The Year We Fell Down (The Ivy Years, #1)

“I love these old buildings,” I cut in.

He sat right down on the office stoop. “Well, now. Is it something you can speak about in the open? Or shall we find a conference room somewhere…”

I shook my head. “It’s a little thing. I just want to swap one course for another, but I already turned in my schedule.”

“Not a problem,” he beamed, uncapping his gold pen. “What will it be, Miss Callahan?”

“Monday, Wednesdays and Fridays at ten-thirty,” I began. “Let’s drop the Economics and add a Shakespeare lecture, the Histories and Tragedies.”

“Ah, a fine course, I know it well,” he said, scribbling. “I’m sure you will find it delightful.”

“I’m sure I will too.”

“How are you getting on, Corey?” the dean asked, cocking his head. “Your preliminary grades looked wonderful.”

“Did they?” I couldn’t help grinning. Grades weren’t due to come out for another week, but I was hoping I’d done well.

He nodded. “Well done,” he said. “But how is the rest of it? We have you living over in McHerrin, I believe? I looked at the suite myself after speaking with your parents this summer.”

“It’s perfect,” I said. “And my roommate is terrific.”

His head bobbed happily. “Good, good. Now, I’m sure you’re off to lunch.” He looked up, in the direction of the dining hall. And then he grimaced. “The stairs! Oh, dear God.” He scrambled to his feet. “I was so focused on your living quarters…how did they assign you to Beaumont?”

“I asked for Beaumont. My brother was in Beaumont.”

His face was still creased with dismay. “But…where do you dine every evening, when Commons is closed?”

“Here.” I pointed toward the courtyard. “Adam Hartley and I discovered the freight elevator early on.”

“Oh!” the dean was flustered. “Into the kitchen?”

I nodded. “They’re used to me now.”

His color deepened. “I feel terrible about this. You could be reassigned to an accessible house, with a first-floor dining room.”

That wasn’t happening, because I didn’t want to lose Dana as a roommate. “It’s fine, I promise. Please don’t reassign me. I’m used to the place. Besides — I’m supposed to be learning to do the stairs on my crutches. I’ve been a bit lazy.”

He hesitated. “If you’re sure, Miss Callahan.” He cleared his throat. “If you are met with any other thoughtlessness on our part, will you please tell me? Any little thing.”

“I will.”

“Corey,” He held out a hand, and I shook it. “I always say that I learn from students every single day. And now you’ve wizened me even before tea time.”

“My pleasure,” I smiled.



That evening, I put on my bathing suit under a pair of tear-away exercise pants, and made it to the gym a good fifteen minutes before water tube practice was set to begin. I wanted to transfer from my chair to the pool without my teammates watching. Locking my chair, I removed my pants and then did a twist maneuver to slip to the floor. I took off my T-shirt and stowed my clothes in my pack. Then I unlocked the chair’s brakes and gave it a gentle shove toward the wall.

I was scooting my butt to the edge of the pool when I heard a voice behind me. “You must be Corey?”

I looked up to see a friendly face smiling at me. “Allison?” She extended her hand, and I shook it.

She knelt down on the pool deck just beside me. “Have you played before?” she asked.

I shook my head. “But I did a lot of swimming over break.” I cleared my throat. “I used to play a lot of ice hockey, actually. So, getting past the goalie is fun for me.”

Her eyes widened. “Awesome!”

“Is it okay if I get wet?”

“Sure,” she grinned. “We’ll get started in about five minutes.”

“Good to know,” I said. And then I aimed my shoulders toward the open water, tucked my head under and rolled forward, into the blue.

When I came up for air, I saw the rest of the Beaumont water polo team — a half dozen others — converging on the pool. Allison and another guy I recognized from the Beaumont House dining hall stretched a float rope across the pool, dividing it.

“We’re going to take this end,” the guy said in a very chipper British accent. I swam under the rope and over to the side near where he stood. “For anyone who doesn’t know me, I’m Daniel. And since we’re such a bloody well-organized team,” people chuckled at this. “I’m going to go over the rules for at least one or two minutes. And then we’re going to scrimmage. So everyone grab a tube…” he pointed at a pile in the corner. “And let’s get wet.”

Everyone walked toward the pile of tubes, and my pulse began to race. The tubes were about eight feet from the corner of the pool. It was going to be one of those moments, when I had to ask someone for help.

Sarina Bowen's books