

The door is open, and I can see that two of the three beds have already been claimed. The only one left is closest to the door—obviously my last choice, and my mom can see the anxiety attacking my face.

“Maybe you can move the beds, move yours more to the corner,” she says, giving my shoulder a small squeeze and sliding one of the suitcases next to what will be my bed for the next eight and a half months.

All I can do is nod. My dad is sliding the rest of my belongings into the room and lifting the case to my bed so I can start unpacking. I brought everything I own with me. I think somehow I thought surrounding myself with my stuff would make this place feel more like home, and maybe I could just tough it out in my bubble and not have to venture from my room much.

“I haven’t met her yet. God, I hope she’s not a total bitch or something!” one of two blondes says as they enter our room. My mom coughs a little to get their attention, and when they look up, one of them is embarrassed—unfortunately, not the one who wished publicly for me not to be a bitch.

“Oh, good. You’re here!” the confident one says, walking over to me with her hand outstretched, almost like she’s welcoming me into her home. This is not going to be good; I can tell.

“Hi, I’m Rowe,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. I don’t talk often, so sometimes it takes me a while to warm up my vocal cords, but I know I was loud enough for her to hear, which makes her reaction that much more offensive.

“I’m sorry…did you say Rose?” she says loudly, her face all bunched, like I just fed her stale broccoli. Everything about her is harsh and abrasive.

“Rowe,” I repeat, and she just continues to stare. “Like…like a boat?” I actually start paddling in the air.

“Ohhhhh. Cute,” she says, turning her attention to her bed, which is layered with piles of clothes. “I’m Paige. And that’s Cassidy.”

“Cass,” the other one pipes in, shaking her head with her lips tight and gesturing toward Paige. I think she’s telling me not to take her personally. Not a problem, I’ve already filed her and this room into the how-fast-can-I-get-out-of-here category. “I like to be called Cass. And Paige and I are glad to meet you.”

Paige isn’t even listening to our conversation anymore, already more interested in whoever just sent her a text on her phone. I’m in a freshman dorm, but nothing about Paige says freshman. Her body is tall and curves in all of the right places, and her skin is a warm bronze, like I’d imagine a lifeguard in Florida looks. Her blonde hair is long and layered, and every strand sits in the perfect place, like a golden frame around her crystal blue eyes.

Cass is blonde, too, but she seems more like a real person. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and I can tell she had light makeup on at one point today, but the humidity has worn most of it away.

It’s clear my role here will be the oddball, the one who doesn’t fit. Honestly, that’s what I expected. Two years ago, I was doomed to never fit in again—like a wounded superhero tattooed by kryptonite. And standing here, no makeup, brown eyes, a plain shirt and denim shorts, my walnut-colored hair twisted in a bun, still crunchy from my shower almost a full day ago, only makes the differences between me and everyone else that much clearer.

“Paige and I both got here yesterday. We sort of picked beds; I hope that’s okay?” Cass says, sitting down on her mattress, which thankfully is the one closest to mine.

“It’s fine. I’m good with whatever,” I say, knowing my mom will be happy to hear me going with the flow. Internally, I make a note to check with the front desk the second my parents leave, hoping like hell there’s a bed open somewhere on this campus that isn’t steps from the door.

After an hour of unpacking and small talk with Cass, my parents finally leave. I couldn’t mask the tears building up in my eyes when my mom hugged me goodbye, and my dad only waved from the door, knowing he’s the weaker of the two of them and that he’d cave in if I asked him to take me home.

Disappointment only continued when the front-desk girl told me every room on campus was full. She told me to check back after rush week because a lot of students end up moving into the Greek dorms. But that would be a month from now. A month—I could survive a month. Couldn’t I?

Paige disappeared almost the minute I met her, which was a relief. I’d have to work my way up to her personality. Thankfully, Cass had a lot of unpacking of her own to do, so I’ve spent the rest of the late afternoon with my ear buds pressed into my ears and my music turned up loud enough to drown everything else out.

I could probably find a way to keep myself busy with my clothes and music and silly pictures for the rest of the night, but Cass is waving her hands animatedly, pointing to her ears and mouthing her lips to get my attention, so I finally relent and put my headphones away. “Sorry, I had it up kind of loud.”

“Yeah, I could tell. You have good taste in music, by the way.” I like Cass. Her smile is genuine, and she reminds me of the friends I used to have at Hallman High. Plus, she recognizes things like the greatness that is Jack White and Broken Bells. I bet Paige is more of the Katy Perry sort.

“Thanks.” I don’t know how to carry on a conversation, so my eyes dart around her things, looking for something to reciprocate the compliment. “Your quilt is pretty.”

It’s possibly the most ordinary quilt on earth. It’s gray and there’s a tag on it, so it’s not even homemade. The second I say it, I feel ridiculous, but the way Cass smiles and laughs doesn’t make me feel stupid or small, so I join her. For the first time in two years, I feel like a teenager again—the normal kind that doesn’t wake up with nightmares and hear screaming in her dreams.

I notice things most people don’t, like that Cass is wearing a purple shirt with a V-neck cut and white shorts that cuff on the bottom. Her toenails are blue, slightly chipped, and she has a rope anklet on her right foot with a few dark-blue beads. I’ve been this way since the day my world came crashing down. It’s like I’m trying to make up for failing to notice things when it counted most.

“You like it?” It takes me a minute or two to follow what Cass is talking about, but I eventually realize she caught me staring at her anklet.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just looking at the beads. They’re beautiful,” I say, hoping that Cass’s mind isn’t mulling over the idea that I might have a foot fetish or something.

“Thanks. My mom owns a bead store, so I make a ton of things like this. I could make you one, if you want?”

To her, the gesture is probably small and insignificant. But I smile and nod at her offer, and my stomach flutters a little with excitement, first-date kind of butterflies. Somehow, I may have done the impossible. Somehow, I proved myself wrong. Somehow…I made a friend.

