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

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Sneak Peek Into Ty’s Story

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  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 Cass
idy.”

  “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.

  “You like it?” It takes me a minute or two to follow what Cass is talking about, but I eventually realize she caught me staring at her anklet.

  “Yeah, sorry. I was just looking at the beads. They’re beautiful,” I say, hoping that Cass’s mind isn’t mulling over the idea that I might have a foot fetish or something.

  “Thanks. My mom owns a bead store, so I make a ton of things like this. I could make you one, if you want?”

  To her, the gesture is probably small and insignificant. But I smile and nod at her offer, and my stomach flutters a little with excitement, first-date kind of butterflies. Somehow, I may have done the impossible. Somehow, I proved myself wrong. Somehow…I made a friend.

  Chapter 2

  Rowe

  This late at night, the bathrooms are dark, minus a few panels left on so students can find their way in and out. It’s all part of cutting down on energy use—being green. There are suggested hours, but I’d rather be alone. The hallway lights are dim, but bright enough I can see if I use the stall closest to the door. This is the part that worried me most—showering in public. Most of the girls will probably shower in the morning, though, so I plan on taking mine late at night—in the dark.

  Cass and Paige went out for the evening. Cass tried to get me to join them, but I convinced her I was exhausted from our trip. Not everyone is on campus yet, but a lot of the freshmen have arrived, and there are a few parties at the apartments on the outskirts of town. I’m not ready for parties.

  The water doesn’t take long to warm, so after looking around the room once more, and peeking out the door, I decide it’s safe enough to undress. There are a lot of showerheads in the open, and I can’t imagine being comfortable enough in my own skin to actually walk around naked. Even if my side wasn’t riddled with scars, I don’t think I would be the kind of woman who could show everyone her goods and bits.

  I stack my clothes carefully on the small bench right outside the shower stall and step inside, pulling the curtain closed behind me. My heart is racing so fast I have to remind myself to breathe—long and deep—just to slow it down. I miss my shower at home, in my parents’ bathroom, behind two doors that locked. I miss the hum of the fan, and the way it interrupted my thoughts. It’s quiet in here, and it makes me shower fast, rushing through the shampoo and conditioner, barely running the shower gel over my skin before twisting the shower handle to off and wrapping myself in my towel.

  I quickly pull my sleep-shirt over my head and let the towel drop; I’m stepping into my underwear when I notice the sound of the water pipes still vibrating. The thought that I’m not alone sends a wave of panic through my veins; I feel light-headed. I sit on the bench and clutch my dirty clothes and towel to my body, leaning forward enough so my eyes can scan the other stalls in search of feet.

  But I’m alone. The pipe sound stops seconds later; I figure the water was probably coming from the floor above. I finish getting dressed, pulling on my cotton shorts and slipping my feet into my flip-flops before I enter the hall.

  “Evenin’,” he says, scaring me so badly I drop all of my things and push myself flush against the wall. I look like a jailbird in one of those old black-and-white movies, trying to step out of the spotlight during a breakout. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, but I figured if I didn’t say anything, and you just saw me in the dark, it would be worse.”

  He’s picking up my things for me, and somehow I manage to calm my pulse down enough to realize he’s manhandling my underwear. Oh god! I grasp at my belongings, but my hands get tangled with his, which only makes me panic more and drop everything again.

  “Boy, I scared you good, huh?” he chuckles. All I can focus on is gathering up my things and making my way back to my room—that, and the slight southern accent when he talks. “Hey, are you okay?”

 
It’s not until his hand is gripping my arm that I finally look up at him. I’m not prepared for my reaction at all, and I’m sure I’m amusing him, because I blush so quickly I would have a better chance playing off a can of paint being dumped over my head. He’s cute. He’s more than cute; he’s the exact boy I fantasized about when I was fourteen and dreaming of going off to college with my best friend Betsy. Brown hair just long enough on the top to flop over his forehead and eyebrows, blue eyes that hide under dark lashes and a half-shaven look that reminds me instantly that he isn’t a boy at all. No, I’m standing in front of a man. It’s been so long since I’ve been in the presence of a male; I somehow skipped over that moment in-between. He’s like one giant, walking, shirtless symbol of my life before everything I loved went away. Before Betsy was gone. And before my first—and only—boyfriend left with her.

  I have to speak. He clearly lives on my floor, and if I walk away from this without saying a word, it’s only going to be more awkward when I run into him in the elevator, at the stairs, in a class.

  “Sorry, adrenaline still working its way through me, had a hard time getting my words out,” I say, reminding myself to fill my lungs. That’s what Ross, my counselor, tells me to do when I feel the world closing in on me. Stop. Breathe deeply. Ross is a thousand miles away, but I’m supposed to call him twice a month. I’m starting to think twice a week might be necessary for a while.

  “Understandable.” Southern accent. Dimples. Smile. “So, you live…down there?” he asks, gesturing down the long hallway that leads to my room.

  “Room three thirty-three,” I say. Why in the hell did I tell him what room I’m in? That’s completely unlike me, and it feels…unsafe.