Tumble and Fall: Preston Hills, #1

Chapter One

With the phone placed between my ear and shoulder, I drew a line of eyeliner across my upper lid. Yes, Mr. Jenkins. I’d love to write an article about the Sled Challenge. I ran a finger along the corner of my mouth, wiping away the excess of gloss. Mom surprised me with a Sephora bag full of make-up and I couldn’t wait to strip away the old for the new.

I sat back and admired my handy work in the mirror. I sighed. No matter how great I thought my reflection looked, I’d wear way less to school. Cute skirts were one thing. Runway-model-ready was another.

I tuned into Mr. Jenkins again, the teacher advisor for my school’s newspaper. I’m sorry to bother you at home. I’d hoped to ask you in class today, but we got a little sidetracked and before I knew it, the bell rang.

I understand completely. Not really. I mean, if I was busy, I wouldn’t have answered the phone. Although, not answering meant no special assignment and no special assignment meant my chances of winning a scholarship lessened. And who will be the photographer on the assignment?

Keegan.

Fever shot from my feet to my head. Thankful we weren’t face-to-face; a smile pulled my cheeks high. Oh really?

Yes. He actually volunteered for the position.

Now I was in complete spaz mode. I mean, Keegan O’Shae and I were going to do a journalism assignment together. Us. Alone. For hours.

Okay, so maybe not hours but surely longer than a minute. I sagged deeper on the stool at my vanity table. A red-faced mess stared back at me. Who was I kidding? Keegan wasn’t interested romantically in me. He treated me as a friend.

I huffed, sending my bangs in a tizzy, and closed my eyes to avoid my reflection. No matter. The assignment was legit and brought me one step closer to the scholarship offered by the Preston Press. And if spending the last day of school before Christmas break started with Keegan, then I’d sacrifice wanting to be safely in my warm house for the good of my career.

He does do good work, I admitted.

I know.

Leaving my mirror behind, I walked to my bedroom window and looked through the sheer curtains my mother insisted I hang to fulfill the country charm of our house. We lived in central Missouri where charisma covered in gingham oozed from every street corner. In my room, I wanted no lace. I caught a glimpse of two people through the lace and twitched the panels an inch apart to get a better view.

Speak of the devil. There he was. The devil of my dreams anyway, standing in front of his house. Keegan’s favorite hat was pulled low on his head, forcing his brown hair to stick out from beneath. Megan Johnson, the class witch and Keegan’s girlfriend, assumed her usual pose. Hands on hips and scowl on lips.

What did he see in her? I mean, she was pretty—in that Plastics from Mean Girls kind of way—but Keegan wasn’t fake. He grew up on porch swings and rickety houses while Megan lived in the Preston Hills Country Club neighborhood across the river. Their houses started in the millions and were built after I was born.

And Megan disliked almost everybody at Preston Hills High School. She only hung out with a select few girls who did their best to keep up with her credit card limit.

She stepped in close and clutched Keegan's biceps as he leaned against his truck. There was something off about his stance. Megan slid her arms up around his neck, pulling his face close to hers. From my distance, I witnessed a strain in his posture.

Wait? Did he not want to kiss her?

Their kiss lasted less than a second before he pulled away and walked her to a little foreign-made car. Seconds later, gravel flew as she pulled away, tearing off down the road like she owned it. Knowing her father, he probably did.

Albany? Are you still there? Mr. Jenkins asked.

Um, yes. I’m sorry. My little brother came into my room and I got distracted, I lied. I hated using Freddy as my excuse but my teacher had caught me staring at the cookie jar. Thank you again for asking me. I’m honored you’d even consider me to write for this event.

Well, there was no contest. Your focus is astounding. I only wish half my students were as dedicated.

My face heated, again. His praise allowed me to feel my dream of writing for a newspaper was closer than I thought. One letter of recommendation from my teacher and that scholarship was almost mine.

I pushed the curtain aside and stepped closer to the window. Down below, Keegan bent at the waist, heaving a shovelful of snow from his driveway. He stopped, lifted his cap, wiped his brow and continued to clear a path. Working long hours hauling hay all summer did nice things for his body. And playing baseball didn’t hurt either.

I gave myself a mental shake to bring myself back into the conversation. Well, sir, you are an excellent teacher.

Thank you, Albany. So, we’re looking for a piece showcasing not only the fun side of the Sled Challenge but also the humanitarian efforts. The money raised is to help the national ALS campaign. Play off the ice bucket challenge. It’s something you can use to put the cause into reference. Capture the charm. Kids coming together for a common cause, but don’t lose the fun. Can you do that?

