Bring Down the Stars

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Bring Down the Stars Page 3

by Scott, Emma


  Here’s to a wonderful start to your junior year! We’re all proud of you. Love, Mom, Dad, and Travis

  I typed back, Thank you. Love you all and miss you already. Xoxo

  I blinked back sudden tears. I’d returned from my summer in Nebraska only a week ago, but the urge to go back was an emotional hunger stronger than the physical one rumbling in my stomach. I wanted to go home and nurse my heartache surrounded by people who loved me.

  I headed downstairs for coffee. The apartment was quiet and dark. My roommate wouldn’t be up for hours. Ruby always scheduled all her classes no earlier than eleven a.m. But she didn’t have to work like I did.

  I sat at the counter with my First Day of Class To-Do List and a cup of coffee. I was big on lists. I’d read that making lists helped calm anxiety about all the stuff you have to do. Another article said that writing down goals helped them come true. I had journals full of goals and lists. Getting over Mark was #1 on today’s agenda.

  “Everyone suffers terrible break-ups,” I muttered to my empty kitchen. “You have too much work to do this year to let Mark Watts drag you down.”

  Saying his name out loud was a bad idea. I gulped the last of my coffee, swallowed it down hard and grabbed my backpack. I took a last look at myself in the mirror. Shadows under my red-rimmed eyes but otherwise okay. Maybe the same advice about looking professional applied here too.

  Don’t act like you’re heartbroken and you won’t be.

  The sun was creeping over the eastern horizon when I stepped out of the campus apartment and unlocked my bike from the rack. The burnt orange and purple light spreading over Amherst reminded me of sunrises on the farm. When I was little, I’d sit on my dad’s shoulders and watch the light turn wheat fields to liquid gold, or spill over the sea of green corn in spring.

  “Do you know why the dawn is so beautiful, Autumn?” Dad asked. “Because every day is another chance for something amazing. You just have to be ready for it.”

  Maybe that’s why I dressed as nicely as my tiny budget would allow, and got up early, even on Sundays, and made lists of my goals, and worked my butt off with the hopes of doing some good in the world. When something amazing came my way, not only would I be ready, I’d have helped make it happen.

  I wasn’t about to let Mark’s betrayal—or anything else—get in the way of that.

  I put on a smile as I stepped into the bakery at a few minutes to five. The scent of warm bread, sugar, and coffee wrapped pleasantly around me, along with a baritone voice singing an operatic aria.

  “Good morning, Edmond,” I called, stowing my bag behind the counter. I took my apron from a front peg on the wall and tied it around my waist.

  The singing grew louder and the large frame of Edmond de Guiche burst through the back door, his hands folded over his heart as his aria took a turn for the dramatic.

  Edmond only sang about love. Lost love, true love, unrequited love. The big Frenchman with the elegant mustache was like an opera character himself, dispensing lines of poetry or bursts of song to his customers with every pastry, convinced love and food went hand in hand.

  “Ma chère,” he said, when the last notes faded. He wrapped his thick arms around me in an embrace I desperately needed. Edmond’s hugs felt as good as getting a full night’s sleep.

  “So good to see you again,” he said, holding me at arm’s length. “How was your summer? How is your family?”

  “They’re fine,” I said, crossing two fingers to hide the white lie. The farm wasn’t doing so well. Dad said none of the farms in our county were, but we shouldn’t worry. Yet. Of course, I’d spent the summer watching him and Mom do nothing but worry, while I worked waiting tables at Cracker Barrel.

  “I missed you,” I told Edmond, and that wasn’t a lie at all.

  “I missed you, ma petite chère,” he said. “This place is dimmer without your beauteous light.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes again. Crying twice in one morning was unacceptable. I turned away quickly to work on prepping the coffee machines.

  “Always the romantic, Edmond.”

  “Always,” he said. “Are you ready to begin a new year at the big school?”

  “I think so. This year is tough because—”

  He cut me off by tipping my chin up with one finger. His large brown eyes were heavy with concern. “I see a new sadness here.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Edmond frowned.

