This Is Falling (5 page)

“Yeah, I had a few other offers.”

“How many?”

She still hasn’t brought her eyes back to me,
but we’re walking again, so at least she’s not trying to run away
anymore. “I don’t know. Ten or twelve.”

I know exactly how many schools asked me to
play—
sixteen
. And there was also an offer to get into the
Indians organization. But I didn’t want to trade a free ride
through business school with my brother for a year or two in some
shit-splat town making a teacher’s salary.

“So, you must be pretty good, huh?”

“I’m all right.”

It takes us about fifteen minutes to get into
town, and we make small talk the entire way. I don’t have any
classes with her—probably because she’s still figuring out what she
wants to do. I can tell she’s stressed about the topic, so I don’t
grill her on it for long. She talks about her parents a lot, which
for some reason makes me like her even more. Ty and I have a great
relationship with our mom and dad, and it’s a turnoff when a girl
wants to bag on her mom over stupid petty things.

When we walk into Sally’s, I wince. The guy
behind the bar recognizes me, and he’s going to blow my cover.
“Nate! Hey man, how’s it hangin’!”

“Hey, Cal. Things are good. Good to see ya.”
I raise my shoulders and hold up my hands when Rowe snaps her gaze
to me. Her brow is lowered, and I can tell she’s suspicious.

“So, whatcha having, the usual?”

Goddamn. Of all things that man could have
said. My brother and I are probably keeping him in business, and
I’m pretty sure I ate every meal here for the two weeks I came for
summer ball. I thought it was safe, because Cal doesn’t work days.
Though, it seems I have that wrong now.

“I’m not alone, Cal, so maybe give us a few
minutes to look over the menu,” I say, sliding into the booth near
the jukebox. I’m prepared for Rowe to look like she wants to kill
me; I hold my breath when I turn to look at her. When I see the
smirk on her face, I’m ecstatic.

“You’ve been here before,” she says, her lips
curling tightly like she’s trying to hold in laughter.

“Yeah. I’m not even going to try to fix this
one. This is sort of my place. Been coming here since summer ball,
and Cal never works during the day, so kinda thought I could get
away with it.”

“Why not just tell me you wanted to come to
your favorite place?” she asks, and I close my eyes I’m so
embarrassed.

“Because the cooks are extremely slow, and I
wanted to act like I was surprised when it takes an hour for us to
get our order.” I crack open a lid and she’s still smirking, so I
open all the way, and grab the salt shaker, spilling a little of it
on the table to swirl around and give my hands something to do.
“Yeah, so…this was all one big ruse to spend a shitload of time
with you. Hope you’re not too hungry.”

Rowe’s smile never wavers, but for a few
seconds I see worry flash across her eyes. There’s a story to her,
but I know it’s going to take time for her to warm up enough to be
willing to tell it. I think I’m alright with giving this some time,
though.

“So, how do you feel about burgers?”

She finally breaks her eyes away from me and
pulls the torn paper menu from the rack on the wall.

“Burgers are good,” she says. “I don’t eat
out much. I usually just eat something at home. I kind of like
things that are plain. What do you suggest?”

“Can’t go wrong with the classic
cheeseburger,” I say, waiting for her to tell me she doesn’t eat
bread or cheese, or to ask if they have a veggie burger instead.
She never does though, and instead, refolds the menu and pushes it
back against the wall.

“Sounds good. I’ll have one of those,” she
says, pushing her way out of the booth. “Mind ordering for me? I
need to find the ladies’ room.”

“You got it,” I wink and nod to the back,
letting her know where the restrooms are. She doesn’t look back
when she walks away, so I indulge and lean completely out of the
booth, watching every inch of her long, golden legs walk down the
aisle.

“Looks like you’ve gone and made yourself a
new friend, eh?” Cal teases.

“Yes, sir. I believe I have. And she’ll have
a cheeseburger.”

Rowe

Once I lock the bathroom door, I break down.
I’m not sure where the tears are coming from, other than the sheer
stress of this entire situation. Nate seems nice. He seems
more
than
nice. And I think I trust him. I must, otherwise I
wouldn’t have been able to leave the safety of the gym and walk
along the open road with him.

