Falling by Design (4 page)

"That would be a no." I turn to grab some hangers and get smacked in the head by a piece of flying skirt.  “Dakota!"

"What? It slipped."

I shake my head, but my lips twitch in a smile. "Can you please hang that instead of teaching it how to fly?" I say. I hand her a few hangers and she happily gets to work. She helps me out whenever she can, since her job at the library is a part time gig. It works out quite nicely for the two of us. She loves clothing and I love people helping out. It's also entertainment galore because we have a tendency to sing while we work. I'm hoping she starts with the singing soon and forgets Grayson's visit.

"Aren't you even a little curious?" she asks. She’s right of course, I am curious. This kid made my life miserable for five years and now all of a sudden he wants to be friends? Or something. I'm not exactly sure what to make out of that. I know one thing for certain, I don't trust him as far as I can throw him. I tell her so.

"Oh, I know!" she exclaims and I stop hanging to stare at her. "What? Don't give me that look. I was there when he tortured you, remember? Who's the best friend who took gum out of your hair or told you your skirt was all green on the butt? Yeah, that was me." She's so proud of that fact.

"Yes, Dakota, and I'm eternally grateful." I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to continue, because I know she will.

"But I still say you should find out what he wants." I shake my head a little, "Come on Brooklynn, he's like an angel who fell from heaven. Did you miss the eyes? Or that mop of gorgeous brown curls? Or the abs? Did you see the abs?"

"Dakota No Middle Name Phillips! Maybe you should go out with him." I place items on the rack, wondering why that particular suggestion doesn't sit well with me.

"Oh please, like I would ever take your man."

I twirl around so fast that one of the shirts slides off the hanger.

"He is not my man."

"Whatever. I still vote for you to see what he wants. Can't hurt right?"

"Except it's Grayson. It can hurt. A lot."

She winces at that because she knows it's the truth. I don't want to think of that certain event at the moment, but the sting of humiliation and actual physical pain is still a memory in my mind. Dakota was there, she remembers.

“Look, I’m not forgiving anything he’s done to you in the past.” She holds up her hands in a calming motion, “But you can’t ignore the fact that he seems to be genuine. You’ve seen the way he treats his peers and teachers. There’s something different about him, Brooklynn and I know you’ll drive yourself crazy until you know for sure, which is why it’s my duty to push you.”

“It doesn’t make any of this easier.” She’s right, I will keep wondering until I know for sure, but just the idea of trusting him a little bit sends me into convolutions.

"I can be your bodyguard," she announces after a few minutes, "We can totally double date or something. Or I could hide in the bushes. I’ll make sure to fully charge my phone so I can record every sordid detail, and that hunk of a gorgeous face. For evidence of course. Whatever works." I know she’s trying to make me feel better, as she sticks her head between some racks, peeking out at me.

"You're a nut."

"This is true. But you're still—"

"Dakota," I give her my most serious look, "drop it."

"Fine." I don't know how long it will last, but at least she's done for now. We continue to hang the clothing and soon we're singing and dancing to our own music. A few customers come in, but it doesn't stop the fun. Dakota makes them laugh while I check them out at the register and once they're out the door, we're back to dancing.

As I make my rounds once again, my mind wanders back to Grayson's visit and the reason behind it. I squish the memory of his body against mine, refusing to let it take root in my mind. He is nothing but trouble and I hate that I have to remind myself of that. I don't know what his end game is, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing him again.

SIX

What would men be without women? Scarce, sir ... mighty scarce. - Mark Twain

"Is there anyone in this school who's not swooning over him?" I ask as Dakota and I head into the gates of Arizona Prep on Friday morning.

Since school started on a Wednesday, everyone has been talking about Grayson non-stop. I'm ready to claw my ears and eyes out. Or someone else's. Well, mostly Tammy's, since she's the one spreading every possible rumor that has to do with him. After the visit at work on Wednesday, he hasn't made any other mention of us going out to "catch up." But he hasn't stopped trying to make conversation.

"Well, besides you?" Dakota asks. I'm pretty sure she's right. So far, in the classes Grayson and I share, he's been asked out by pretty much every girl. There are a few exceptions who aren't as bold as the others, but they still stare and drool. Okay, maybe more like sneak little peaks and smile coyly, but it’s still annoying. Dakota bumps into me in solidarity but I stumble, connecting with someone’s much more solid body.

"I'm so sorry." When I turn the laughter dies on my lips. Of course I've run into Grayson because apparently there is no other person on the planet I could possibly run into.

"Brooklynn, if you want my attention, you don't have to keep throwing yourself at me. I got it." I can't help it, I whack him in the arm and turn to stalk off. Why does he always manage to make an already embarrassing situation more embarrassing? I hear his laughter follow me down the hall as I head to English, one of the few classes I don't share with him. Dakota scrambles to catch up.

"He clearly likes you," Dakota whispers as we settle into our seats.

"He's clearly out of his freaking mind," I grumble in reply. I hate the fact that I can still hear his laughter in my head and that it doesn't sound annoying. It sounds inviting and sexy and−

I'm losing my mind. This is Grayson for crying out loud. My arch nemesis; the plague of my childhood. My body is just going to have to get a hold of itself and act mature. Not like some love sick puppy begging for attention.

"You have to admit though," Dakota whispers inconspicuously.  "He did look mighty fine in those jeans." She sits back with a satisfied look on her face as I groan. My best friend is out to end me. The teacher comes in before I can come up with a reply, which is probably a good thing anyway. My brain is having a mental freeze.

