Fall From India Place

CHAPTER 3

The house was quiet once everyone but my little brother and Penny had scampered. Although there had been many offers to help Mum clean up, in the end I helped her shoo them out and I stayed behind to offer my services, despite the pile of marking waiting for me in my flat.

I was just putting away some newly washed and dried dishes when Mum said my name almost tentatively. Wary at her apprehensive tone, I turned around, my eyebrow raised in question.

She was fiddling a little nervously with a sponge she’d been using to wipe down the counters. “Your dad and I have something we need to ask you.”

I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest. “If it’s to help you get rid of another body I told you last time I was done with that.”

Mum cracked a smile. “Funny,” she said dryly. “No… well…”

“Come on, Mum, spit it out.”

She blew out air between her lips. “I’m worried about telling you because I don’t want you to feel like we’re shoving you aside.”

“See this?” I pointed to my face. “This is what ‘confused’ looks like.”

Mum gave a small huff of laughter. “I’m trying to tell you we’ve turned your room into a nursery.”

I shrugged. “Well, that makes sense. You have the kids staying over here more than I ever do.”

Mum seemed to deflate. “You’re not upset?”

“No, Mum.” I laughed. “I’m a grown woman with a very nice flat just up the road. It even has a bedroom in it. