Page 19 of The Upside of Falling
Bambi is the name Joey gave Hardie during our first year at the academy. It was after his first flight in the glider. He stepped out of the plane, knees wobbling, legs shaking, looking like a brand new baby fawn learning how to walk. He blamed it on the wind whipping off the Front Range, but we knew better. He was terrified. He’s much better now, but Bambi has been his nickname ever since. Poor bastard.
“You need to get a bowling ball?” Stryder asks me.
I finish tying my shoe and stand to join Stryder. “Why did we get two lanes?”
“So we can bowl more,” Stryder answers as if I’m stupid. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the shirt you wore tonight.”
“It’s the only thing I had left.”
“It’s white.” He gives me a pointed look.
My voice turns gritty as I repeat, “It was all I had left unless you wanted me to wear PT gear.”
“You’re going to be so goddamn pretty under the black lights tonight; you very well might get lucky.”
“In your fucking dreams.” Pulling out the bowling balls, I test the weight and thumbholes. The fourteen feels like a good fit for me.
Stryder eyes my ball and shakes his head. “You couldn’t have picked a more boring ball. It’s black. That shit isn’t going to glow under the lights. Grab that neon orange one.”
“It’s a seven. No way in hell my finger will fit in that thing.”
“Roll it granny style.”
Shaking my head, I walk past him with my size fourteen in hand. “There is something seriously wrong with—”
I don’t finish my sentence. I’m brought to a dead stop. The sounds of pins being reset and bowling balls traveling down the slippery lanes fade out when I spot two very familiar girls standing at the shoe desk, laughing and looking around, both dressed casually. One has blonde hair piled on top of her head, the other has brown waves cascading down her back. Fuck.
Stryder comes up behind me and pats me on the back. “Uh, did I forget to tell you that Ryan and Rory were going to be here too?”
Just from the mere sight of her again, my heart pounds erratically—thumping, palpitating—sending my lungs into a frenzy.Gasping for air. Every night she’s been in my dreams, that sweet voice rolling over me, comforting me. Her tiny hand pressed against my chest, wandering up my neck, playing with the short strands of my hair. Those mossy-green eyes connecting with mine, pleading with me to stay, to talk, to spend a few more minutes with her.
She’s haunted me.
She’s imprinted herself in my mind, despite how many times I’ve chastised myself to let go, to forget her.
And now she’s here. Only a few feet away, looking fine as fuck in a pair of tight-fitted black jeans and a bright red, long-sleeved shirt. From her side profile, the swell of her breast peaks past the low V of her shirt, and the color painted on her lips rivals the red on her chest.Oh fuck.
“Your girl is looking hot as fuck, man.” Stryder pats my back. “Good luck saying no to that.”
Before Stryder can get too far away, I say, “I’m leaving.”
Sighing, Stryder turns in my direction, his face inches from mine. “Don’t be a dick, Colby. You’re here. Just have fun. Sorry, but I’m not giving you a ride home and no one else is either. Deal with it.”
Fucking Stryder. Doesn’t he get it? It’s not that I don’t want to see Rory.It’s that I can’t see her. The other night when we were together, I had this overwhelming sense of calm, and that terrified me. I haven’t felt calm since before my dad was diagnosed with mantel-cell lymphoma.
I don’t deal well with calm.
I like the pressure. I thrive off the storm raging inside me, because it pushes me to achieve my dreams, to get out of here, to make something of myself.
The calm. When you give in to the calm, you lose track of what matters the most. That’s when you settle.Andit’s when your hopes and dreams are put on hold.
I can’t give in to the calm.
I need the turbulence.
“Colby, are you okay?” Startled, I scoot back, drawing a frown from Rory. Folding her arms over her chest, propping up her breasts, she says, “I don’t bite, you know.”
Shit.
