When the Heart Falls(25)

His colloquialism tugs a small grin from my lips.

He rubs my back. "But you didn't do anything at all. I got you back here as soon as I realized what had happened, and you slept the rest of the night. Alone."

Relief overpowers me. Nothing bad had happened. I can feel that now. I know my body feels whole. Mine. Not like before. This wasn't like before.

Still. What the hell?

I stand, pulling his sheet around me. "Can I borrow this until I get dressed? I need to go talk to Jenifer."

He stops me before I leave, his hand on my arm, and chills run up my spine. "Here, I got this for you. Take one a day and you should be fine."

I accept the box from him. It's an antihistamine.

This simple gesture of friendship brings tears to my eyes. "Thank you, Cade."



After a shower and some clean clothes, I feel more like myself—just with a major hangover.

I find Jenifer sitting outside under the shade of a tree, smoking a cigarette and swigging wine from the bottle. She has large dark glasses on, but red skin that looks burned spreads out from under them.

Storming over to her, I prepare my verbal slaughter, mentally practicing what I will say. When I reach her, I open my mouth to begin, but her words stop me.

"I'm sorry." She takes her glasses off, revealing blood shot, swollen eyes filled with tears. Her face is so red she looks like she slept outside on a hot day in the desert. "Oh God, you're going to kill me, aren't you? It's okay. I'm ready. I already had the pepper spray, now it's the knife."

The anger drains out of me like someone pulled the plug on it. I sink down to the grass beside her. "Cade got rid of those." I rest my hand on her arm. "Besides, I don't need them."

She looks at me, a sad, hopeful smile on her face. "So we're okay?"

"Maybe. Just tell me, why'd you do it?"

Jenifer shrugs. "I just wanted you to have fun with me."

Her answer surprises me. "I always have fun with you."

"No, you don't. No one does, unless they're drunk or high or taking my clothes off."

My heart sinks a little at her words. Is this really how she feels about herself? "You don't have to do that with me."

"But I—

"No, seriously. You can keep your clothes on with me." I nudge her and smile.

Jenifer chuckles, but it dies out, and I realize she's not the bright, bubbly girl I've always known. Normally she seems on top of the world, confident, terminally optimistic, and happy. Today she's like a vortex of sadness and hopelessness.

Jenifer takes another swig of her wine. "I'm not like you, you know. Guys look at you, and they see a girl they can date. A girl they can show off to their mom. A forever kind of girl. They look at me, they see a one night stand. Just some girl they get drunk and bang." She sucks on her cigarette and blows smoke out. "Imagine what girls see."

I'd always thought the exact opposite, that she was the kind of girl guys wanted to be with and I was… well… The Ice Queen. Pretty, but untouchable. But as I look at her more closely, I can see why she feels that way about herself. She dresses and acts in a way that invites men in, but perhaps the wrong kind of men, for the wrong kind of things. "I imagine they see someone who has what they want. I imagine they're jealous."

"They're bitches." Jenifer pours the last of the wine into her mouth.

"Maybe if they just get to know you… the real you..."

She shakes her head, an unhappy smile on her face, like she knows a truth that I can't see yet. Then she leans back against the tree, bottle of wine forgotten. "You're my best friend. My only friend. You see something in me no one else does. I don't want to lose that, so I'll try to be the person you think I am."





CADE SAVAGE





CHAPTER 10





TWO WEEKS OF classes, and I still have a hard time with even the most basic conversation in French. They say some people just don't have a proficiency for language. I never believed this until now. I always thought that if I worked hard enough, studied hard enough, pushed myself hard enough, I could learn or do anything. I applied this principle to my studies, to learning architecture so that I could get in to the best program, to learning to speak like an academic so people wouldn't stereotype me as a dumb hick. I thought it would work with French, too. But, now I know I was wrong, and that error could mean the end to all of my dreams.

People pass me on either side, speaking so fast I'm not sure I'd understand them in English, let alone French, as I sit on the steps outside the Rodin Museum waiting for the rest of the class to arrive for our tour. I stare at the paper in my hand, my first test. All I can see are the red marks. There are so many of them, like someone stuck themselves with a pin and bled all over the paper while grading it. A 58%. I've never scored that low on anything in my life, and never worked so hard on anything either.

Without at least a B in this class, I'll lose my scholarship to Columbia. In five years, when my inheritance finally comes through, I fear my father will have broken my will. I won't be able to leave the family business after that. That can't happen, but I don't know what else to do. I examine the questions I got wrong, but I have no idea how else I would have answered.