Fall Into Forever (9 page)

I don’t hear the rest of what she’s saying as I stare into my half-eaten salad with unfocused eyes.

Chase’s brother used that same phrase when I ran into him at the Stop and Shop after the accident. It was the beginning of my downward slide.

Cornering me in the back next to the beer refrigerator and the popcorn machine, Aaron leaned in close. “He loved you, Ivy. Plain and simple. The two of you were meant to be together. It’s too bad you were so fucking stupid you couldn’t see what a great guy he was.”

I’m suddenly not hungry anymore.

chapter six

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
~ William Shakespeare

Ivy

The Fine Arts building is located on the far end of campus. It takes me a little longer to get there than I thought it would, because when I came through the Quad, I ran into a few people I knew from a class last quarter. They were sitting on the edge of the fountain and talking about what they’d done over winter break. I hung out for a few minutes and misjudged how long it would take to get here, so I had to hoof it and now I’m a little sweaty. I’m glad I’m scrubbing and not wearing one of Cassidy’s new tops.

Through a cluster of leafless trees behind the building, cars whiz by on Monroe Avenue, the road bordering campus. On the other side is Greek Row, with its stately old mansions and covered porches. I catch a glimpse of the church steeple on the corner of Monroe and Sprague and cringe. It’s the same one I saw from the roof of the White House.

“Returning to the scene of the crime?”

I jump at the sound of the deep voice to my left. I turn slowly, as though I’m in a dream. At first all I see is chrome and leather. I blink. And then…

There, not more than ten feet away from me, Jon Priestly is straddling a motorcycle.

My jaw practically drops to the ground as I watch him swing a leg over the seat. He’s wearing dark glasses, a worn leather bomber jacket, faded jeans with a rip in the right knee, and a pair of scuffed black boots.

I have a major moment of amnesia, having no idea what he just asked or what I’m doing here. I quickly clamp my teeth together to keep from saying something that will make him think I’m a total dork. About the only thing I do remember is my name, and honestly, that’s a little iffy right now.

How did I not notice him when I was walking over here? Am I completely blind? How unaware of my surroundings am I that I didn’t notice…this? Had I seen him, I totally would’ve gone around to a different entrance or at least been prepared for what I was going to say.

He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, icy blue eyes squinting at the sudden light. My stomach tightens. I don’t know about you, but I secretly love when a guy removes his sunglasses to talk to me instead of leaving them on. Makes me feel like he truly wants to see me and have me see him.

His cool gaze slides over my body, giving me the sensation that he’s inches away rather than feet. My heart does a rollercoaster drop, thudding straight to my knees. Maybe that’s why he took off his shades. He wants me to
see
him checking me out.

Oh God.

I’m suddenly and painfully aware that I look like I’m on the verge of utter homelessness. I shift my backpack to my other shoulder.

And then I remember what Marla said about him. Arrested? Kicked out of high school? A player? I can totally see it.

My cheeks are on fire and so are the tips of my ears. I’m glad I’m not wearing a coat, otherwise I know I’d be sweating. At least my sleeve with the stain is still rolled up. I run my tongue over my teeth to make sure I don’t have a piece of lettuce stuck somewhere. I’m not sure if I’m embarrassed because I look like a slob (I’m seriously cursing myself for not listening to Cassidy) or because he’s so damn sexy.

Who am I kidding? It’s both.

Keep calm. Act normal. He’s just a guy.
“Hey, Jon.”

“What brings you here?” The low timbre of his voice shoots straight to my core.

I try my best to ignore the sensation. He grins, and that’s when I notice that one of his eyeteeth is slightly crooked. It occurs to me that imperfect things are much more interesting than perfect ones.

It feels like it takes me a year to collect my thoughts. I debate whether or not to thank him again for his help on Friday night. But if I say nothing, it implies that it was no big deal. A topic not worthy of bringing up. A non-issue. Yeah, right. As if I could ever forget what happened. “I’m just—”

“What up, bro?”

I breathe a huge sigh of relief as two guys approach us. I’ll use that as an excuse to break away and get to class.

But before I can move, Jon is suddenly right next to me, his hand on my arm, like he knows that I’m planning my escape. A niggling of panic shoots from out of nowhere and skitters along my spine. I tense.

He must sense my discomfort, because he frowns and lets go of my arm.

“Hold on, okay?” His breath whispers across my cheek. It smells spicy sweet. Like he just ate a cookie.

I really should keep going. Class is about to start and I don’t want to be late. There’s nothing stopping me, but my Toms are rooted to the concrete at the base of the steps leading into the building.

He turns to his buddies. “Heading to class, then I’ve got to run to the station for a few minutes. How about you?”

“Heading home,” the tall one says, pointing to one of the frat houses. He’s got a painful looking pimple lodged between his cheek and his nose. “We’ll just be hanging out. Swing by when you’re done.”

“Will do.” One of Jon’s arms is slightly stretched out toward me, his fingers open, as if to say he hasn’t forgotten about me. Or that he doesn’t want me to go on without him. “We all set for Saturday?”

The short guy rubs his hands together and grins. “Almost.”

Must be another party.

I don’t need to hover around while they discuss their wild weekend plans. “Catch you later.” Turning on my heel, I take the steps two at a time.

I enter the building without looking back, and the door whooshes shut behind me. It feels good to simply walk away because I want to. To leave without being stopped. The sign for rooms 110 to 116 directs me to the left and I head that way.

“Ivy, wait up.”

Boots hit the wood floor behind me.

Jon comes up next to me, matching me stride for stride. “What class are you going to?”