I stared down at the driveway next door. Keegan dropped the shovel, tore off his gray sweatshirt, draped it over an ornamental light post and looked up at me. I gasped. He honestly forced me to catch my breath. Once again, he lifted his hat, swiped at his face, replaced his hat and waved to me.

Crapsticks. He’d caught me staring.

I wiggled my fingers back at him, stepped away from the window and allowed the curtain to fall closed. A girly scream begged to tear from my lips but I remembered Mr. Jenkins on the phone and I swallowed my emotions. When I’d slowed my breathing to a manageable rate, I croaked. Yes, I can handle it.

Great. So you and Keegan. Meet in my classroom after school. You can leave your stuff in there.

Awesome.

****

Lucky for me, Albany disappeared behind a curtain, otherwise she’d have seen my ridiculous smile. I heaved another shovelful of snow and tossed it on the accumulating pile between the front sidewalk and driveway. Albany was pretty, but I’d never looked at her as more than a friend. She always seemed to avoid me. As little kids, we had been inseparable but when Lea moved in down the street in sixth grade, I lost my bike riding buddy.

I cleared a path from the front porch to the street. Another snowstorm was expected to hit tomorrow, and with my dad working long hours to make up for missing a few days with Mom’s constant doctor’s appointments, he wouldn’t have time to clear the drive. And neither of us wanted my mom tempted to help outside. She hadn’t regained her strength since her last doctor’s visit, but her heart was bigger than us both and she liked to be useful.

I stretched to my full height and swiped my hat from my head. Even with the drop in temperature, a line of sweat covered my face.

Stowing the shovel in the garage, I snatched an old rag to wipe some of the salt from my truck. I’d worked hard for two summers, saving for a down payment and when Dad offered to pay for half, I promised to keep her pristine. I licked my thumb and rubbed out a mark on her hood, buffing away the wetness with the cuff of my sweatshirt.

I swiped my shirtsleeve across my lips, taking away the taste of Amber’s lip stuff. I wasn’t sure what she called it but the sickly sweet taste never sat well with my stomach. And the smell. Ugh. But what could I tell her? That she tasted bad? That wouldn’t be nice, and Mom had raised me to always be nice, even to girls like Megan.

There was no denying Megan’s looks and figure, but after dating for five months, we had little to talk about. I was probably insane for caring, but I wanted more than an ongoing hookup. Megan was fun but...maybe it was time to find a girl who was more like me. Someone who was thinking about their future away from Preston Hills. I looked over at my neighbor’s house. Someone more like Albany, but not her. That would be weird.

Wouldn’t it?

As if moved by divine intervention, Albany’s front door flung open and she appeared, fabric straps clutched in her gloved hands. She floated down the steps, digging through her bag the entire way. Had her hair always been that shiny?

Hey Albany. I passed through the white wooden gate separating our driveways. A light wind picked up and the scent of flowers and honey drifted over me. Was that Albany? I’d never noticed how nice she smelled.

Oh, hi. Her breath came out in a mist and her cheeks were already the color of strawberries on a hot summer day. What are you up to? She wrapped a piece of hair around her ear.

Not much. Shoveling. Getting ready to head inside and watch ESPN. I nodded at her bag. Where are you off to?

She stared at me for a second. Had she heard me? But before I could ask her again, she blinked a few times and smiled. I’m, um, heading to the library to do a little research for tomorrow. You know, look at past stories about humanitarian events at the school. See if I can get any pointers. Unfortunately, the WiFi is down at my house so I think I have to use the microfiche. She kicked a small lump of snow on the ground. Was she avoiding eye contact? Typical Albany behavior. Okay, bye. She turned around and rushed to her little truck. Her vehicle was something mine ate for breakfast.

She tore out of her driveway before I could utter a response, much the same way Megan had minutes earlier. Girls were so weird.

Chapter Two

I glanced at my watch. Shoot. I had twenty minutes to make the fifteen-minute trek back home, leaving me barely enough time to scrub my hands and slide into my chair for dinner once I got there. Mom liked promptness. So did I. My brother and father, on the other hand, only conformed if one of us dragged them along.

A chilling wind snapped off the surface of the pavement, smacking against my cheek as I exited the library. Long gone were the scents of old newspapers and burning chemicals that permeated my skin from the microfiche reader. The December gusts were good for something.