As the lesson on American Literature picks up where we left off yesterday, my mind drifts to Grayson once again. I won't be admitting it to Dakota any time soon, but Grayson did look mighty fine in those jeans and T-shirt, and sporting that rolling out of bed hair. I drop my pen, the motion retracting my mind back to reality.

What is wrong with me? I can't be fantasizing about the enemy. I have way too much on my plate to be wondering what that boy wants from me. My portfolio is in serious need of a makeover if I'm going to make any deadlines. I have to focus on that.

I have this whole project in my head for my college submissions. Opening my notebook to a blank page, my pen begins to move as I focus my mind on a dress I've been planning to add to the latest collection. Even though I’ve mapped out a number of variations, it always helps me think better if my pen is moving. Which is why I have so many patterns to choose from, I’m always adding different aspects to the already finished piece.

I love everything lace, but I'm still not sure if I want to use it as trim or as a center piece. When I sketched out the preliminaries for the dress, the color azure just jumped out at me. I've been looking everywhere for the right shade of the material and have finally found it online. It should be coming in to the shop any day now and I’m itching to get started.

This is the hardest part for me, putting the ideas to actual use. I'm so terrified of failure I choke myself up any time anyone is to see my work. Alone, in my own little world, I'm perfectly content.  I’ve sown dozens of pieces together that haven’t seen the light of day outside of my closet or the back room of Flowers in the Desert. Every time I start thinking that I have to send these sketches and photographs to colleges, I freak out. Which is why it's taken me this long to even start applying. That, and the fact that my parents are totally against my college choices.

The bell rings, bringing me out of my haze.

"So were you daydreaming about dress patterns or Grayson?" Dakota asks, not even bothering to lower her voice as we exit the classroom into the Arizonian sunshine. I feel like punching her again.

"I vote for Grayson," the person in question materializes out of nowhere. I almost shriek as his body brushes mine while we try to avoid the onslaught of passerby's. Dakota gives me a look, then disappears. I'm really going to have to strangle that girl.

"Grayson, are you stalking me?" I ask, turning my attention to the boy beside me, conscious of the fact that he's too close for comfort.

"Is that an invitation?"

"Why do you do that?" I say, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. "Turn everything around on me? " I watch his eyes narrow in confusion, as he dodges another student. “What kind of a game are you playing?”

"Who said anything about games?"

"Oh please, Grayson. I know you," I say, turning away. He catches my arm, his fingertips soft on my skin. I know I can pull away without any struggle, but I can't seem to make myself move. I'm waiting for him to say something, to make some kind of a playful or sarcastic remark, but he doesn't. He stands next to me, his hand still on my arm, his eyes fast on mine.

Another student bumps into us, sighing in annoyance.

"You're right," Grayson says finally. "You do know me." And with that cryptic statement, he turns and leaves me gaping after him.

SEVEN

Avoid fruits and nuts. You are what you eat.- Jim Davis

Saturday greets me with sunshine and voices.

Not that sunshine is a big surprise considering this is Arizona. Now, clouds. Clouds are a different story. See one of those puppies in the sky and social networks explode with pictures with every possible filter overlay. However, voices, are a surprise on Saturday morning. They can mean only one thing

My sister is home.

Groggily, I get out of bed and search for a hair tie to settle my snarls a bit before I head downstairs. For a second I ponder if I can hide upstairs and for how long. Quickly, I dismiss that thought. There’s no way I’ll be able to get away with it.

"There she is." My dad is the first to notice me. They look happy, watching my sister as she tells them a story. Paige stands in front of them, gesturing wildly, her looks a mixture of both of our parents, with a tad more of the demanding presence of my dad.

I don't look like either one of them. I take more after my mom's sister who has the fiery red hair, although mine is more of a brown hue, and a bit of a bulkier frame.

"Hey sis," Paige calls, walking over and giving me a quick hug. It's a business type of a touch versus a familial.

"Hi Paige, what brings you home?" I try not to make it sound like I'm displeased with the fact. I'm not. I really do love my sister. But every time she's home, I get another earful of how my life needs to be headed in the same direction, so I'm a bit weary.

"What, a girl can't come visit her favorite family?" Paige replies walking back over to the counter. I make my way to the refrigerator and pull out a carton of orange juice. These types of questions I should leave unanswered, but sometimes I can't help myself.

"We're your only family," I point out and see Dad make a face out of the corner of my eye. My sarcasm is not appreciated. He doesn't like it when I say stuff like that and you'd think I'd learn by now.

"Now, Brooklynn, Paige is here because she actually appreciates us." I know that tone of voice.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask taking a drink from my cup.  This is exactly the reason I wanted to stay upstairs.

"Paige values our opinion when it comes to her life."

"Dad," I groan, "Please don't start that again. It's Saturday morning. Can we please take a break from arguing?"

"I'm not arguing," Dad replies, shrugging a bit. He's so good at that, turning everything around on me. I'm the bad daughter. I'm the black sheep of the family who doesn't want to go into banking, or law, or business. Standing next to Paige in her stylish slacks and button up blouse I feel like a child. A disappointment.

"All I'm trying to say," Dad continues and I suppress another groan, "Is that Paige has a plan for her life. She figured it out and she's doing what she knows is good for her."

"I have it figured out, too."

"Please, Brooklynn. You know how unstable fashion world is and how unprofitable and hard it is to get into it. Don't make me bring out the charts again."

"Yes, please, anything but the charts," I mumble under my breath, turning away to put the orange juice back. It's the same things over and over again. You'd think my parent's realize how important design is to me, how much I wish they'd support me the way they support Paige, but they don't. All I hear are comparisons and money figures as if that's all I want in life.

"Mom, Dad," I begin, taking a deep calming breath, "I know it's a lot of work, but I'm prepared to work at it."