Falling for You Read online

  The five-minute bell rang and I’d never been so happy to hear that thing go off. Left for another minute, who knows what I might have said that I’d regret.

  “See you later,” I told him before I bolted.

  At least Alix and Felicia would be with me at the game. And, I told myself, if things got too uncomfortable, I could just head to the concession stand for a snack. Of course there’d be a really long line. Like miles long. I’d be gone forever.

  Oh, who was I kidding? If he came and found us, I’d want to stay and hang on to every word. Maybe I was afraid of guys and getting close and revealing too much of myself, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious.

  And as far as Nathan was concerned? I was more than a little curious.

  i want to be brave

  ENGLISH IS THE CLASS I LOVE THE MOST, WITH THE TEACHER I love the most. Lucky for me, Ms. Bloodsaw is as awesome as her name.

  I sat down at my desk and flipped open my notebook. Felicia came in and took the desk in front of me. She turned around and raised her eyebrows at me. “So. The new guy. Initial reaction?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t really have one.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Are you serious right now? Come on. Don’t play hard to get before you’ve even given him a chance.”

  “I’m not playing anything. I just don’t think I should be too quick to judge a book by its cover, so to speak.”

  She leaned in, her eyes like a doe’s, big and round. “But you can’t deny it. He’s hot, right? And the way he looked at you? Rae, I’m telling you, do not mess around. You have to show a little interest or you’ll lose him.”

  I held up my fist as if I was holding a microphone, although I kept my voice fairly quiet. “Welcome to the Dr. Felicia show, ladies and gentlemen. Relationship advice from the number one expert on love.”

  Felicia leaned back. “Fine. Mock me all you want. But you know I’m right. He could be the one.”

  And that was exactly why I hadn’t given her any indication of what I thought about the guy. If she knew how I really felt, that I was secretly dying to know more about him, I’d never hear the end of it.

  “Good morning,” Ms. Bloodsaw said, entering the classroom right before the final bell rang. “Before we begin, I have an announcement. As most of you probably know, due to a generous donation by the late Mrs. Enid Scott, a retired teacher from Crestfield High, this year marks the first year we’ll be publishing an anthology of students’ poetry. Enid adored poetry, and it was her dream to have Crestfield students experience the thrill of seeing their work in print.

  “Every month, the newspaper will print a pull-out section of student poetry. Most anything submitted will be included, as long as it’s appropriate. No foul language, no sexual references, that kind of thing. In April a panel of teachers will select the best poems to be included in the anthology, which will be available for purchase.

  “The deadline for the first pull-out issue will be in one week. If you have questions, please see me after class.”

  It felt strange to have her speak to us like that. Like writing poetry was as normal as breathing. Was it possible that I wasn’t the only one who had more poetry journals than pairs of pants?

  I couldn’t help but wonder who would be brave enough to publish poems for everyone to see. Not me. No way. I had too much to hide.

  If I submitted some of my writing, wouldn’t people be ruthless? Wouldn’t they look beneath the beauty of the words, hoping to find a poor, hurting soul to obliterate?

  Maybe not.

  Maybe a poet’s pain, or pleasure, would reach out and touch a reader’s heart.

  Maybe the sky would open up and pour golden light into someone’s soul.

  Maybe, just maybe, a reader would feel a little less alone in the world.

  That thought right there? It sent shivers up and down my spine.

  After class I told Felicia to go on without me. I took my time gathering up my things. By the time I stopped at Ms. Bloodsaw’s desk, everyone else had left.

  “Hi, Rae. What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering, um, could I submit a poem anonymously? For the newspaper? Would that be all right?”

  Ms. Bloodsaw tilted her head and squinted her pretty green eyes a bit. “It wouldn’t be considered for the anthology, but if that’s what you’re most comfortable with, sure, go right ahead.”

  It was definitely what I was most comfortable with. Writing poetry was my way of dealing with the sad and ugly parts of my life. My friends knew very little about those parts, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  Grandma told me once, keeping feelings locked away isn’t good for a person. They need to go somewhere, or they can be damaging. It frightened me when she said that, because I had a lot of feelings, which meant there was the potential for a whole lot of damage. And so I started writing.

