Built to Fall (Fall and Forever #1)

CHAPTER ONE

LINA

“ Y ou’ve been back for a month, Lina.” The words ring through my mind like a distant sound. One I’m desperate to ignore.

But when I don’t answer, Aunt Carrie asks, “Are you sure you’re settling in well?” Her voice is hushed, as if she’s afraid the question is going to be what sets me off.

“If I needed more time, I would have taken it,” I quip, continuing to pace back and forth from my nightstand to my dresser, running my hands over my duvet as I pass my bed.

This phone call was supposed to be for her to check up on me. Not so she could try and pull at the strings of emotions I’ve desperately been trying to avoid.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

My head tips back involuntarily, looking at the ceiling for some kind of reassurance. There is none.

I know she’s trying to be here for me in any way she can. I know she’s struggling with losing her sister in the same way I’ve lost my mother.

But if I keep talking about it—keep rehashing it as if it will magically bring her back—the lump in my throat is never going to dissipate. All I’ve been trying to do is throw my grief out of the window. But I’ve dealt with it for too long, and it’s time to stop letting it consume my life.

“Look, Aunt Carrie, I know you are worried about me, but I’m going to have to get back to normal eventually.” It’s the harsh truth. This is my new normal. “I’m already a year behind from the time I had to take off.”

Whether I’m able to reconcile with it or not, it doesn’t matter. My mom died over a year ago. I took a year off when it happened.

I left Yale. Left my friends. Came back a sophomore while all my friends are now juniors.

All I want is to get back to the life that used to fit me. I can’t do that when it feels like I’m weighing fifteen pounds heavier—and no, not literally.

“No one would have faulted you for taking more time off, Evangelina.” It’s the first time I’ve heard the name Evangelina in months, considering she’s one of the few people who call me that anymore. It also tells me how serious she’s being.

“I didn’t need it.”

Even if no one else faulted me, I would have. It was entirely unnecessary for me to take more time off.

Most people don’t have the option to take a year off when something like this happens. It’s not realistic to think I could continue drowning in my sorrows as if I didn’t have a life to return to.

After my year off, I reapplied. Got accepted. Contemplated taking more time off.

Originally, I denied Yale’s readmission offer.

But when the director of Yale admissions came knocking on my door one morning—seriously, she was at my front door—she forced me to reconsider the offer.

My mom is well known among prestigious schools everywhere— was well known.

She’s also the one who made me a legacy at Yale.

Yale. Columbia. Harvard. All of them had offered her jobs, and the moment I was born, not only did I inherit my mother’s brain, but also her invite list.

Every person on the board of each school knew who she was. I was even more positive of that when she died, and I realized I would never be able to go to college without escaping the lasting impression my mother left on every person she met.

When your mom—who was a professor at Harvard and a New York Times best-selling author—suddenly dies, the very large community of people who knew Dr. Eva Everhart does not take it lightly.

It’s the whole reason the director of Yale admissions gave me a second chance to “make a better decision with a clearer mindset,” as she put it.

As if clarity was something that could be delivered to my doorstep in the form of an Ivy League acceptance.

It worked, though. Her showing up and giving me a second chance at coming back was the exact kick in the ass I needed to return to school. To get my life back to normal.

I cover the speaker when I hear Eden yell something from the living room, listening for a moment before realizing it’s not directed at me.

Every time someone yells through the apartment, I automatically assume they’re not talking to me. My three friends and roommates lived here a year without me. My room had been empty. It’s easy for me to assume they’ve gotten used to me not being around.

“I understand that, but?—”

I quickly cut her off. “There are no buts. I’m back at Yale, and it’s for the better.”

Then, there’s a distant call of my name, dragging my attention away.

“Hold on,” I tell my aunt, putting her on mute and setting my phone on my desk.

Opening my bedroom door into the living room, I first notice the newly lit candle on the coffee table. Which is odd, considering Eden is standing on the couch, attempting to hold an absurdly large canvas above it. She’s not really succeeding, either.

The waves of red hair cascading down her back never fail to make images of the first time we met flash through my mind.

First day of freshman year. As we were both moving in. Both of us equally excited. Equally happy. She’s the force that pulled us together and led me to be a part of the unit we’ve built here in New Haven.

Her red hair hasn’t dulled, and neither has her bright white smile or the deep dimples that go along with it.

Nothing has ever stayed as effortlessly radiant as Eden Hayes.

