When the Heart Falls

Shit.

We didn't bring the toilet paper.

"Jenifer!" I whisper in that way that's like a yell, but you hope it still sounds like a whisper. "They don't have any toilet paper in here. Can you get me some?"

Silence.

"Jenifer?"

She bangs on the stall door. "Oh God. I need to throw up."

"Then find a toilet and throw up. Just hurry."

"Can't. They're all taken. Let me in." Her feet shuffle back and forth under the door.

"What? No! I need toilet paper." I flush the toilet, but I can't pull my pants up until I wipe.

"Open up. Please. Open. I'm dying."

Le sigh. I thought this night couldn't get any worse. I was so wrong.

I pull down my shirt to cover myself, hoping I'm not getting shit all over it, then crouch in the corner and open the stall. "Come on. Hurry, though. God."

Jenifer runs in, crashes to her knees, vomit spewing out of her mouth before she reaches the toilet. It sprays onto me, onto her shirt and face, onto the floor, until she finally reaches the bowl. She continues heaving until her stomach runs dry and only bile comes out. Staring into the toilet, she pulls back and speaks at the top of her voice. "Oh my God, it's your shit. I just vomited over your shit."

This is us. Bonding over vomit and shit. "I'm sorry. It must have clogged."

The smell of vomit, the sight of vomit everywhere, brings bile to my throat, and I lean over and release what's left of my dinner into the toilet as well.

Someone knocks on the door to our stall. "Is everything okay in there?" Cade sounds concerned, and I want to cry.

It's too late to save face. "We got food poisoning," I say. "Can you please bring us some toilet paper?" And new clothes, and a mop, and, oh, I don't know, a time machine?

Jenifer vomits again, her body finding unexpected reserves. "Oh my God," she yells. "It's like I'm giving birth from my mouth."





CADE SAVAGE





CHAPTER 6





WINTER REFUSES TO make eye contact with me as we stand outside the dorms waiting for Monsieur Bellugue to lead us to the Sorbonne for our placement exams. After getting Winter and Jenifer toilet paper, towels and bottles of water, I'd gone back to my room to study. I can't afford any distractions this summer. Too much is riding on how I do in this class.

I'm prepared to let Winter get over her perceived humiliation on her own, but when Rodney starts walking over to her I change my mind and get to her side before he does. If he's not going to take my warning seriously, I might have to remind him that he'd seen my polite response. I wouldn't be so polite the next time. I've wrangled wild horses into submission and ridden bulls bent on killing me. A prick from New York who likes to make girls feel bad isn't even a challenge.

Winter's face turns a pleasant rose when she sees me. I don't know why women get so embarrassed about basic bodily functions. It's not like we don't know they use the bathroom same as us—not to mention she had food poisoning. "Winter, about last night—"

"Please, just, can we agree never to speak of it again? Ever. As if it never happened. If I could erase my own memory of last night, I would." Her eyes, large, ice blue but so much warmer, widen as she waits for my response.

Winter is a puzzle I'm trying very hard not to be intrigued by. She possesses the kind of beauty that sets women apart, as if on a pedestal—untouchable and out of every man's league, but then she appears so vulnerable, as if she's hiding a deep crack in her soul. I don't quite know what to make of her, but she's not the kind of girl you get involved with unless you're serious. Since I can't give her serious, I can't give her anything except friendship, and some silent protection against her bully. I want to tell her it's no big deal. Growing up on a ranch, I've seen and smelled worse, but her body is so tense, her small shoulders pulled up with such stress she looks about to snap, so I give her what she wants, even if it's not what I think she needs. "As if what happened? I was studying last night. I didn't see or hear anything."

Her shoulders drop in relief and she smiles. It's the smile that softens her features, making her more approachable even as it adds to her allure. "Thank you. So, are you excited about going to the Sorbonne today?"

"I'm excited about seeing more of Paris, and the architecture at the Sorbonne is amazing, but about the class itself? Not so much. French isn't my strongest subject."

"Then why'd you come to Paris to take a French class?"

That's a very good question. "It was my ticket to France."

"Don't stress too much. It's just one class. It'll all be over by fall." Her voice sounds faraway, almost sad, and I wonder if she's thinking about her own future.

"True," I say, "but it's one class that could cost me my ticket to Columbia's architecture program."

Her face scrunches up. "What do you mean?"