Fall Into Love

by Melody Anne

  “Oh, crap, Jin. I’m so sorry.” I scrambled across the bed and reached for the silver-framed picture.

  Thankfully, it had fallen faceup, so the glass wasn’t even cracked. An ache rolled through my chest and into my stomach as I caught sight of the girl in the picture. I shoved the frame back on the table as fast as possible, turning it so it faced the closet and not me.

  “It’s fine,” I said to Jin. “She’s fine.”

  He paused, hand frozen in midair, a pair of purple socks dangling from his fingers. “Except, we both know she’s not.”

  “Yeah. I remember.” My hand moved to my chest, trailing over my shirt, the ridges of the scars on my skin underneath pressing into the pads of my fingers like folds through the fabric.

  For a moment, my friend and I regarded each other, unsure of what to say. Dammit. We’d somehow stumbled into “let’s never talk about this again” territory. Not talking about what happened to the girl in the photo was basically the reason I still had Jin as a friend.

  Jin’s dark eyes broke away as he turned toward the door. I exhaled when I spotted his mom holding up a pile of folded boxers in the entrance to his room.

  “You aren’t planning to go to school without underwear, are you?” she asked, placing the stack on the dresser. “These were sitting in the laundry room.”

  Seeing Mrs. Tam next to her son was always a bit jarring. They somehow looked the same, yet different. If Jin had been standing, he’d have towered over her. He had her dark, spiky hair, but the only other color in hers was the odd strand of gray. They both had deep-set eyes and cheekbones you could sharpen a knife on. And they both resembled the girl in the picture beside the bed.

  I clutched the collar of my shirt. Even though I’d turned her away, my back prickled like she was still watching me.

  “Well, I’d thought about it,” Jin said. He then signed, After all, I don’t plan on needing them much.

  You’re wicked, I signed back. I can’t believe you say things like that in front of your mother.

  She doesn’t know ASL. Besides, she knows who I am. He spoke, “Right, Mom? Nothing I say would surprise you.”

  Is that so? I signed. I turned to his mother. “Mrs. Tam, would you like me to translate what your son just said to me?”

  The tiny woman stepped forward and ruffled her son’s hair. His recently blued tips slipped through her fingers, the indigo bright against the cracks in her skin.

  “That’s okay, dear. I have my ideas. But he’s a good boy.” Jin stuck his tongue out at me like a two-year-old who got his way, and I rolled my eyes. “Besides, as long as he is safe and ends up with a nice boy who makes him happy, that’s all that matters. I do not need to know the rest.”

  I threw myself back on the bed as she left the room. “So, I’m all alone in this,” I moaned at the ceiling.

  The mattress jostled, and Jin settled against me. I turned and met his eyes.

  “You’re never alone, El,” he said. “You know that.”

  I rotated onto my side and rested my head on my arm. “Except, I am. You’re going off to New York, and I have to start stupid Fernbrooke U on my own.”

  “I’ve asked you like a billion times to come with me.”

  I shuddered. “Me in New York? No, thanks. All those people pushing and shoving, rushing in every direction . . .”

  “Your loss. From what I can tell, it’s an amazing city. Plus, it has some of the best theater in the world.”

  Jin’s eyes took on that faraway look he got when he imagined himself performing on a Broadway stage or winning a Tony Award. That look was enough to stop me from begging him to stay in Fernbrooke with me, despite the way my nerves juddered at the idea of my only friend living so far away.

  “Maybe I can get my parents to give me one more year,” I said. “They let me have last year to write. I mean, I’m on deadline for the last VM book. It’s understandable I’d need to finish that first.”

  Jin combed a lock of hair off my face. “El, I love you, but you seriously need to get over this. College will be good for you. The freedom to figure out exactly who you are and what you want in life . . . I think this is exactly what you need.”

  “You sound like my dad.”

  “’Cause your dad and I want the best for you.”

  I propped myself on my elbow. “I’m only asking for one more year. I’m not saying I’ll never go. The VM series will be done. I won’t have to worry about trying to write while I’m there . . .”

  “El, you already took a year off. You’re practically going to be a senior citizen by the time you start.”

  “Nineteen is not a senior citizen. Plenty of older people go to college. There are copious TV movies about women going back to school in their forties.”

  “You’re definitely not waiting till you’re forty.” He sat up and pulled me with him so we were face-to-face.

  You need to make some new friends, do some hot guys, he signed. I can’t bear the thought of you sitting alone in your room while I’m off partying in NYC. I can’t be your only friend. That’s just sad.

  I know. But I’m scared. Remember senior year?

  After a few years at a School for the Deaf, I’d tried to go to regular high school. My first week back, I’d waited till everyone had left the locker room after PE to change, but the moment I’d stripped down, another group of girls had come in. I didn’t see them until it was too late. They took one look at my scarred torso and freaked out, hiding their eyes like I was the Medusa or something.

  I’d tried to ignore their disgusted stares during lunches or in the halls, but after a few weeks, I’d begged my mother to let me stay home. Despite my father’s protests, she’d agreed and quit her job to homeschool me.

  That’s what kids do, Jin signed. They tease each other.

  “You weren’t there,” I spoke, my throat cracking at the memory. “It was basically Carrie without the maxi pads and the telekinetic rampage that followed.”

  “Okay, now you’re being overdramatic, and we both know that’s my area of expertise.” Jin placed his hands on my upper arms. “Besides, they were just jealous. You showed up at school after four years, and damn, you’d grown into your looks. You have this crazy gold hair they can only get from a bottle.” He touched my chin, raising my face to his. “And your eyes are so wide and blue, you belong in a freaking Disney movie, sitting by a window and singing to chipmunks.”

  “Jin, stop.” I wiggled, trying to free myself from his inspection, but he held me in place.

  “No, you need to hear this. You have this pouty bottom lip I think most guys would kill to kiss. And your figure is dynamite. You could stand to add a curve or two, but it’s still workable. I mean, if I went for girls, you’d definitely be on my radar.” He waggled his eyebrows at me and I giggled.

  “You will meet someone who sees you the same way I do. Gorgeous in every way, though a little annoying when you try to tell her so. And college is the perfect place to do it.”

  “But what if they laugh at me?”

  “They won’t. If eighties movies have taught me anything, it’s that everyone will probably be too worried about their grades or going to the most popular party to pay attention to anyone but themselves. You’ll live with a person you’ll probably grow to hate in a ridiculously tiny space. You’ll be dwarfed by ginormous classrooms, and live off fast food and coffee. And, at some point, there will be a kegger that rages out of control or a secret society that tries to recruit you and make you perform embarrassing stunts in front of everyone.”

  “You make it sound so appealing.”

  The bed shook as he bounced up and down. “It will be amazing. All of it. Besides, you have a seminar with that author you like, right?”

  “Duncan Creed.”

  “Yeah, him. You’ll love that.”

  I gnawed on my bottom lip. “I suppose . . .”

  “You are going to have the best time. I promise. You know I’d never push you into something that wou
ld hurt you. You’ve been through enough. But it’s time to live, El. Time to stop hiding and show the world your gorgeous self.”

  I threw my arms around him and buried my face in his chest, inhaling the scent of his newly washed shirt. He hugged me back, then kissed my forehead. I pulled away so I could sign, I love you. I’m going to miss you.

  He grinned and signed back, I love you, too. He formed his hand into a fist and pulled it away from his nose. Dork.

  I shoved him so hard, he fell onto the floor.

  “Good girl,” he said, standing and tugging his dark jeans up on his hips. “Fight back when someone insults you. And now that I’m done imparting my infinite wisdom to you, you can help me pack as thanks. I’ve gotta get on the road soon if I’m going to make it to New York before tomorrow.”

  “Fine, oh wise and self-absorbed one.” I hopped off the bed and bowed. “Thank you for making time for us more inferior people. Where should I start?”

