How I Fly

by Anne Eliot

  He turns to Harrison. “Harrison, do you have anything to say for yourself about the third shot or all of this insanity that you’ve created? To how much of our valuable time you have wasted? To anything?”

  Harrison’s eyes are still staring at the giant screen while his face and voice go all sad and apologetic again. “Well…proof is proof, and you have it. I honestly didn’t know that those were not my shots. I apologize. I’m so sorry, and I hope you will allow me to submit different shots so at least I don’t fail the course as well.”

  I snort, but keep my mouth shut, as does Ellen. The guy is so obviously lying, but whatever. It’s his life. He’s going to eventually wind up a failure or in jail—and at the very least, they’re saving a seat for him in hell. As long as he’s going to be out of our lives after this day is over, that’s enough for me.

  Professor Perry glances at the group. “All right, then, maybe we don’t have to meet any further, like I’d thought. Harrison Shaw’s just admitted that he’s made a mistake and the shots are not his. It’s pretty obvious Ellen did not attack Harrison Shaw unprovoked, because we all know she was merely defending herself. I move that we remove Harrison from the program today, just how we removed Laura London, but we do allow him to submit different photos. Based on his previous work, I will not fail him. I also propose we give the scholarship in question to Ellen Foster.”

  The administrators nod and whisper more among themselves. Finally the lady with notepad nods and speaks up: “We all agree to this solution if all lost equipment, like expensive cameras and laptops, are found within the hour. If not, we will resort to the video feeds and press charges accordingly.”

  “Oh. I think I might know where Cam forgot a few things.” Harrison nods.

  Professor Perry grimaces. “Good. Because our security guards will escort you around campus until they are located. The guards will stay with you until the time a parent can come collect you and your things from the front courtyard. Please make sure to submit your real final photography photos before you leave.”

  “Thank you.” Harrison breathes in an audible sigh of relief, and adds, “I wouldn’t want any more misunderstandings.”

  “Nor do we. Which is why I want you to know something. On record.”

  The note lady gets her pen out and holds it, ready to write.

  “I will expect you to fly right for the next five years of your life. Should I hear of any other plagiarism or shenanigans involving you at any other schools—and believe me, I know all the universities you might be applying to—I will have saved all the notes taken about this incident. I will also have saved all video feeds and will be taking a personal statements from everyone involved as to what really happened.”

  “Yes, sir,” Harrison says.

  “This is for your own protection as well as ours. You’re a talented young man, Harrison. Knowledge comes with hard work, not from lying and stealing. I will be communicating with your teacher back home and following your progress as to where you end up very, very closely. Understand?”

  Harrison nods, and stands up along with the security guards. “I do apologize and thank you for the chance to recover my reputation.” All sincerity he might have had on his face when the professor decided not to fail him wipes away when he turns to me and Ellen.

  Harrison glares first at me, then long and hard at Ellen before adding, “So sorry. It was not at all my intention that things would end up like this.”

  Instead of knocking him flat and pummeling him into the floor, like I would so love to do, I just smile. Then I wrap my arm around my girlfriend’s shoulder after she stands up and says loudly enough for all to hear, “I think what he means to say is that he’s sorry because it was not his intention to get caught.”

  And before anyone can say or do anything else, I grab Ellen’s crutches and laptop bag and escort her out of the room.

  ***

  When I have her in the little garden and she and I are seated on her favorite bench by the pond hidden under the willow branches, we don’t say anything about what happened. There’s no need. It’s already part of our past.

  I pull her legs up and over my lap so she and I are facing each other. Leaning into me, because I’m pretty sure she knows I’m not going to let her lose balance, she’s placed her hands on both sides of my face. I love when she does this. I also love how her thumbs pause at the edges of my eyes, like she’s trying to memorize my eye color or count my smile lines. I always want to ask her what she’s doing when she stares at me like this, but this move always leads to us kissing.

  And who can remember to ask questions after kissing lips as sweet as Ellen’s?