  I sighed. No sense in hiding it. Mark and I had been inseparable for two years. He’d dragged himself out of bed many a morning to have a coffee at the Panache Blanc while I worked, just so he could be close to me. Edmond knew him well.

  No, he didn’t. Turns out, no one knew Mark well. Least of all me.

  “I broke up with Mark,” I said.

  “Quel bordel!” Edmond bellowed.

  “I’m fine. I’d rather not talk about it—”

  “Why? What happened?” He waved his flour-covered hands. “I know, you will not want to discuss, but he is a fool, that is plain. Pfft.”

  He made me feel the fool.

  I smoothed my skirt. “Done is done. I’m going to move past it.”

  Edmond wrinkled his nose. “A tough cookie, as you Americans say. Bon. I have no cookies for my tough cookie but…” He took a cranberry scone from the tray he’d just pulled from the oven, put it on a plate and handed it to me.

  “Oh no, I don’t need…”

  “You do. I insist.” Edmond called to the back. “Eh! Philippe!”

  His backroom assistant, a wiry eighteen-year-old named Phil Glassman, poked his head out from the back room with a vague grunt. His eyelids were still at half-mast. Poor Phil—a year and a half working here and he still couldn’t get used to the early hours.

  “Philippe, you prepare the coffee,” Edmond said. “Autumn will start after she eats.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, knowing there was no arguing with Edmond when it came to matters of the heart. Food, wine, and song were his cure-alls, and I had to admit the scone smelled amazing. I could use the comfort food.

  Edmond ushered me to the back room, plopping me down on a chair. “Eat, ma chère. Eat and taste the sweetness in life, not the bitter, oui? You are too good for mortal men, but true love will find you. This I know.”

  He patted my cheek and barked at Phil again as they prepared for the morning rush. I ate the scone and tried to take his words to heart. It helped. Not so much the food as the love baked into it.

  There might be jobs in Amherst where I could make more money, but none of them had Edmond.

  After the early morning rush, I hung up my apron, waved at Edmond and biked back to campus. My first class of the day was Intro to Economics with Environmental Applications, a course both in line with my humanitarian career goals and that satisfied a general ed requirement. Win-win.

  I always sat in the front row of my classes, taking notes until my fingers cramped. I envied the students who captured the lecture on their smart phones. My phone was more than a few incarnations behind the latest model, and I didn’t want to wear it out.

  After class, a text came in from Ruby:

  Lunch on the quad?

  Usual spot, I typed back.

  I’ll be the super hot one in the yoga pants.

  I grinned. Whereas I never left the house without looking as put-together as possible, Ruby Hammond could hardly be bothered to wear matching shoes.

  The sun was brilliant that September morning. I loved the Amherst campus with its miles of rolling green grass stretched along Federal-style buildings of red brick. Trees dotted the green where students basked in the late summer sun, talking and reuniting after the summer break.

  Whether you were in kindergarten or college, the first day of school seemed to hold a special feeling of possibility. Like one of my dad’s mornings, where amazing things could happen.

  Ruby and I had claimed a wrought iron street lamp in front of the Admin building as ‘our place.’ She was waiting
for me, stretched out on the grass, wearing the promised yoga pants and a wrinkled baseball-style shirt. Her dark hair was tied up in a messy bun and she shielded her eyes with a caramel-colored hand.

  We’d been paired up randomly as freshman roommates, and despite our differences, we hit it off at once. I kept our place clean, and in exchange, she kept me laughing when my studies threatened to bury me.

  “Here we go again,” Ruby said, greeting me with a smile. “Same Bat-time, same Bat-place. Same same-same. Are we in a rut?”

  I folded my dress under me as I knelt beside her. “It’s the first day of class. We can’t be in a rut already.” My smile slipped. “And not everything is the same.”

  Ruby frowned, and dug into her bag for her lunch. “You’re right. That cheating asshole is out of the picture. Can’t say I’m sorry.”

  “I can,” I said, smoothing my skirt.

