THE PRICE OF FALLING
Copyright © Melanie Tushmore 2010
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, nor transmitted, nor translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real locales or real people are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, localities or persons, either living or dead, are entirely unintentional.
The Price of Falling
Melanie Tushmore
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
About the Author
Melanie Tushmore has been writing stories since she was a disgruntled teenager. Now as an adult (apparently) and with many helping hands along the way, she has bitten the bullet in order to share her imagination with others. Thank you for being part of it!
For more info and free reads, please visit her website www.melanietushmore.co.uk
Melanie loves music. Follow her blog for exclusive views into the soundtracks behind her stories.
http://cocktalesandhotsauce.blogspot.com
And follow her at these sites if you dare.
http://twitter.com/melanietushmore
https://www.facebook.com/melanie.tushmore
http://melanietushmore.livejournal.com/profile
Acknowledgements
Thank you to everyone who has helped me produce this book!
Ria at www.digital-powder.co.uk for my beautiful front cover.
Ben, for all your help.
Tes, my fantastic editor.
My gorgeous models Chris and Viv!
Special thanks to my family, and also to my cats for keeping me company while I write!
Chapter 1
I had never really wanted anything before.
By all accounts I knew I was average. I didn't excel at anything or fall behind, I just went through life pretty much doing what was asked of me. Maybe if my family weren't well off I would have wanted more, but I never really thought about it. We were comfortable, we had nice things. We went on holidays and if I passed my grades and did some chores I would be rewarded. I had a neat car, a BMW M3 which my Dad had bought for me.
It was 1988 and I was in my senior year at Ellwood High. My grades were alright, not brilliant but alright. I played a lot of football; the guys that I spent most time with were all on the team. I played football and worked out a lot as there wasn't much else to do. My friends liked to get drunk, go to parties and make out with girls. I didn't really think about not joining in, it just seemed natural to go with the flow of what they wanted.
I was the quiet one of the group. Plain old Mike Miller, not that bright but at least I didn't enjoy beating up the science geeks like my friends seemed to. I hoped that in college I could leave that part of high school behind me.
There was interest from girls and I went along with my friends to parties, had a few beers and watched the girls giggle and flirt with us in a bid to be popular. I saw a few of them on and off, but there wasn’t really anyone I wanted to spend my time with. At least being one of 'the guys' it was normal to not have a steady girlfriend. I didn't fool around quite so bad as my friends did, or upset anyone. I didn't see a need for that.
I had two little sisters, the eldest was a freshman at Ellwood. I gave her driving lessons, sometimes drove her to parties and hung out there to make sure she was OK. I had nowhere else I needed to be. That was my life, nothing special, nothing bad. I was content but I had never really wanted anything. Then one day in February, a new student joined my class.
The weather was starting to get warm again and we were halfway through our senior year. The only thing everyone was talking about was where they were going to college in the fall, but all that I was paying attention to was thinking about football practice. We had a big game coming up in two weeks. I had been concentrating on my game plan so hard that when I first noticed the new student he was already walking past me; a skinny guy with long hair, in ripped jeans and a ripped t-shirt. He sat at the vacant desk to the side of me, about two seats away. Placing the brand new books he'd been given on the desk top and slouching back in his chair, he already looked bored.
I had missed if Mr. Thompson announced his name, and now he was starting his morning lesson in History. I looked to Mr. Thompson and his blackboard, trying to pay attention. I stole glances at the student, interested in something new. I wasn't the only one looking at him either, the girl in front had even turned sideways in her seat, smiling and playing with her hair. This display didn't seem to gain any reaction from him. His expression was unimpressed as he gazed ahead, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
He spent the whole lesson like that. In fact, he didn't talk to many people at school.
The next day, I knew what his name was. Jason Reilly. I couldn't help but look his way every so often during class, he was very striking. His long hair was a dark, natural red, wild and all over the place. There were a few others at school with similar looks, they all hung out behind the bleachers on the field and smoked pot. Eventually Jason started to hang out with them but I noticed he was alone a lot too. He ditched class frequently.
Mr. Thompson, as our form teacher, was always asking him to stay behind. There was something about Jason that told you he'd be trouble. He seemed to have no fear of Mr. Thompson or the other teachers and only suffered class occasionally with the rest of us, when he would look bored or refuse to cooperate.
I wondered why he was so petulant. When he wasn't scowling Jason's face was serene and I couldn’t stop analyzing it. There were some beautiful girls in our classes but Jason was prettier than most of them. I never paid much attention to faces before but on him I noticed sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw line, lips that were full and pink even if they did sneer a lot. I didn't really know why I looked at Jason Reilly so much, it was magnetic. I just thought he was very pretty, in a matter of fact way, and wondered what the strange feeling in my stomach was.
