How I Fly (4 page)

But whatever. By that time, I’d sent what I needed to send using Mary’s phone. I said exactly what I needed to say to Ellen—that I was sorry, that I wasn’t coming back ever, that she needed to not wait for me. The school wouldn’t let me apologize to Mary, and of course she was taken off my case. Because of my antics, I spent my first week here in solitary confinement.

My current social worker is called Tom.

He’s a quiet grump of a man who outweighs me by about seventy-five pounds. I haven’t given him any trouble, even though he was chosen for me in case I decided to pick his pockets or act like my parents and throw furniture at the judge. He hardly speaks to me at all except to check in with me at the monthly court date, check my grades, and get with the school psychologist, who assures him that I’m hitting all my marks.

And I haven’t missed one. Since that first day, I’ve been a model student.

My only rebellion happens when I’m on this morning run, and only I am aware that it’s a rebellion at all. See, I’d decided to never finish first. I do it only because I visualize somehow and somewhere, my dad’s getting reports on me. Running slowly—degrading my cardio capacities—is one of the things Dad would hate to hear. Even if he never finds out about it, this daily dose of personal defiance feels good. I also love being all alone the end of the run, because it’s the part of the day where I feel the most clearheaded.

Now that all of my shock and anger and numbness has worn off and I’ve accepted my situation, I’ve been
feeling
again. Feeling lonely most of all. Homesick.

For my mom. My dog, CoCo. My own bed.

And longing for Ellen. Always that.

My thoughts are overtaken with memories of her sparkling dark eyes smiling up at me, and I’m not quite certain how to handle the heaviness that settles into my heart because of how bad it hurts to miss her again.

As we round the last corner of the run, I make sure to fall to the end of the line.

Last place also gets me assigned to extra morning yard work, which is something I actually like because it takes my mind off of Ellen.

It’s not slavery if it’s character building, right?

Ellen

“His name is Harrison Shaw. And I think he’s from Toronto,” I say. “But I don’t remember much besides the fact that he’s”—I realize my cheeks are aching from smiling—”funny.”

Patrick pauses to analyze my expression. “But you say he knocked you down! I will personally crush the guy if you’ve got even a scratch on you.” He’s hauling our bags down the dormitory hallway and making it look easy, as usual.

“You will not. He’s also on crutches. It was an accident, and I’m perfectly fine.”

He twists his lips into a frown, but his black eyes, as dark as mine, are twinkling some with laughter and the same excitement I have from being here. “Ellen, you’re like a broken record. Do you know that every time someone knocks you down it’s an accident, and then you’re suddenly friends?”

“Really?” I laugh. “I’ll try harder to meet some people without falling on them, just to please you.”

“Good.” He laughs back.

Laura, who’s been skipping along behind us, peeking into everyone’s room, and saying hello to anyone she sees, finally catches up. “Aww. It’s how we met. So it must be fated friendship. Plus,
he’s
on crutches and
you’re
on crutches, so it’s absolutely adorable and he will part of your destiny now, don’t ya-think, Ellen?”

“Yes. Our crutches are destined to make out.”

Laura shakes her head, laughing. “Oh, ya-think you’re funny with that, do you? Tell me, then. Is he cute? He must be cute.”

“Um…well. Look. Here we are,” I say. “An excellent location, don’t you think?”

We’ve stopped in front of a freshly painted door marked 156. Our dorm room for the duration. It’s smack in the middle of a long hallway that appears to have about twenty rooms on each side. Number 156 is the first one next to two double doors marked
LADIES ONLY
.

Laura yanks open one of the heavy bathroom doors and peers in. “Ohh,
yes.
” Her voice echoes around the tile- and glass-filled bathroom. I glimpse about ten sinks under a very long mirror, reflecting many bathroom stalls. “Yay!” Laura sings out, dancing in as the door closes behind her. “If we’ve got to freshen up in the middle of the night for any reason, we don’t have to go far, Ellen. This is gorgeous in here.”

At the far end of the hall, I can see the sign that says
MEN ONLY,
and I blink at it, trying to process the idea that there will be guys passing by in their bathrobes while I’m passing by in mine. I don’t think that any of us, especially our parents, understood that co-ed meant there were going to be boys on our same floor. But maybe this is only a big deal to me. It’s possible people with normal families filled with things like dads and brothers will think that being in pajamas around the opposite sex feels ordinary.

Before turning the key, I grimace at the handicapped-wheelchair sign someone’s screwed above my room number and wonder
how
and
why
that stupid sign has to be on the door. It’s not like it matters, does it? I glance around, and notice the other rooms closest to the bathroom do not have the same sign.