  Not me.

  My own hands have stolen the band off the bottom of her braid so her heavy hair will unwind, like it always does the second it’s been set free. I run my hands through its softness until it settles long and shining around her shoulders. My palm goes around the back of her neck, because of course I want to pull her in and kiss her. She’s already closed her eyes, but when my fingers brush against the rough twine of her necklace, I pause.

  “Wait. Hold up.”

  “What? What’s wrong?” She blinks up at me.

  “I have to return something to you.”

  I lean back and pull my hand off her neck so I can reach into my pocket.

  She gasps when I pull out the pendant made out of beach glass, along with the fragile leaf charm she’d dropped in the sand days ago. “You found them?” She moves to flip her hair to the side and take of her tattered necklace. “I can’t believe you had them with you this whole time!”

  “I can’t believe you made the glass into pendants, and then wore them.”

  “I wore them until the first day of this program.” She sighs, twisting the necklace in her hands. “If only I’d never have taken it off, maybe this whole Harrison thing wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Laura would only say it was fate. It made us forever sure of each other. No regrets, okay? Because if you hold on to yours, then I can never be free of mine,” I say softly.

  “Okay. No regrets, then.” I take the necklace out of her hand. “What are you doing?” She furrows her brow, looking like she’d chase me down and kill me to get the necklace back if she had to.

  “I want to be the one that unties the knots and slides the glass and the little leaf back where they belongs.”

  “Aww.” Her cheeks color some when she tilts her head to the side, watching me carefully. I add on the pendants, tie it tight, and then while she holds her hair out of the way, I replace it gingerly around her neck.

  “There. Beautiful. So beautiful,” I say, but I’m not talking about the necklace.

  “Thanks,” she whispers, placing her hand over the dangling pendants. “I love this thing, and I thought I’d never see my beach glass again. I was actually going to ask you to take me on a piggyback ride to your secret beach so I could search for another one. I hope you’ll still take me there when we get home. You did promise that to me as a date…to do that in the letter. Remember?”

  “Yes. And I hope you will hold me to it.” I pull her in close to me again. “We’ll go piggyback by the lake every day until it’s frozen. Once it’s iced over…” I smile. “We’ll grab our cameras and we’ll still go every day. Deal?”

  She smiles up at me, grinning. “Oh, I love this deal. And you.” She wrinkles her brow. “It’s going to be strange with Patrick and Laura gone, and you back home.”

  “Hell yes, it will be strange, but…” I become distracted, because my thumbs have been pressing into each side of the little twist that turns up at the edges of her mouth, and she’s just licked her lips. “But”—I meet her gaze—”I just can’t wait to get home. You know?”

  “Yes. I do know.” She grins. “Now be quiet and kiss me already, because I can’t wait for that either.”

  I pull her in, but before I can even bend my head, her softly smiling lips cover and then press into mine. While the tree branches creak agains
t the breeze, and the leaves all around us flicker and dance pale, changing sunlight over our heads, I remember every bit of the heaven that is kissing and being in love with Ellen Foster. She sighs against my mouth, and the beach glass necklace clinks gently between our hearts.

  And we kiss, and kiss, and kiss until we completely forget the few months she and I were ever apart.

  About the author:

  Anne Eliot is a young adult author living in Colorado. She is addicted to cheese and crackers and can be found often dreaming on Tumblr: anneeliot.tumblr.com, tweeting @yaromance, or goofing off on Facebook/AnneEliotAuthor.

  Her other teen romances are: Almost-a girl with PTSD, Unmaking Hunter Kennedy-a rock star recovering from depression, and How I Fall/How I Fly-a girl who has hemiparesis/cerebral palsy. They have all been Amazon exclusive as well as Amazon Children’s and Teens, top 100 bestselling books. Her first two works have been sold into Europe by her awesome agents, Jane Dystel and Lauren Abramo of DGLM.com. Anne is a member of SCBWI & RWA. For more information or to leave her a note please go to: www.AnneEliot.com

  Dear Readers: Please leave a review even if it is only a few words, as without those (and without you awesome readers) we authors can’t be found by others. For information on my other books or appearances, please go my website at AnneEliot.com, and thanks for reading.

