Falling for You Read online

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  Contents

  the hospital—4:05 p.m.

  six months earlier

  it hurts

  poetry journal—october

  meet the new kid

  i want to be brave

  home away from home

  late for dinner

  poetry journal—october

  strangers no more

  first date

  a little unreal

  really and truly

  The Colors of Me

  the hospital—4:08 p.m.

  five months earlier

  not quite the happiest place on earth

  poetry journal—november

  a way with words

  In My Imagination

  it’s personal

  desperate

  wish i could be a cat

  that’s a first

  special delivery #1

  stuck

  poetry journal—november

  when it rains, it pours

  the hospital—4:15 p.m.

  four months earlier

  the season of giving

  special delivery #2

  poetry journal—december

  enough is enough

  gone

  What I’ve Learned

  from bad to worse

  there’s more to life than kissing

  fishing for answers

  muddy boots

  no reassurances

  surprises

  gifts

  merry christmas

  poetry journal—december

  the hospital—4:21 p.m.

  three months earlier

  a revolution

  For My Girl

  ups and downs

  afraid

  that was close

  poetry journal—january

  a mutual acquaintance

  the unexpected

  close call

  boys, boys, boys

  urgent

  from bad to worse

  poetry journal—january

  the hospital—8:56 p.m.

  two months earlier

  painful

  Scars

  special delivery #3

  missing you

  poetry journal—february

  a good reminder

  welcome home

  the hospital—8:04 a.m.

  one month earlier

  the pink house

  in the garden

  nobody’s perfect

  Bloom

  confessions

  the last special delivery

  at the park

  poetry journal—march

  the hospital—9:17 a.m.

  one day earlier

  twelve hours or else

  poetry journal—april

  kindness revealed

  shine

  always love

  the hospital—1:02 p.m.

  two months later

  cherished

  acknowledgments

  about the author

  Lucky number seven is for Sara Crowe,

  because I am so lucky you loved my

  odd little manuscript all those years ago.

  I hope there are at least seven more!

  the hospital—4:05 p.m.

  At last I can breathe.

  “Has anyone reached her family?”

  Before they got to me, I felt like I was suffocating.

  I can feel them working on me. Hear them.

  “Rayanna? My name is Dr. Lamb. We’re going to take care of you.”

  Dr. Lamb. I like the sound of your voice. I want to believe you’ll take care of me. Except you can’t do that forever. I mean, for now, maybe. But after that, what happens?

  There’s a light far, far away. I can feel it. It’s warm.

  Is it wrong to want the light?

  Maybe the light doesn’t want me.

  All I want is to be wanted by someone. Just as I am.

  That may be the only thing I’ve ever wanted.

  six months earlier

  it hurts

  I WAS MAKING HAMBURGERS FOR DINNER. DEAN, MY STEPDAD, loves hamburgers, although I wasn’t making his favorite out of a deep devotion for the guy. Grease kept spraying up from the frying pan, burning my hands, like tiny electrical shocks. It was a small price to pay. Once I got him fed, I could retreat to my room, like always, where he’d leave me alone for the rest of the night.

  When the meat was done, I put the patties and buns on two plates, then rushed around grabbing the chips, a Coke for me, and a beer for him.

  “Dinner’s ready,” I called.

  “Good. I’m starving,” Dean said as he got up off the couch. He took a seat at the old butcher-block table and scrutinized his dinner plate along with the condiments I’d set out earlier. I waited. There was always something.

  “Shit, Rae,” he yelled. “Where’s the onions?”

  Right. His beloved onions. “Sorry. Hold on. I’ll get them.”

  “Damn right you will,” he muttered.

  I sliced through the onion, pretending it was his head.

  I looked up. He handled his hamburger so gently. Putting on ketchup, mustard, and pickles with such tender care, you’d have thought he was a mother dressing her newborn baby.

  I sliced harder. Faster.

  “Ow!” The knife fell to the counter with a rattle. “Sh—” I pinched my lips together, keeping the promise to myself to be nothing like my foulmouthed stepfather. I blasted the water in the sink and thrust my hand under the stream, wincing because it stung.

  Dean said nothing.

  The reddish-pinkish water swirled down the drain, and I imagined a sink full of blood. It’d overflow onto the floor. Creep across the linoleum to his oil-stained boots.

  How much blood before he’d notice?

  How much blood before he’d care?

  No doubt in my mind. He’d let me bleed to death. Years ago, when I’d hoped he might be the dad I’d never had, his nonreaction probably would have bothered me. Not anymore. I’d learned to keep my expectations low. There’s less disappointment that way.