I don’t look over. “Photography.”

“Right on,” he says, as if—

Hold it. My eyes widen and my step falters. “You, too?”

“What are the chances that Ivy on the Roof is in one of my classes? I’d say that’s fate, wouldn’t you?”

I almost choke. Fate? Ivy on the Roof? Is he making fun of me?

My slight chagrin turns to irritation. Sara said they talked about fate at the tutoring center. Does he think girls like that kind of crap? That we can’t see right through a super-lame pickup line? At least some of us can. One thing’s for sure. The last thing I need are people who believe in fate and destiny, whether it’s a cutesy pickup line or not. That BS is fine in movies and song lyrics, but in real life, not having the free will to make your own decisions is suffocating, smothering, and really freaky.

I stop in front of room 116 and reach for the door. “Fate seems to follow you everywhere.”

His hand gets there first, brushing mine in the process. Even though I pull away quickly, the echo of his touch sends a spark of awareness up my arm.

“You sound skeptical, like you don’t believe in the inevitability of certain things happening.” He steps aside for me to enter. There’s an alcove and another door that leads into the actual classroom.

Maybe the guy does have a few manners, but then I remember how he checked out my chest the other night.

“You mean like being in the right place at the right time?”

“Yeah, sure. Or the opposite. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And no matter what you do, there’s no fucking way you can change what’s going to happen.” A shadow flickers behind his eyes.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it. But I don’t believe in fate. If I did, I wouldn’t be here. Fate, if you can call it that, is what we make ourselves through our own actions.”

His dark expression disappears, replaced by a wide grin that spreads across his face. It takes me by surprise. What did I say?

“God, that was so fucking cool.”

I frown. “What was?”

“You quoted
Terminator 2
.”

“I did? The movie?”

“Yep.”

I raise a brow. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s unlikely. I’ve only seen the first one.”

“You paraphrased it, but that’s one of the themes of the film. Fate isn’t set in stone. We can change our future no matter how impossible we think it might be right now.”

Change my future. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. It’s the reason I’m here at PSU in the first place. However, considering what happened this weekend, I have my doubts that I’ll ever be able to completely shake my past. Not unless I do something drastic. Like join a convent and move to South America. But even then, it’d probably find a way to haunt my dreams.

The instructor isn’t up front yet, and people are still standing around talking, so we’ve still got a few more minutes.

My tongue is as dry as if I’d been chewing on a bath towel. I reach for the water bottle tucked into a pouch on my backpack and take a drink. “And you believe that?”

He shrugs, a faraway look in his eye. “I don’t know. I guess I hope it’s possible.”

Me too.

Changing one’s future does come with a huge price. I know that better than most. If I believed in fate and destiny, I’d be in Lincoln Falls and Chase would still be alive.

* * *

Jon

The photography classroom is one of the smaller ones, with maybe forty or fifty students in the class. Rather than individual desks, there are rows of long tables and chairs like you’d find in one of the chem labs. The prof is walking to the front of the class, so Ivy and I need to find our seats.

That
Terminator
quote was so fucking cool, even if she didn’t do it on purpose. I spot a couple of empty seats in the back. She turns toward the front instead, but all I see are single chairs.

I hesitate and consider sitting separately. She can go up there, I’ll sit back here, and that will be that. When class is over, I’ll gather up my crap and slip out. After a few days, these routines will become habits, and Ivy will just be a cool girl I talked to a couple of times. I do still have her coat, though.

Don’t let her go.

She waits as a few students brush past us.

“Nice talking to you,” she says, throwing a glance at me over her shoulder. That’s when I notice the tattoo on the nape of her neck. It’s a small Chinese character that you wouldn’t see when her hair is down. I didn’t peg her as the type to have ink. I wonder what it means.

The problem with Ivy is that what little I know of her intrigues the hell out of me. When I got off my bike in the front of the building and saw her walking toward me, my heart lurched in my chest. It’s not often that a girl surprises me the way she does.

No, I don’t want to sit apart. I want her beside me for the next hour. Maybe she’ll want to get something to eat afterward.

Without thinking, I grab her hand. “Ivy, this way.”

Her ponytail whips in an arc around her shoulder as she snaps her head in my direction. Panic flares in her widened eyes as she stares at our joined hands.

I quickly let go. I must make her uncomfortable, because she tensed when I touched her arm outside, too. I thought I’d imagined it, but I guess not. I’m used to girls loving my attention, not being intimidated by it. What has made her so fearful of being touched? She even crawled out on a roof to get away from someone.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I point to the seats with my elbow. “Empty spots. Back here.” When she doesn’t move, I know I need to say something else, but I’m not sure what. She’s got me tongue-tied, something I don’t have much experience with. “Do you…want to sit together?”

Say yes.

She chews on her lower lip for a moment, then her gaze locks on mine with an intensity that takes my breath away. It’s as if she’s searching for something. I won’t deny it. Most girls like what they see. I assume she’s going to give in, so I give her a Jon Priestly smile.

I can almost see a curtain closing in front of her face. “I’m going to sit up front. I can see better up there. Thanks, though.”

Hold on. Did she really just turn me down? Running a hand through my hair, I watch her walk down the aisle, her thick ponytail swinging and bouncing on her back, as if she’s happy to be moving away from me. I try to conceal my disappointment as I slump down into the nearest empty seat.

She was searching for something in me and obviously didn’t find it. I fell short. An old but familiar pang gnaws at my insides. I try to ignore it, but it’s too late.

You’re not good enough, Jon. Why can’t you see that? You’ve never been good enough. You were born a loser and you’ll always be a loser.