*Wonders: Did they put this sign up just for special and disabled me?*

Patrick, without saying a word, drops our bags to the floor and pulls out his multi-tool pocketknife, unscrews the sign, and slips it and the knife into his bag. I smile gratefully up at him, and he winks, his eyes full of perfect best-friend understanding.

Laura hasn’t even seen the sign, because she’s still touring the bathroom and has been shouting out things from behind the door like, “Ellen! The loos are blue! Have you ever even seen such a thing as that?” And now, all muffled, “Oh, but wait. The bloody showers in here are horror-movie creepy! Plastic shower curtains and all. We shall never shower alone!” She springs back out of the restroom and rejoins us by our dorm room door.

“So…back to the important conversation you tried to make me forget. Is this Harrison Shaw boy cute or not? And…do you think he’s on our same floor? Because he’s also on them crutches things, so I bet they won’t be making him go upstairs.”

“There is an elevator,” Patrick grumbles.

I turn the key and swing open the door, ignoring Laura’s question again, because I know as soon as she walks in here she’s going to forget it again.

“Oh my, how
perrrrfect
!” Laura claps her hands and leaps over the bags blocking her way. She’s dancing in the middle of the room, hugging herself. “A real dorm room!”

Patrick and I share a smile while watching Laura take in the room like she’s on a stage and he and I are simply happy observers.

“It’s glorious,” she breathes out. Her Irish accent is extra strong because, like us, she’s extra happy. “It’s better than the photos on the internet. Just look at the wee little beds and the wee matching lamps and the wee perfect little desks, dressers, and bookshelves. We’ve even got our own closets and rubbish bins, and even matching snack holders! How
thoughtful.
” She reaches into her bag and fills one of the wooden pencil cups to bursting with Pixy Stix before tossing one to Patrick and cracking one open for herself. “Patrick, does your room look exactly like this?” she asks, while dumping a full teaspoon of flavored sugar onto her tongue.

Patrick glances up, dumping the same amount of candy onto his tongue. “Yeah. Same. Except mine has a view of a brick wall and a parking lot. Our toilets are yellow. You two did much better, I think.”

I wait for Patrick to drag in our bags, and follow slowly behind, going straight to the window that looks out over a courtyard that boasts tons of shade trees and a small pond, around which there are little pathways and some well-placed benches. “Look out here! There’s no one but ducks and squirrels looking into our room. I hope we have access to this courtyard.”

“If we don’t, I shall steal you a key.” Laura flops onto her back to test one of the beds, then flips onto her stomach, scattering the last of her Pixy Stix sugar all over the place. “Super comfortable and possibly room for two! Winky-wink.” She waggles her brows at me then flips up to her knees so she can bounce some. “Hope that handsome Harrison Shaw’s got a skinny roommate. Someone who won’t take up all of the extra space.” She shoots a pointed look at Patrick.

Patrick groans like he’s in pain, and grabs another Pixy Stix and cracks it in half so he can eat the whole thing at once. I wonder if Laura’s noticed she and Patrick both love Pixy Stix. After swallowing his candy, Patrick balls up the paper and flicks it perfectly into the trash and then says, “Okay. So. Yeah. I’m done here. You can find me up in 403. I need to unpack and meet people on my own floor and find my own roommate.”

“Do you have his name?”

“Toby Green. From Manitoba.”

“Sounds rather
manly
, this Toby. Aren’t boys from Manitoba good with horses and farm equipment and snow shovels and big trucks with big tires?” Laura asks.

“That’s like saying everyone from Ireland’s related to Leprechauns,” I protest.

“We are!” Laura winks. “Fingers crossed he’s at least good to look at, Patrick.”

“Fingers crossed he’s not a tool or weird. You two are lucky you know each other. I’m on a huge crapshoot here, and it’s stressing me out. You know I’m not that social.” Patrick runs a hand through his thick, straight hair. “Our resident advisor says we have to do some sort of team-building event after lunch. That alone is pissing me off because that dude is obviously the type who’s going to make us sit in a damn circle, hold hands, and share feelings or some such pile of crap. So good luck with finding your
Handsome Harrison
.”

“I didn’t say Harrison Shaw was handsome at all yet…and
wait
!” I grab his arm as he tries to pass by us and exit the door. “Aren’t we going to lunch together? You just turned into a cranky grizzly bear in front of us. It’s obvious you need some food before unpacking and”—I shake my head, pointing at Laura’s antics, because she’s now actually jumping from bed to bed, all while grabbing a Pixy Stix between each leap as though she’s performing an orchestrated candy-harvest dance—”if we don’t get some actual food into Laura, she’s going to be in some sort of sugar coma. You know I can’t get that one to lunch all by myself.”

