“And everything I did.”
She slipped her hand into his. He didn’t squeeze back but he didn’t pull away either.
“Because of this disorder,” he said lowering his eyes. “I’m defined by the parts of me that are broken. I don’t think you understand what that’s like.”
“I absolutely know what it’s like to be defined by my broken parts. Your hemophilia is part of you and I’ve done everything I can to understand it.”
“I thought you could look past it.”
She tugged on his arm, making him turn his eyes toward her. “I don’t need to look past anything. I’m looking right at you and I want you. All of you. Broken parts included.”
He lowered his head again, touching his forehead to hers. “I don’t want you to be with me because you feel sorry for me.”
“What I feel is anything but sorry.”
“So no pity sex?”
She raised her eyes to his, recognizing that twinkling laughter in them again for the first time in days.
“There are much better reasons to have sex,” she said before realizing how brazen she sounded and blushing bright red.
“Is that so?”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth to slow her smile and then put her hand against his chest, smoothing his shirt. “Bastian, I started falling for you before I knew what your hemophilia really means. It doesn’t change anything, but I’m not going to ignore it either. So when you decide to self-destruct again, remember you’re hurting me too. Remember that I need you.”
He leaned back, studying her through the thick frames of his glasses. His face and his eyes were so serious that a lump rose in her throat. “I like being needed.”
Music and the crowd pushed and swelled around them. The throbbing melody invited the guests to join the bridal party on the dance floor.
Bastian remained on the edge of floor, but placed his hands carefully against her sides, drawing her to him. His long fingers swept down her skin to settle on her hips. “Whatever happened,” he said, “none of it changes how I feel about you.”
The safety of the warm, dark night settled around them and made her brave. She nestled her face against his clavicle. “How do you feel about me?”
He lowered his head to speak softly into her ear. “Do you need me to tell you?”
She shook her head against his shoulder. “Show me.”
He dipped his head to kiss her lips, a quick, soft kiss that weakened her knees.
“I wish I could show you,” she whispered. Her words came out so softly, he couldn’t have heard and yet, when she lifted her eyes to his, she knew he had.
Sliding her hands up to cup his face, she caressed his check and then drew him close to kiss him with hungry abandon.
She kissed him to make up for the days they’d spent apart. She kissed him for all the times he’d rescued her. All the times she’d rescued him. She kissed him hard and soft and sweet and ravenous. Because there wasn’t enough time and there weren’t enough kisses and she’d rather never breathe again than stop kissing him.
“Get a room,” Lola said in a false whisper. “Or at least tone it down before Tobey or your dad sees you.”
Summer backed away just enough to settle on her heels again. She hadn’t realized she’d been hovering on the tips of her toes. “They can get over it.”
“At least introduce us,” Tobey said, coming up beside Lola.
“He’s right, you know,” Lola said.
“Guys, this is The Boy,” Summer beamed up at him, her heart wild with joy. “This is Bastian.”
She didn’t even hear what they said to each other. Old life and new life collided and she still stood on two feet, reconciling past and present and making room for both in her heart.
Her friends drifted off and Bastian’s hand slid down her arm, raising goose bumps from her scalp to her toes. She shifted her gaze to watch the lambent torchlight playing across his face.
“That’s better,” Abby said, bouncing up to them and wrapping her arms around both of their shoulders. “Seriously, I don’t know why it’s so hard for the two of you to admit your feelings.”
Bastian smirked at her. “Right. And that’s gone so well for you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Something wistful crossed her face, but she covered it with a smirk. “Speaking of which, one of the guys in the band is flirting with me.”
“Those are the guys from Raf’s band, right?” Bastian asked.
“So? I hate Raf out of loyalty to Bria. The rest of the band is fair game though.” She winked at them and sailed off toward the other end of the floor again.
Summer tilted her head back to see Bastian’s face, to see his spectacular eyes and full lower lip. “Where were we?”
Epilogue
“I can’t do this,” Summer said, clutching her board.
Abby held up a hand to stop her before she walked away. “Yes, you can. You have to.”
