When the Heart Falls(110)

This is us. Bonding over vomit and shit. "I'm sorry. It must have clogged."

The smell of vomit, the sight of vomit everywhere, brings bile to my throat, and I lean over and release what's left of my dinner into the toilet as well.

Someone knocks on the door to our stall. "Is everything okay in there?" Cade sounds concerned, and I want to cry.

It's too late to save face. "We got food poisoning," I say. "Can you please bring us some toilet paper?" And new clothes, and a mop, and, oh, I don't know, a time machine?

Jenifer vomits again, her body finding unexpected reserves. "Oh my God," she yells. "It's like I'm giving birth from my mouth."





CADE SAVAGE





CHAPTER 6





WINTER REFUSES TO make eye contact with me as we stand outside the dorms waiting for Monsieur Bellugue to lead us to the Sorbonne for our placement exams. After getting Winter and Jenifer toilet paper, towels and bottles of water, I'd gone back to my room to study. I can't afford any distractions this summer. Too much is riding on how I do in this class.

I'm prepared to let Winter get over her perceived humiliation on her own, but when Rodney starts walking over to her I change my mind and get to her side before he does. If he's not going to take my warning seriously, I might have to remind him that he'd seen my polite response. I wouldn't be so polite the next time. I've wrangled wild horses into submission and ridden bulls bent on killing me. A prick from New York who likes to make girls feel bad isn't even a challenge.

Winter's face turns a pleasant rose when she sees me. I don't know why women get so embarrassed about basic bodily functions. It's not like we don't know they use the bathroom same as us—not to mention she had food poisoning. "Winter, about last night—"

"Please, just, can we agree never to speak of it again? Ever. As if it never happened. If I could erase my own memory of last night, I would." Her eyes, large, ice blue but so much warmer, widen as she waits for my response.

Winter is a puzzle I'm trying very hard not to be intrigued by. She possesses the kind of beauty that sets women apart, as if on a pedestal—untouchable and out of every man's league, but then she appears so vulnerable, as if she's hiding a deep crack in her soul. I don't quite know what to make of her, but she's not the kind of girl you get involved with unless you're serious. Since I can't give her serious, I can't give her anything except friendship, and some silent protection against her bully. I want to tell her it's no big deal. Growing up on a ranch, I've seen and smelled worse, but her body is so tense, her small shoulders pulled up with such stress she looks about to snap, so I give her what she wants, even if it's not what I think she needs. "As if what happened? I was studying last night. I didn't see or hear anything."

Her shoulders drop in relief and she smiles. It's the smile that softens her features, making her more approachable even as it adds to her allure. "Thank you. So, are you excited about going to the Sorbonne today?"

"I'm excited about seeing more of Paris, and the architecture at the Sorbonne is amazing, but about the class itself? Not so much. French isn't my strongest subject."

"Then why'd you come to Paris to take a French class?"

That's a very good question. "It was my ticket to France."

"Don't stress too much. It's just one class. It'll all be over by fall." Her voice sounds faraway, almost sad, and I wonder if she's thinking about her own future.

"True," I say, "but it's one class that could cost me my ticket to Columbia's architecture program."

Her face scrunches up. "What do you mean?"

I sigh. "My scholarship is dependent on my grades. I'll lose it if I don't get a B in this class."

"That sucks," she says. "What about financial aid? Loans? It's not ideal, but at least you'll get the education you deserve."

"I can't, okay?" My hands curl into fists. "My parents are wealthy. Really, obscenely wealthy. I wouldn't qualify for anything."

"Then why don't they help you?"

"It's complicated." I take a deep breath and release my fists. I know she's just trying to help, trying to fix this, but there's no easy fix.

She shifts her purse on her shoulder, her blouse dipping to reveal a hint of curve from her breast, and my body responds instantly. Dropping my book bag to hide evidence of my attraction to her, I turn to face our leader.

Winter leans in closer to speak, her subtle perfume intoxicating me. "I'm sorry. If you need any help, I'm pretty good at languages."

"Don't worry, I got it. Anything can be mastered with enough effort." And while the offer is tempting, it's for all the wrong reasons. I can't afford to get too close to a girl like her with so much else vying for my energy and attention. When she bites her bottom lip, I look away, convinced more than ever that if I spent too much time alone with her, studying wouldn't be on the agenda.

"Follow me, students," Monsieur Bellugue says. "And please, remember these directions. We will take the metro into the city and walk the rest of the way. Allons-y!"

It's not just that Paris is a foreign country that makes it so different, it's city life anywhere that is foreign to me. A part of me misses the wide-open spaces, the big sky, the smell of hay and fried chicken and the rev of my pickup truck. I am a separate entity in this world of people and tall buildings. Like my hat and boots, I stand out as something 'other', a stereotype from a story. But under the wide brimmed hat and flannel and denim lives another side of me, the side that feels more at home with skyscrapers than haystacks, that prefers sketching the bones of a new building to wrangling cows, and I wonder which side will win out and get the life he wants, and what will happen to the other side that loses.