Page 13 of Built to Fall
I’m mad that one stupid comment could send me spiraling when it shouldn’t have even beenthatbig of a deal.
That one charming smile from a guy like him could remind me how it felt when everything fell apart.
“Woah,” Kara reenters the apartment with her arms full of grocery bags, startled by my outburst. “Are you talking about Gage?”
Eden’s eyes widen. “I wouldn’t mention him if I were you…”
At the same time I say, “No.”
Kara looks between us, blinking slowly like we’ve both lost our minds. “Let’s talk about it over lunch. I’m making pasta.”
“Please tell me you’re putting vodka in it,” I groan.
She shakes her head solemnly as she bends down to grab a pot from one of the lower cabinets. “Liquor doesn’t serve any purpose to me if it’s not to get drunk.”
Kara continues collecting ingredients from around the kitchen. This is what Wednesdays in the apartment commonly look like. It’s the only day where none of us have classes past lunchtime, which means Kara usually ends up making something for Eden and me, while Meredith goes to the gym with Braxton—at least that’s what they say they’re doing.
“Do you need any help?” I ask, like I do every other Wednesday.
“You’re smart enough to know your weaknesses, Lina.” She smiles at me. “Let me handle this one.”
Can’t argue with that one. I am notorious for being a bad cook. It’s the reason we have such a good system going within the apartment.
Kara cooks, Eden bakes, Meredith doesn’t show any interest, and I sit and keep everyone entertained.
“How was your economics class?” Eden asks, pulling an oven mitt off her hand.
“Horrible.”
It’s my very own version of hell, having to sit in a room with over two hundred students for two hours and listen to an ancient old man talk about the power of goods and services.
Political Economy of Globalization is a class required for my international relations major, and if I didn’t have to take it, I wouldn’t. It’s not necessarily difficult, only painfully boring.
“What are you baking?” I lift myself out of my seat, trying to get a view of what she keeps checking in the oven.
“Cookies.” She grins. “They’re pink and heart-shaped.”
“Just what I need,” Kara jokingly grumbles.
“As you’re making pasta,” I counter.
She continues stirring the noodles she has cooking on the stove. “Don’t tell my agency.”
Eden and I make a simultaneous“pfft”sound. Most people would be infuriated if they saw Kara’s body in comparison to the way she eats, and it’s probably because they assume models like her are all severely anorexic.
I can confirm, Kara Carr eats like she has a bottomless pit for a stomach.
“I think the line of coke you did last night evens it out,” Meredith remarks, appearing in the kitchen from the hallway. She must have finished early at the gym.
Silence rings through the kitchen at her accusation.
I’ve never pretended not to know what goes on at parties full of supermodels. In fact, Kara would probably tell us exactly what happens at them if we were to ask. But Meredith saying it out loud feels like she’s breaking some kind of unspoken rule.
Eden’s eyes go wide. Kara doesn’t flinch, just calmly lowers the heat on the stove like Meredith hadn’t said something nuclear.
“Funny,” she says smoothly, “I was thinking the same thing about the laxatives you keep hidden in the tampon box in your bathroom.”
Eden freezes mid-reach for the cookie tray. I blink, unsure if I actually heard her right.
