This Is Falling (14 page)

“We thought we’d leave the chairs and tent
with you guys. Just something fun,” my mom says, leaning in to kiss
me and noticeably eyeing the girl standing behind me.

“Your mother just likes a reason to shop. We
couldn’t even fit the tent in the damn rental car. I had to tie it
to the roof,” my dad says, reaching over to shake my hand, and
eyeing Cass and Rowe behind me just as mom did.

“Mom, Dad, this is Rowe and Cass,” I say,
reaching back to regain the fragile grip I had on Rowe’s hand. She
grips me a little harder now, and I can tell she’s nervous.

“Cass, we have heard absolutely
nothing
about you,” Dad says, pushing his sunglasses into
the pocket on his shirt, and for a moment, Cass looks mortified.
“That must mean you’re pretty special. We only hear the breakup
stories, and we used to get one of those a week.”

“It was touch-and-go there for a while,” Cass
says, and Ty’s face looks panicked. “I painted his room pink.” And
Ty’s smile is back quickly.

Dad laughs, reaching over to shake Cass’s
hand, our mom waiting her turn behind him. “Ah, so that explains
why you didn’t want us to come up to the room.”

“It was Rowe’s idea,” Cass says, shifting
Dad’s attention to Rowe, who is manically snapping and unsnapping
the button on her wallet she’s so nervous to meet my parents.

“Remind me to consult you when these two
short-sheet my bed over the holidays. And fill my car with packing
peanuts. And paint my fingernails with red Magic Marker while I’m
napping.” Rowe laughs lightly when she shakes my dad’s hand, and I
can see her relax just a little.

“I’ll make you a manual on how to deal with
them,” she says, and I can’t help but move closer to her and put my
arm around her. At first, I’m afraid she’s going to shrug me away,
but instead, she reaches for my fingertips with her hand and holds
on.

“Rowe, so nice to meet you,” my mom says,
giving me a wink from the side, letting me know she approves. My
mom likes
my type
too.

“Thanks for inviting me, Mr. and Mrs.
Preeter,” Rowe says when she shakes my mom’s hand, her voice
wavering; I can actually hear her pulse racing through her vocal
cords. My mom holds onto her hand and covers it with her other one,
looking Rowe right in the eyes.

“Please, it’s just Cathy and Dave. And it’s
our pleasure,” Mom says. I see Rowe whisper my parents’ names to
herself when they turn away, like she’s trying to memorize them,
and I almost lean in to kiss her on the cheek when she does, but I
catch myself.

McConnell is more of a
baseball
school, it would seem. By the third quarter, the McConnell Bulls
were trailing the Miller Pirates by four touchdowns, and the
stadium was only a third of the way full. I sat next to Ty, and the
girls sat in front of us. I was stuffed—one of the nice things
about sitting in the box was free food, and good food, too. Not the
cafeteria shit I’ve been eating.

I can tell Cass and Rowe are arguing about
something. Not a
serious
fight or anything, but Rowe
definitely seems unhappy. I nudge Ty and nod toward them; he just
shrugs. I’m trying not to eavesdrop, but I hear bits and
pieces.

“Where am I supposed to stay?” Rowe whispers.
Cass says something back, but I can’t tell what it is.

“Cass…
pleeeeease?
Can’t you go there?”
More whispering, and Rowe turns to look behind her—just enough,
that I jump and quickly pretend I’m intensely watching the blowout
happening on the field.

When the third quarter ends, Cass gets up
from her seat and Rowe slumps down in hers. I watch carefully as
Cass walks to the other side of Ty, whispering in his ear, and soon
he’s backing up in his chair and Cass is grabbing her purse from a
table.

“We’re heading back. Mom, Dad—see you guys
tomorrow at dinner?” My mom leans in and kisses Ty on the top of
his head and shakes Cass’s hand again, walking them to the suite
door before returning to her seat. Rowe is sitting alone directly
in front of me, and she’s getting smaller with every second.

“This seat taken?” I climb over the back of
the seat Cass left open, feeling like an idiot, but just dying to
get closer to her. She just smiles and looks to the field. “We
don’t have to stay you know. My parents don’t care. My dad’s firm
has a branch here. That’s how they got the seats. They didn’t pay
for them.”

“I want to stay ‘til the end,” she says, her
smile fake and stiff.

