This Is Falling(17)

“Thanks, man,” I say, giving him knuckles.

I wait at the elevator for a few extra minutes, and then I decide to take the stairs, which are closer to Rowe’s end of the hall. The closer I get to her room, the less I breathe, trying to listen for any sign of her being awake. But the bottom of her door is dark. She’s either still asleep or long gone. Either way, she’s going to realize her roommates never came home. And I hope like hell my brother keeps his word.





Rowe





I woke up early since I never showered last night. I figured most of the dorm would be asleep, so I could take my shower alone. Seems anytime after eleven and before six is good.

Paige and Cass were both gone, or they never came home. I suspect it’s the latter. I spend my entire shower wondering where Paige slept, wondering if Nate paid any attention to her. Since she’s not here, I’m guessing he did, and I hate that my mind keeps conjuring up visions of her sitting on his lap, kissing his neck, making out with him. Jealousy is the theme of the day, I’m afraid.

My laptop keeps staring at me. I haven’t written him in two days. Ross says it’s good for me to write to him, but he also says I shouldn’t make it a ritual; I should make it something I do when I need it. When I want to feel better about things. And I want to now. But it feels wrong to write to Josh about another boy.

I flip my laptop open anyway, and go right to my Facebook messages to read the few sentences Nate sent me. Then I click into his profile and sift through his pictures. There are a lot of him with his brother, and a few of him with his family. He looks just like his dad—sharp, angular jawline, and the clear grayish-blue eyes. His mom is beautiful, dark black hair, blue eyes, and a tiny frame.

I decide to keep going, flipping through some photos from his high school. There’s a girl in a few of them, mostly the ones that look like they’re from some dance or something, and she’s pretty too. She looks like an athlete, her arms are muscular and there’s just something about her smile that looks strong—fearless. Her hair is close to the same color as mine—almost a muddy brown. From the number of photos of them together, I would guess they had been together for a while.

There are a few more photos that are more recent, and those are the ones I’m obsessing over. They look like they were taken this summer, and there’s a different girl in every one—and a lot of them look like Paige. Each time I click to a new scene, I see Ty and Nate, holding a beer in one hand and a girl in the other. Sometimes the girl is on Nate’s lap, and other times he’s carrying her around on his back. His stupid charming smile is the only thing that stays the same.

I click my message button and start to type:





I’ve survived two days, but I don’t know about this college thing. To be fair, I haven’t gone to class yet. That part will probably be easy. But…





I stop and stare at the screen, because I’m about to veer in a new direction with Josh. Closing my eyes, I hear Ross’s voice in my head—“write to him when you need it.”

I need Josh. And I need him now.





…there’s this boy. There, I said it. I know it’s weird for me to write this to you, but I don’t have anyone else. I think he likes me, but I don’t know. I think I like him, but…you know? I’ve only known him for about 48 hours, but I’ve thought about him for 47. He’s a baseball player, like you. Well, except he’s really good (no offense).

I totally Googled him—I didn’t tell him this, but I’ve seen every tape of his games posted on his high school’s website. Dad would love him—he’s a catcher. You know how my dad feels about catchers. “They’re the heart and the soul of the team, Rowe.”

I know, so what’s my problem, right? Well, I’m just not very good at this…this…boy-girl thing. I don’t even know what to call it. When I was with you, though, it was just easy. You wrote me a note in class one day, told me you liked me, and asked if I liked you back. I told you I did, and then boom! We were boyfriend-girlfriend. Up until we weren’t.

With Nate (that’s his name), there’s no note. Yeah, he said I was hot. Or, he sort of said I was hot. He actually said the way I wear my shoes is hot, and I’m not sure that counts, but then he hung out with my roommate in his room all night. Not the cool one, he hung out with her too, but she was there for his brother. Long story. Anyhow, I could have gone, too. I was the one he invited, but then I just froze.

I’m frozen, Josh. And I don’t know how to get unstuck. I know you won’t answer. I know you don’t have an answer to give me. But I wish you did.

Oh, and I think Ross might be full of shit. Because I don’t feel any better. Like, at all.





Love,

Rowe





What I need to do is be more like my friend Betsy. Betsy wouldn’t think—she would just act. Maybe that’s the new mantra I need to follow: “What would Betsy do?”

I know what she would do right now. She would march over to Nate’s room and barge right in just like she belonged there. Be like Betsy. Be like Betsy. I tip my head over my knees and run my fingers through my wet hair, fluffing it out into waves.

Be like Betsy. Be like Betsy. I stuff my feet into my sneakers, grab my wallet and keys, and shove them into my back pockets after I pull my door closed behind me. The hallway is quiet, because it’s still painfully early. I’m careful with my steps, like I’m sneaking up on someone. All I can hear is the thump of my pulse in my ears, and I’m worried it’s distracting me—keeping me from hearing someone coming.