  “Hey,” Ruby said, touching my hand. “I’m no good at saying the right thing to make you feel better. This we know. But in a month, my thoughtless commentary will be just what you want to hear.”

  “I know. I wish I could fast-forward.”

  “Fucker,” Ruby muttered, and leaned back on her elbows to survey the activity on the quad. “On the bright side, Amherst has no shortage of fine-ass men to distract you from your problems.” She jerked her chin to a group of guys tossing around a football. “Mmhmm. No shortage at all.”

  I rolled my eyes and drew out my own lunch—a salad with dried cranberries and feta cheese, and a bottle of iced tea. “Pass.”

  “Girl—”

  “Ruby, please,” I said. “It’s only been three months.”

  “I’m not suggesting anything serious. I’m talking purely sexual encounters of the meaningless kind.” She smiled gently. “I know, I know. Not your thing. I just hate seeing you hurt. Mark’s a damn fool and you can quote me.”

  I took a bite of salad and let my gaze follow Ruby’s to the guys throwing a football. My eyes kept landing on a tall boy with broad shoulders and a wide, charming smile. Even at a distance, something about that flashing smile was comforting. Like one of Edmond’s scones. A smile that made it seem like all was right in the world.

  My astute best friend caught me staring. “On the off-chance you’re wondering, that’s Connor Drake. Junior hottie. Baseball player, player-player, and all-around beer pong champ two years running.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

  “No, of course not,” Ruby said with an eye roll. “I’ve only mentioned him, like, a dozen times since we started here. Then again, kind of hard to notice other guys when you’ve been sucking face with Mark.”

  “Not to mention, working hard at my classes,” I said pointedly.

  “True.” She swiveled her gaze from Connor to me. “You like?”

  I shrugged. “I like his smile. And his eyes. He seems…friendly. Easy-going. Happy.”

  “In other words, he’s a babeshow.”

  I gave my best friend a playful shove. “What? I’m not allowed to look?”

  Just then, Connor laughed loudly at something one of the other guys said as he effortlessly caught an errant throw one-handed. The same pure joy in his laugh as in his smile.

  “You should do more than look,” Ruby said. “He’s all kinds of hot.”

  I shook my head. “If he’s a player, then I’m not interested. And I’m done with relationships, anyway.”

  “You sit on a throne of lies,” Ruby intoned in a deep voice. “You’re an incurable romantic. It’s in your blood.”

  “I know. But Mark made a fool of me, Ruby. He made me believe in something that wasn’t there. Like everything we had was a lie or a joke. Or that I was the joke. The butt of a terrible joke he called us. Feeling like this sucks and I’m not going to get hurt like that again.”

  On cue, the pain squeezed my heart. Mark Watts hadn’t been my first serious boyfriend, but I’d fallen more deeply for him than anyone else. After two years, I’d begun to envision a future together. We were young, but we both wanted the same things from life: to travel, to find a worthy cause and champion it, to spend a life of activism, helping.

  Or so I thought.

  “I’ll never understand why he couldn’t have been honest with me,” I said, my gaze following Connor Drake. “Don’t want to marry me? Fine. We’re only twenty-one. But don’t tell me all kinds of romantic, intense things that make me feel like you want to build a future life together, and then cheat on me.”

  “You can date without getting emotionally involved,” Ruby said around a bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “You can have fun with a guy without getting attached for life.”

  Connor stood with his friends now, talking and laughing. His laugh was booming and infectious. The other guys loved him; giving him their full attention, keeping him the center of their universe.

  “I always get attached,” I said. “I can’t help myself. I don’t want casual, I want electricity. I want someone I can talk to for ages, someone who sets my blood on fire. And not just physically, you know?”

  Ruby pursed her lips. “Gee, don’t expect much, do you?”

  “Only everything,” I said. “And why not? That’s exactly what I have to give.” I sighed and rested my chin on my drawn-up knees. “I have one year to figure out an emphasis for my post-grad Harvard project. Maybe the universe is telling me to try being single for a change.”