Nothing was different, I thought. I still didn't want anything. I did my work, concentrated on football and working out. We often had practice after school. The football field was epic, considering it wasn't that large a school. When a few of us were practicing late with the light just starting to go, it was my turn to retrieve the balls from the far end of the field. Just ahead on the other side of the high mesh fence was the furthest parking lot, next to Standen road. It was mostly quiet, the main roads were further down. As I was picking up a ball near the fence, trailing the bag behind me, I noticed Jason in the lot. He was with a couple of the pot-head crowd, leaning next to a parked car and smoking. I took my time picking up the balls but there wasn't really anything I could have said to strike up conversation; he was too far away and Jason had made it clear he wasn't interested in talking to anyone in our class.
A car came up by the curb, engine still running. I could see a guy lean over from the window and Jason went over to the car. I watched them speak for about ten seconds before Jason got in, without even saying goodbye to his friends. As it drove away, I could see it was an expensive car. I wondered if it was his Dad. I went back to picking up the footballs, wondering why I thought what I had seen was a little strange.
It wasn't until a few weeks later that I found out wh
y some of the pot-head kids hung around in the far parking lot. I guess I was always a bit slow understanding things. I saw Jason there a few more times when I was at practice late, and he or one of his friends would randomly get picked up by different cars. I didn't realize why until I heard one of my friends Allen, who was kind of a meathead, bragging about how he 'beat up one of the queers'.
What queers? I asked.
The ones at the back of the field, Allen explained. There were rumors that they were getting into cars with guys for money.
Oh right, I said, realization dawning.
After Allen had given one of the pot-heads a black eye for his own sheer enjoyment, they all stopped hanging out in the parking lot. Probably moved on elsewhere. The rumors persisted though. A lot of the pot-heads looked alike, so no-one was sure who was doing it. I also heard some of the girls did it too. That was one way of earning extra money, I thought.
I had seen Jason do it. Jason got into cars with guys. Now I knew why. I heard he'd gotten into a fight with two meatheads over it. Sounds like they probably didn't expect anyone to fight back when they picked on people, let alone get black eyes themselves. Jason had come in one day with a split lip and a dark bruise on his cheek. Mr. Thompson held him back again after class; anyone who fought got in trouble but Jason still seemed disinterested.
The strange feeling in my stomach had started to grow. Whenever I was in the same class as Jason (when he bothered to show up) that feeling would intensify and travel down. I started to feel something like a sharp ache and a tightening in my groin, similar to when I had been with girls. I knew I wanted something but daren't admit to myself what it was.
In a History class Mr. Thompson walked down the room drawing the blinds in preparation for a video. We had been studying foreign history and today was the Scottish revolt against England. Mr. Thompson had decided to show us a yet another video instead of actually teaching today.
‘No talking during the film,’ Mr. Thompson said as he stalked back between the desks. ‘Make notes and pay attention.’
He stopped by Jason's desk and pulled away the scrap of paper he had been scribbling on, scrunching it up in his hands. ‘This is Celtic history, Jason Reilly. You might like to pay attention as not only are your grades dangerously low but this particular area of history should be of interest to you.’
Jason looked thoroughly unimpressed and sat back with his arms folded.
Mr. Thompson went back to his desk at the front of the room, tossing Jason's paper into the bin. ‘The Celts were notoriously difficult for the English to control. Watch and learn,’ he said, pushing the video in.
In the dimmed classroom I tried to watch the film. It was probably early seventies at least and slow paced compared to what we were all used to. The shots of the green countryside were beautiful though. I found myself glancing over at Jason. He wasn't really paying attention but not many of the class were. Occasionally Mr. Thompson would shout out to be quiet if he heard anyone whispering.
In the film the heroine was a pretty young girl, who typically had long red hair. One of the scenes had her roving over a green set of hills with a mesmerizing female voice singing in some strange language. Other than that, the film was pretty bad.
In other classes later on, my mind wandered back to that scene in the countryside with the lone voice singing mournfully. I remembered what Mr. Thompson had said. I hadn't realized Jason was of Celtic descent, but that would explain his red hair and pale skin.
Instead of remembering the actress on the windy hill top, my mind was picturing Jason standing there. However ridiculous that seemed.
I tried blinking the image away. The only other image that kept coming to my mind was Jason getting into a car with dark windows. I felt hot and couldn't concentrate.
Over the next few days I attempted to distract myself. If I let my mind wander it always seemed to find Jason. I only had to look at a car to remind myself what he did. My glances at him in class were getting longer. I had to position myself so it looked as though I was paying attention to the board but my eyes could rest comfortably on him. There was something magnetic about him, something that made me realize that just looking wasn't enough.
