Beth Hyland - Fall Into Forever

Sara looks me up and down and seems to notice my sorry condition for the first time. “So what were you guys doing back here, anyway?”

“True, Ivy,” Jon says, ignoring Sara’s question. “And the station has shows like that. Mine happens to be on indie music, where I spotlight various local bands. I’m filling in for Alice, who hosts a jazz show tonight, so we’ll see how her listeners react to my playlist. Could be interesting.” Given his thorough answer, he doesn’t seem to think my question was ridiculous. “I do a few interviews, but I mainly just play music. I don’t do much talking.”

He gives me a pointed look as if to emphasize that there’s another meaning behind his words. It takes me a moment to figure it out. My roof situation is a private matter that will stay between the two of us. He’s not telling. If I want to answer Sara’s question, that’s my business, not his. Warmth pools low in my stomach as I think about keeping secrets with him.

I flash him a grateful smile. “Cool. I’ll have to tune in.” Then, without thinking, I sign, Thank you.

His gaze drops to my hands and he smiles, confirming my guess that he knows ASL. Did he take it in high school like I did? “I hope you do.”

I may be able to dodge Sara’s questions, but once we get back to the dorm, I fully expect to be drilled by Cassidy. I’ll need to lie to her, but unfortunately, I’ve never been very good at faking it.

Suddenly, Chase is in my head again.

I can tell you’re not into this, Ivy. You’re going to have to try harder than that. There. That’s a girl. Much better.

I blanch at the flash of memory. The same voice that spoke at our high school graduation and got a roaring ovation from adoring students, faculty, and parents.

“Speaking of which—” Jon touches my arm, jerking me back to the present. “—I really do need to go.” His thumb brushes over the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist, making all the little hairs on my arms stand on end.

I try not to let the thrill of his touch visibly show. It’s been a long time since I’ve had this reaction to a guy, particularly someone so unlike the all-American football types I’ve gone out with in the past. But then it’s not like I have the best judgment when it comes to relationships, anyway. There was that time when I made out with a girl at a party down in LA, but that wasn’t for me either. I didn’t feel as if I’d found what I’d been looking for. The girl had been sweet about it, but no, it wasn’t me.

“You’re sure you’re okay now?” he says softly, turning his back to the others.

His concern touches me. I nod, knowing that the newly formed lump in my throat will make it difficult to say anything coherent. His eyes seem to be reaching inside me, noticing all my knots and tangles. If he pulled on an end, I wonder, would it be the right one? Could he untangle me and make me whole?

Oh geez, there I go again. Having let myself get too dependent on a guy in the past has really screwed me up. Believe me, I know now how unhealthy it is to rely on someone else for your self-worth, but it’s easy to slip back into old habits. I can fix myself. I don’t need anyone to do it for me.

“Yeah, I’m good. But…thanks.”

Cassidy, in her infinite subtlety, is slightly behind him, making a bunch of wild hand gestures I don’t understand. No, she doesn’t know ASL. I flash her a WTF look.

“His number,” she mouths, her hand up to her ear like a phone. “Did you get it?”

Since I’m unsure how to convey to her that he has my number but I don’t have his, all I can do is ignore her. She’s been trying to get me to hook up with someone all year, probably because she’s been with a few different guys since fall quarter and feels slutty. (Her words, not mine.) But I’ve sowed those wild oats already and don’t plan to do that at PSU. My grades are my first and only priority.

Besides, how would it sound to Jon if I said, “Hey, I know I look like a crazy bitch crawling around on the White House roof and you’re kind of a celebrity on campus, but can I get your number so we can hook up sometime?”

That would be a big fat no. Besides, he’s seen me at my worst, and I’m not looking to go out with anyone. Plus, if that was him upstairs, he’s already got a girlfriend. The only thing I need to do is get out of here before Aaron comes around that corner with a bunch of his friends and sees me. Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl.

“Have a good night, ladies.” Jon Priestly gives my arm a little squeeze, releases it, then walks away from me and into the dark.

Ivy

The ability to lie convincingly is an important skill. When you’re in high school and your parents ask where you were the night before, you can tell them you were watching a movie at your best friend’s house and they’ll assume you’re telling the truth.