Chapter 2

Rowe

This late at night, the bathrooms are dark, minus a few panels left on so students can find their way in and out. It’s all part of cutting down on energy use—being green. There are suggested hours, but I’d rather be alone. The hallway lights are dim, but bright enough I can see if I use the stall closest to the door. This is the part that worried me most—showering in public. Most of the girls will probably shower in the morning, though, so I plan on taking mine late at night—in the dark.

Cass and Paige went out for the evening. Cass tried to get me to join them, but I convinced her I was exhausted from our trip. Not everyone is on campus yet, but a lot of the freshmen have arrived, and there are a few parties at the apartments on the outskirts of town. I’m not ready for parties.

The water doesn’t take long to warm, so after looking around the room once more, and peeking out the door, I decide it’s safe enough to undress. There are a lot of showerheads in the open, and I can’t imagine being comfortable enough in my own skin to actually walk around naked. Even if my side wasn’t riddled with scars, I don’t think I would be the kind of woman who could show everyone her goods and bits.

I stack my clothes carefully on the small bench right outside the shower stall and step inside, pulling the curtain closed behind me. My heart is racing so fast I have to remind myself to breathe—long and deep—just to slow it down. I miss my shower at home, in my parents’ bathroom, behind two doors that locked. I miss the hum of the fan, and the way it interrupted my thoughts. It’s quiet in here, and it makes me shower fast, rushing through the shampoo and conditioner, barely running the shower gel over my skin before twisting the shower handle to off and wrapping myself in my towel.

I quickly pull my sleep-shirt over my head and let the towel drop; I’m stepping into my underwear when I notice the sound of the water pipes still vibrating. The thought that I’m not alone sends a wave of panic through my veins; I feel light-headed. I sit on the bench and clutch my dirty clothes and towel to my body, leaning forward enough so my eyes can scan the other stalls in search of feet.

But I’m alone. The pipe sound stops seconds later; I figure the water was probably coming from the floor above. I finish getting dressed, pulling on my cotton shorts and slipping my feet into my flip-flops before I enter the hall.

“Evenin’,” he says, scaring me so badly I drop all of my things and push myself flush against the wall. I look like a jailbird in one of those old black-and-white movies, trying to step out of the spotlight during a breakout. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, but I figured if I didn’t say anything, and you just saw me in the dark, it would be worse.”

He’s picking up my things for me, and somehow I manage to calm my pulse down enough to realize he’s manhandling my underwear. Oh god! I grasp at my belongings, but my hands get tangled with his, which only makes me panic more and drop everything again.

“Boy, I scared you good, huh?” he chuckles. All I can focus on is gathering up my things and making my way back to my room—that, and the slight southern accent when he talks. “Hey, are you okay?”

It’s not until his hand is gripping my arm that I finally look up at him. I’m not prepared for my reaction at all, and I’m sure I’m amusing him, because I blush so quickly I would have a better chance playing off a can of paint being dumped over my head. He’s cute. He’s more than cute; he’s the exact boy I fantasized about when I was fourteen and dreaming of going off to college with my best friend Betsy. Brown hair just long enough on the top to flop over his forehead and eyebrows, blue eyes that hide under dark lashes and a half-shaven look that reminds me instantly that he isn’t a boy at all. No, I’m standing in front of a man. It’s been so long since I’ve been in the presence of a male; I somehow skipped over that moment in-between. He’s like one giant, walking, shirtless symbol of my life before everything I loved went away. Before Betsy was gone. And before my first—and only—boyfriend left with her.

I have to speak. He clearly lives on my floor, and if I walk away from this without saying a word, it’s only going to be more awkward when I run into him in the elevator, at the stairs, in a class.

“Sorry, adrenaline still working its way through me, had a hard time getting my words out,” I say, reminding myself to fill my lungs. That’s what Ross, my counselor, tells me to do when I feel the world closing in on me. Stop. Breathe deeply. Ross is a thousand miles away, but I’m supposed to call him twice a month. I’m starting to think twice a week might be necessary for a while.

“Understandable.” Southern accent. Dimples. Smile. “So, you live…down there?” he asks, gesturing down the long hallway that leads to my room.

“Room three thirty-three,” I say. Why in the hell did I tell him what room I’m in? That’s completely unlike me, and it feels…unsafe.

“Ah, well…nice to meet you, three thirty-three. I’m three fifty-seven.” He gives me his hand, and I shake it, feeling every cell of his fingers spark against mine. The feeling is foreign, and scary, and amazing all at once.

“You going to any of the parties tonight, Thirty-three?” I like it when he calls me by my number, and the fact that he’s suddenly given me this nickname makes my stomach feel warm, regardless of how trivial and meaningless it probably is to him. It also makes me realize that I never gave him my name. I should do that. Shouldn’t I do that?

“No, I’m pretty exhausted. We drove straight through from Arizona. And you can call me Rowe,” I say, my heart racing just to get through this part of the conversation. I don’t know why, but for me, every interaction causes the same internal struggle others feel while giving a speech. Only for me, it’s the tiny speeches, the one-on-ones, that strip me completely.

“Rowe.” He smiles after saying my name, and my god do I want to hear him say it again. At the same time, I keep looking toward my room in my periphery, the other part of my brain—the dominant part—trying to convince me to go back to safety and hide. “I’m Nate. And I’m really glad I decided to take a shower tonight.”

This is flirting. I remember it, vaguely, as he smiles and walks backward to his room on the other end of the hall, his eyes lingering on me just long enough to send a rush down my spine. I mimic him, and don’t turn away immediately either, willing myself to keep my smile in place, to leave the night on this high, to burn the look on his face into my memory—a new face, brand new to my life, and worlds apart from the demon that haunts me every night in my sleep.

I take advantage of my roommates being gone and push my bed a few more feet away from the door, almost flush to the window. Cass will notice, but I’m pretty sure I can convince Paige that the bed was always this way. And for some reason, I think Cass will back me up on it.

