This Is Falling by Ginger Scott Page A

fish face, and I scoot away from
him. “You hit your head. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
    “I’m fine. Just…just a little confused is
all. How did I get on the floor?”
    His hands are back on my face, and he’s
looking at me closely. I’m not sure he has any qualifications to be
giving me a concussion test, but I let him look this time, mostly
because I like the way my head feels in his hands.
    “You were on my lap, and then all of a
sudden, your entire body went limp. The girl that was balancing on
you fell, too. She hit her head hard!” He cringes, and I feel
terrible; all I want to do now is find that quiet, curly-haired
girl I took out with me.
    “Is she okay?”
    “I think so. Her friend was with her and took
her to the health center. She was walking though, so I’m sure she’s
fine,” Nate says, lifting me up to a stand by pulling under my
arms. His hand quickly finds its way to my back again, and despite
the cold sweat covering my body, I feel a rush of heat.
    During our walk back to the dorm, Ty invites
everyone to hang out in his and Nate’s room; I notice Paige perk up
at that thought. She’s standing on the other side of Nate, asking
him question after question—about baseball and what position he
plays, and what his number is, and what time his games are so she
can watch. He’s giving her clipped answers, which strangely pleases
me.
    “I know sometimes practices are open. I’d
love to come watch you play,” Paige says, grabbing ahold of his
other arm and looking at him with the most annoying doe eyes I’ve
ever seen. Something inside me snaps; I shirk away from his side
and wrap my arms around my midsection, squeezing.
    “Yeah, maybe you can come watch and analyze
his swing, tell him he dips his shoulder too much, and that’s why
he doesn’t get the pop he should off the bat,” I mumble to myself,
rolling my eyes while I look out at the buildings leading up to our
dorm. I barely finish my sentence when Nate’s hand finds my
shoulder again, and he spins me to look at him.
    “Say that again,” he says slowing us down
enough, Paige has to continue with Ty, Cass, and a few of the other
students who live on our floor.
    “Nothing.” I’m squeezing myself tighter now,
wishing I didn’t just throw a baby fit because I was jealous.
    “That was not nothing , and you know
it. How do you know I dip my shoulder? And how do you know what dipping a shoulder means?” he asks, his eyes squinted, a
hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looks at me
while we continue now, well behind our friends.
    If I could have one super power, I would want
the ability to enact re-dos in life. Because right now, all I want
to do is relive the last two minutes and keep my damn mouth shut.
But since that’s not going to happen…
    “I Googled you.” I feel like an idiot.
    “You… Googled me?”
    “Yeah, I Googled you. After our lunch, I
wanted to see how good you were, because I could tell you were
being modest. And you were being modest, by the way. The Indians
wanted you ! ” This is called diarrhea of the mouth.
    “You… Googled me,” he says again, his
accent making that word sound so much better than it does when it
leaves my lips.
    “Yeah, well…your on-base percentage is
impressive. So I found a video and watched it. Noticed your swing.
That’s it.” I actually feel angry now, and I don’t know why.
    “You watched my swing. And… on-base
percentage? ” He seems shocked that I know what I’m talking
about, and for some reason, it pisses me off.
    “You’re being kinda sexist, don’t you think?”
I say, picking up my step to catch up with the others.
    “I’m sorry…you’re cyber-stalking me, and I’m
the one being creepy?” he asks, half laughing.
    “First of all, I didn’t call you creepy, I
called you sexist. And I wasn’t stalking you. I just like to do a
little background checking on people before I trust them. And you
stalked me first, mister Rowe