Falling by Design (2 page)

"This is going to be a very interesting year," she says, ever the drama queen.

I shake my head at her and smile, but inside, I'm afraid she's right.

TWO

How is it that our memory is good enough to retain the least triviality that happens to us, and yet not good enough to recollect how often we have told it to the same person? 

~François Duc de La Rochefoucauld

Grayson is in three of my classes.

Arizona Prep is not a big school, about five hundred of us and everyone knows everyone else. New students are a special commodity around here. I'm pretty sure Grayson feels like a new addition to an exquisite zoo exhibit. Every girl in my class is gushing about new meat. He looks uncomfortable as he heads over to his next class, under all the long stares and whispers flying around the school. To them, Grayson is apparently the god of gorgeousness and they all want a piece of him. From what I’ve seen, he’s been polite to everyone who’s said hello and welcomed him to the school, but I’ve also noticed the uncomfortable way he fidgets every time someone puts him in a spotlight. Like one of our teachers did earlier. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy watching him squirm.

The best part of the whole thing is Tamela. She has staked her claim, thus creating a particular onslaught of unhappy girls as I make my way to my history class. I've heard at least four girls whispering about Grayson in the span of two minutes. I round the corner, trying not to groan aloud at the girls behind me giggling over Grayson's 'sizzling abs' when I come into full frontal contact with the said abs.

"Seriously kid, we have to stop meeting like this. I'm going to have bruises." Grayson gives me one of those charming smiles, but I won’t be detoured from my dislike of his person. I hate the fact that he’s always been taller than me. Any moment now he's going to pat me on my head like I’m a good little girl. Without a word, I sidestep around him and head for my desk. Maybe the more I avoid him the faster he'll forget I exist. Good plan, Brooklynn, good plan. I send a quick text to Chance, whining about he fact that he’s not here to make my day better, and to get his butt back home soon, without mentioning Grayson. I’ve had enough of him today, that’s for sure.

"So you're just going to ignore me until I go away?" Grayson asks, sliding into the seat beside me. Make that four classes that he's in with me. What kind of school administrator came up with this particular plan of torture?

I seriously cannot believe that out of all the schools in Phoenix, Grayson had to end up at this one. Besides Dakota and I, Chance, whom I haven't seen all summer, is the only other person I've known since my childhood who goes to this school. Dakota and I are kind of a package deal. Chance just likes to tag along. Well, and now, apparently Grayson has come to join the party. I still can't believe he's back and he's sitting next to me. I take out my notebook and pen, and place them on the desk in front of me before I finally, finally turn my eyes to Grayson.

He should definitely wear a warning label on those puppies. Sure, Grayson was good looking as a kid, even though his disdainful personality took away from the pretty face, but he filled out nicely. Not enough to make him worth my time, but I’m still a living breathing human. And an artist at that. I can appreciate a fine piece of artwork from a distance. Chastising myself silently anyway, I force my hand to stay down instead of doing what it wants to, like slapping myself upside the head. 

"Ah, there she is." He grins at my now upturned face. I roll my eyes, and turn back to face the front, whatever I was going to say forgotten. "Come on, Brooklynn, are you really going to be like that?" I try not to react to the way my name rolls off his tongue, because he says it as if he’s savoring it like it's the sweetest candy.

"I don't know what you mean."

"And she speaks!"  His loud proclamation brings the attention of fellow classmates our way, not that they weren’t already gawking. I shush him with a wave of a hand, but he’s so proud of himself for getting me to speak that I can’t help but give him a small smile.

"Now see, isn't that better?" I hear the satisfaction in his voice, and I almost want to take my smile back. Almost. He doesn’t say it in a condescending way, but as if he’s truly excited that I’m talking to him.

"Grayson, you're a pain."

"Aw shucks sweetie, I've only been back for a day and you’re already giving out compliments." Half the room is now staring at us, some with interest, some with pure disdain. How did I forget Tamela’s posse is in this class? I walked right past them to get to my seat. Her two Barbie friends are throwing me enough dirty looks to last a lifetime. I can't stand this anymore.

"What do you want?" I hiss leaning in closely, trying for some cover of privacy.

"What do you mean?" I see the flecks of green in his deep blue eyes, and I swear it should be illegal to be this gorgeous. Not that a pretty face will sway me, but it’s a little distracting.

"We're not friends Grayson, so whatever scheme you're planning, I'm not a kid anymore."

"No, you are definitely not a kid anymore."

Oh the way he says that. It's like a whispered secret, racing over your body and into your very being. We're a breath away and I can feel his sweet voice like a careful touch. I can tell my face is heating up, and I know he's only trying to unsettle me. He's so good at it. Always has been.

"Listen, Grayson, you need to—"

"Well, loo-ook what we have here." Grayson and I fall back into our corners as Tamela wiggles her way in between us. Here's the thing about Tamela and I. We met in art class in the beginning of our freshman year here. We were instantly drawn to each other because we both carried sketchbooks and liked experimenting with colors. Tamela may be outspoken and annoying, but she does have a way with acrylics. However, what she loves more than art is being number one. After Mrs. Carter chose to showcase my project over hers in the first two weeks of class, Tamela turned nasty. Ever since then, she’s hated me, trying to beat me in every art competition our school has. I've won more times than she has and she will never let it rest. She wants everything that's mine and she's not afraid to do whatever it takes to get it. It's been like that for three years. Tamela is not subtle about it either, she fights with everything in her arsenal. I guess in her eyes, Grayson is the latest battle in this never ending war.

Turning her back to me, she zeroes in on Grayson.

"You don't have to sit all the way back here," she says like we're sitting in Antarctica. "My friends saved us seats close to the front."