Getting my bed ready is always a process. I have four pillows and two blankets. Not because I’m cold, but because I’ve learned my mind rests easier if I have some sort of barrier pushing against my body. I know that the foam and cotton of the quilts will do very little to protect me in reality, but for some reason, they make sleep come easier. So I go to work, rolling and folding until I’ve built a fort of sorts along the side of my mattress—something to lay against so I can feel hidden while I sleep.

If I sleep.

Then come the medications. There’s the first dose I took a few hours ago—melatonin. I take the Ambien now. I fought taking pills for a long time. I didn’t want to go through life being drugged up. But I wasn’t sleeping. Like…at all. And it turns out not sleeping messes with your brain, and you start seeing things—things that you should only see in your sleep.

Even three stories up, I can hear the chirp of the crickets outside my window. I like their sound. It’s even and steady—something to focus on. So I keep the glass open, letting the warm air mix with the air conditioning as it spills in through the screen. I pull my laptop into bed with me, cross my legs, and log into Facebook. Writing to Josh has become a ritual, and my string of messages to him is more of a diary now. I never read them again once I hit send, though. I just pick up where I left off each time, starting a new thought but never going back.

So I made it. I’m a college girl. College. We were supposed to do this together, remember? And I sure as hell wasn’t supposed to end up in Oklahoma. I know, I know—my fault totally on that one. I picked it. It’s actually a pretty nice campus. The buildings are all made of red brick, and the trees here are enormous. Everything is so…green. I have two roommates. I like one of them. I guess I can live with the other one. It’s orientation week. I’m not sure I can hide in my room the entire time. I don’t want to. This is my great test, what I’ve worked toward for two years. But my courage diminished with every mile we trekked on our way to Oklahoma, and I fear my tank’s close to empty. One of my roommates, Cass, the one I like? She fought hard to get me to go out tonight. I think I’m going to have to give in on some of the social things, so it might as well be the school-sanctioned ones.

I went to see your mom before I left. My mom took me to the house. She looks good. Your dad wasn’t around, so I didn’t get to say goodbye to him, but I’m sure I’ll see him during my fall break. That was part of the deal with my parents. We pre-booked every single one of my flights home for the semester. I get to come home four times. The first one isn’t for about a month, so that’s going to be hard. Of course, I also have to get on an airplane. Alone. I know I don’t have to explain any of this to you. I guess that’s why I write.

Wish you would write back.

Love, Rowe

He won’t write back. He never does. But that won’t stop me from writing him. I move my curser to log out when the sound of a new message startles me. My mom is really the only other person I connect with on Facebook anymore, but that’s not whose picture I’m looking at right now.

It’s a picture of Nate, on a beach somewhere, without a shirt. I don’t think that man ever wears one. I click it open, my hand shaking with nerves, and my brain starting to slow from the effects of my dose of sleeping medicine.

So the first message I sent went to a girl named Row. She was twelve, and that was awkward. And I’m pretty sure her parents have now put me on a block list since her mom was the one to intercept. Anyhow, found you. Rowe, with an e…at least, I think this is you? Wanted to see if you wanted to check out the area with me tomorrow? Take a walk, around 11? Let me know.

-357 ;-)

I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to do any of this. And I’m not in a good place for this. Flirting is one thing. It’s harmless. I could make that a hobby. Not that I’m good at that either, but making plans? Plans lead places. And I can’t go places—places feel like relationships. And I definitely don’t know how to do relationships, having had an entire one in my life. Besides, I would just be someone’s poison.

I shut my laptop and push it away from me, like a child does to a plate of vegetables. The crickets are still chirping outside, and in the distance I can hear the music pumping from someone’s apartment balcony. If I listen closely, I can almost make out the sounds of girls giggling and guys celebrating. Maybe it’s all in my head—the soundtrack I’ve imagined for college, based on all of the movies I’ve seen. Or maybe it’s real. I’ll never know because I’ve kept myself on the periphery, too afraid to be in the middle. I hate myself for being so afraid.

My hair is still damp, so I reach under my bed for a dry towel to cover my pillow. When I catch my reflection in the window, it gives me pause. Nothing about me is extraordinary. My hair is long and straight—the color of a pecan, just like my eyes. I used to be good at sports; I was on the tennis team before I left the school system, and I continued to play with my dad, so my body is lean. I’m nothing like Paige—things on me don’t curve, and there is nothing voluptuous happening. Taking my personal inventory has me laughing at myself now, and laughing hard.

Nate probably won’t remember me in the morning, and here I’ve gone and imagined some crazy scenario where we’re a couple, leaps and bounds away from reality. I’m one of a handful of girls to arrive to the dorm so far; a pleasant waste of time until something better comes along. And if anything, he’s a potential friend, and maybe my only hope of upping my number in my inner circle from one—if Cass even counts yet—to two.

I know that in about two more minutes I’m going to become so sleepy that I might accidentally agree to donate all of my organs to Nate, so I open the screen on my computer and type fast, using this strange mix of rationality and courage that has suddenly taken over my body.

Sounds great. I’ll meet you at the elevator.

-333

Chapter 3

Nate

I know the second he finds out Ty is going to give me shit. She’s totally my type. I know I have a type. People have types for a good reason, to help weed out all of the jerks on earth. And my type looks exactly like her.

I have pretty good instincts. It’s why I’m a catcher—I can anticipate the bad pitches, the short swings, and what the batter is going to do. But my instincts run deep. I can read people off the field, too. And Thirty-three? She’s not the kind of girl that spends an hour getting ready to go out for the night. She’s blue jeans and T-shirts. Burgers and fries.

Her fingers were bare—no annoyingly long fake nail shit or sparkly colors. She was wearing an old T-shirt to bed, not some special outfit that probably costs more than everything in my closet. And, while I know this would probably mortify her that I noticed, her underwear was simple—plain-white, cotton. Not granny panties. They were tiny and delicate and far from granny panties. In the slight seconds they were in my hand, I imagined them on her, and believe me, that fantasy is going to haunt me for the rest of the night.

