This Is Falling(96)

I have a good hour to kill before Nate’s practice is done. Alone time. At least during school I can sink my mind into something for one of my classes; I usually end up working ahead just because I can’t stand being idle. But there’s not much to distract me now. Even Sports Center is lame in August. McConnell is not known for its football team, so like hell am I going to get into that.

It’s a bad idea—it always is—but my phone is in my hand and my fingers are typing and hitting send before I can stop myself. It’s been three weeks since I’ve talked to Kelly. She had the baby two months ago. That was a slap in my face, a reality dose I probably needed. That’s why I broke up with her in the first place—so she could have these things. I did it because I loved her so much I wanted her to have it all. But damn did it hurt seeing her live her life and move on from me so effortlessly.

Kelly stayed with me after the accident, through high school and the summer before we both left for college. We were going to go to the same school—that was always the plan. But I could tell by the look on her face, the one that she wore more and more every day, that she was forcing herself to go through with it all. She wanted out. But she loved me too much to hurt me. So I pushed her away instead.

My phone buzzes back with a response, and I hover over the screen for a few seconds, afraid to open it. I just asked her how things were going at home with Jax, the baby. We’ve managed to remain friends for four years. Friends—even though every conversation with her is like driving a stake through my heart. Last year, she got married, and a few months later, she told me she was pregnant. And I died a little more.

Swiping the screen, the first thing I see is a picture of tiny feet nestled inside Kelly’s hands, the diamond ring on her left hand like a banner waving in my face. Her husband, Jared, tolerates me, but I don’t think he’d mind at all if Kelly and I just stopped communicating completely. I have a feeling he’ll get his wish one day—distance and time, they do funny things to the heart, they make you…forget. Or at least want to forget.

He’s beautiful. That’s all I can say.

Thanks. That’s all she writes back. And I know we’re near the end, and I feel sick. I’m getting drunk tonight, with our without Nate as my wingman. Hell, I might just pull up a stool at Sally’s and join the regulars who plant themselves there all day.





Cass





“Oh my god, you literally brought your entire life from Burbank to Oklahoma, didn’t you,” I huff, dragging two extra bags on top of my own trunk along the walkway toward our dorm.

“That was the deal. I would come here, but I still get to be me—and I like to have my things,” she says, prancing ahead of me with the lighter bags. Paige is a full minute older, but you’d think years separated us with the authority she holds over my head.

When it came time to decide on a college, Paige’s choices narrowed down to Berkley and McConnell, and Berkley was definitely her preference. But for me, it was always McConnell and only McConnell. They had the best sports and rehab medicine program in the country, and that’s what I wanted to do—what I was destined to do. But my parents wouldn’t support me moving thousands of miles away without someone around to keep an eye on me. Supervision—the word made my skin crawl I had heard it so often. Supervision and monitoring, words bandied about so often in conversations about me, but never in conversations with me. God how I wished just once someone threw in the word normal.

So, as much of a pain in the ass as my sister is, she’s also a saint, because she picked McConnell, and I’m the only reason for that. And I owe her—I owe her my life.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” Paige starts as soon as we get our bags, mostly hers, loaded into our dorm room. “I want this bed. And I’m still going to rush a sorority. Mom and dad don’t need to know that I won’t technically be living with you.”

“Works for me,” I say, already unzipping my bag and flipping open the lid on my trunk. I feel Paige’s purse slam into my back suddenly. “Ouch! What the hell?” I say, rubbing the spot where the leather strap smacked my bare skin.

“The least you could do is pretend to miss living with me,” she says, her eyes squinting, her smirk showing she’s a little hurt.

“Oh, Paigey, I’ll miss you. I just hate that you have to be my babysitter—still!” And I do hate it. I think that’s the worst part about being a teenager with MS; everyone’s always waiting for something to go wrong.

It started in the middle of my freshman year—I would get this pain in my eye. It would come and go, weeks between each occurrence. When I couldn’t ignore it any longer, I told my parents—and we went to the eye doctor. My vision was fine, and he told them it was probably stress from school and the running in soccer leaving me dehydrated. What a simple and succinct diagnosis. It was also complete crap.

The fatigue hit next. Again, easily summed up with too much soccer practice, which of course led to truly uncomfortable fights between my parents—my mom wanting me to quit completely and my father saying I just “need more conditioning.” It was because of these fights that I hid the tingling from them. That went on for months, until it was summer. And then one day, I couldn’t walk.

I could stand from my bed, get to my feet, but that was it. The second I attempted to move toward my door or drag my feet toward my closet to get dressed I wobbled and fell. I felt like the town drunk without the benefit of the booze and a paper bag. I screamed for Paige and my parents, and I knew by the look on their faces that my life as I knew it was done.