Authors: Ginger Scott
Tags: #Coming of Age, #Young Adult, #athlete, #first love, #Sports, #Romance, #young love, #college, #baseball, #New Adult
This Is Falling
This Is Falling
a novel
by Ginger Scott
Text copyright © 2014 Ginger Scott (Ginger Eiden)
Smashwords Edition
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including
information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in
writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who
may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely
coincidental.
Ginger Scott
This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook my not be re-sold or given away to other
people. If you would like to share this book with another person,
please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re
reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased
for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and
purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of
this author.
For Mom.
Contents
Rowe
I was feeling brave when I picked McConnell.
It was one of those afternoons where everything was suffocating me,
and the college packet was just staring me in the face.
Two years of being homeschooled by a woman
who taught economics at the state university would prepare anyone
for a stellar performance on their SATs. The test was actually
easy. I finished quickly and didn’t even spend time checking
answers like all of the prep books told me to do. I turned in my
booklet to the campus proctor and got the hell out of the testing
room. Three weeks later, it showed up in the mail—a 2390, near
perfect. That meant scholarships. And scholarships meant
options.
For months, I fought the idea of going away
to school. I’m not ready to be out, to be
on my own
. I don’t
think I’ll ever be ready. Two years of homeschooling also left me a
little out of practice when it comes to social interaction. And
college is
all about
social interaction.
My parents were pushing me. I don’t think
they thought I’d call their bluff and pick a school a thousand
miles away. But I was hoping they’d call mine when I slid the
McConnell acceptance across the table to them.
They didn’t. My dad smiled and looked at my
mother, both of them breathing deeply, ready to take this step. I
wasn’t. I’m still not. I’m not even remotely close to ready. But I
want to be. I’m desperate to be ready. I’ve spent the last seven
hundred days of my life seeing everyone else live from my
self-imposed bubble. My biggest romance was watching some couple
fall in love on a reality TV show, and the only prom I attended was
in a movie. It’s like I’m caught in an internal tug-of-war with
myself—my heart begging to beat from thrill, but caged by fear.
But somehow I’ve gotten myself this far—a map
in my hands leading to my room at Hayden Hall on the McConnell
campus. My parents made it a road trip. It takes fifteen hours to
drive from Arizona to Oklahoma, and my dad powered through the
entire trip—I think worried that I would back out if he stopped. I
thought about it. I almost broke down at a gas station in New
Mexico, bawling my eyes out in a Texaco bathroom. But as badly as I
didn’t want to leave the safety of home, I was more afraid of what
would happen to me if I stayed.
It’s clear I was dying there. Well, maybe not
dying
, but certainly not
living
. I was crossing off
days on my calendar, putting one foot in front of the next, living
a routine and getting to the next. How could I? My mind was swarmed
with guilt that made living impossible.
Now, standing here, my hand gripping the
handle of my giant roller trunk and my parents hauling suitcases
behind me, I’m not so sure I chose right.
“Rowe—are we almost there, honey? I think
I’ve lost a gallon of sweat. This humidity is brutal,” my mom says,
fanning her face with one of the programs they handed out during
orientation.
Being from Arizona, I thought the heat would
be bearable, but I guess I’d never felt real humidity. My tank top
was plastered to my back with sweat, and in front of me, my
father’s T-shirt was doing the same to his skin. I’d be
embarrassed, but everyone on campus looked exactly the same—like we
were all trying to win a game of
Survivor.
I finally see the marker for Hayden Hall on
the walkway and turn to smile at my mom, nodding my head toward
it.
“Thank God!” she says, a bit
melodramatically. I let it roll off me. In less than an hour, I
know Tom and Karen Stanton will be long gone—and I will be
completely alone. So as mental as my mother has made me for the
last two years, I hang on to every last drop of her personality,
terrified of how I’ll manage when she’s actually gone.
We take a small elevator up two stories and
find my room at the end of the hall to the right. Three
thirty-three—I remember thinking it felt lucky when I got my
boarding placement package in the mail. Lucky. I feel so far from
lucky
now.
The door is open, and I can see that two of
the three beds have already been claimed. The only one left is
closest to the door—obviously my last choice, and my mom can see
the anxiety attacking my face.
“Maybe you can move the beds, move yours more
to the corner,” she says, giving my shoulder a small squeeze and
sliding one of the suitcases next to what will be my bed for the
next eight and a half months.
All I can do is nod. My dad is sliding the
rest of my belongings into the room and lifting the case to my bed
so I can start unpacking. I brought everything I own with me. I
think somehow I thought surrounding myself with my
stuff
would make this place feel more like home, and maybe I could just
tough it out in my bubble and not have to venture from my room
much.
“I haven’t met her yet. God, I hope she’s not
a total bitch or something!” one of two blondes says as they enter
our room. My mom coughs a little to get their attention, and when
they look up, one of them is embarrassed—unfortunately, not the one
who wished publicly for me not to be a
bitch
.