  “You finish emptying those drawers into that box. I’ll tackle the closet.”

  “You know,” I said, kneeling on the floor, “you don’t need all these. You really can get away with only, like, seven outfits and rotate them.”

  He tossed a ball of rainbow socks at my head.

  • • •

  Two hours later, I stood at the end of Jin’s driveway and watched his taillights until they disappeared down the road. As his yellow Bug left my sight, I wiped at my eyes and got into my car. Pressing my forehead against the steering wheel, I allowed the tears I’d been holding in the entire time we packed to stream down my cheeks.

  I choked down the ache in my stomach as I thought of heading to my own college on Sunday. Jin had convinced me I at least needed to give it a try. That didn’t make me any less vomity, though. Starting the car, I drove through town aimlessly, looking for anything to make the fear and nausea dissipate.

  Fernbrooke was small enough that one could cross the town in a matter of minutes. It was a pretty drive, with flat green land to the west and forest to the east. Beyond the trees lay Honeycomb Lake. The water winked at me with sparkling eyes between the branches, beckoning me to its cool shores.

  I pulled to the side of the road and scanned the trees. Getting out of the air-conditioned car was a reminder that summer was throwing a good-bye party of its own. The thick air clung to my face and hair. Plucking my T-shirt from my stomach, I grimaced as sweat sucked the fabric back against my skin.

  I followed the path through the woods and emerged on the beach. Glancing around to confirm I was alone, I kicked off my sandals, tossed my purse beside them, and waded into the lake. When the water rose above my denim shorts, I closed my eyes and dived in, pushing off of the sandy bottom. The lake was cool, but not cold. It embraced me with long, gentle arms and swallowed me beneath the surface.

  I opened my eyes under the water and stared into the darkness. Underwater was the one place where everyone lived in a world as silent as my own. The one place I felt like an equal. I stayed beneath the surface until my lungs burned, then kicked my feet and burst into the sunlight.

  Gulping in air, I tilted onto my back and allowed myself to float farther into the lake. I propelled myself backward with the steady flap of my arms. Eyes closed, I drifted until the heat of the sun burned my skin, then I turned over and dived again, knifing through the water.

  When I broke the surface again, I realized I’d swum much farther than I’d planned. My shoes and purse were out of sight and I approached a group of trees I hadn’t seen in a long time.

  Sheridan Island.

  My heart picked up speed as I treaded water and stared at the patch of land in the middle of the lake. Even years later, it was like I had just been there. I could still hear Annie’s laugh. The loud boom. The last noises I’d ever hear before being propelled into a world of mind-numbing silence and repulsive scars.

  Thanks for visiting Sheridan Island, kid. Enjoy your parting gifts. Don’t forget to tell your friends!

  Shaking my head, I tilted my body toward the opposite shore, where my stuff waited, and sliced through the water. I kicked my legs and pulled myself forward with my arms, leaving the awful memories behind with the rotting trees on the island.

  When I emerged from the water, the air still hung heavy and my wet skin was covered in goose bumps. I slipped on my shoes and rifled through my purse for my phone to check the time. A blue star blinked to tell me I had new e-mail from a sender I’d flagged as VIP. There was only one person I’d given this treatment to: my agent.

  Steph had been my agent since I’d sent her the first Viking Moon book back when I was fifteen. Although we’d chatted on the phone over the years, we’d never met face-to-face. She knew I was young—my checks were made out to my parents, after all—but even she had no clue I looked nothing like the girl on the back of my books. I furrowed my brows and touched the screen to open the message:

  I know you’ve been anxious to hear from me, but I wanted to wait until everything was set in stone. I have wonderful news, Elise! They’ve finally cast the Viking Moon series! Gavin Hartley has signed on to be Dag, and Leila Clarke is playing Thora! How exciting is that? I can’t believe we got such incredible actors! I mean, they’re HUGE right now!