“I can’t. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m going to wipe out and fail and break my neck and never get to kiss Bastian again.”
Abby’s hands clamped down on her shoulders. “You have to face this or you’ll never be able to go forward. Put your past in the past.”
“What if I fail?”
“Then you’re exactly where you are now, except you tried.”
“Nothing to lose.”
Abby grinned. “Exactly! Hasn’t that boy of yours taught you anything?”
Summer pursed her lips and blew out a sharp, whistling breath. “Okay.”
Abby threw her arms around her neck and squeezed. “You’re amazing. I know it. Bastian knows it. You know it. Now go prove it to these plebeians.”
Summer smiled as the anticipation gathered in her fingers and toes, picking up strength as it worked its way through her limbs. Before she had time to overthink anymore, she stood at the top of the ramp. Someone announced her name and she waved at the crowd. The combination of cheers and boos would have deafened her if she hadn’t tuned out everything but the ramp.
She zeroed in on the edge of her board, breathing in just the right amount of air before letting it go and dropping into the half pipe.
Her movements weren’t automatic. They were more than that. Like her muscles and ligaments knew when to tighten, uncoil, and twist before she did, each part in perfect, synchronized harmony. The weightless freedom of soaring gave way to the stomach-dropping free fall before she landed with just enough of a jolt to wake every nerve in her body.
She didn’t even count the number of times she dropped into the pipe or the times she made each turn. She just let herself fly, trusting her body to follow the routine.
She came to rest at the top of the ramp and gave the crowd another quick wave before darting down the stairs, not even pausing to hear her scores.
Abby careened into her, squealing and giggling and crying all at once.
“Did I do it?” Summer asked, wide-eyed and breathless.
“You were perfect.” Bastian stepped toward her, smiling softly.
Abby let go of her, squeezing her hand one last time. “The first girl to land a 720 in competition.”
“I really did it?” She looked between them and broke into a grin when they both nodded. “I did it.” She pulled off her helmet and dropped onto the seat of the bleachers, blinking hard.
“I’m going to give you guys a minute,” Abby said. “I’ll keep everyone else away.”
Summer glanced up at Bastian, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“That was amazing,” he said, shuffling his feet.
“What if they ask me to be in the games?”
“They’re going to. Did you even hear your scores?”
She shook her head. “Do you have any idea what it will take for me to compete? The amount of time I’ll spend training?”
“But you love this.”
“I do.” She caught his hand and towed him closer. “But there are other things
I love too.”
“Like what?” His eyes twinkled and she almost punched his arm.
“Like us.” She let it hover on the air for a moment. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes my dad made. People matter.”
He sat down beside her, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “You matter. And that’s why I can’t watch you walk away when you’re so close. We’re stronger than that.”
She looked up, ready to argue, but the confidence in his eyes arrested her thoughts. “You really believe that.”
“I do. I believe in you. I believe in us.”
She smiled so big she thought her face might break. “Me too.”
He caught her face between his hands and bent to kiss her, a kiss laden with joy and relief and hope.
Hope.
For a future that wasn’t written in stone and a past that could stay behind them.
“Guys!” Abby ran toward them. “There are sponsors and reporters and judges all dying to meet you. Let’s go!”
Summer stood and held out her hand for Bastian. “You’re with me?”
He kissed her again, fierce and almost frantic, like they needed to make up for something. For everything. All at once.
And maybe they did.
“Always.”
Acknowledgements
This book began with a very simple idea: a girl who lives for her sport and a boy whose life is defined by his health. The journey from that idea to this moment has been long and tumultuous. It has taken me through some very difficult seasons in my life and forced me to confront parts of myself that I’d prefer to ignore. At the end of it all, I hope I did Summer and Bastian justice and told their story well. I know I would not be here today without the love, support and encouragement of so many people.
First, overwhelming gratitude to Alana Chapman and Leigh Ann Kopans, my first readers. Thank you for putting up with my neuroses and not letting me shelve this manuscript. When I despaired of ever making this messy, disjointed thing into a coherent story, the two of you walked me through it. You connected to Summer and Bastian and loved them despite their flaws - or maybe because of them. Thank you.