And now, she’s holding a giant portrait of Audrey Hepburn above our couch, looking back at me and asking, “Do you think this looks good here? Obviously it would be up much higher than this, and not resting on the back of the couch, but I can’t lift it much higher than this by myself.”

I sidestep to the center of the room. “It’s a bit off-center.”

She moves it the slightest bit to the right, grunting as she does. “How about now?”

Tucking my lips, I examine the canvas further. “Did you ask Meredith and Kara?”

“Neither of them care,” she says happily. “Well… Meredith is skeptical, but when isn’t she?”

At the same time, Kara comes out of the kitchen, her toothbrush dangling from her mouth. I don’t bother questioning it.

Eden will, though. “It’s five p.m. Why are you brushing your teeth?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” Meredith says, peeking her head through the crack in her bedroom door with a towel wrapped around her hair. Even without her dirty blonde hair visible, her eyes alone are enough to grab anyone’s attention.

Heterochromia blessed that girl; her eyes are mostly blue, with blotches of brown. Like oceans dotted with continents.

The look on Kara’s face says enough, and she smirks as she reenters the kitchen, holding her long brown hair back to spit toothpaste in the sink.

I revert back to the topic at hand. “Do you like the painting?”

Meredith has already gone back into her bedroom. I don’t fault her for it. She’s the least talkative out of the four of us.

“It really doesn’t matter to me,” Kara says. “I’m barely here, anyway.”

It’s the middle of September. We’ve been living in the apartment for the past month, and Kara has been busier than Meredith, Eden, and me combined.

Not only is she attending Yale as a neuroscience major with the goal of becoming a neurosurgeon, but she’s also a model.

And not one of those small, local models who do some stock photo shoots and call it a day. Kara is an actual supermodel walking and modeling for the big names.

Prada. Chanel. Dior. Just like her mom did in the 90s.

People wouldn’t be shocked to hear it, either. With her tanned skin dotted with freckles, long legs, and striking blue eyes that—in the right lighting—have flecks of green in them, there are often two words agencies and the tabloids use to describe Kara Carr: brunette bombshell.

However, they would be shocked to hear about the heavy courseload she balances on top of it.

And with the amount of partying she does—and I’m talking real , grungy, New York City parties—I’m not sure how she does it either.

With all that being said, it doesn’t take a genius like Kara to figure out where she might be headed tonight. Her bomber jacket and mini-skirt are a dead giveaway.

“Anyways…” Eden drags out, turning back toward the large canvas. “Are you sure this will look good here?”

“Yeah. I don’t mind it.” It’s the truth in the nicest way I can muster.

“Kara! Did you take my blow dryer?” Meredith’s voice cuts through the apartment, making Kara give us guilty, wide eyes.

Eden’s eyes flit toward the kitchen, narrowing on the counter. “You’re getting toothpaste everywhere!”

“Sorry, sorry,” she mutters through her mouthful of toothpaste. Yet, as she walks back toward her room, another glob drops from her mouth onto the floor.

“Kara!” Eden chases after her, shooing her away.

Kara simply waves her off. I’m sure she’ll clean it up sooner or later. Although Eden will probably get to it first.

If I had to describe the dynamic between the four girls living in the apartment, it would be easy to categorize each of us.

I’m the sarcastic cynic. Eden’s the exuberant people-pleaser. Kara is as if reckless abandon met borderline genius. And Meredith’s a deadpan mystery.

It’s an odd mix of personalities and pasts, all folding into this fourth-floor apartment in a New Haven brownstone. And maybe I haven’t figured out exactly how I fit back into it yet.

But even in this place, where sleep doesn’t come easy, and I’m still figuring out how to trust my friends again, and Aunt Carrie’s questions feel like impossible tasks, this is still my home.

I’m reminded of it every time Meredith yells at Kara for stealing a razor, or when I look at the butcher block counters and see the red ring stain from a wine glass. All of the reasons we bicker, and won’t be getting our security deposit back.

A smile cracks my face as I head back into my bedroom, grabbing my phone and taking it off mute. “Sorry, my roommates were asking me something.”

“No worries,” Aunt Carrie replies. “How are they?”

“Good. I think.”

“Evangelina…” She’s well aware of my tendency to isolate myself, and that’s what she thinks I’m doing.

“What else do you want me to say? I can’t speak entirely for them.”