Even her name was perfect. Rowe. No room for bubble letters and hearts. Just four letters that cut right to the chase. Okay, so I’m probably still a little buzzed from the party I bailed on an hour ago, and her personality could totally blow it tomorrow. But tonight, I’m deciding to believe this girl is perfect, and I get idealistic and romantic after I drink, so I’m going with it.

I’ve dated lots of chicks, and some have come close to perfect. But somewhere along they way, there’s always that one big issue. Sadie, my ex from high school, was really close—all the way until she slept with my best friend at our graduation party. That was her big issue, and apparently it had been her big issue for a few months. I just hope I don’t uncover Rowe’s tomorrow, because I’d like to enjoy this for a while.

Thank God for Facebook. I promise I’ll do something good for the world later this week, because people are supposed to thank God for things far more important than some geeky billionaire computer-developer’s invention. But, right this minute, I’m giving the grand ole mighty shout out to Facebook.

She doesn’t seem to post much on her page. Maybe it’s private? I feel lame sending her a friend request, but I guess I already sent her a message, so what’s one more level of stalking? I wish like hell she had a picture posted. Probably would have spared me my first attempt that went to some pre-teen in Arkansas.

“What’s that smirk on your face for? Are you watchin’ porn?” Yeah. Here comes Ty’s shit.

“No, asshole. I do that on your bed.” I’m not even surprised when his notebook flies at my head. I duck just in time, but he gets me with the follow up of his hat.

For a guy who can’t move his legs, my brother is pretty nimble. He’s lived with paralysis for almost six years now, and he’s half the reason I decided to come to McConnell. He’s here for grad school—an MBA. And part of the deal when I committed to play here was that we’d get to room together.

Ty is the good in me. For some, it’s hard to see that, because my brother can be blunt and crude, and he’s a real asshole to women. But he’s also exactly who he is—no apologies, no pretending. The day he woke up in the hospital and the doctors told him he wouldn’t be able to walk anymore, he asked them what he could do. And he’s been putting all of his energy into those things ever since. It’s probably why he’s so damned good at school.

I tried harder in baseball because of him. He was better than me, and even as a junior in high school he was being scouted. But then he tore his spinal cord. Baseball became my dream then. At first, I did it because I felt like I owed it to him, like a tribute or something. But he slapped me around over that more than a few times, so now I play for me. And like Ty, I don’t apologize for who I am or what I want out of life. And right now, all I want to do is find out more about Rowe.

“Are you cyber-stalking girls? Fuck, man. That’s creepy.” Ty’s chair has me pinned to my desk, so no use hiding this now.

“Met a girl,” I smile.

“Oh God. You’re going to get all sappy and shit. Man, we just got here! All right, who is she. Show me who we’re stalking.”

I tilt my computer, and Ty slides it over to his lap. I get nervous when he smirks at me, and it only gets worse when he starts to click on things. When I reach to grab my computer back from him, he just twists away, jamming my leg into the side of my desk and pushing me away with his massive forearm.

“She wrote you back, dude,” he teases. I’m somewhere between wanting to punch my brother and dying to know what Rowe said. “Rowe, huh? That’s cool. You know who she looks like, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know; I have a type. So sue me.” I reach again, and he turns completely away, pushing off to the other side of the room and holding his arm out to block me again.

“She says she’ll meet you at the elevator. Oooooo, whatcha doing in the elevator? Have you been reading my Penthouse?”

“Don’t be a dick,” I grunt, kicking his wheel enough to twist him toward me so I can get my laptop back. Ty can tell he’s pushed me far enough, so he eases up…for now.

“You know you have workouts tomorrow, right?”

“Fuuuuuuck!” It’s like I thought I was on vacation or something. I completely forgot about workouts.

“It’s not mandatory,” I say, hoping he’ll corroborate my plan to play hooky.

“Right. Yeah, you could skip. It’s just one workout. It’s not like you’re a freshman fighting for a starting spot or anything. I mean this elevator appointment is really important. It could determine your future with…what was her name?”

“Rowe,” I say, my lips pushed tightly as I try to hold in my frustration with Ty. I’m frustrated because he’s right. And I might still be a little drunk. And I might just be imagining how I felt when I ran into her in the hall.

I mutter a few swear words under my breath and take my laptop back over to my bed to write Rowe back.

I forgot I have something in the morning. Won’t be back until after lunchtime. You free in the afternoon? Or maybe going to the mixer? Let me know.

- 57

“Asshole,” I say, tossing my closed laptop down by my feet and pulling my pillow up over my eyes to block out the light…and to block out Ty.

“Just your angel of responsibility, my brother. That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles; I give him the finger before I fall asleep and dream about Rowe and those damn cotton panties.

Chapter 4

Rowe

I feel like an idiot. I’ve been sitting in the hallway next to the elevator for twenty minutes now, and I’ve watched about a dozen more students move their belongings in. Almost every room is full, and parents are nagging their sons and daughters and some are crying about leaving. The whole thing is making me appreciate how fast my parents were with this process. But they had different motives—if they stayed too long, we all would have bailed on the plan. And I would never grow up.

Paige and Cass were dead to the world when I woke up. That’s another element of the sleeping medication—when it’s done doing it’s job, my eyes are wide and ready, no matter how badly I’d like to keep them closed.

I woke up a little after seven. My hair had dried overnight, so I just put on some eyeliner—to make myself look older than twelve—and slipped on my running shoes to go exploring. Being outside makes me nervous. Ross says I have a slight agoraphobia brought on by my trauma, and the best way to overcome it is to push myself a little more every day. I have four days until classes start, and if I want to show up to any of them, I have to push myself out the front door of our dorm. So that’s what I spent the first three hours of my morning doing. I paced the area around the front desk. Then I sat in the lounge. Eventually, I went outside and stood on the steps, forcing myself to count to fifty. By the time my breathing slowed down, I did a full lap around the building, and soon it was almost eleven. I’ve been sitting here ever since.