  I wasn’t sure how I would choose a poem out of the hundreds. Or was it thousands? All I knew is that I wanted to do it, because when I thought of possibly helping someone with my words, it made me feel something I hadn’t felt much in my life.

  Powerful.

  home away from home

  AFTER SCHOOL ALIX WALKED WITH ME TO THE PARKING LOT. The warm autumn air smelled like exhaust, as car after car left the school grounds. A lot of the cars had kids hanging out the windows as they went in search of some fun before the game.

  Alix patted the hood of my little black Nissan pickup. “Glad to see you’re still treating her well.”

  I found my old truck on Craigslist last year for five hundred bucks. It didn’t run when I bought it, but Alix and her dad took care of that.

  “I wonder what kind of car Nathan drives,” Alix continued, looking around the parking lot. “Maybe he’ll ask you out tonight, and you’ll get to find out.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Alix, please. Not you, too. Felicia practically married us off in first period.”

  “We just want good things for you, that’s all. And Nathan?” She smiled deviously. “He looks like a very good thing. He’s got to be interested, right? Why else would he ask if you were going to the game?”

  I shook my head. “Whatever. You know how it is with me and guys. I’m the nice girl it’s fun to be friends with. Or something.”

  “Rae, I’m pretty sure that’s because you never want to be more than friends. As soon as things start moving in that direction, you pull away. Wait. Scratch that. You run away. Why is that?”

  I reached into my pocket for my phone, checking the time. “Sorry, I need to cancel this therapy session or I’m gonna be late for work.”

  I opened the door and started to climb in, but she grabbed my hand. “You really need to give him a chance. Santiago thinks he’s a great guy.”

  “Okay, okay. If he’s even interested, which is a pretty big ‘if.’ Did you see the way all the girls looked at him today?”

  She winked. “He only had eyes for you. Trust me.”

  “See you tonight,” I said as I hopped into the truck. She blew me a kiss as I drove off and it made me laugh. The girl could be relentless, but I sure did love her.

  I went a few blocks down Fifth Street and then pulled onto Pacific Road. The town of Crestfield isn’t much. At all. Pacific Road takes you from one end of town to the other, with grocery stores, gas stations, banks, and other businesses along the way. Old downtown is where I work, which isn’t so old anymore. New stores have replaced the old ones, although the buildings are original, so it still has that homey feel people love.

  The good thing about a small town is it doesn’t take you very long to get someplace. After one and a half Foo Fighters songs, I pulled into the parking lot behind the building where I work. The parking lot is shared by three businesses: a hair salon called Cutting Edge, Full Bloom, and a coffee shop, Mack’s Bean Shack.

  Nina keeps the back door locked, so I walked around to the front, past Cutting Edge, and through the door of Full Bloom. The sweet-smelling shop has walls the color of sunshin
e and shelves filled with potted plants and flowers. It gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling when I walked in, like always.

  I could see Nina in the back workroom through the large picture window behind the long front counter. She sat with a pile of paperwork in front of her and her laptop.

  “Hey, Nina. How’s it going?” I asked as I walked through the workroom door.

  “It’s been quiet all day,” she said, glancing up at me. “So I’m paying bills. Man, do I hate paying bills. But Uranus is finally leaving my second house, which rules earned income. Uranus is volatile, so it’s a good thing it’s leaving. More money should start coming in now, right?”

  I curled my lips in, trying not to giggle. “Nina, I’m sorry, but I’m still back at ‘Uranus is volatile.’ ” She could talk astrology to me all she wanted, but as soon as she mentioned Uranus, it was over.

  “All right, all right. I’ll keep my thoughts about Uranus to myself.”

  “Much appreciated. So, what’s my horoscope say? Do I have anything to look forward to? If not, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

  Nina regularly checked a bunch of online sites to get her daily, weekly, and monthly horoscopes. I thought she took it a bit too seriously sometimes, but I’d never tell her that. Mostly I joked with her about it, hoping to remind her it should be for fun, not something to plan her life around.