Time in my truck allowed me space to replay my last encounter with Keegan. If I weren’t driving, I’d slap myself. He’d never see me as anything other than the nice girl next door who fumbled words and ran away every time he spoke. If I ever wanted a chance with him, or at least at a minimum, stay in the same room with him without locating the nearest exit, I had to focus. Easy, right? Just like speaking in front of a room of people. Similar to when it was my turn to present a book during book club. Sure, Keegan wasn’t in the room— and literature never made me nervous.

I accelerated when the salt truck in front of me turned onto another street and I ended up waiting at one of two stoplights in our little town. Main Street was a little busy with people moving in and out of Western Auto with bags of salt flung over shoulders and snow shovels gripped in gloved hands. Taillights reflected off the damp road, streaking the blacktop in red, almost as if someone walked along painting the street.

The signal changed and I eased along, careful of the slick spots. Gravel bits and salt crunched under my tires and before I knew it, I’d pulled onto the safety of my driveway. Keegan’s truck was missing next door and my shoulders relaxed. Pull it together, Albany.

Bag stowed away by the front door, I climbed the stairs— two at a time— and dashed into the bathroom for a quick rinse of my hands.

Hey, Albany. Whatcha doin’, my brother Freddy asked from the door.

I dried my hands and tugged him into the room. At seven years old, there wasn’t much to him. Come here. Wash up.

But I don’t want to.

Mom likes us to be on-time for dinner. Besides, the water will warm you up. I bent, kissing his chilled, chubby cheeks.

Freddie rubbed away my affection and climbed the short footstool, making him tower over the sink. As he washed, I dampened a washcloth and rubbed away any dirt covering his forehead and beneath his nose. When I was done, he made faces, giggling at his reflection.

Thanks, he added, drying his hands and dropping the towel to the floor.

You’re welcome. I refolded and righted the towel on the bar and followed him down the stairs. What were you two doing to get so dirty?

Oh, I didn’t play with Sam. He beamed up at me. I helped Kee move snow around and then we played football.

Butterflies fluttered in my tummy at the mention of Keegan’s name. I needed to get a life.

I ruffled Freddie’s hair. That’s nice. Hopefully my little brother didn’t understand why his sister was acting weird.

Freddy idolized Keegan and I had my own crush on our neighbor. Did Keegan know? The idea turned my blood cold. Surely, he didn’t, I rationalized. Otherwise, wouldn’t he want to avoid us?

Dinner, my mother yelled, saving me from obsessing over the question.

I shook off any thoughts of Keegan, needing to stay focused on the assignment. I had a scholarship to win and that was more important than any boy regardless of how wonderful I thought he was. Mom and Dad could afford to help for college but they also had another kid to pay for. The least I could do was win a scholarship to help pay for my dream school, Webster University.

At the bottom of the stairs, I turned left into the living room to find my dad sitting on the couch, feet propped up on a worn fabric footstool, and a book poised in front of his face. He was absorbed in his latest used bookstore find, unfazed by the world around him.

Dad taught literature at Preston Hills High, having slightly given up on his dream to write the Next Great American Novel.

I tapped his shoulder. Dad.

He held up a finger, and I watched his lips move, reading words only he heard. He looked up at me and blinked. The haze of the story fell away, and he smiled.

Yes. What can I do for you? He slid a piece of paper between the pages and smacked the book shut. He wasn’t mad, just adding a flare for the dramatics.

Dinner time.

Wonderful. He rose and reached for the ceiling in a long stretch. Dad was tall, and at my shorter than average height, somewhere around five foot two, I envied tall people. Jeans always looked better on people with long legs, and while I loved my boots, heels and ice didn’t mix.

Gathered around the table, we said grace before digging in. Spicy beef tickled my nose, and I recognized the cumin my mother loved to use in her Mexican casserole. We passed plates, and Mom filled them with the cheesy, meaty yumminess.

Did you find what you were looking for at the library? Mom asked.

I nodded, swallowing a bite. Yes. And I grabbed a stack of old yearbooks, too. The article for the school paper will be easy to write, and the yearbook will mostly feature pictures. For the newspaper article, my teacher suggested I focus on the comparison between the national attention and local appeal. I pushed another forkful between my lips. The warm beef and cheese melted on my tongue and my insides sighed from relief.

You went to the library without me? Freddy asked. A smudge of taco sauce marked his freckled cheeks. I love the library, and I need a new book for Christmas break.

I swiped my