He isn’t coming. What has me upset is that I’m surprised he isn’t coming. I’m starting to think I dreamt the entire thing. The Ambien makes me do that sometimes—and the dreams feel so real. I pull out my phone to check my Facebook messages and see if that conversation is even in there, but while I’m waiting for it to load, a folded up paper airplane lodges itself under my knee.

“Hey, mind throwing that back?” I look down the hall and my eyes are met with a face that’s oddly familiar. He looks just like Nate—or what I imagined Nate to be? But this guy is older, and he’s in a wheelchair. His smile is disarming, and I’m starting to feel like someone is pulling a trick on me.

Getting to my feet, I bring the plane into my hands and look it over for bends in the folds before squinting my eyes to line it up in his direction. I give it a push, and it sails several feet past him, which for some strange reason makes me really happy. Yes, if airplane throwing were an Olympic sport, I would surely take home the gold.

“Hey, nice toss. Thanks,” he says, wheeling back to pick it up again. I smile and nod, tugging down my shorts and the back of my shirt, which have crumpled from sitting in the corner by the elevator for so long. I’m about to slump back to my room when Nate’s mystery twin stops me.

“You’re Rowe, right?” It’s strange how my heart speeds up just by his question. Maybe I didn’t dream any of this at all?

“That’s me,” I say, folding my arms around myself and squeezing my stomach for strength.

“You must not have gotten Nate’s message.” He’s coming closer to me now, and the closer he gets, the more familiar his features are. His face is almost an exact replica of the one I saw last night, but his eyes are a little different, and his cheeks are fuller. All I can do is shrug in response.

“Nate had workouts this morning. I think he sent you something on Facebook,” he says, and I’m unable to stop myself from swiftly pulling out my phone to check. I’m sure I look desperate, but whatever—I’m not good at this. No sense in pretending. When I tap on my Facebook app, his message alert is the first thing I see.

“You know what? Why don’t you come out with me? We can see where our classes are, and then I’m heading to the gym. Maybe Nate will be done by then,” he’s already heading back to his room with his keys out. I can’t get my voice to work, so I just look from him to my room and back again, constantly calculating if I have enough time to run. Cass squashes that plan, though, when she’s suddenly next to me in her full workout clothes.

“You missed a hell of a party last night. You’re coming to the mixer with me tonight, no excuses,” she says, looping her arm through mine. I don’t have time to answer her either, because suddenly the mystery man is back.

“Hey, I think I met you last night,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he looks at Cass. It’s the same face Nate made when he introduced himself, and I recognize it—he’s full-on flirting with Cass.

“Yeah, we hung for a bit I think. I got pretty shit-faced,” she laughs, and I’m a little surprised. I don’t know why really—I know it’s normal for college kids to party and drink. But the thought of it all scares the hell out of me. I’ve never been drunk. I’ve barely had a drink. I mean you don’t go from missing your prom and hiding in the house all the time to life of the party. And just listening to these two people, whom hours ago were strangers, bond and laugh and flirt in front of me, is making the scars on my side hurt and my head is getting dizzy.

“What was your name?” he asks, and I can tell he’s faking the expression he’s making. He doesn’t know her name at all, but this is his way of finding it out.

“Cass,” she says, and an actual giggle escapes her. Every second ticking by in this interaction, I’m learning more about my roommate.

“Cass. That’s right. I’m Ty,” he reaches his hand in front of me to shake hers, and I notice the toned muscles of his arm. I can tell Cass sees them too, and when we make brief eye contact, she looks almost like she’s trying to signal something to me. “Rowe and I were just heading out to the gym. We were going to stop by a few of the buildings on the way. You know, scout out our classes? Wanna come? You look like you’re heading that way.”

Cass bunches her brow, clearly confused at how I know Ty, and why I’m making plans with him. I’d love to give her an answer, but I’m not even sure how I got here and into this situation, so I just smile and stuff my hands deep into my pockets, my thumb rubbing obsessively over the grooves on my room key to keep myself calm.

“Sure, sounds great,” she says, tugging on my arm again to walk closely alongside her.

The elevator ride is quiet and uncomfortable. Several others join us on the next floor down, and we have to wait for everyone to file out when we get to the ground floor. All I can focus on is the front door of the building, the one I practiced walking in and out of all morning. It’s always easier to venture outside when I’m not alone. And Cass makes me feel comfortable, so I take in my deep breath and move my feet forward until we’re finally outside. I must be squeezing Cass’s arm too tightly, because by the time we make it to the next building, she leans into me to ask if I’m all right.

“Sorry,” I say, letting my arm hang loose from hers. “Not good with strangers.”

“You don’t really know him?” she laughs, keeping her voice quiet and tilting her chin forward toward Ty, who is a few feet ahead of us on the walkway.

“I just met him this morning,” I say, shaking my head. Cass laughs and tugs on my sleeve so we can catch up to him.

“So, ladies. Where are you from?” he asks, his eyes really focusing on Cass when he asks that question, and for some reason, I’m relieved that she has to go first.

“Me and my sister are from Burbank,” she says, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out how I’m related to Cass but look nothing like her, so I stop his question before it comes.

“Oh, no. We’re not related. Cass and I are roommates. I’m from Arizona,” I say, turning to Cass, now wondering whom the hell she’s talking about.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, my sister’s our other roommate. You met her last night, too. Paige?”

I’m so stunned by this revelation I’m unable to keep my thoughts inside my head. “What?” I literally stop walking when I speak, and Cass can’t help but laugh at my response.

“I know, we couldn’t be any more different, huh?” she says, shrugging and smiling back at both of us. “We’re twins. Nobody ever believes it.”

“And why would they! You’re polite and smart and Paige…seems to have other qualities,” I try to change the course of my words midstream, realizing a little too late that I’m calling her sister rude and stupid. Probably a little soon for me to assume that’s okay to do, and I inwardly curse my lack of social skills. Thankfully, my rant has Cass laughing even harder now.

“I know, right? My sister’s a real bitch!”