  “Romance,” she said as she typed numbers into her spreadsheet. “Something big is supposed to happen soon.”

  I took my sweater off and hung it on the coatrack. “Since I’m sixteen, wait, I mean, newly seventeen, and have never been kissed, that’s even funnier than saying Uranus is volatile.”

  The bell above the front door jingled.

  “Where’s Spencer?” I asked. He usually sat at the counter, greeting people and answering the phone.

  “I gave him the afternoon off. It’s Kevin’s birthday today, so they’re going up to Portland to celebrate.”

  “Okay, I’m on it.”

  I walked out and greeted the young, pretty woman. “Can I help you?”

  “My name is on your board out there. You know, the name of the day?”

  Nina has a sign outside:

  IF YOUR NAME IS ____________, COME IN FOR A FREE FLOWER.

  Every day she changes the name on the board. It’s a fun way to get new people into the shop. And I’m amazed how often we get new business because of it.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I forgot to look at the sign as I walked in. You are—?”

  “Grace.” She reached for her purse. “Do you want to see my driver’s license?”

  “Nah. It’s okay. I trust you.”

  I walked to the cooler, where I picked out a red rose and some baby’s breath. “Let me wrap this for you.”

  As I finished with the flower, the bell rang again. It was my friend Leo. He works for his dad next door at Mack’s Bean Shack. He’s homeschooled, so I only see him when I’m working.

  The woman thanked me and grabbed one of our business cards before she left.

  Leo stepped up to the counter. He smelled like coffee and his brown eyes looked tired. “Hi, my name is Grace. I’d like my free flower please?”

  “Now, that’s a first. Come back tomorrow when the name is Fred, and I’ll hook you up.”

  “Fred?” He looked shocked. “You think I look like a Fred? With this incredible head of hair?”

  Leo and his hair. He’s kind of obsessed with it. Yes, it’s nice—the color of chocolate, shiny and soft-looking—but it’s kind of become a joke now.

  “Well, you look like a Fred a helluva lot more than you look like a Grace.”

  He smiled. “Actually, my dad needs some tape. Can we borrow some?”

  “Scotch or masking?”

  “Not sure. Uh, Scotch, I guess.”

  “Coming right up.”

  “You sound like a bartender. Not that I’ve been to many bars. Just seen ’em in the movies.”

  “Why do you sound like you’re trying to cover something up, Mr. Martin? Hmmm? Been sneaking out when Daddy’s not looking?” I pulled open the shop’s junk drawer. No tape.

  It was always like this with Leo. Fun. Easy. I was always happy when I got the chance to see him.

  “All right. You caught me. There’s this twenty-three-year-old girl who is smoking hot and scored me a fake ID. The things we do for love, you know?”

  I pulled a bunch of paperwork out of the in/out basket. There it was. “Ooooh, a secret life. The stuff good books are made of.” I handed him the tape. “Speaking of which, I’m almost done with The Crucible. My teacher called it ‘chilling and delicious.’ Chilling, yes. Delicious, I’m not so sure. But I need something else to read. Any suggestions?”

  “I’ve heard Catcher Eats a Pie is pretty tasty.”

  “Oh, that sounds good,” I said, my mind racing. “Or maybe Pecan with the Wind?”

  “Pride and Asparagus?” he quipped back.

  I laughed. “Oh no, chilling and disgusting. Okay, seriously. You always have your nose in a book. Help me out here.”

  “Do I look like a librarian?” He walked toward the door. “I’m a barista, Rae. Big difference.”

  “But you’re a barista who reads! Actually, I think you’re my only friend who likes to read. Think about it and get back to me, okay?”

  He grinned. “I will. Next time I see you, I’ll be ready. Just can’t think of anything right now. You know how it is when your brain is screaming, ‘Work to do, work to do!’ ”

  I did know. That was another thing about Leo. He was my only friend who understood what it’s like to juggle life and school with a job. My other friends didn’t need to work. I was glad I had him to talk to about that sometimes.