“Sure,” I say, sliding my feet up to rest on
the bar in front of us. I keep my hands in my own lap, because Rowe
is hugging herself again. I’m pretty sure I know what she and Cass
were fighting about, but I want her to say it. I don’t want to be
the jerk who pushes her to spend the night in my room when she
clearly doesn’t want to.

“Paige called. She’s staying at the Delta
house all weekend. She’s probably going to move out in a week or
two. They like her.” Rowe keeps her eyes on the field when she
talks. I try to keep mine there, too, but I slip every few seconds
to catch a glimpse of her fidgeting hands and shaking leg.

“Oh. Well…I guess I’m glad Paige has found
her people?” I don’t know what to say, and I can’t even make a
funny joke.

“Ty is spending the night in our room.” I
gathered this much, and I am doing cartwheels inside at the thought
of Rowe coming home with me. But I want her to
want
to be
there. This forced feeling emanating from her body feels really
sucky.

“Well, there’s always my friend the lounge
sofa,” I say, finally turning to her so I can see how she reacts.
When she doesn’t, I’m even more confused—either I’ve offended her
by not offering my place or she’s genuinely indifferent about the
lounge sofa.

“Can I borrow a blanket? And maybe some sweat
pants or something? I don’t think I want to go back to my room if I
can help it,” she says, her lips twisting and her eyes still not
quite on me but looking down.

“Sure. You can borrow a blanket. And I have
some clothes.” This sucks.

Rowe

We walk back to his room, and the entire time
I battle myself internally, trying to get the courage to ask if I
can stay with him. My body wants to be there, and part of me was
actually a little excited when Cass put me in this position. But
the other part of me feels sick at the thought, unsure of what it
means if I spend the night with a guy. And I wonder what Nate would
expect.

“Here, come on in. You can use my new
blanket,” he says, flipping on the lights and reminding me that his
room is still pink. It makes me smile. I round the corner and move
to his bed, where he gathers up a sparkly Barbie blanket.

“Ahhh,
bling
. I get it now,” I say,
pretty damn impressed.

“I told you. Preeters don’t do embarrassed.
We embrace,” he says, reaching in the crack between his bed and
wall to pull out a fluffy, purple, heart-pillow. I take it in my
arms and hold it, and he smiles proudly. I keep waiting for his
flaw, something to make me
not
want him. But everything he
does has the opposite effect.

“Here, you can wear this. You can change in
our closet if you want. I promise, I won’t look.” He covers his
eyes but leaves cracks between his fingers, which makes me
laugh.

I take the stack of clothes from him and flip
on his closet light, shutting the door. He gave me a long-sleeved
gray McConnell baseball shirt, which I slip over my head first,
pulling the dress straps from my shoulders underneath. I was hoping
the dress would slip down my waist, but the two snaps are holding
it snug in place, and no matter how many ways I bend and stretch, I
can’t reach them.

“Everything okay?” I’ve been in here for
several minutes now, and my pulse is racing so fast that I’m
starting to sweat.

“Uhhhhh,” I say, laying my forehead flat
against the door.
Breathe, just breathe.

“Sweat pants throwing you for a loop?” he
chuckles.

My entire body is shaking and my fingers are
numb as I twist the closet door handle and crack the door open.
When I look out, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, but he gets
up quickly and comes closer, putting his hand back over his eyes,
not cheating this time.

“It’s my dress. I can’t reach the snaps.”

“Oh.” He stands still for a few seconds,
still averting his eyes, and I love that he doesn’t want to take
advantage of me. He’s like a straight-A student in the college of
gentlemen.

“It’s okay. I have your shirt on. If you can
just…I don’t know, maybe lift up the back and pop the snaps?”

I can hear him swallow, and then he slowly
pulls his hand from his eyes, careful to keep his stare on my face.
“Yeah, I can do that.”

I turn around and move my ponytail over my
neck. A few seconds later, I feel his hand carefully lift the
bottom of the shirt, dragging it slowly upward. When he gets to the
snaps, he stops, not pulling it any further. It’s impossible for
his fingers not to touch my bare skin when he reaches in and tugs
the fabric apart, and that small, gentle caress sends my heart into
overdrive.

The dress starts to slip; I try to catch it,
but its weight brings it down my legs quickly. Nate backs away,
moving his hands to his side; I turn to face him, pulling the
bottom of his long shirt down to cover my upper thighs. He’s not
looking at my eyes any more.

