You and Everything After (Falling #2)(81)
She does try to ask me questions about Paige. She doesn’t like it when we’re fighting. And I don’t like feeling this way about my sister. But I’m having a hard time getting over this one. It’s always a matter of trust between her and me, and that bridge has just been burned so many times, I don’t know if I can rebuild it any more.
I have one more final. Ty left for home with his brother yesterday, and Nate gave me a letter to give to Rowe. He told me not to read it—which was probably not wise. I don’t think I would have if he hadn’t made it so off limits. I steamed it open in the shower room, but you can totally tell I butchered the envelope. I think I’ll just admit it to Rowe. She won’t care.
The words in his letter…they were everything I want Ty to say to me in so many ways. Those boys are special. And I hope he and Rowe can figure things out.
I’ve been waiting at the window for an hour for the cab to drop Rowe off. I used to wait for my grandparents to show up on the holidays like this, my chair pulled right up to the windowsill and my face pressed on the glass. The thought makes me smile, so I breathe frost onto the window glass and draw a heart with Ty’s name in the middle. I feel silly and childish after, so I pull my sleeve over my wrist and erase it.
When the cab pulls up and Rowe steps out with her small bag, I slide my chair back from the window and step up on my bed and start jumping. I’ve missed her, more than I thought. And seeing her face when she walks into the room almost makes me cry.
“Yayyyyyyyy!” I actually scream when she comes in, like a child waiting for the fair to come to town.
“Uh…yeah. Yay,” she says, looking at me like I’m a weirdo. Okay, maybe I’m a little overexcited. I’ve been alone for a full day, and the halls are empty, and it was getting to me. I’ve studied for my sign language final so much that I now feel qualified to teach the course.
Once Rowe gets settled in, we go to the dining hall, which is also empty, like a scene from The Stand. I fill my plate, I’ve been carb loading, probably from all of the running and workouts I’ve been doing. I tend to stress-eat, and finals, along with everything else, have been stressful.
“So, I’m officially on the team,” I tell Rowe, and she smiles, happy for me, but still not quite herself. She’s mourning her old boyfriend, and I think she’s also mourning her relationship with Nate. I hope she gives him a chance.
“I guess that means you’ll be pretty busy this spring?” she asks.
“Not any more than I have been. Instead of workouts, we’ll have games. Soccer isn’t like baseball and football. Women’s sports, we sort of get the shaft,” I say. I want to ask her if she’ll be here next semester, but I’m afraid to open that door, so I just take her interest in my schedule as a sign that she will be.
She turns her attention to my overstuffed tray of food, picking on my lack of healthy choices, and when she jokes with me I can see glimpses of my Rowe. It almost feels like that first week of school again. The campus is empty, and Rowe and I nervously make our way back to our room, spending the rest of the night watching TV.
It’s nice not sleeping alone. Last night—without Ty, without anyone—was hard. I don’t think I ever fully fell asleep. The dorm hallways are full of strange noises at night, the creaking of the heating pipes, the echo in the hallway when someone shuts a door from far away. Even the sounds from the outside creep into the inside when nobody is around. I started to focus on the chirping crickets and the occasional car driving by.
We’re watching one of those reality shows on MTV; I’m not even sure which one. There’s a lot of yelling and relationship drama. It’s funny how that’s not how it looks like in real life, yet this is supposed to be reality. I turn my head to Rowe and imagine her standing on a table, drunk, and telling Nate off like the girl on the TV is right now, and it makes me laugh to myself.
No. Not reality at all.
“Have you talked to him yet?” I ask her, and she just shakes her head no. What I want to do is pull out Nate’s letter, show it to her, fawn over it, and watch her heart melt just like I know it’s going to. But I can’t, not until tomorrow. I promised Nate I wouldn’t give it to her until her finals were done.
Nate poured his heart out in his words to her. I cheated and read some of it to Ty over the phone. He made fun of Nate, called him a lovesick puppy, but I think it’s only because he was uncomfortable hearing his brother’s honesty. I get it. Guys don’t do chick flicks, and Nate’s letter—it’s one big-ass chick flick. I wish I made a copy of it I love it so much.
“I don’t know what to say. Everything is all…I don’t know…messy?” Rowe says.
I understand messy. I’ve been in what Ty would call one messy fussy fuss for weeks. But my mess…it’s kind of over. And I’m starting to appreciate the fact that my dad put an end to it, even if I don’t like the way he put an end to it.
“You know, Nate was sort of really put in a crappy position,” I say, rolling on my side to look at my friend. Her parents asked him to keep a secret, and he didn’t want to. She has to forgive him. She will, once she reads his letter. “He’s been a wreck.”
As much as Rowe wants to stay in this somber place, her lips can’t help but twitch into the faintest smile when I let her know how Nate has been feeling—feeling…about her. And I know the second she reacts to what I say that they’re going to be fine.