My eyes almost pop out of my head, and I look at Ty for assurance that I heard her right, but he’s just staring at her and smiling even harder than he was before. I wonder if she knows he likes her? And I wonder how much they got to know each other at the party last night?

“So where are you from, Ty?” Cass asks, biting her bottom lip a little. She notices his stare, and I think she likes it.

“I’m from Louisiana originally, though I just transferred here from Florida. I’m in grad school, but my brother’s a freshman. We thought it’d be cool to live together, so we both settled on the same school. They have a great business program here, and a hell of a baseball team, so it worked out.”

“Nate’s your brother,” I nod and mutter quietly to myself. I feel like I’m trapped in an episode of 90210, and I’m just grateful that I’m getting all of these revelations out of the way early rather than having to wait for the season to end to put the puzzle together.

“Oh yeah. I think I saw him last night, too. My sister was all over him,” Cass says, and I’m suddenly overcome with a rush of jealousy. I’m embarrassed by it, and I’m sure they both can tell, so I turn my gaze to my feet and start to look for cracks in the sidewalk.

“Oh I remember her. She’s cute,” he says, and I tilt my head up just in time to see the same emotion I was just feeling wash over Cass. “Not my brother’s type, though.”

Ty’s gaze switches to me when he speaks, and he holds his stare long enough to make me feel uncomfortable and look back down. Was he trying to tell me I’m not his brother’s type? Was that a warning to get out before I’m disappointed? Or just confirming my assumption last night, that Nate’s just looking for friends. Nothing more. I hope that’s it, because the more I get to know people, the less sure I am that I’m even ready for friends.

We walk along the main path up the middle of the campus, and I’m able to spot every single one of my buildings along the way. I have mostly general-studies classes. I still haven’t declared a major, and the advisor said I could wait a semester or two before I figured it out. I’m not sure that’s enough time, though—I have no idea what I want to do with my life. Before everything changed, I used to think I wanted to be a designer. No real reason why, and I’ve never been great at computer programs, so that dream sort of dissipated the less attention I paid to it. Unfortunately, nothing stepped up to take its place.

“Nate’s in there. I know the coaches, so I can go in with you if you want. He’d like to know you’re here,” Ty says, and I can’t help but notice the look Cass is making behind him. She wants to know more, and I know I’m going to have to tell her about my run-in with Nate.

“Oh, okay. I guess so, if you think it’s okay that I go in? I can wait out here, too. I don’t want to interrupt something.” I start fidgeting and I can feel my skin tingling with discomfort. Ty smiles and winks while he passes me, urging me to follow.

“You’re fine. Come on,” he says, so I look to Cass, who’s still waggling her eyebrows my way.

Deep breaths. Take deep breaths.

We head through a long hallway to a separate area of the gym, and I can tell this is where the school’s athletes train. It’s football season right now, so almost everyone in the room is four times my size.

“Oh my god, Rowe. Paige is going to be so pissed when she finds out we were in here without her. This is like her own personal supermarket full of jocks.” We both stay back near the door, but let our eyes wander the expanse of the room. There’s a slight tinge of sweat-smell in the air, but it’s not gross at all, and I can’t help the way my body is reacting to it. I blush when one of the large, shirtless men walks by me and says, “Excuse me,” brushing his arm against the front of my body slightly while he passes. Suddenly, I’m standing straighter, and sucking in my stomach, pushing out what exists of my chest.

“There he is. Hang on, I’ll let him know you’re here,” Ty says, moving toward the back of the room. I see Nate’s profile in the far distance, but my eyes zero in on his features immediately. He was not a dream. Everything I thought I saw and remembered is exactly as it should be, and when his gaze flicks up to mine, I’m catapulted back to the hallway and the way he looked in the dark, holding my underwear.

“You are like seven shades of red, girl,” Cass says, leaning into me.

“That bad, huh?” I used to think I would be the kind of person that would lie when people called me on my emotions. But there’s something about Cass that makes me comfortable. It’s either that, or I’m just too tired of hiding everything else to give a damn about getting gushy over a boy right now.

“Suck it up, chickadee. He’s on his way over here.”

I draw the air in slowly through my nose the entire time he’s walking my way, so by the time he’s standing in front of me, I don’t have to panic for a breath.

“Hey, so I’m totally sorry I blew our plans. I forgot about workouts this morning,” he says, and his words come out like butterscotch candies. I’ve never heard someone talk like him, and I’d give anything for him to read me a story at night. I bet I wouldn’t even need to take Ambien to relax.

“That’s okay, I understand.” My heart is thumping wildly and erratically, and I’m worried it’s making my voice quiver.

“She’s lying, bro,” Ty says suddenly, knocking the wind from me again. “I found her waiting by the elevator. Some asshole stood her up.”

I. Want. To. Die. My eyes dart from Ty to Nate to Cass, who only shrugs since I haven’t been able to bring her fully up to speed on my late night run-in yet.

“No, really. It’s my fault. I didn’t check my messages this morning,” I explain, giving Ty a look that I hope sends a warning. I’ll have to practice those faces, because I’m not really sure how to make them. This one seems not to be very intimidating, because he just laughs softly and backs away.

“Damn, that guy is an asshole. And so is his brother,” Nate says, scratching under his chin and flicking his hand at Ty. He turns to me—dimples, smile. “I was going to stop by your room this morning, but I didn’t want to wake you up. Hey, I’ll make it up to you. You hungry? Want lunch?”

My stomach is growling, and I’m starving. But the thought of sitting in a crowded cafeteria makes my body break out in an instant sweat.

“Rowe, I’ve gotta go. I have an appointment with a personal trainer in ten minutes,” Cass says, pulling her watch from her wrist and tucking it in the small workout bag she’s carrying. “I’ll see ya back at the dorm.”

I smile and wave, scrunching my hand closed, and stuffing it back in my pocket.

“Yeah, so…it looks like I’m her trainer, since I have a noon appointment. I fucking love today,” Ty says, looking up and smiling, which makes both Nate and me laugh. “I’ll see you later, dude. Oh…and this one? Yeah, she’s totally your type.”