“Handsome!” Laura leaps from one bed to the other. “Harrison.” Laura leaps back. “Handsome.” Leaps. “Harrison.” Leaps. “Shaw!”

A voice pipes in from the door, “Did someone say my name and mention lunch? Because if so, I’m Harrison Shaw, and I’m starving.”

“
Aaaaand
my, but you
are
handsome!” Laura leaps off the bed and lands, doing one of her perfect ballet spins. She ends by handing him a Pixy Stix with a small, graceful bow. “I’m Laura. Have some food. We’ve heard all about you from our Ellen.”

“Well, I haven’t heard about you, Miss Pixy Stix. Are you one of the UK exchange students? I love girls with accents. And damn…” His eyes go from assessing Laura to appreciative as he crutches into the room, pausing to put on his glasses so he can get a better look at her.

This makes my heart twist slightly in a way that I’m not sure I like, because first, it reminds me how cute he is with the glasses, and second, he adds in this low whistle while looking at Laura before saying, “I do love a girl with an accent who’s covered in sugar and…glitter?”

“Well, who doesn’t?” Patrick’s expression turns murderous.

“He’s right there, Mr. Flannel Shirt. Tell me something I haven’t heard before.” Laura laughs. “Ellen didn’t mention you were a flirt.”

“I was about to mention it.” I raise a brow at Harrison.

Harrison winks at me. “How can I not flirt when you’re both so gorgeous? Just trying to impress before the other guys find out you two are in here.”

Laura giggles and, like me, she seems instantly under Harrison’s flannel-glasses-adorable spell.

Harrison cracks open his Pixy Stix and turns his gaze from Laura to me. As though he’s instantly forgotten he’s just made Laura fall in love with him right in front of me, he launches this slow, happy smile. His warm brown eyes travel over me in this way that makes me feel as though I’m the only girl in the whole world.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” he says, pointing behind him, as if he doesn’t notice the heat that’s gone to my cheeks. “I’m in the room at the end of the hall, nearest the restroom because of the crutches, I guess. Room 199. My roommate seems to have canceled or something. The resident advisor told me I’d have it to myself. I’ll get to turn bed number two into a couch, which means all parties will happen in my deluxe accommodations!” He widens his smile, and dimples come into view!

I dart a glance at Laura, who’s also noticed this added layer of cute.

She waggles her brows at me approvingly and gives me an awkward thumbs-up, which thankfully Harrison doesn’t see because Patrick’s striding forward and holding out his hand.

“I’m Patrick.”

“And you are already dating one of these beauties?” Harrison frowns in my direction while shaking Patrick’s hand.

“I’m…” Patrick shoots a tortured glance at Laura. “We’re all just friends. Nobody’s boyfriend, that’s for damn sure. We all came from Brights Grove together.”

“Wait.” Harrison’s brows shoot up. “You guys are the
Brights Grove
group? You won with the project called
Frozen Trees
, right?” He blinks, looking between us all. “That project—those photos—they’re awesome! I saw all the first-place winners on the WOA website. Really, really nice art. I was hoping to meet you guys and now”—Harrison glances at me again—”I guess I’m calling this day lucky. We need to pair up with other groups for the summer, and I’d like to pair my group—which sadly is only a group of one—with yours.” He pauses and looks only at me with those soft eyes. “If it’s okay? I had my
heart
completely set on
you.
”

*Throat chokes with hundreds of tiny-wow butterflies. Holy cow, this guy is very, very smooth.*

I’d call out the words
YES, YES, and YES
if it weren’t for the fact that I’m afraid I’ll stutter like a fool.

Patrick, who is apparently not as sold as I am, answers, “Yeah. Well, maybe. Let’s see what the teachers say first. Which photos were yours?” he asks, his voice going cynical. And by his tone, he’s about to get really cranky.

“My group also did a tree project. It was called
Trees of Life
. You guys were branches, and I was more into the roots, actually. And…of course we can wait if you want. I just thought I’d try to lock you down before anyone else does.” Harrison’s smile fades. “Because my group only took second for the Toronto area groups, only one of us got the scholarship to come here. They only posted the winners from each province, and since we’re both Ontario…you know. The
better
ones got featured. And congratulations on the overall win, by the way. Must be cool to come here with your best friends.”

“Wow.” Laura grins. “Lord, but aren’t
we
famous!”

At this point, I’m feeling sorry for Harrison because I think he thinks Patrick might not believe he’s good enough to work with us. “I’d
love
to see your trees. If it seems we mesh, I don’t see why you can’t work with us, seeing as we are one man down. If you have copies of your shots with you in your dorm room, I’d love to see them before classes start Monday. You know. Tomorrow. Or later tonight.”