  Because one thing I really didn’t need any more of? Disappointment.

  My mother definitely didn’t marry Dean for his compassion. She married him for money, what little of it he had, anyway. It was more than we had, which was nothing, and that was all that’d mattered.

  I turned off the water and grabbed a paper towel, wrapping it tight around my finger, afraid to look too closely at the cut.

  Dean got up with his plate and marched to the counter, cussing under his breath. He picked up a handful of sliced onions and put them on top of his burger.

  Blood seeped through the towel. I squeezed it tighter.

  He went back to the table. Sat down. Took a bite of his burger.

  “Now, that’s better,” he mumbled.

  The whole scene reminded me of the time I’d heard two DJs on the radio talking about a survey some researchers had conducted on memories. The results showed there are three things people remember most from their childhood: family vacations, holiday traditions, and mealtimes.

  I had to laugh. Yeah, I’d remember mealtimes at my house, and immediately wish I could forget them.

  • • •

  I spent the evening in my room, doing homework. Mom got home around ten, like always. She worke
d the swing shift as a checker at the Rite Aid. I heard her in the other room, exchanging words with Dean. Their voices got louder, and my name was mentioned a time or two.

  I turned up the music on my laptop in response, doing my best to fight the world with Foo. The Foo Fighters, that is. I traced my finger along my ankle, imagining the tattoo I’d designed in my head with a circle of musical notes and lyrics from my favorite song, “Everlong.” If I make it to eighteen with my sanity intact, I figure I’ll owe it to the Foo Fighters. Well, and to my job at Full Bloom. Might need to incorporate a couple of flowers into that design.

  I picked up my book, trying to read like a good junior should. The Crucible. Ms. Bloodsaw (yes, that’s really her name) said it was a perfect example of irony. If you denied you were a witch, they hanged you. If you admitted you were a witch, they set you free. But you had to live every day with the lies you told. What kind of life would that be? I’d thought about it a lot. Probably too much.

  Mom poked her head into my room. “Rayanna, how come the dishes aren’t done?”

  I held up my bandaged finger for her to see.

  “Well, it’s not broken, is it? Get out there and wash ’em. ’Cause I sure as hell can’t do ’em. I’ve been on my feet—”

  “For over eight hours. I know, Mom. But I cut it really bad.”

  “You’ll live,” she said. “Though you may not if you don’t get off your ass and get those dishes done. You know how Dean likes things kept neat around here.”

  Grandma used to say, “The road to happiness is paved with good deeds for others.” Clearly my mother had taken a detour. Would it kill her to do just one nice thing for me?

  I got up off my bed. “Why don’t you make him—”

  “Go. Wash.” She walked over and pointed her finger in my face. “The damn. Dishes.”

  I don’t know why I even tried. She always took his side. Just what I needed—another reminder of how I should expect nothing from either one of them.

  My mother had never been an easy person to live with. I tried my best to be empathetic toward her. Grandma told me once that Mom had a lot of bad things happen to her when she was younger, and it left her angry at the world. When I pressed Grandma for more information, wanting so desperately to understand my mother, she said it wasn’t her place to tell me. And then she told me I should try not to take it personally, which is pretty much impossible to do when it feels personal.

  After Grandma died from cancer six years ago, I told myself not to worry, because there was no way my mother could get any angrier.

  Turned out I was wrong.

  poetry journal—october

  I DON’T BELONG HERE

  I feel like

  an obstacle stuck

  in your way.

  You kick me

  to the side of the road

  in order to get

  where you need to go.

  Where are you going?

  Do you even know?

  Seems like you

  go around

  and around

  and around,

  always coming back

  to the same place.

  And always,

  I am in the way.

  You push me

  this way

  and that way

  and all I can think

  is I don’t belong here.

  Nowhere

  is nowhere

  near the place

  I want to be.

  meet the new kid

  THE NEXT MORNING I APPROACHED THE JUNIOR BENCHES IN THE common area inside the main entrance of the school. Alix saved me a spot, like she’s supposed to. Just like I do for her when I get there first. It’s our meeting place. I took my seat. Alix was talking to Felicia on the other side of her. I nudged her, causing Alix to whip around and put her arm around me, her hand getting tangled in my dark blond hair as she gave me a squeeze. “Yay! Rae’s here, Rae’s here.”

  “Hi, Rae,” Felicia said, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and her head propped in her hands. “Cute sweater. The pink really brings out the blue in your eyes. Where’d you get it?”