I. Want. To. Die.

Chapter 5

Nate

If he weren’t my brother, I would kill him. I might kill him anyway. I can tell she’s embarrassed. Her body is now bright pink, and I can practically feel the heat radiating off of her.

I don’t like the way he showed it. But I do like that my brother approves. He never liked Sadie; said he didn’t trust her. But I didn’t listen. Seems my brother’s instincts are a shitload sharper than mine. And if he thinks Rowe has something, then I’m definitely making this girl go to lunch with me. I have to figure her out before the rest of the school shows up and I have to compete for her attention.

“So, what do you say?” I ask. She seems nervous, and I feel like she might back out. Maybe if I can find a way to stick with the original plan. “If you’re not hungry, we could just walk around town?”

She’s tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth and hugging herself with her arms, like she’s not sure what to do with herself, and I catch her eyes searching for her friend who’s walking away. Damn. She’s trying to get out of this.

“Or whatever. If you’re tired, I get it. My fault for missing our date.” For some reason, that last word catches her attention, and her eyes meet mine quickly, flaring open a little wider. Shit, she didn’t like the word date.

“No, I…I could eat, actually. It’s just,” she starts, and her eyes fall to her feet, looking over her arms that are still folded tightly around her and down to her shuffling shoes. “I’m kind of a picky eater. So, maybe we could go somewhere in town? Is that…okay?”

I try to play it cool, but inside I’m glad she’s up for my back-up plan. It’s going to take us a good twenty minutes to walk into town, and I already know I’m going to make her go to Sally’s. It’s good food, but the service is slow as heck. That gives me at least a couple of hours with her.

“That’s perfect. There’s actually this place I’ve been dying to try. Mind?”

She just nods and smiles, still fidgeting with her feet locked to their place. I notice she’s not wearing socks with her running shoes, and I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off the line along her calf muscle and the way it stretches deep into her ankle. It’s weird how a girl can look so soft, but so strong at the same time.

“You play sports?” I ask, my eyes still locked on her leg.

“A little. I used to, I mean. I was good at tennis,” she says, finally relaxing her upper body. “Ty says you play baseball?”

I love that she has no idea who I am. Not that I’m that big a deal, but I did turn down a lot of Division 1 schools to come here. The chick at the party last night sure knew who I was. Or, at least, she knew that I was an athlete at the school. She was sloppy drunk and kept telling me how she just wants to hook up with a jock this week.

Some guys love that shit. Easy. Ty kind of likes it, at least in the moment. But usually he’s pissed at himself that next day when he has to face a girl he really has no interest in. I’d rather wait around until I find someone worth it, someone I’d like to see in the morning, not just the night.

“Yeah, I’m the catcher.” I sort of wait to see how she reacts, and when she doesn’t, I keep going, suddenly feeling like I have to work a little to impress her. “So, I pretty much play every game. I’m stepping in for a senior this year, and it’s kind of awkward, because I think they’ll probably play me more than him.”

“Are you good?” Her bluntness is adorable, if not intimidating.

“Huh. Well, I was good enough for them to ask me to come here. I guess I hope I’m good enough for them to want me to stay.” All I can do is smile at her, the way she’s crinkling her nose while she thinks about what she needs to know about me next. Anything…I want this girl to ask me anything.

We’re walking to the front lobby now, so I nod to my coach that I’m heading out, and he just waves me off. I’m about to place my hand on her back to lead her outside—both because I want her to know what direction to go and because I want to feel her shoulder blades under my fingers. But I notice she pauses when we get to the door; I can see her breathing pick up, so I pull my hand away before it grazes her. She’s nervous.

“Did anyone else ask you?”

“Huh?” Her eyes are staring at the metal grate that divides the outside from the inside, so I can’t even get a clue from her expression as to what she means.

“Baseball. Did anyone else ask you to play?”

“Oh.” For a second I thought she was asking me about other girls, and other girls is the last thing I want to talk about in front of Rowe. I spent my summer forgetting all about Sadie with my brother’s help, and let’s just say that’s how I know I’m not meant for one-night stands and good-enoughs. For the last three months, I’ve felt like a major asshole, which is exactly why I left the party last night. Fate rewarded me by running me into Rowe.

“Yeah, I had a few other offers.”

“How many?”

She still hasn’t brought her eyes back to me, but we’re walking again, so at least she’s not trying to run away anymore. “I don’t know. Ten or twelve.”

I know exactly how many schools asked me to play—sixteen. And there was also an offer to get into the Indians organization. But I didn’t want to trade a free ride through business school with my brother for a year or two in some shit-splat town making a teacher’s salary.

“So, you must be pretty good, huh?”

“I’m all right.”

It takes us about fifteen minutes to get into town, and we make small talk the entire way. I don’t have any classes with her—probably because she’s still figuring out what she wants to do. I can tell she’s stressed about the topic, so I don’t grill her on it for long. She talks about her parents a lot, which for some reason makes me like her even more. Ty and I have a great relationship with our mom and dad, and it’s a turnoff when a girl wants to bag on her mom over stupid petty things.

When we walk into Sally’s, I wince. The guy behind the bar recognizes me, and he’s going to blow my cover. “Nate! Hey man, how’s it hangin’!”

“Hey, Cal. Things are good. Good to see ya.” I raise my shoulders and hold up my hands when Rowe snaps her gaze to me. Her brow is lowered, and I can tell she’s suspicious.

“So, whatcha having, the usual?”

Goddamn. Of all things that man could have said. My brother and I are probably keeping him in business, and I’m pretty sure I ate every meal here for the two weeks I came for summer ball. I thought it was safe, because Cal doesn’t work days. Though, it seems I have that wrong now.

“I’m not alone, Cal, so maybe give us a few minutes to look over the menu,” I say, sliding into the booth near the jukebox. I’m prepared for Rowe to look like she wants to kill me; I hold my breath when I turn to look at her. When I see the smirk on her face, I’m ecstatic.