  “Mmhmm,” Ruby said. “Is the universe also telling you to keep your eyes glued to Connor Drake? Because if that’s the case: mission accomplished.”

  I laughed and leaned into her. “He really is hot. And that smile…”

  “Go talk to him. This could be a good experiment for you. Talk to him, ask him out. See if you can keep it casual.” Her eyes narrowed. “I triple-dog dare you!”

  “What are you, ten?” I asked, and watched her take another bite of her PB&J and wash it down with a swig of Yoo-hoo. “Maybe you are ten…”

  “Kid food is the best food,” she said. “And you’re ignoring my challenge.”

  I shook my head, stood up, and brushed the grass from my skirt. “Nah, it’s too soon. Players aren’t my type. He probably just wants to get laid, and that’s fine, but it’s not for me.”

  “How do you know what Connor wants if you never talk to him?”

  I shrugged, shouldered my bag. “Guess I won’t. He’ll remain a mystery. Something to admire from afar while I keep to my studies. On that note…”

  “The library? Already?”

  “I have forty minutes before my next class. Are you coming?”

  Ruby shook her head and pulled a small bag of Fritos from her brown paper bag. “Italian majors don’t do any work until we’ve eaten. It’s in the syllabus.”

  I laughed. “See you at home.”

  “See you. But since you won’t give Connor the time of day, I might see if I can take the poor guy home with me. So you better knock first.”

  I gave Connor Drake a final, parting glance. This time, he caught me.

  Our eyes met and I felt a little thrill shoot up and down my spine before settling in my stomach. He gave me a mega-watt smile—his teeth were blindingly white—and raised his hand in a half-wave. As if we were old friends.

  My cheeks warmed. I gave a quick, spastic wave before hurrying away, keeping my head down.

  As I headed to the library, my romantic imagination couldn’t help but wonder if Connor was thinking of me the way I was thinking of him. If he linked me to his beautiful day on the quad, just as his effortless smile linked him to mine.

  That feeling, I thought. That’s what I love. The first connection. A little uncertain moment that builds into something strong and real.

  Except that I thought I’d had that with Mark. While I was busy building our future, he was knocking it out, brick by brick, until the whole thing came crashing down.

  I glanced over my shoulder a final time at Connor Drake. He was laughing with his friends again, wea
ring that beaming, sunshine smile. I wondered what it would be like to bask in that smile, and then brushed the thought aside.

  Gorgeous men with winning smiles were no longer on my list.

  Autumn

  I took the cement stairs into the library and entered the cool, hushed confines of the main reading room. None of the long mahogany desks with green-shaded lamps were empty. One of the university clubs had taken over two-thirds of the space. The rest of the tables were filled with students like me, trying to get a head start on their course load.

  I finally found an empty seat at the end of a table, opposite a blond guy engrossed in reading. His open backpack spilled books and papers into what I hoped could be my table territory.

  “Excuse me,” I whispered. “Can I…?”

  He looked up, his expression vaguely hostile. Piercing blue-green eyes set in a stunningly handsome, if angular, face met mine. High cheekbones, sharp chin and straight nose but for a small break along the bridge. He looked chiseled out of smooth stone at first glance. Then his features softened for a moment as his gaze swept over me. Something like recognition lit up his eyes, and I could see the gears of his brain turning as he studied, analyzed, and then came to a conclusion. Not a good one, I guessed, because his expression hardened again.

  “Yeah, sure,” he muttered. He stood up, leaning his tall, slender frame over the table to corral the books back into his pack.

  “Thanks,” I said, thinking if he wasn’t a basketball player or a runner, he was a model.

  All right, girl, get a grip.

  I sat, cracked my textbook and settled in to read. I wasn’t through two pages when the words blurred to nonsensical gibberish and my skin prickled with the sensation of being watched.

  I glanced up, straight into the ocean eyes of the guy across from me. A million thoughts swirled in their soft depths before they quickly glanced down. He slouched lower in his chair, disappearing behind his book—the collected poems of Walt Whitman. Part of me wanted to melt. Good Lord, a hot guy reading poetry? I was only human.

 

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