This Is Falling(6)

I tried harder in baseball because of him. He was better than me, and even as a junior in high school he was being scouted. But then he tore his spinal cord. Baseball became my dream then. At first, I did it because I felt like I owed it to him, like a tribute or something. But he slapped me around over that more than a few times, so now I play for me. And like Ty, I don’t apologize for who I am or what I want out of life. And right now, all I want to do is find out more about Rowe.

“Are you cyber-stalking girls? Fuck, man. That’s creepy.” Ty’s chair has me pinned to my desk, so no use hiding this now.

“Met a girl,” I smile.

“Oh God. You’re going to get all sappy and shit. Man, we just got here! All right, who is she. Show me who we’re stalking.”

I tilt my computer, and Ty slides it over to his lap. I get nervous when he smirks at me, and it only gets worse when he starts to click on things. When I reach to grab my computer back from him, he just twists away, jamming my leg into the side of my desk and pushing me away with his massive forearm.

“She wrote you back, dude,” he teases. I’m somewhere between wanting to punch my brother and dying to know what Rowe said. “Rowe, huh? That’s cool. You know who she looks like, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know; I have a type. So sue me.” I reach again, and he turns completely away, pushing off to the other side of the room and holding his arm out to block me again.

“She says she’ll meet you at the elevator. Oooooo, whatcha doing in the elevator? Have you been reading my Penthouse?”

“Don’t be a dick,” I grunt, kicking his wheel enough to twist him toward me so I can get my laptop back. Ty can tell he’s pushed me far enough, so he eases up…for now.

“You know you have workouts tomorrow, right?”

“Fuuuuuuck!” It’s like I thought I was on vacation or something. I completely forgot about workouts.

“It’s not mandatory,” I say, hoping he’ll corroborate my plan to play hooky.

“Right. Yeah, you could skip. It’s just one workout. It’s not like you’re a freshman fighting for a starting spot or anything. I mean this elevator appointment is really important. It could determine your future with…what was her name?”

“Rowe,” I say, my lips pushed tightly as I try to hold in my frustration with Ty. I’m frustrated because he’s right. And I might still be a little drunk. And I might just be imagining how I felt when I ran into her in the hall.

I mutter a few swear words under my breath and take my laptop back over to my bed to write Rowe back.





I forgot I have something in the morning. Won’t be back until after lunchtime. You free in the afternoon? Or maybe going to the mixer? Let me know.

- 57





“Asshole,” I say, tossing my closed laptop down by my feet and pulling my pillow up over my eyes to block out the light…and to block out Ty.

“Just your angel of responsibility, my brother. That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles; I give him the finger before I fall asleep and dream about Rowe and those damn cotton panties.





Chapter 4





Rowe





I feel like an idiot. I’ve been sitting in the hallway next to the elevator for twenty minutes now, and I’ve watched about a dozen more students move their belongings in. Almost every room is full, and parents are nagging their sons and daughters and some are crying about leaving. The whole thing is making me appreciate how fast my parents were with this process. But they had different motives—if they stayed too long, we all would have bailed on the plan. And I would never grow up.

Paige and Cass were dead to the world when I woke up. That’s another element of the sleeping medication—when it’s done doing it’s job, my eyes are wide and ready, no matter how badly I’d like to keep them closed.

I woke up a little after seven. My hair had dried overnight, so I just put on some eyeliner—to make myself look older than twelve—and slipped on my running shoes to go exploring. Being outside makes me nervous. Ross says I have a slight agoraphobia brought on by my trauma, and the best way to overcome it is to push myself a little more every day. I have four days until classes start, and if I want to show up to any of them, I have to push myself out the front door of our dorm. So that’s what I spent the first three hours of my morning doing. I paced the area around the front desk. Then I sat in the lounge. Eventually, I went outside and stood on the steps, forcing myself to count to fifty. By the time my breathing slowed down, I did a full lap around the building, and soon it was almost eleven. I’ve been sitting here ever since.

He isn’t coming. What has me upset is that I’m surprised he isn’t coming. I’m starting to think I dreamt the entire thing. The Ambien makes me do that sometimes—and the dreams feel so real. I pull out my phone to check my Facebook messages and see if that conversation is even in there, but while I’m waiting for it to load, a folded up paper airplane lodges itself under my knee.

“Hey, mind throwing that back?” I look down the hall and my eyes are met with a face that’s oddly familiar. He looks just like Nate—or what I imagined Nate to be? But this guy is older, and he’s in a wheelchair. His smile is disarming, and I’m starting to feel like someone is pulling a trick on me.