“You’ve been here before,” she says, her lips curling tightly like she’s trying to hold in laughter.

“Yeah. I’m not even going to try to fix this one. This is sort of my place. Been coming here since summer ball, and Cal never works during the day, so kinda thought I could get away with it.”

“Why not just tell me you wanted to come to your favorite place?” she asks, and I close my eyes I’m so embarrassed.

“Because the cooks are extremely slow, and I wanted to act like I was surprised when it takes an hour for us to get our order.” I crack open a lid and she’s still smirking, so I open all the way, and grab the salt shaker, spilling a little of it on the table to swirl around and give my hands something to do. “Yeah, so…this was all one big ruse to spend a shitload of time with you. Hope you’re not too hungry.”

Rowe’s smile never wavers, but for a few seconds I see worry flash across her eyes. There’s a story to her, but I know it’s going to take time for her to warm up enough to be willing to tell it. I think I’m alright with giving this some time, though.

“So, how do you feel about burgers?”

She finally breaks her eyes away from me and pulls the torn paper menu from the rack on the wall.

“Burgers are good,” she says. “I don’t eat out much. I usually just eat something at home. I kind of like things that are plain. What do you suggest?”

“Can’t go wrong with the classic cheeseburger,” I say, waiting for her to tell me she doesn’t eat bread or cheese, or to ask if they have a veggie burger instead. She never does though, and instead, refolds the menu and pushes it back against the wall.

“Sounds good. I’ll have one of those,” she says, pushing her way out of the booth. “Mind ordering for me? I need to find the ladies’ room.”

“You got it,” I wink and nod to the back, letting her know where the restrooms are. She doesn’t look back when she walks away, so I indulge and lean completely out of the booth, watching every inch of her long, golden legs walk down the aisle.

“Looks like you’ve gone and made yourself a new friend, eh?” Cal teases.

“Yes, sir. I believe I have. And she’ll have a cheeseburger.”

Rowe

Once I lock the bathroom door, I break down. I’m not sure where the tears are coming from, other than the sheer stress of this entire situation. Nate seems nice. He seems more than nice. And I think I trust him. I must, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to leave the safety of the gym and walk along the open road with him.

Somewhere, deep inside, I know this is serious flirting. And maybe a little part of me hopes I’m more than just a distraction for Nate. I’m being so boring, though. One-word answers, surface questions—it’s like I don’t even know how to be real. Our conversation sounds like the dinner table with my parents.

I think it’s because my back is to the door. I can’t think clearly, or even think at all, because I keep waiting to see who walks in next. Maybe we can move somewhere else. Would it be weird to ask him to move somewhere else?

Someone’s knocking, so I run my hands in the hot water and then splash some of it against my neck, patting myself dry with a paper towel. I exit and trade places with an older woman, and our bodies touch when she passes. The exchange practically knocks the wind out of me because I’m so involved in my stupid panic attack—so I stay hidden in the darkness of the hallway, just staring at the back of Nate’s head.

His arm is stretched along the top of the booth and his body is tilted slightly to one side while he talks to the man he called Cal when we walked in. Nate’s arms are long. Like, really long—I’d like to measure them. He has dents and lines that define muscles just like the guys I see on TV, and his T-shirt hugs tightly around his chest and biceps. His clothes don’t drape on his body like Josh’s always did—probably because he isn’t some skinny sixteen-year-old who hasn’t met the weight room yet.

Cal notices me standing in the darkness, so I remind myself to breathe again and force myself forward. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at this. The closer I get, the more comfortable and convinced I become with the fact that Nate and I are just friends, so once I reach the edge of our table, I decide to test out honesty.

“Do you mind if…if we moved to a booth in the corner?” I can tell he’s confused, but he doesn’t seem to be against my request because he’s sliding both of our water glasses forward and holding them in his enormous hands while he leaves the booth. I lead him over to the corner, the one seat that I think gives me a view of the entire restaurant, and I settle in, already breathing easier.

Nate never asks why I need to move, and I never tell him. Instead, he picks up the conversation, and starts to tell me about his family and growing up in Louisiana, and I listen—at first, splitting my attention between my heart rate and breathing as well as Nate’s words, until eventually all of my focus is on him.

“You and your brother are close,” I say, not really needing to ask it. He smiles and nods at my question.

“Ty’s my best friend. Always has been. I had friends in high school when he was gone and at college. But Ty, he’s the only guy I ever share my secrets with.”

For some reason, the second he says it, all I want to do is become the second person he shares secrets with. Maybe it’s because I don’t have anyone to share mine with, and the thought of getting some of this out is so inviting.

“How about you. You have any brothers or sisters?” he asks.

“Just me and my parents. I spend most of my time with my mom, because her office hours are at home. We live near the campus she works at—she teaches economics at State. She homeschooled me the last two years, so I guess that would make her my best friend.” And that would make me…pathetic.

“It’s nice that you’re close to your mom,” he says, and I smile and look down into my lap. Am I close to my mom? I guess I am. I don’t really hide much from her, but I don’t really have much to hide either. She knows my issues. She’s more like my doctor—my live-in, enabling-and-disabling doctor. But Nate’s not ready to hear all of that yet. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to articulate it without telling him everything.

“So, tell me something about yourself,” I say, wanting to get the focus away from me for a while. “Who is Nate—” I panic for a moment when I realize I don’t remember his last name. Instead of asking, I hold up a finger and pull my phone from my pocket to look up his Facebook message. “Preeter! Who is Nate Preeter?”

The way he laughs sets me at ease, and at that moment I realize I can no longer hear my heartbeat rattling in my own head.

“Ouch! I made like…no impression on you at all, did I?” he chuckles, and I flush a little, embarrassed that I forgot his last name.

“That’s not true. You made an impression. We just met, though, so that’s not fair. I can’t be expected to remember everything. I know your room number! That one stuck! Besides, I bet you don’t remember my full name.”

As soon as I issue that challenge,

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 805