  Reminder Chapter / Epilogue chapter from book 1, How I Fall.

  *Spoiler Alert: Do not read if you have not yet read, How I Fall.

  Ellen

  Brights Grove Hospital (Two weeks after the accident that broke Ellen Foster’s legs.)

  “Ellen. Ellen. Can you hear me? Wake up.”

  Mom’s using her cheery sing-song voice. “For the record, holiday break starts today at your school. This means it’s also your first day of holidays!” I roll over and let out a long, deep breath so my mom can take note that I’m dreaming right now. And my dream doesn’t involve being stuck in this stupid hospital bed for any holidays.

  *Tries to make the dream turn real: I’m in Hawaii. Running on a beach. With CAM. Cam. Cam. Cam!*

  “Ellen.” She’s leaned in and is breathing into my ear so close, I can feel hair blowing off my cheek, as well as smell my mom’s trademark maple-coffee smell. “Laura, Patrick and Nash are on their way over with Tim Hortons coffee and a whole box of maple-frosted doughnuts.”

  I breathe deeply again.

  *Again. God? Universe? Beings of higher power? Anyone who’s in control? I don’t want to wake up.*

  And I don’t want to talk to my mom, or my best friend, Patrick, or Laura, my other best friend. I sure as heck don’t want to talk to Nash, my physical therapist, because that guy has been acting more and more like he’s my dad ever since I fell and broke both of my legs and got stuck back into this hospital room. The only good thing to come of this accident is that my mom and Nash have become closer than ever. As close as I’d hoped they would be one day. But it is also annoying, because they flip in unison between acting like twins who are my tag-team, tough-love coaches to happy cheerleaders every darn hour.

  Everyone needs to stop coming in here and trying so hard.

  Don’t they get it? My life feels over. My heart is shredded; my legs are broken and stuck full of more metal pins and stabilizing wires, stitches and bandages than I can count. Under my sticky skin (which needs a real one-hour shower just as bad as my grimy hair does) I’ve got more nuts and bolts and metal than a car. I also hurt. Every time I try to move, this endless pain takes over my life, my soul, and my heart. It kills me. The part where I have to fake-smile to the people who are worried about me is what actually kills me even more. If they would all just stay away—if Mom wouldn’t bring up the holiday break and if Christmas would never come—and if I could turn back the clock somehow then all of this could—would—be better.

  But it can’t and it won’t, and my mom and my friends are too determined.

  As if she’s just read my mind, Mom sighs. “Ellen. I know you’re awake.” Mom’s pulling the reclining chair she’s been living in for days closer to my bed. “And the nurse told me she’d help me wash your hair before everyone gets here. Come on now! Turn that frown upside down! It’s almost Christmas.”

  Some Christmas. I heard, as a present, Nash is quickly building a wheelchair ramp from our driveway to the front door for me. Mom is dragging my entire bedroom down to the office next to the kitchen, and we’re all going to decorate my new wheelchair accessible room! Yahoo. Sob.

  “Honey? Come on. Talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to,” I mutter. “Mom…please. I’m sorry. You know how everything kills when I first wake up.”

  She places her hand over my forehead, but I don’t open my eyes. “I’ll give you a minute, then.” She pulls away her hand, frustrated with me, I’m sure. I listen to her feet squeak on the ultra-clean floor. She’s probably gone over to the window to look out.

  There were layers of exhaustion and hurt in Mom’s voice—all caused by me, of course—so now I feel like a spoiled jerk for mentioning the pain at all. She worries too much about that, which is silly because what hurts most of all, of course, has nothing to do with the holidays or the wheelchair ramp or my stupid legs.