Somewhere, deep inside, I know this is
serious flirting. And maybe a little part of me hopes I’m more than
just a distraction for Nate. I’m being so boring, though. One-word
answers, surface questions—it’s like I don’t even know how to be
real. Our conversation sounds like the dinner table with my
parents.

I think it’s because my back is to the door.
I can’t think clearly, or even think at all, because I keep waiting
to see who walks in next. Maybe we can move somewhere else. Would
it be weird to ask him to move somewhere else?

Someone’s knocking, so I run my hands in the
hot water and then splash some of it against my neck, patting
myself dry with a paper towel. I exit and trade places with an
older woman, and our bodies touch when she passes. The exchange
practically knocks the wind out of me because I’m so involved in my
stupid panic attack—so I stay hidden in the darkness of the
hallway, just staring at the back of Nate’s head.

His arm is stretched along the top of the
booth and his body is tilted slightly to one side while he talks to
the man he called
Cal
when we walked in. Nate’s arms are
long. Like, really long—I’d like to measure them. He has dents and
lines that define muscles just like the guys I see on TV, and his
T-shirt hugs tightly around his chest and biceps. His clothes don’t
drape on his body like Josh’s always did—probably because he isn’t
some skinny sixteen-year-old who hasn’t met the weight room
yet.

Cal notices me standing in the darkness, so I
remind myself to breathe again and force myself forward.
I’m not
good at this. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at this.
The
closer I get, the more comfortable and convinced I become with the
fact that Nate and I are just friends, so once I reach the edge of
our table, I decide to test out honesty.

“Do you mind if…if we moved to a booth in the
corner?” I can tell he’s confused, but he doesn’t seem to be
against my request because he’s sliding both of our water glasses
forward and holding them in his enormous hands while he leaves the
booth. I lead him over to the corner, the one seat that I think
gives me a view of the entire restaurant, and I settle in, already
breathing easier.

Nate never asks why I need to move, and I
never tell him. Instead, he picks up the conversation, and starts
to tell me about his family and growing up in Louisiana, and I
listen—at first, splitting my attention between my heart rate and
breathing as well as Nate’s words, until eventually all of my focus
is on him.

“You and your brother are close,” I say, not
really needing to ask it. He smiles and nods at my question.

“Ty’s my best friend. Always has been. I had
friends in high school when he was gone and at college. But Ty,
he’s the only guy I ever share my secrets with.”

For some reason, the second he says it, all I
want to do is become the second person he shares secrets with.
Maybe it’s because I don’t have anyone to share mine with, and the
thought of getting some of
this
out is so inviting.

“How about you. You have any brothers or
sisters?” he asks.

“Just me and my parents. I spend most of my
time with my mom, because her office hours are at home. We live
near the campus she works at—she teaches economics at State. She
homeschooled me the last two years, so I guess that would make her
my best friend.” And that would make me…pathetic.

“It’s nice that you’re close to your mom,” he
says, and I smile and look down into my lap. Am I close to my mom?
I guess I am. I don’t really hide much from her, but I don’t really
have much to hide either. She knows my issues. She’s more like my
doctor—my live-in, enabling-and-disabling doctor. But Nate’s not
ready to hear all of that yet. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to
articulate it without telling him everything.

“So, tell me something about yourself,” I
say, wanting to get the focus away from me for a while. “Who is
Nate—” I panic for a moment when I realize I don’t remember his
last name. Instead of asking, I hold up a finger and pull my phone
from my pocket to look up his Facebook message. “Preeter! Who is
Nate
Preeter
?”

The way he laughs sets me at ease, and at
that moment I realize I can no longer hear my heartbeat rattling in
my own head.

“Ouch! I made like…no impression on you at
all, did I?” he chuckles, and I flush a little, embarrassed that I
forgot his last name.

“That’s not true. You made an impression. We
just met, though, so that’s not fair. I can’t be expected to
remember everything. I know your room number! That one stuck!
Besides, I bet you don’t remember my full name.”

