The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(23)

“I see,” my mom answers, a tight smile holding in everything she’s dying to say.

“Stop it!” I roll my eyes at her and pull my apron over my head.

“I didn’t say anything,” she practically sings.

“You don’t have to. You never have to. You have that mom look. It’s so damned annoying,” I say, feeling Leah wrap her arms around my leg from behind.

“Damned,” Leah repeats.

“Awww, okay. Hey Leah? That’s one of those daddy words. And daddy shouldn’t say it, okay?” I say, bending down to meet her eye-to-eye. I pull her hands into mine, and we swing them back and forth.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she giggles. Oh my god, is this my kid!

“Let’s go, Leah. Time for pre-school,” my mom says, grabbing her granddaughter’s hand. Mom makes a face at me as she passes, her eyebrows raised excitedly. She’s still hung up over Paige.

“Stop it,” I mouth, making her laugh. I watch them leave, Leah’s hair swinging side-to-side, slapping at the base of her neck. I wish Bethany could have seen this. She would have loved our little girl’s hair.

“You want to slice the meat or prep the deli foods today, Houston?” Sheila asks, her hand already on the slicer. I smile because she’s already made the decision for me.

“I’ll get the side dishes,” I say, and I move to the back. While I pass, I notice an orange notebook on the floor under the table where Paige was sitting. I pick it up and flip through a few pages, realizing it’s her biology notes. The ink is purple, and her handwriting is perfect—not loopy or bubbly, but more like a traditional cursive, thin letters and straight lines. It doesn’t seem like her. But then again, it does.

I walk out front to see if I can still see her along the sidewalk, but she’s already gone. I’m sure she needs this for her final, and I half consider jogging down the roadway until I get to the walkway that leads to the sorority houses. But the lot is starting to fill up; there are a few regulars who I know can be difficult, so I turn back and join Sheila behind the counter, dropping the notebook on my school bag, hoping to reunite it with Paige soon.



* * *



The day drags, but I was able to squeeze out a little early and Chuck still offered to pay me for the hour. I’m moving my bag up higher on my shoulder when I feel my phone buzz. It’s Casey.

CASEY: Dude. Lunch. Now.

ME: I ate. Go ahead.

CASEY: You suck. I wanted to eat one of your sandwiches.

ME: I’m sure Sheila will make you one.

CASEY: U not there?

ME: Got off at 1.

CASEY: So…2nd lunch?

ME: Go feed your face. I’ve got some things.

CASEY: You always have things.



I do always have things. What I should be doing is reviewing my history notes for my final exam tomorrow. But instead, I’m walking up the steps of the Delta House, an orange notebook in my hand. I feel like Prince Charming, but a really nerdy one—no glass slipper, just a laundry list of bones, intestinal mapping, and the phases of cellular division.

“Can I help you?” There’s one girl sitting out on the porch, her feet curled up in her lap along with a heavy book. She has a pencil stuffed in a twist of hair piled up on her head.

“Yeah, uh…I’m looking for someone. Paige Owens?” Her eyes turn to slits quickly, and there’s a flash of a menacing smile on her face. It’s strange.

“She isn’t here,” she says.

I can’t explain why exactly, but I don’t believe her.

“Do you want me to tell her something?” she asks, closing her book and dropping it in the seat next to her. She stands and pulls her hair down, letting dark waves from the twist fall over her shoulders. She’s trying to distract me. This is getting stranger.

“Just a notebook. She left it…somewhere,” I leave that vague, suddenly not wanting to tell this chick how I know Paige—why I know Paige—where I saw Paige. “Anyhow, I think she needs it to study,” I say, taking a step back as she approaches.

“You can leave it with me,” she says.

Yeah, that’s not happening.

“No, it’s okay. I have to talk to her about something too,” I say, making quick note of the disappointment on her face. Mission failed.

“Oh, well, I’m not sure when she’ll be back. Maybe try later on today,” she says, walking back to her seat, as if she’s suddenly lost interest.

“I’ll wait,” I say, sitting on a wood bench at the other end of the porch. The girl freezes when I do. It takes her a few seconds to move again, and when she finally gets back to her seat, she smiles at me in a way that says I just ruined her day.

“Suit yourself,” she says, one last attempt to make me leave.

I pull out my phone and check my text messages while I wait.

CASEY: Sheila’s sandwich was better than yours.

CASEY: No, it wasn’t really. I said that to make you feel bad.

CASEY: Next time just make me one and leave it in the fridge.

ME: You just don’t like paying for them.

CASEY: This is true.

ME: I’m going to start charging you.

CASEY: We’re no longer friends.

ME: I knew you wanted me for my meat.