"It's alright. I'm good here." Grayson replies, throwing a wink my way. I know Tamela notices because her back goes rigid and I try to suppress a smile. I focus my attention on the desk in front of me as I wait for the whining to begin.

"But Graay-son," and there it is, "that seat has the bee-st view."

"I'm allergic to the sun." My jaw drops a little at his words and my eyes fly up from my desk, needing to see him. He actually says that with a straight face. Unable to restrain myself, I snort and the boy manages to throw me a look before smiling up at Tamela.

"It's fine, Tamela. I'm good here." Before she can say anything else, the teacher comes into the room calling for our attention. Well, that’s a grand dismissal and I know I’ll be telling Dakota all about it later. Tamela huffs a little, yet has no choice but to find her seat and leave Grayson be.

In front of the classroom, Mr. Blooms struts around like he’s on a runway show, waiting for everyone to focus. Today he has on bright blue trousers, a white button up shirt, paired with a black belt and black shoes. He's not a bad looking sort either, as Dakota likes to point out. I'm going to have to sketch out some of his clothing choices and add a few things. My hand is already dancing over the blank canvas of my notebook when I feel the air shift beside me.

"So is she always like that?" Grayson breaks through my concentration. Somehow he's moved his seat even closer to mine, so he can whisper while Mr. Blooms talks. I nod in response, not taking my eyes off my notebook. "That's fun."

My eyes find Grayson's as if they have a will of their own, and I let myself study him, if only for a second. Mr. Blooms turns his back to us to write something on the board. We're supposed to be taking notes on what to expect out of this class for the next two weeks, but my attention is so firmly attuned to Grayson I'm missing most of it. His lips curl up a bit, like they used to do when he was little, right before he yanked on my hair ribbons. I don’t want to let my mind wonder to that time and place, so I try to concentrate on the present, turning to face the classroom once more. However, Grayson’s not finished yet.

"She's wrong you know."

"Who is?" I can't help but ask.

"Tamela."

"She usually is." He snickers at that, the sound awaking parts of me in a flurry of feelings. I shake off the sudden breathlessness his voice evokes, opening my notebook back up. What the heck, hormones? It’s just a freaking half laugh, not a marriage proposal. I have no idea why I’m reacting to him in any way but contempt, but I need to get a grip on myself.

I think I'm done talking to him but apparently my brain has other ideas. My mouth opens before I can do anything to stop it. "Wrong about what?"

The smile splits into a grin "She's wrong about the view. I think this seat has the best one I've seen."

Before I can say anything, or find my ability to breathe, Grayson reclines, once again getting comfortable in his seat. I stare at him, my mouth gaping open and I see his lips twitch in response. Quickly, I rip my gaze away, snapping my attention to the front of the classroom. I am not allowed to feel anything for that plague of my childhood existence, but chastising myself is not helping any. He's affecting me in ways only Grayson ever could.

THREE

If there is something you must do and you cannot do it, you cannot do anything else.  ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

My parent's never ask me about school.

I don't even think they notice that my face doesn't radiate the same happiness I left with this morning.

Mom is of the quiet nature. She never speaks up, she's always in the background. When I'm around my family, I take after her. Except, of course, when it comes to my future. Dad and I have been arguing over where I'm going to college since I was ten. Sure, back then I had no idea, but I have an idea now and it does not involve business school.

When I walk into the kitchen, Mom is behind the counter, spreading out baking supplies. She loves to bake more than she loves to cook, so there are always muffins or cookies in the house. Dad sits at the dinner table, going over paperwork. As usual. He's a very tall man, lean and solid, with dark hair and dark eyes. Anytime he speaks, the room listens. I guess that happens when you're a deputy director of a bank branch. People kind of have to listen to you. Next to him, my mom is a delicate flower, barely coming up to his shoulders. Her hair is fine blonde, with brownish highlights.

"Hi honey," Mom calls out when she notices me in the room. My dad doesn't even glance up from his papers, just grunts a hello, as I make my way toward my mom and give her a kiss on the cheek. I know this drill well. Mom will cook and bake til dinnertime, while Dad works on his mergers or what not, and I'll be upstairs, working on homework or drawing in my journal until I have to leave for work. They don't question what I do if I stay quiet. It didn't used to be like this.

Not when Paige still lived at home.

The phone rings as I search for a cup, and my mom is the first to reach it.

"Brooklynn," Dad calls as I pour myself a glass of water, "have you looked up the information for the college fair we discussed a few days ago?" That's my dad for you. The only conversations we seem to have these days involves college.

"Yes, I'll email you the page so you can take a look."

He nods in response and I take a small breath, preparing for what I know comes next.

"Good. You know how important it is to have as many options as possible. It's a show of a sturdy mind to be prepared." Sometimes I feel like I can quote the words he’ll say before they make it out of his mouth. They’ve been the same for years.

"Your sister started her preparations when she was just a freshman in high school." This is Dad's special way of making me feel insignificant in this house. I know he means well, but the constant comparison to my sister is more than annoying. "She set a good example and I think you'd be wise to follow it."

Paige is everything I'm not. She's beautiful, smart, and most importantly, she's following the career choice Dad approves of for us. She's the weapon Dad uses to make me rethink everything that I want. I don't hate her, but often, I really can't stand her.

When we were little, our house was full of laughter. Sure, we used to fight just like any sisters would, but we also spent time together. Paige would braid my hair, or take me shopping with her. She wasn't ashamed of having a little sister. We used to talk about everything, and she would actually listen to my wants and wishes. She never judged my desire for design, or my need to express myself on paper. Paige and I are six years apart but she loves me to pieces. Or she did. Until two years ago, when everything changed. Now, the only time we talk is when Dad is around to make sure I know how amazing Paige is and how un-amazing I am. I don't think he does it on purpose. He wants the best for me. He just doesn't understand.