As soon as I issue that challenge, he leans
forward on his elbows, and I get a good look into his eyes. They
were mesmerizing in the dark, but here—in the full light of
day—they are breathtaking. There’s a grayish hue to them, and when
his brown and golden hair drapes over his forehead while he talks,
I can’t help but awe at the contrast of the light and dark. I could
get lost in his features, but suddenly his voice captures my
attention.

“You’re Rowe Stanton, a freshman from
Arizona, and you’re here with honors. You haven’t picked a major
yet, though I can tell from the small things you said during our
walk over here that you really like art. You should think about
that. You used to play tennis, and I bet you could still kick my
ass, and you don’t wear socks with your sneakers. I like that. It’s
hot.”

He sits back when he’s done, and takes a long
sip of water, the smirk on his lips peeking out from the sides of
the glass. I feel naked in front of him. Granted, he didn’t really
pull out anything very personal—except for the art comment, that
one was pretty intuitive—but the fact that he’s locked away every
fact I’ve given him makes me feel…
something.
And my
heartbeat is suddenly pounding again in my eardrums, but for an
entirely different reason.

“So, art, huh?” I say, trying to build a
little distance from the fact that he just called me hot.

“Yeah. Art…you seem to be interested in it.
You should think about that. And yes, Rowe.”

“Yes, what?” I gulp.

“I think you’re hot.
You
made an
impression.”

Nate

Something tells me that if I put a pencil in
her hand, Rowe would draw me a picture, and it would probably be
the prettiest damn sketch I’ve ever seen. I wish there was a
fast-forward button somewhere I could hit to get to her secrets.
She keeps everything so guarded, and I feel like we’re playing a
game of chess, the way she detours our conversation away from
herself.

Our food is coming out—just my luck, the one
time that kitchen is fast. Rowe doesn’t waste any time, and
normally I’d love the fact that she doesn’t pick at her food. She
wraps both hands around the bun of her burger and takes a bite that
makes a serious dent. At this rate, she’ll be done and ready to go
in about ten minutes.

“Hey, you know that gallery building we
walked by at the end of campus?”

She shrugs, covering her mouth with her
napkin while she chews, because her bite’s too big. She tries to
get the word “yeah” out, but her speech is muffled by the fullness
in her cheeks. She might be awesome.

“Right,” I laugh lightly, smiling at her and
taking a giant bite of my burger so I can talk with a full mouth
too. “They hab a arrrr show neck weeeeek. Wah a go?”

She completely stops chewing, shirks her
shoulders up, and bunches her brow at me, staring. “Wha?”

I finish chewing and laugh more—when I do,
she blushes a little, finally getting that I’m teasing her. She’s
turning so red I start to feel bad, but then she surprises me,
grabbing a handful of fries and taking a giant drink of her soda,
chewing with her mouth open and looking me squarely in the
eyes.

“Yah, arrr showwwww. I’ll gooooo,” she can’t
quite finish her sentence without giggling uncontrollably and
covering her mouth again with her napkin to keep her food from
flying out. But I heard enough—just the right words. She’ll go.
That means I’ve got her attention for at least another week.

Chapter
6

Rowe

I managed to finish lunch without having
another freak out. And the more we walked and talked, the more
comfortable I became with Nate. He felt familiar, like we had known
each other since we were kids or something and were just catching
up.

Maybe that’s because I kept the spotlight on
him. I asked about his baseball playing, and I found out he started
with tee-ball at three. His brother used to play, too. In a few of
the stories he told, he mentioned his brother running and playing
with him, and I know something must have happened to put him in the
wheelchair, but I didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask about
that.

He talked about his childhood home, and he
asked about mine. Louisiana and Phoenix don’t sound so different,
only his summers sound more humid. My past stayed on my childhood,
talking about my embarrassing first-day meltdown in kindergarten
where I protested the coloring exercise and made the teacher call
my dad to take me home…and my first slow dance with a boy, where he
blew a bubble with his gum and it got stuck in my hair, leading to
my first short haircut.