To Kathryn Purdie for reassuring me that I didn’t completely flub my representation of hemophilia. Your personal and medical input took cold facts and made them real. All the research in the world pales compared to actual human relationships! Thank you for your time and encouragement.
To the twitter writing community for being the best crowd sourcing resource ever. Without you, this book would be untitled, poorly researched and filled with temp names. Special thanks to everyone who helped me come up with THE TRICK TO LANDING: Sarah Russell, Hayley Farris, Katherine Locke, Rachel Simon, Ami Allen-Vath, Liz Lincoln, Cait Greer and Louise Gornall.
To Brett Jonas. You’re just the best.
To everyone at Bloomsbury Spark. I still can’t believe you let me do this again! To my incomparable editor, Meredith Rich. I owe so much to you. You push me past my comfort zone and make me stop pulling punches. You know my stories better than I do and always find ways to tell them better. I am a much stronger writer because of your guidance. To my copyeditor, Linda Minton: you truly have a super power! To Spark intern Hannah Milton: your POV pushed me even further. Thank you! To Jenny Zamenak, my brilliant cover designer: you brought my story to life in such a tangible way. I love seeing my skater girl front and center! To the marketing and sales team for all they do: Erica Barmash, Emily Gerbner and Emily Ritter.
I need to include a thank you to Switchfoot in here. Years and years ago, when I was too cool for anything other than punk, this little surf-rock band would come through Cleveland and I’d sell merch for them. Even though I never listened to their music, they always remembered me. Their kindness had a huge impact on my angry, unloveable, 15-year-old self. I’m so glad you guys made it. Your music became the soundtrack for this book and I’m so thankful that I finally got over myself enough to enjoy your brilliant work.
A major shout out to Coffee Connection, where most of the editing for this book took place. And thank you for introducing me to the London Fog, perhaps the greatest fall drink ever.
Many, many thanks to my family for putting up with me and my weird schedule/deadlines/imaginary friends. To Joe, for being my best friend, biggest support and the love of my life. To Ryan and Ember: I’m so glad I get to be your momma. I’m also glad you both love school. To the Jamisons: my parents, Bob and Judy, and my siblings: Myk (and Lauren and Tobin!), Molly, Nancy and David. I love you all and am grateful for all the story ideas I’ve gleaned from my childhood. To the Kaczorowskis: Doug and Kim, Scott and In-ok, Mike, Sarah, Ella and Jacob. I really hit the jackpot for in-laws. I love you all.
To my friends and neighbors, especially Melissa, Kelly, Jodi, Joalla and Vickie, for running interference with the kids when I needed back up!
To everyone who read THE ART OF FALLING and asked for more from the kids at Oceanside High. I hope you enjoy this one just as much.
And thanks to God for giving me words. I’m so grateful that I get to do this.
About the Author
Raised in the duct tape capital of the world, Avon, Ohio, Jenny Kaczorowski began her writing career at her hometown newspaper. After earning a degree in photojournalism, she vowed to never spend another winter in Ohio and moved to California, where there is far too much sunshine and she dreams of rainy afternoons.
Amid working for Sound Art, a non-profit that teaches music in inner-city neighborhoods, and raising two kids, Jenny decided to do something with all the snippets she wrote during microeconomics and began writing for young adults. She likes her heroines smart and quirky, her heroes nice, and her kisses sweet. Her debut, THE ART OF FALLING is published with Bloomsbury Spark.
Apart from writing, Jenny is still an avid photographer, loves music despite no discernible musical talent, and harbors a deep-seated fear of goldfish. She lives near Los Angeles with her husband, son, and daughter. The four of them are always looking for their next adventure.
Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York, Oxford, and Sydney
Copyright © 2016 by Jenny Kaczorowski
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means, (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
First published in October 2015
by Bloomsbury Spark, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
www.bloomsbury.com
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Bloomsbury Spark, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request
ISBN 978-1-61963-787-0
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Cover design by Jenny Zamenak
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