“Oh, good. You’re here!” the confident one
says, walking over to me with her hand outstretched, almost like
she’s welcoming me into
her
home. This is not going to be
good; I can tell.
“Hi, I’m Rowe,” I say, my voice barely a
whisper. I don’t talk often, so sometimes it takes me a while to
warm up my vocal cords, but I know I was loud enough for her to
hear, which makes her reaction that much more offensive.
“I’m sorry…did you say Rose?” she says
loudly, her face all bunched, like I just fed her stale broccoli.
Everything about her is harsh and abrasive.
“Rowe,” I repeat, and she just continues to
stare. “Like…like a boat?” I actually start paddling in the
air.
“Ohhhhh. Cute,” she says, turning her
attention to her bed, which is layered with piles of clothes. “I’m
Paige. And that’s Cassidy.”
“Cass,” the other one pipes in, shaking her
head with her lips tight and gesturing toward Paige. I think she’s
telling me not to take her personally. Not a problem, I’ve already
filed her and this room into the how-fast-can-I-get-out-of-here
category. “I like to be called Cass. And
Paige
and I are
glad to meet you.”
Paige isn’t even listening to our
conversation anymore, already more interested in whoever just sent
her a text on her phone. I’m in a freshman dorm, but nothing about
Paige says freshman. Her body is tall and curves in all of the
right places, and her skin is a warm bronze, like I’d imagine a
lifeguard in Florida looks. Her blonde hair is long and layered,
and every strand sits in the perfect place, like a golden frame
around her crystal blue eyes.
Cass is blonde, too, but she seems more like
a real person. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and I can
tell she had light makeup on at one point today, but the humidity
has worn most of it away.
It’s clear my role here will be the oddball,
the one who doesn’t fit. Honestly, that’s what I expected. Two
years ago, I was doomed to never fit in again—like a wounded
superhero tattooed by kryptonite. And standing here, no makeup,
brown eyes, a plain shirt and denim shorts, my walnut-colored hair
twisted in a bun, still crunchy from my shower almost a full day
ago, only makes the differences between me and
everyone else
that much clearer.
“Paige and I both got here yesterday. We sort
of picked beds; I hope that’s okay?” Cass says, sitting down on her
mattress, which thankfully is the one closest to mine.
“It’s fine. I’m good with whatever,” I say,
knowing my mom will be happy to hear me going with the flow.
Internally, I make a note to check with the front desk the second
my parents leave, hoping like hell there’s a bed open somewhere on
this campus that isn’t steps from the door.
After an hour of unpacking and small talk
with Cass, my parents finally leave. I couldn’t mask the tears
building up in my eyes when my mom hugged me goodbye, and my dad
only waved from the door, knowing he’s the weaker of the two of
them and that he’d cave in if I asked him to take me home.
Disappointment only continued when the
front-desk girl told me every room on campus was full. She told me
to check back after rush week because a lot of students end up
moving into the Greek dorms. But that would be a month from now. A
month—I could survive a month. Couldn’t I?
Paige disappeared almost the minute I met
her, which was a relief. I’d have to work my way up to her
personality. Thankfully, Cass had a lot of unpacking of her own to
do, so I’ve spent the rest of the late afternoon with my ear buds
pressed into my ears and my music turned up loud enough to drown
everything else out.
I could probably find a way to keep myself
busy with my clothes and music and silly pictures for the rest of
the night, but Cass is waving her hands animatedly, pointing to her
ears and mouthing her lips to get my attention, so I finally relent
and put my headphones away. “Sorry, I had it up kind of loud.”
“Yeah, I could tell. You have good taste in
music, by the way.” I like Cass. Her smile is genuine, and she
reminds me of the friends I used to have at Hallman High. Plus, she
recognizes things like the greatness that is Jack White and Broken
Bells. I bet Paige is more of the Katy Perry sort.
“Thanks.” I don’t know how to carry on a
conversation, so my eyes dart around her things, looking for
something to reciprocate the compliment. “Your quilt is
pretty.”
It’s possibly the most ordinary quilt on
earth. It’s gray and there’s a tag on it, so it’s not even
homemade. The second I say it, I feel ridiculous, but the way Cass
smiles and laughs doesn’t make me feel stupid or small, so I join
her. For the first time in two years, I feel like a teenager
again—the normal kind that doesn’t wake up with nightmares and hear
screaming in her dreams.
I notice things most people don’t, like that
Cass is wearing a purple shirt with a V-neck cut and white shorts
that cuff on the bottom. Her toenails are blue, slightly chipped,
and she has a rope anklet on her right foot with a few dark-blue
beads. I’ve been this way since the day my world came crashing
down. It’s like I’m trying to make up for failing to notice things
when it counted most.