Or when you’re in college and you ask if they can put more money in your account, you can explain that your textbooks ended up costing a lot more than you expected. Or that the professor changed the edition number at the last minute and the bookstore won’t buy back the two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar book you just bought.

And when a guy who scares the shit out of you demands to know whether you love him as much as he loves you, you can say yes and he’ll believe you, which will give you more time to figure out how to break things off with him.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been a good liar, but knowing your weaknesses can help you make better choices in the future.

When we get back to our dorm room and ditch Sara, Cassidy unleashes on me just as I expected.

“What the hell happened back there, Ives?”

I open my closet door and grab an empty hanger, wishing tonight had never happened. “What are you talking about?”

She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. “Why were you crying? Why were you barefoot? Why are you wearing fucking Jon Priestly’s coat? What were you guys doing back there?”

“Fucking Jon Priestly’s coat? Gee, is that what I’m doing?” It’s a lot easier to be a smartass than to talk about what she wants me to talk about.

“What happened?”

Choosing to ignore her, I shrug off the jacket and give it one last whiff before hanging it in my closet. I consider a few other ways that sentence can be interpreted. “Let’s see…Jon, who is currently fucking, owns this coat.”

“Ivy, I’m serious.”

“Wait. Here’s my personal favorite. Because it smells so good and really did keep me warm, this coat is really fucking awesome.”

Cassidy huffs out her exasperation. “Okay, Macklemore, stop being such a grammar nerd. And stop trying to change the subject. Even though fucking Jon would be fun.”

For a second—maybe two—I picture him naked. He’s kissing me passionately, his muscular back and shoulders flexing under my hands because he’s—

Enough with that, Ivy. He’s not your type.

My inner voice is right. My world was almost turned upside down tonight, and I’m thinking about doing it with a hot guy I just met who probably has a girlfriend? How messed up is that?

Cassidy snaps her fingers at me. “Earth to Ivy. What. The hell. Happened.”

Okay. Fine. I need to figure out what I’m going to share with her. A partial truth is better than a flat-out lie. “I used to go out with the older brother of a guy I saw inside.”

She stares at me like I’m a trial witness and she’s on the jury. Am I telling the truth? Am I lying?

I ignore her scrutiny in the hope that she’ll just drop it and move on. Opening my closet again, I grab my plastic tote, where I keep my toothbrush and toothpaste. “Coming?”

She doesn’t move. She just stares at me. “And…?”

I pick at the corner of my tote, the part that melted when I stuck my too-hot curling iron against the plastic a few months ago. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “And I didn’t want to see him.”

She looks confused. “Why?”

“My boyfriend—my old boyfriend,” I say, correcting myself. “His brother…” My voice trails off.

You can’t undo spoken words. They are unerasable. Once I tell her, I can’t change my mind and decide that I don’t want her to know. Do I really want to do this? After all, Cassidy isn’t actually the best keeper of secrets. I recall our conversation yesterday when she told me about Michaela down the hall who had a nose job last summer. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone,” Cassidy said. “I’m not supposed to say anything.”

I clear my throat. “He…uh…died a few years ago, and I didn’t want to dredge up old memories by talking to his brother.”

Her eyes go wide and she clamps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, Ivy. How horrible.”

I nod, continuing to pick at my melted tote. “I’m trying to put it behind me now, so seeing his brother unexpectedly like that…wasn’t something I was prepared for.” Which literally is the truth.

“Wow. I totally get that.”

“That’s when Jon found me. And then you showed up.” End of story. Please. No more questions.

She quietly grabs her pink Caboodle from the shelf under her raised bed. I start to relax, thinking she’s dropping the subject. And then, “How did it happen?”

I tense up again. “Car accident.”

“Jesus Christ, Ivy.” Then, like she often does when she curses, she takes out her cross pendant and gives it a kiss.

Pressing my lips together in what I’m hoping she’ll assume is a close-mouthed smile of thanks, I change into pajama bottoms and an old concert T-shirt, then head down the hall to the women’s bathroom. She’s quiet the whole time—strangely subdued and very un-Cassidy-like.