“Thanks,” I say, kicking the dress back into
the closet and shutting the door again. “I’ll be right out.”

I pull the sweatpants on quickly when I shut
the door, and I reach down to gather Paige’s dress, folding it as
best as I can. Everything feels urgent. Getting out of this closet
feels urgent. Getting out of this room feels urgent. Forcing my
eyes to close…
shit!
I don’t have my Ambien.

When I open the door, I do my best to put on
a grateful face. But just having realized that—not only will I be
lying for hours on a sofa out in the open near the place people
come and go freely all night long—but any hope of falling asleep
tonight is moot, because I haven’t slept without the aide of
medicine for more than seven hundred days.

I pick up the rolled comforter and small
heart-pillow from his chair, stuffing them under one arm and
Paige’s dress under the other. “Thanks. I’ll…just bring these back
in the morning, I guess?”

“Whenever. I mean, not sure how I’ll sleep
without Barbie, but…I’ll manage,” he smirks just enough to show a
dimple on his right cheek.

I walk through his door and focus on putting
one foot in front of the next, angry at myself for putting myself
in this situation. The lounge door is closed, but not locked, so I
slip inside, shutting it behind me again. The wall is completely
windowed, but there is one sofa that is more in the corner, away
from direct view. I breathe in deeply and head for it, first
setting the pillow and dress on the study table, and then spreading
the blanket out on the couch so I can climb inside and fold myself
up—like a taco.

The couch is hard, and even Barbie can’t
soften it. There’s a TV hung on the wall, but I don’t see a remote
sitting out anywhere, so eventually I give up and tuck myself in
with the purple heart-pillow against my chest for protection. My
eyes are wide, and my heart is miserable. Normally, when I feel
like this, it’s because I’m remembering Josh and how he looked when
he picked me up for homecoming, or when he ran out to the baseball
field, or when he waited for me by my locker. But right now, I’m
thinking about Nate, and the feather-light touch of his hand on my
back—and how it lit my body on fire.

“Come on,” Nate says, hanging on to the open
lounge door.

“Oh no, it’s okay. I’m fine,” I lie.

“No, you’re not fine. You’re stubborn. Now
pick up Barbie and follow me, Thirty-three.”

It feels different when I walk into Nate’s
room the second time. It’s dark in here, just a small light from
the barely-opened closet. I notice that Ty’s blanket is now on his
Nate’s bed, which makes me wonder if he planned to just go to
sleep—or if his motive was to wait me out until he had to come and
get me like he did.

“You can sleep on Ty’s bed if you want. I
took his blanket. You know, save you from his cooties?”
Dimples.

“Thanks,” I smile, spreading Barbie out on
Ty’s mattress, and setting Paige’s dress down on Nate’s desk-chair.
“Can I keep Hearty?”

“Oh. My. God. You named the pillow. Yes, you
can keep Hearty,” he says, rolling his eyes, but laughing enough
that I know he’s teasing.

“Says the man who calls his blanket Barbie,”
I tease back.

“If you’re going to make fun of Barbie, you
can sleep without a blanket, missy,” he says, feigning to get up
and pull the blanket from Ty’s bed. I leap on the bed and gather
the blanket in my arms quickly.

“No! No. I was kidding. I love Barbie. She
and I are friends,” I say, giggling. Since when do I giggle?

“Hmmmmm,” he grumbles, laying back down, and
pulling Ty’s blanket up to his neck, his long legs hanging out of
the bottom because it’s too short. “I don’t know how I feel about
you and Barbie being friends.”

It gets quiet after that, and I’m glad the
room is as dark as it is. But I can still see his eyes. They’re
open, and they’re watching me. I’m watching him. He’s wearing the
short-sleeved version of the shirt I’m wearing, and a pair of black
basketball shorts, and everything about him has me wanting to be
touched by him, a feeling that I fight and ignore, albeit poorly.
We lie here in silence for almost fifteen minutes, each taking
turns closing our eyes, trying to trick the other one into thinking
we’re asleep, and a few times we laugh quietly when we catch each
other.

“You ever make wishes?” he says, out of
nowhere. His voice breaks the thick silence, and it makes my heart
jump. I think it would have jumped at hearing him anyhow.