  I seek some solace in the fact that I at least didn’t start out by asking my mom if she’d heard from my boyfriend.

  Cam Campbell. The guy I love and the guy no one can seem to locate.

  The guy my mom and Nash—and heck, even Patrick—want to kill.

  The guy who has done exactly what he promised me he’d do the one and only time he contacted me since I wound up in this hospital. He hasn’t contacted me.

  This is all thanks to my Cerebral Palsy tripping me up and getting me to fall, as usual. Unfortunately, my latest fall happened just at the exact time Cam, some football bleachers, and that stupid Tanner Gold collided in the epic accident that broke both of my legs. Broke them so badly that when I do get out of this hospital bed, I’ll be stuck back in a wheelchair for the rest of the semester.

  Only, the wheelchair situation is not just because of my accident. It’s because I’ve also just had an additional CP-related surgery to lengthen the tendons in my bad leg.

  Hamstrings and ankle.

  It was a surgery that was past due. My leg break on the good leg, as well as the bones in my bad leg that needed re-setting, made for the perfect excuse. Because I was already down and out and because I needed to heal anyhow, my orthopedic surgeon wanted to get in there and do all of the things I’d been avoiding for almost two years.

  Nash actually had the nerve to call my accident and all this crazy heartbreak a blessing in disguise. He swears my leg breaks are on track to heal stronger than ever, and the surgeon swears what he did was a huge “success” and so all of this is going to be worth it.

  I sigh, rolling away from my mom’s silent presence at the window.

  *Wonders: How could any of this be worth it? How could feeling like I’m dying every day from this stupid broken heart because I can’t find or talk to my own boyfriend be worth anything?*

  Every morning when I wake up, I ponder if—or when—I’ll ever be able to stop saying in my head that Cam’s my boyfriend. Then, after I wonder that (because I’m admittedly pathetic and desperate right now) I wonder if in Cam’s mind he still calls me his girlfriend.

  Then there’s the daily twenty minutes or so where I wish and hope he does. Which is really sick, because he broke up with me—broke my heart, actually—over text while my mom and Nash were watching! He did it with what I think was a stolen cell phone, but what everyone else thinks is some phone he used on purpose so I’d have no chance of calling him back. No one listened to my argument that Cam had obviously reached the point he had to steal a cell phone to contact me at all—which is a sure sign he’s in serious trouble.

  Instead, my mom simply cursed him and his whole family, and Nash proceeded to inform everyone who loves me (mostly Patrick and Laura) exactly what Cam had typed in that text message. W
hich was that he was never coming back and never contacting me again.

  They all simply wish I’d never met him.

  But I’m not there. I miss him. And I’m still in love with him. Worried about him. Desperate to hear that he’s okay! I’m trying to launch plans to find a way to contact him. Despite what everyone thinks and despite my better judgment…

  Last night when all of my pain medications had worn off, I stayed awake, wondering what would happen if I went all Gandhi revolution-style on everyone. We were studying his non-violent, people-moving ways in World History when this all happened. I’ve slowly started reading the homework again. I’m to the part where Gandhi freed his whole nation of India as well as impressed the world forever with his quiet and calm ways. I could be like him. Refuse to eat, or speak, or move one inch until Cam shows up here to speak with me. Maybe if I were about to waste away, my mom and Nash would get themselves across Canada to the farthest province from here—British Columbia, the last known place Cam was spotted—and drag him back to save my life. Or, at the very least, find out what the heck happened to him. Is it so hard for everyone to drop everything and drive across the country?

  I’ve decided if my life became a movie, we’d all rally together to rent or even steal a cool, beat-up van. I picture this large food-truck-type thing. One where my hospital bed could fit in the back, but where we’d have room for a couple of couches and make excellent use of the fictional well-stocked gourmet kitchen. Once on the highway, Patrick, Laura, Mom, and Nash would somehow drive me to exactly where Cam was waiting for me—all while the most awesome indie-soundtrack mix played constantly in the background, of course.