For the first time in my life, I wanted something. I wanted something real bad, even though I wasn't quite sure what it was yet. I knew I had to speak to Jason. I had a vague idea what I would ask but I had no idea how he would react. Jason was, if anything, unpredictable.
I saw an opportunity when yet again, Mr. Thompson asked Jason to stay behind after class was dismissed. Jason hadn't shown up for morning registration yesterday or some other classes, so it was inevitable Mr. Thompson would keep him back. As we filed out of the class and left Jason inside with Mr. Thompson, I went to my locker nearby with my heart pounding. I knew that as the next class was only minutes away, any talk Jason got from Mr. Thompson would be relatively brief; just a threat of detention or parental involvement then send him on his way.
So I waited. I stacked and re-stacked books in my locker real slow; ignoring the bedlam around me as students moved along to the next class, shouting and bustling. The noise died down fairly quickly, as a few minutes later everyone disappeared into rooms. There was no sign of the hall monitor, who usually started out the morning by the bleachers to deter the pot-heads from gathering.
The halls were empty now, quiet. I could hear distant talk from nearby class rooms, and very faintly could hear Mr. Thompson talking. I re-stacked my books again.
Finally the door swung open and Jason left. He looked no more petulant than he usually did, and began casually walking down the hall towards me. I quickly slammed my locker door and moved to walk next to him. He looked up in surprise. I was taller than him and a lot bigger.
‘Hey,’ I greeted, my heart hammering away at simply talking to him.
‘What do you want, jock?’ came his curt reply.
‘I want to ask you something,’ I said, walking beside him, my big strides easily matching his.
‘Well I'm busy, so get lost.’
I had figured on a harsh welcome from Jason. I pressed on, hoping to make him listen to me. ‘I've seen you get into cars with guys,’ I said, challenging.
Jason gave me a side long glance. ‘And?’
My throat was almost dry but I replied, ‘And you do things with them.’
He snorted a laugh in response. ‘Supposing that's true, so what?’
I swallowed in an effort to get out what I wanted to say. ‘What do you do?’ I asked.
Jason stopped and turned to face me. I stopped as well, clutched my bag to my shoulder and tried to look relaxed even though I was worried he could hear my heart beating.
Jason frowned, eyes searching my face. He looked down briefly, obviously sizing me up. When his eyes, which I could see now were a pale green, met mine again his frown lessened slightly.
‘I'm guessing,’ he said calmly, ‘that you're not planning to fight me?’
I shook my head once, captivated by his eyes. This was the most contact I had ever had with Jason, and up close he was even more striking.
‘So either you want to try and blackmail me or you're hitting on me. Which is it?’
His words made the situation real enough to make me panic. I'd tried not to think about it, tried to hide it from myself, but I knew what I wanted now.
I wanted him.
I could feel heat rushing to my face. I hoped it wasn’t noticeable; I forced myself to stay calm as I looked back at him. I knew I hadn't answered his question but the air between us was heavy with my unspoken need.
Jason's frown disappeared as his lips curled up in a brief smile. Another small glimpse of a laugh as he said, ‘Forget it, jock, it's never gonna happen.’
As quickly as he said it he turned away from me and carried on walking.
My reaction was slow, distracted by seeing Jason smile for the first time, his words reaching my ears but not my brain. By the time I had realized he'd shot me down he was halfwa
y along the hall. I was too taken aback to follow and watched him walk away.
I was stunned for the rest of the day. I hadn't really approached Jason with a clear idea of what I wanted or how I'd expected our exchange to go, but that definitely had not been it. When the final bell went and I was on my way to football practice, I felt very strange. I'd never experienced these emotions before and I didn't like them. My head felt light but my shoulders were heavy. I couldn't feel much below my chest, almost like I was a shell with the bottom half blown away.
I wasn't concentrating. During practice I didn't see a tackle coming and got totally floored. I could hear some girls who had been sitting on the bleachers laugh in the distance.
Our coach and the team were leaning over me as I lay dazed on the ground.
‘Miller!’ Coach shouted. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘Are you alright, dude?’ Allen asked.
I nodded as best I could, but they made me sit out the rest of the practice.
Later that night when I lay awake in bed, I decided I would just forget that anything had ever happened today, and move on.
But the next day my eyes were drawn again to Jason. He trailed last into class and flopped down on to his seat. As he shifted and glanced up in my direction, our eyes met. Embarrassed, I looked away, trying to focus on Mr. Thompson. After what seemed like hours but was probably only seconds, my eyes slid back to Jason. He was gazing in the vague direction of the blackboard. I focused back on Mr. Thompson, but throughout the lesson couldn't help steal looks at Jason.
The Price of Falling Page 1