The Natural History of Us (The Fine Art of Pretending #2)(5)
Me cheating on her.
TUESDAY, JANUARY 4TH
21 Weeks until Disaster
?Freshman Year
PEYTON
FAIRFIELD ACADEMY 7:05 A.M.
So this was high school. Students streaming through every door and lining the walls. Multi-colored fliers and trophy cases, a thousand conversations at once. Mass chaos was what it was, and as I strolled through the middle of it all, wide-eyed and staring like Dorothy in Oz, I couldn’t help but gawk. A girl in a uniform exactly like mine walked past and sized me up with a scrunched up nose, and I (thankfully) stopped myself just shy of waving like some sort of socially inept dork.
This. Was. Awesome.
Okay, so yeah, starting school on a Tuesday was weird. And I was a semester behind, my uniform was stiff and scratchy, and I was walking the halls with my dad. But none of it mattered because it all meant I was here, at Fairfield Academy, and that despite every whispered doubt and liquid fear in my bones, I’d finally gotten my fresh start.
Already I could tell there were things I’d miss. I’d been homeschooled all my life, and with that came certain advantages, such as never having to think coherently before nine A.M. and wearing my ratty pajamas all day. Also, in between learning algebra and earth science, I could bathe a basset hound, watch Days of Our Lives, or ride Oakley after lunch. Most importantly? My stomach never roiled like it wanted to ingest itself. But the fear knotting my gut simply walking through the main door today proved that I was alive, and I was clinging to my new motto like a desperate cowboy on a buck-crazed horse:
“Do what scares you.”
“I’ve missed that smile, angel girl.” Dad’s gray-eyed gaze softened at my gooberific grin and he watched me wistfully before coughing and glancing away. “Now, the nurse knows your history, and so do most of your teachers. If anything happens—and I mean anything—if you feel weak for any reason, or think you need to lie down, you just tell them. They’ll understand.”
“Yeah, Dad, I know.”
“Or, we can always delay it another semester.” He looked at me again, eyebrows lifted with hope. “There’s no shame in waiting until—”
“Dad!” My voice echoed off the ceramic tile and a group of upperclassman stopped what they were doing to stare. Fabulous. Twin surges of heat burned my cheeks as I closed the distance between me and my father.
“We’ve been over this a million times,” I said, lowering my voice. “You promised that when I was well enough to walk through the door that I could come here. Well, I just did it. Sans wheelchair and with exactly zero assistance.”
Six months ago, that feat wouldn’t be so impressive, but today I was flipping ecstatic.
“So yeah, I’m a semester behind,” I told him with a shrug. “So what? I’ve finally gotten through the worst, and I don’t care if all the cool clubs are full or the best electives are taken. I’m not wasting another second.” When my stupid nose started to burn, I turned away and blinked to clear my blurry vision. “I’m not letting this disorder steal one more thing from me. Not anymore.”
My voice wobbled toward the end and I mentally slapped myself for showing weakness. The goal today was to prove that I was strong and tough—that I could do this. Not to break down in the hallway and wind up with the nickname Weepy McNew Girl.
“Besides,” I said, knocking his arm with my elbow. “If anything happens, you’re here.”
That, of course, was my ace in the hole. Coming to the school where my dad taught had always been the plan, and now it just made my argument that much stronger.
Fairfield Academy had an amazing dual-credit program with the local college’s Veterinary Technology department. Becoming a veterinarian was all I’d ever wanted… well, other than kicking McKenna’s butt in the Junior High barrel-racing ranks. That program alone was worth the price of admission.
Which, technically, was a heck of a lot more than homeschooling.
My steps slowed as guilt walloped me in the chest, not unlike the time Oakley got spooked and threw me against the fence. We could have literally wallpapered the den with my unexpected medical bills, so maybe…
“Is this about the tuition?” I asked. “Because if this costs too much—”
“Don’t be silly.” Dad forced a smile, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Faculty gets tuition breaks. Even if they didn’t, the money doesn’t matter, not as long as this is what you really want…” His voice trailed as we came to a stop outside the office doors, and I nodded vigorously.
“It is,” I assured him. Even if it means dragging my loving, well-meaning, overprotective parents along with me. “I’m a new Peyton Williams, Dad. A girl ready to rope life and experience it all. The easy, the hard, the safe, and the things that scare me senseless.” I winked to show I was (mostly) teasing and injected my voice with enthusiasm. “Let’s do this!”
This time, a genuine smile tipped his lips, and he tapped my chin with his finger. “You make me proud, you know that?”
The big lug was such a softie. Biting my lip as tears threatened once more, I nodded, and he exhaled long and slow before opening the door. “Bell’s about to ring,” he muttered gruffly. “You’ll need your schedule.”