  I looked away from the phone and sucked in a breath. Gavin would be my Dag after all. One of my more outlandish fantasies was coming true. I wrapped an arm around myself as I continued to read:

  As if that wasn’t amazing enough? They are going all out when it comes to making this show as close to the books as possible. The producers even called and begged me to get you on the set as a consult, but I told them you couldn’t leave Fernbrooke with your school commitments. So they scouted out your town and apparently think it’s the perfect place to house your Vikings! They are so excited because that means you can be there whenever you aren’t needed in class. Doesn’t hurt that filming out in the Midwest is going to be a hell of a lot cheaper than renting a lot in LA . . . Isn’t that exciting? You’re going to meet Gavin Hartley! They start filming in a month. I’ll be in touch with more details. Congratulations, Elise! Go celebrate!

  The phone dropped from my hand and fell onto my sandaled foot. Pain shot up my shin, but I barely noticed.

  A single word kept repeating itself over and over in my head, like a mantra:

  Fuck.

  Whoever named Fernbrooke University obviously hadn’t considered the slew of students who would walk the campus over the years with the school’s initials emblazoned across their chests.

  FU.

  A giggle fizzed up my throat like soda bubbles. I’d seen the shirts in town, of course, but nerves had me giddy. If I didn’t laugh, I’d probably scream.

  My mother touched my elbow, her mouth set in a tight line.

  Are you okay? she signed.

  I nodded and squinted at the paper in my hand. According to the campus map, my dorm was straight ahead. I hitched up my suitcase as students darted along the cement paths and between lush trees. The parking lot faded from view, and I coaxed my feet to propel me away from my disappearing car.

  We made it to a massive stone building and I held my breath as I caught sight of the wooden doors ushering me into what would be my home for the next nine months. My throat went dry, and my heart thumped at high speed.

  My mom wrenched the doors open, waving my father and me inside. Her blond hair ruffled as a blast of cool air escaped the hall. I wiped a bead of sweat off my forehead and released the breath I’d been holding. At least the place had air-conditioning.

  I peered past my mother into the hall, wrinkling my nose. The lobby reeked of sweat and mildew. Particles of dust waltzed among the puddles of light from the windows, scattering as students tottered through them with boxes and furniture.

  Something slammed into my side with such force, I dropped my suitcase and staggered into a wall. A pair of hands grabbed my shoulders and my father steadied me.

  Are you hurt? he signed.

  I’m fine.
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br />   He turned and said something to the boy who’d crashed his beanbag chair into me. Apparently, the words my father used weren’t especially nice, as the boy gave him a gesture that meant the same thing in ASL as it did in English. My father started after him, but I grabbed his hand and shook my head.

  “It’s okay,” I muttered. “It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  My father smoothed my hair and kissed my forehead. Heat rushed from my feet to my hair follicles as students stopped and stared. A girl carrying a pink pillow sneered and covered her mouth with her hand. I eased away from my father and picked up my suitcase.

  By the time we made it up four flights of old stairs that sagged beneath our feet, I was drenched in sweat, despite the air-conditioning. I pulled my hair in front of my scar as we reached a door marked 406, and took a breath.

  The room was the size of my closet. And, not being super into clothes, I didn’t have a big closet at home. Sparse, with only two dressers, and two beds separated by a double wooden desk, the room begged for color or personality. I almost felt sorry for it.

  My father took my second suitcase and heaved it, along with the one he already carried, onto the left bed. Then my parents stood and stared at me. My mom’s eyes were damp and she dabbed at them with a Kleenex. I shuffled my feet and glanced at the clock on the desk.

  You’ll be okay? my mom finally signed.

  Of course.

  You can come home anytime you like. We’re only twenty minutes away.

  Exactly. I stopped myself from once again pointing out how stupid it was for me to stay on campus when I could practically walk to school from our house. But my father figured staying at home wouldn’t encourage me to meet new people. He was right, but that didn’t mean I agreed with his decision.

  She’ll be fine, my dad signed. He added, “You need to let her grow up, Louise. This is an important step for her to take. She’s not a child anymore.”

  “I know,” my mother said. “But she’s not like everyone else, Rick.”