Page 1 of Lessons in Falling
CHAPTER 1
VALENTINA
Fuck.Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
I didn’t speed often, really.Usually, I followed rules and drove the speed limit—and I was quite proud of the fact that I’d never been pulled over by the cops before.I was a good driver, and not much would make me jeopardize my reputation as one.But (accidentally) drifting around corners and squeaking to a stop almost with emergency-break swiftness didn’t screamsafetyto me, so maybe I had changed.
I was late, though.For the best day of the year, no less.
Bottomless Margaritas.Karaoke performances that became progressively worse the longer the night went on.Sandy feet, the sound of waves rolling against the beach in the near distance.My friends.A shabby bar on Oakport Island on the first weekend of July—where we’d stay for the rest of summer break.
Two months in which I didn’t have to worry about my sister (impossible), Mom (always did), or the burden of upholding my imperfectly perfect college life for the sake of my family’svalidation.Two months in which, for the first time, I wanted to think about myself.Sometimes, at least.
So: late.Drifting.Screeching to a stop in front of the grey colonial style house I could almost call home.The blue shutters by the windows were open—probably hadn’t been closed since the house had been built ten years ago.I could see the window to my room and already had the sheets of the upper bunk in my head.
Bunk, because I’d always stayed in the kids’ room by myself, while my best friends were split into the other bedrooms that had a much more grown-up,no-bunkbedfeel to them.
All three of them stood on the curb now, performatively tapping one foot against the pavement, and checking the time on the nonexistent watch around their wrists.Synchronized.
My windows were rolled all the way down, so I heard when one of them yelled,You’re late!, just in case I hadn’t realized.Iris grinned widely, gap between her two front teeth on full display when she emphasized,I don’t think I’ve ever seen you late for anything.
Alfie—his red hair wild from the coastal winds—nodded, then dramatically narrowed his eyes when our gazes met.The invite says eight, and Valentina Rhodes will be on frat row at eight on the dot.It’s an unwritten law.
But here she is.Our favorite honors student,Anni jumped in, her German accent, as always, heavier after the month she’d spent back home.Late.For the best day of the year.
Shutting the car door behind me, I tried to glare at them.Really, really hard.
And failed.
The corners of my mouth lifted, and everything that washappening—the deep, goofy smile on my lips, the way my cheeks hurt, the sparkle in my eyes and the way my arms opened widely—was beyond my control.Like my body had a natural reaction to seeing my best friends, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Our group hug (more of a tackle, really) was inevitable.Anni squealed first.She broke formation to jump those four steps toward me, her blonde hair whipping in every possible direction when she collapsed into me, and the rest followed.
It had only been a month—one month and eight days, to be exact—since we’d last seen each other.Since Anni had flown to Stuttgart, Iris had gone back to her family in California, before they took off for a dream vacation to Cancun (which I’d not only been forced to follow on social media, but had received at least a thousand texts about, including beach and sea and pool pictures).Alfie had beenhere:his family’s summer home on Oakport Island.And the rest of the Dunbridges— Mom, Dad, two younger brothers—had left yesterday.
I missed the ferry,I mumbled my explanation into… somebody’s hair.They switched ours with the pedestrian one and let it go early.For reasons unknown.Iris pulled back, and I finally knew it was Alfie’s wild, naturally red hair that had been tickling my nose, because Iris’unnaturallyred hair followed with her.A color she’d said she’d picked to match his… gingerness.Only that it had turned out far more orange-pinklooking on her first dye-job two years ago, and she’d stuck with the pastel color since.
When I first dyed my hair a week later, I’d kind of done it for the bit.Same as Iris, though, I’d stuck with the cherryred.Her brown eyes were scrutinizing me now, narrowing and assessing.You’re usually an hour early to departure, anyway.What—?
Mom.
There was no need to explain that my Mom had been out all night, and hadn’t come home until an hourafterI’d wanted to get going—even less that I couldn’t leave my sister without knowing if she’d come home at all.Because my best friend closed her mouth and gave a single understanding nod, without my having to spell it out.Ah.
I expected a moment to breathe when the rest started to untangle from me.Some time to take in the hydrangeas around the house, always at their best right after Alfie’s family left.When we’d come here in the spring or autumn, sometimes over winter break, they did not look… well.But instead of marveling at their colors or hurling my luggage into the house or texting Mom that I’d arrived (not that she’d care, necessarily), Iris glanced at her phone, presumably saw the time, and locked eyes with me.
Nowwe’relate!she screeched, and I barely had time to lock my car—still half-heartedly parked on the curb—before she dragged me toward her mint green rental Bronco, in front of the garage.The first time she’d rented it, our first summer here after our first year of college together, she’d said, affectionately:One day I will buy you.Before kissing its hood goodbye.
For now, she’d opted for renting it every time we were here, and insisting she always drive to make sure she spends,as much time with her as possible.Herbeing the car.
It must’ve been less than a minute before all four of us sat inIris’ beloved Bronco, and I didn’t even attempt to request getting my luggage inside or having a glass of water or generally just a moment to breathe, before we took off again.Alfie and I sat in the back, Anni in the passenger seat, and Iris glanced at me through the rearview mirror as she reversed out of the driveway.I cannot believe you were late,she snickered in amusement.
The ferry wasearly.
With a cruel smile, her eyes flicked back to the road.Because the ferry was early,she repeated, pointedly, still smirking in that loving, know-it-all way of hers.We’re close to missing Chester’s opening performance.
And we cannot start our summer without a seventy-something guy singingDancing Queento us!Anni cried in agreement, and Iris sped up.
Our first weekend on the island always looked the same.Friday night was karaoke and margaritas, and Chester always opened the stage at eight-thirty with the same song.Saturday morning was always full of regrets: a big hangover breakfast assembled from whatever Alfie’s family had left behind, before we stumbled into town, sometimes still half-drunk (Alfie had thrown up on the twenty-minute track at least twice already), to get ice cream, window shop and eventually get another alcoholic drink once the Friday Night Margaritas had settled.