  I smiled. That’s exactly why I bought it. “Thanks. The City Girl had a sale last week.”

  It was a little white lie. I wanted my friends to think I was just as good as they were. I rarely bought new clothes. I shopped at the Goodwill store. I’d become a genius at thrift-store shopping. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff people give away.

  “Love that store,” Felicia said. “God, I want to go shopping so bad. Mom won’t have any of it though. Says she’s given me enough money lately. Whatever.”

  “Well, you could get a job, like Rae,” Alix said. “Though it’d be hard to find one as fun as hers. Which reminds me, are you working after school? Want to grab a bite before the game?”

  “Game?” I teased. “What game?”

  “Very funny,” Alix said. “Don’t let Santiago hear you say that. He is so stressed about this one. Thinks it’s gonna be the toughest game of the season.”

  “Alix, don’t get mad, but I don’t know if I want to go. I have to work. And I’m tired. It’s been a long—”

  “What?” Alix scowled at me. “You are not saying this right now. The team needs you. Santiago needs you. I need you!” She turned to Felicia. “Can you believe this girl?”

  “You have to go!” Felicia said. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  It felt good to be wanted. If I stayed home, I’d probably sit in my room, listening to my music, feeling sorry for myself. That didn’t exactly sound like a good time. Sometimes I felt a little left out of all their boy talk, but they didn’t do it on purpose.

  Alix took my hand in hers and pleaded with her eyes. “Please go. Please?”

  “Fine. But I’ll have to meet you there.”

  “Not a problem. I can spend a couple of hours helping Dad. The sixty-seven Mustang he brought in a few days ago needs a lot of work, but it’s gonna be amazing when it’s finished.”

  “Alixandria, stop it,” I deadpanned. “You know how your car talk turns me on.”

  She smiled as she raised her eyebrows. “Yeah? Well, come over anytime and you can get greasy with me.”

  I grimaced. “I think I’d rather scale Mount Everest. With no clothes on.”

  Felicia laughed. “Totally agree with you on that one.”

  Alix crossed her arms over her chest. “You guys, it’s fun! And must I remind you, Rae? Where would you be if it weren’t for me, your faithful grease-monkey friend?”

  I leaned into her. “Riding on two wheels instead of four, that’s where. You know my love for your mechanical aptitude runs deep. But as for me, I’ll keep my job with purdy flowers, thankyouverymuch.”

  Just then, Santiago, Alix’s boyfriend, walked up along with a cute guy I’d never seen before. I figured he was new, since Crestfield isn’t very big.

  Alix jumped up and threw her arms around Santiago. She was affectionate, that girl. We’d met in eighth grade, at homework club after school. Two girls among many, who were trying to bring up their grades. Fate sat us together. For once, I’d had a lucky break.

  When we started hanging out, it seemed kind of strange how she often wanted to hold my hand while we talked or link arms when we walked down the hall. It’s just who she is. Once I got used to it, I liked it. My mom had stopped hugging me a long time ago. As for Dean, well, thank God he kept his hands off me.

  After a couple of quick kisses, Santiago wrangled Alix to his side then gestured to the mystery guy. “Hey, girls, this is Nathan. Maybe you’ve seen him around. Just started here a couple days ago. You won’t see him in a uniform until spring, but he’s one to watch on the baseball field.”

  Alix gave him a little wave. “Hey, good to meet you. I’m Alix. That’s Felicia and Rae.”

  Nathan gave us both a nod. “Hey.”

  He was really cute, with dark blond hair sticking every which way, electric blue eyes, and a littl
e dimple in his chin. I love dimples.

  He started to say something else, but then Tyler, Felicia’s boyfriend, showed up, and the couples started whispering sweet nothings to each other. I stood up to head to class.

  Nathan stopped me. “You going to the game tonight?”

  It was a simple question. Yet, for some reason, it felt important. I fiddled with Grandma’s antique ring on my finger, hoping I didn’t say something stupid. “Yeah. I’m meeting Alix and Felicia there. Santiago and Tyler play best when we’re all cheering for them. Or so my friends tell me.”

  He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and smiled at me. I swallowed hard, because, sweet mother-of-pearl, the way he looked at me sent a little shock wave from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

  “Well, maybe I’ll see you there?” he said.

  “Yeah. Sure. Come find us if you want.”

  I mentally kicked myself as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I wasn’t good with guys. I got tongue-tied and self-conscious, and in trying to avoid all the parts of my life I didn’t want to talk about, conversations usually ended up being weird and awkward.