Page 12 of Don't Fall

I don’t wait even half a second after we’re dismissed to jet from the room. Any and all future humiliation will have to wait until we’re home again. Home. It’ll never feel sacred again.

Rather than sit out in the open where Michael could stumble upon me some more, I head for the library and bury myself in the biographies section. No one’s coming to look for me here and the librarians have come to accept that my face is just part of the furnishings in that section. I have a weird sort of fascination with learning people’s stories. I don’t even care who they are, I just want to know their history. What made them who they became. Which experiences molded their lives in the most significant ways. I think maybe it’s because I know so little of my own history. It’s made me obsessed with people who know enough about theirs to write a whole freaking book about it.

“Back at it already, huh, Tessa?”

It’s Carlo, one of the students who works here. He’s been here seven years. I don’t think he’s ever graduating. I don’t think he wants to.

“You know it.” I flip my hair and give him a cheesy grin. It’s not flirting when it’s with Carlo, therefore it’s easy.

“Who are you getting to know this week?” he asks, a genuine curiosity in his tone.

Holding the cover out for him to see, I answer, “Alexis Lane.”

“Who’s that?”

“This super rad photographer. I saw his work in some other biographies I read. He’s got some sort of magic eye for capturing people’s secret essence or something. I don’t know how to explain it, but once you get to know his work, you recognize it instantly. Anyway, after seeing so many of his portraits, I figured it was time to find out a little more about him.”

Carlo leans in while I start to flip through the pages. “Huh. They’re all pictures.”

Disappointed, I hum in agreement. “Yeah, not what I thought it would be.”

“Well, you know those artist types, a lot of them are super private. Secret identity and all,” Carlo points out.

“I guess.” I let my gaze sweep the images open to me once more. Maybe there’s more in here about him than we realize. “I’m getting it anyway. If his pictures tell so much about the people in them, they’re bound to reveal things about him as well.”

Carlo chuckles. “You’re going to make a damn fine reporter one day.”

“That’s my plan.” I grin, closing the book and pressing it to my chest. This one is definitely going home with me.

From here, the day seems to pick up the pace. After my last class, I grab a quick bite to eat and then head straight to track practice. It’s almost six o’clock by the time I’m pulling up in front of our apartment building and I’m exhausted. For the first day of ‘first week doesn’t count’ classes, I got my ass kicked. I wonder if Drea faired any better. Probably. She didn’t have her first class until eleven and she doesn’t run track, she’s here on a music scholarship and regardless of what she claims, I seriously doubt playing the piano while sitting on your ass can be all that tiring.

I scan the parking lot for a minute before I get out. There’s no sign of the silver BMW. Convinced that it’s safe to proceed, I practically run for the stairwell. Exhausted or not, I find the energy to take all three flights two steps at a time, and I don’t slow down until I’m inside Drea’s place and the door is locked and chained behind me.

Drea and Jules are sprawled out on the couch watching something Channing Tatum on TV. Until I come crashing in providing them with better entertainment, that is.

“What’s wrong with you? Were you being chased?” Drea seems genuinely worried which will make my real reason sound super ridiculous.

“Don’t tell me. The Zombie apocalypse is finally upon us!” Jules is not worried. She’s not even faking it. Mostly, she just seems annoyed I’m taking her attention away from the man candy on the screen.

“Even if it was, you’d be the last person I’d tell. I’d just let them get you and feast on your brains. Although, feast might be a stretch,” I mutter, dropping my bag beside the door and squeezing in between them on the sofa. I avoid looking at the screen. I caught a glimpse when I first walked in and heard my internal dialogue. It was comparing Channing to Michael. Channing was losing. It’s not a place I’m comfortable going again.

“You know you’re all sweaty and gross, right?” Drea gives me a disgusted sideways glance as I lean in for the coffee table to examine the now nearly empty pizza boxes spread out before them.

“I do. But a girl can’t ever hear that enough, so keep it coming.” I settle on a slice of mostly cheese and sink back into the cushions, kicking off my stinky sneakers and socks on spiteful principle.

Drea stares at me a moment longer before she bursts out, “Are you going to talk about what’s happening here, or what? Why do you look like you took a wrong turn on the track and just kept running? And speaking of wrong turns, why are you here at all? I thought you were all set to stay at your place again.”

I swallow hard to get down a way too big bite of pizza crust. It’s cold and dry and not at all worth it.

“Hot New Neighbor Michael, aka Hot New Roommate Michael, actually prefers to go by Dr. Michael McMichael. At least when he’s teaching my Psyche class.”

Drea gapes and even Jules returns her attention to me and away from Channing Tatum, going so far as to mute the TV.

“The hot dude next door is a teacher?”

“Oh, yeah.” I nod, taking another bite of pizza. I don’t know why I’m still eating it other than I’m starving and too lazy to get up and forage for something else.

“Get the fuck outta here!” I think Drea is still contemplating whether or not I’m telling the truth. We have a history of pranking one another, usually for properly motivated reasons, and while I don’t currently have one, I can see why she’s worried.

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