  “Bye!” I called out.

  He waved before he hustled out the door, and I thought, There should be more guys like Leo. I hoped Nathan was as nice as him. Maybe I’d get lucky and Nathan would like to read too. Or he’d confide in me that he secretly wrote poetry in notebooks that he kept hidden in his room.

  What was I doing? I didn’t even know if Nathan and I would be able to carry on a decent conversation, and here I was hoping he’d share his deepest secrets with me?

  I felt butterflies in my stomach at just the thought of Nathan. I wanted to blame Alix and Felicia for getting my hopes up, but I knew it was all me. I couldn’t deny that I often envied my friends, with their boyfriends who lavished them with love. I wanted a little lavishing too.

  late for dinner

  BUSINESS PICKED UP, AND I ENDED UP STAYING LATE TO HELP NINA finish some bouquets. It was six thirty when I pulled into the driveway, and I knew a certain someone would not be happy with me.

  I got out of my truck, the smell of cut grass and twilight all around me. Dean stood at our faded picket fence with the lawn mower, talking with one of the neighbors, Mr. Pulley. Each had a beer in his hand. Well, how nice. Dean actually knew how to share.

  Dean smiled and waved. “Hey, sunshine, good to have you home. I’ll be inside in a minute.”

  “Sunshine?” What the—are you kidding me? Mr. Pulley smiled and waved, so I did the same. What a picture-perfect scene. We’d become experts at creating magical illusions.

  I hurried inside to get Dean’s dinner going. What could I make that would be fast? A frozen dinner would be the quickest, but I couldn’t remember if we had any. My mom hadn’t been shopping lately. She was probably waiting for payday.

  I opened the freezer door, hoping for the best. “Oh, thank God,” I whispered. There was one Hungry-Man left. Even better, it was his favorite, Classic Fried Chicken.

  Dean lumbered in as I tossed the plastic tray into the microwave and set it to cook for five minutes. “I count on you for dinner at six thirty, Rae. You know that. It’s really not too much to ask.”

  “Something came up at work,” I told him. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  I wanted to ask if he’d somehow managed to break his hands while mowing the lawn. God for
bid he should make himself something to eat for a change. But I kept my pissy thoughts to myself and pulled another beer out of the fridge for him.

  “Look, I’m sorry I’m late. I couldn’t help it.” I handed him the beer and took his empty one. He wiped the top of the can with the edge of his Blue Streak Auto Shop work shirt before he popped the tab.

  “What do you do with all that money you make, anyway?” he asked.

  I threw the can into the recycle bin next to the fridge. “It pays for my gas and insurance. Clothes. You know, girl stuff.” I swallowed hard. I did not like this conversation. “And it’s not very much, since I only work part-time.”

  What Dean didn’t know, and hopefully never would, was that I had a savings account. I called it my Get Out of Crestfield fund. After I paid my bills and bought whatever else I needed, the rest of the money went into my savings.

  Dean took a swig of beer. “You get tips?”

  “Sometimes. Not today though.” I looked down at my hands and picked at the ugly bandage on my finger.

  I glanced at him as he leaned against the counter and took a deep breath. There was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. He almost looked . . . sad.

  “I got laid off today,” Dean said quietly. He cleared his throat. “When I tell your mother, she won’t be happy.”

  He looked at me expectantly, like I was supposed to reassure him. I bit my lip, trying to figure out what to say. It was all so strange. Wasn’t he, as the adult, supposed to reassure me that we’d be all right? Then I remembered who I was talking to. There was nothing normal about our family. “She’ll probably understand. These things happen sometimes,” I said, not very convincingly. “At least Mom still has her job. And you’ll find work. Right?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. You know what Crestfield’s like. Small. Tight. It may be a while. And your mom don’t make shit.” He took another swig of beer. Then his face changed. The Dean I knew and despised returned.

  He came closer to me. “You’ll give me your paycheck on paydays. The first and the fifteenth, isn’t it? I’ll decide how much money you get for your girl crap.”