Page 9 of Somewhere Between Falling

“Okay, then. If that makes you feel better,” he conceded.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused thoughtfully, and I wished more than anything I knew what he was thinking. “See you Thursday.”

I nodded and made my escape. Once out of the classroom, I felt like I could finally breathe again. I leaned up against the cool wall and let myself slide down to the floor. A shadow emerged above me. The black-haired girl with the staring problem was standing in front of me. Was out in the hallway this whole time?

“You’re Dr. Seger’s daughter, aren’t you?” she asked, pushing her glasses up again. Maybe she should get those resized.

“Yeah,” I said, bracing myself for what I knew was coming next. It was always the same.

“Wow. If I was you, I’m not sure I’d be able to show my face on campus again. I mean, how embarrassing that your dad almost lost his job because he was screwing a student.”

I learned a long time ago there’s no fixing stupid.Blair was never technically his student. She was a graduate assistant in the history department—not biology. What they did was completely unethical and not exactly socially acceptable, but he was never going to lose his job. There weren’t even any disciplinary actions taken since she was no longer affiliated with the school when they got engaged and there was no proof that anything untoward occurred, but obviously on a campus this small, nobody had anything better to do than speculate about my dad’s indiscretion. It didn’t matter that they were married now; it felt like I was still dealing with the repercussions of his actions.As angry as I was at my dad for putting our family in the situation, I didn’t like anyone else bashing him either.

“You’re an idiot.” I stood up, shaking my head. There was nothing else to do but just walk away.

Sometimes I wondered if it would have been better if I just transferred. It might be worth it to accumulate thousands of dollars in debt to avoid the constant whispering. But I loved Parkhurst. I loved the campus, the professors, and as annoying as it was to deal with the whispers, I didn’t really want to leave. I passed through the rest of the day in a hazy blur, barely registering what anyone said to me.

It was only once I was back in my dorm room, staring blankly out the window as the sunset cast an orange-purple glow across campus that I realized I never did go get my schedule changed.

Chapter Seven

We were only a couple of weeks into the semester, and I was already feeling a little overwhelmed by the coursework, especially in my Russian literature class. Not because Tobias wasn’t a good teacher. It was quite the opposite, actually. He was brilliant—like the kind of smart you only read about in books—and he was funny, too. His lectures were fascinating, and I found myself so enthralled just listening to him talk about the authors and their stories and the symbolism, that I often forgot to write anything he said down. So this weekend I was rereading everything we had gone over so far, as well as researching my topic for our first paper.

Unfortunately, as much as I loved Alex, and for all her good qualities as both a friend and a roommate, there was one thing we would never see eye to eye on: her taste in music. Which, unfortunately, she insisted on blaring as loudly as the speaker would allow while working out, and Alex worked out a lot since she was here on a track scholarship. As a result, I spent most of my time in the library, especially when I needed to study. But today I was at the College Station Cafe, mostly because it had the coziest couches and when I needed a surge of energy, caffeine was readily available. Parking was always a pain, so it was quicker to just walk. Normally the walk was enjoyable, but today it was colder than I expected and about halfway there it started to drizzle. As a result, I was shivering as I ordered my caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso.

I found my usual table toward the back of the cafe that was pretty secluded and made myself comfortable. We had our first paper coming up analyzing Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov, and though it made me want to shoot my brains out, I also wanted to do well on it, especially knowing that Tobias was going to be the one reading it. If I was being honest, it was really important to me that he didn’t think I was an idiot. For some reason, I wanted to impress him with my genius ideas and thought-provoking prose—except I wasn’t having any luck coming up with either.

The theme was pretty straightforward: the conflict between faith and doubt.It was getting my thoughts out of my head and down on paper, in a way that was both clever and eloquent, that I was struggling with.

My phone vibrated, and I glanced down to see an incoming call from my dad. I declined it and went back to reading, but he wasn’t going to give up so easily as he called again. I declined it once more. You’d think he’d get the hint.I shoved my phone back into my bag, determined not to let him distract me, and attempted to return my attention back to the textbook.

I obviously hadn’t consumed enough caffeine yet because I only managed to reread a few more sentences before I realized I hadn’t understood a thing I just read. I couldn’t focus, so I stretched my back a little and then decided to just drink my coffee and people-watch until I was more awake.

There was a mom with two young boys and a baby in a car seat sitting a couple tables down from me, and the two kids were obviously growing restless as they were taking their paper menus and folding them into paper airplanes. I watched as they each folded their papers meticulously until they each proudly held up their creation. On the count of three they both let their airplanes take flight, but of course neither went very far at all. The youngest child’s attempt immediately nosedived to the ground. It made me chuckle until I saw the look of pure disappointment on his face.

A failed attempt at a paper airplane doesn’t seem like a big deal when you’re older, but I suppose for a child who hasn’t experienced much, if any at all, disappointment in their life, it must feel much different. Which made me wonder … At what point in our lives does that shift occur? When do our problems become so heavy that we are no longer disappointed, but rather laugh over things like a faulty paper airplane?And is that a good thing or is it actually really terrible? I honestly wasn’t sure.

“Just try again,” his older brother told him with a shrug, but their mom put a stop to it, and they left quickly after that.

I wasn’t sure how much time had gone by when I realized I finished my cup, and I needed another coffee if I was going to get through all of this chapter today. I flipped my book over, marking my spot, and headed up to the front for a refill.As I was waiting for the barista to finish my order, a gust of wind blew in as someone entered. I automatically looked behind me out of some strange human habit—perhaps because we are naturally curious beings, or maybe we’re just nosy—either way, when I realized who it was, I quickly turned back around as if I hadn’t seen him and hoped he didn’t notice me.

Tobias let out a soft chuckle from behind me. “Good morning, Tamsin.”

I pressed my lips together tightly and glanced over my shoulder again. “Oh. Hi.”

He flashed a crooked smile that made his dark eyes twinkle. I hadn’t noticed before that there were flecks of warm gold in them, the shade of single malt scotch. Whiskey, I thought to myself. Whiskey-colored eyes.

“Caramel macchiato with an extra shot.” The barista broke the trance Tobias’s eyes had me in. I grabbed my cup and walked back to my table. I took a few calming breaths before forcing myself to open the book back up and continue reading.

“Working on your paper?” he asked, sitting down at the table beside me. I knew this was intentional as there were plenty of other empty tables in the room. Maybe he felt the pull, too? I felt something warm and a little fuzzy start in the pit of my stomach like the teeniest pinprick of hope before I shook the thought completely from my head.

Focus, Tamsin, focus.

“Mmhmm,” I mumbled, refusing to look up for fear I would be mesmerized by his whiskey-colored eyes again, or the sexy scruff of his unshaven face, or his rain-mussed hair.

“Which theme did you choose?” he asked, slowly stirring the contents of a sugar packet into his coffee.

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