Chapter One, Four Years Later:
It is a truth universally known that studying for a test that morning while eating breakfast can only make you more stressed, especially when your mother is standing over you and you know that you’re future college career depends on your grades.
“Mom,” I said, spooning up some Cheerios and looking down at my geometry notes at the same time. “Staring over my shoulder is kind of stressing me out.”
“What? Oh, sorry,” she said and went back to the kitchen counter; still throwing glances my way every now and then as she finished making her own breakfast.
She sat down across from me.
I kind of felt guilty because I thought that maybe I hadn’t studied enough. Even though I hadn’t stopped studying since last Tuesday. But, something about math just never clicked in my brain. If only I could borrow part of my best friend Viola’s brain for the test. She loved math. “It’s precise,” she had told me. “All you have to do is follow the steps.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. Today’s test could be the deciding factor as to whether I made an A in the class or a B. It had been drilled into my head that my grades were the most important thing in the world if I wanted to get into a good college. Then, of course, there was the volunteer work, the clubs I joined, and the scholarships I had entered all before I turned seventeen. But, all of that meant nothing if my grades weren’t above par.
“You’ll do fine,” Mom said trying to sound assuring while reaching across and patting my hand.
I knew, even if she didn’t say it, that we were pressed for money and my grades were high priority. Ever since my father had left we had been struggling. Of course there was the child support money, but that didn’t quite get the whole job done.
If I didn’t receive any financial aid then there would be no college. My dad had told me countless times that he would pay and a part of me thought, Why not? Make him pay some obscene amount of money. It was the least he could do for running out on my mom and me. But, then there was the stubborn part of my brain that didn’t want to accept any of his money no matter how much I might need it. Which was much of what he had bought over the past three years – an iPhone, fancy headphones, a television – were shoved into my tiny closet.
Over the past week he had been calling, but I had refused to answer or return his calls. His messages simply said that he and step-evil, Hannah, had exciting news. My mom told me I should call him, but I told her I needed to study for my test. Talking to Dad would be a distraction.
I just didn't want to hear anything he had to say. Not when he was with her. To me he was the reason for all my worries. I was still mandated to spend some time with him during the summer and winter breaks, but that didn't mean I had to talk to him in between.
And as if money wasn’t a big enough worry, I also had the SAT subject tests to think about. Although, I was still a year away from graduating it didn't hurt to be as ready as possible. Especially if I wanted to apply for early decision at any of my choice schools.
I closed my notes and finished my cereal without any reminder that a test lurked in my future. I took a deep breath to try and calm myself down before I had another attack. To keep the panic attacks at bay, I tricked myself into forgetting about everything that was freaking me out and just pretend to relax until I actually felt relaxed.
“Good luck,” Mom said to me while I dropped my bowl into the sink. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in tight for just a moment.
I hugged her back tight, wishing for a moment that I was young again and my biggest worry was if Barney would be on.
Then, it was time to face the music. I picked up my notebook and stuffed it into my backpack. My mom must have noticed me teeter a little at the weight of my bag.
“Ally, you shouldn’t cram so much into your bag, it’s not good for your back,” she said as I made my way to the front door.
I turned back to look at her, grabbing my coat. “I have to, though.” Then, I walked out the door and closed it behind me. I dropped my heavy backpack on the tile floor outside our apartment to slip on my coat. I took a deep breath and walked over to the elevator. That’s when I saw the sign. The elevator wasn’t working today.
Groaning, I walked to the stairwell and began my journey down the five flights of stairs. Rarely was I glad that it’s freezing outside but, when I’m walking down the stairs looking like a professional mountain climber and sweating insanely, that kind of changes things. I didn’t want to show up to school sweaty and red faced. Though, who did I have to impress?
Just as I reached the fourth floor I heard someone else coming down behind me muttering, “Damn” over and over again under his breath. I recognized that voice.
Nathan Palmer.
For a brief second I remembered that moment back in seventh grade when he had tried to comfort me. I smiled and shook my head. Twizzlers. Still, I didn’t really want to be stuck in one of those awkward, We Should Talk Since We’re Going in the Same Direction moments. I wanted my peace and quiet to worry over today’s test.
So, I continued down the stairs, plugged in now to my iPod (the one I had bought myself), and acted like I didn’t know he was there. It might had been rude, but I really I was saving us both from the awkward moment. This way he wouldn’t feel obligated to make conversation. That was until I tripped over my shoelace just as I was reaching the third floor.
I tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs to the third floor’s landing, mostly traveling down them on my butt, and then landed with a thump against the wall with one of my headphones dangling out of my ear. I sat there somewhat flabbergasted by what just had happened. But, I shouldn’t really have been that surprised. Falling and tripping wasn’t something completely new with me.
I heard Nathan’s footsteps quicken as he rushed down to see what had happened. My cheeks were turning red with embarrassment. When I tried to stand up, though, my backpack was leaning too much to the right and I stumbled down a few more stairs. I felt a pain in my ankle.
“Great,” I muttered, putting my weight against the wall while trying to get to my feet.
“Hey, Edwards, are you all right?”
Oh yes, my cheeks were red now.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied, not looking up to meet his eyes but instead concentrating on looking normal at the moment.
“Are you sure?” There was heavy skepticism in his voice.
I was just about to say that really I was fine when I noticed that my backpack, which had managed fall off me during the fall, was at my feet. I moved slightly to reach for it, but felt the sharp twinge in my ankle again.
By this time I was halfway between standing and sitting. Right then I was glad that I hadn’t worn a skirt and tights, but instead had opted for jeans and a long sleeve. This would be extremely embarrassing in a skirt.
Nathan must have noticed my grimace of pain, because he reached down and hoisted my backpack on his shoulders with his own messenger bag strapped across his shoulder. How was he carrying both of them like they were nothing? Then I remembered. Oh right, he was an athlete.
“Thanks,” I said finally meeting his gaze.
He looked down at me, concern written all over his face and I was reminded that Nathan was a nice guy, even though we never hung out. He just wasn’t nerdy like me, studying all the time and reading.
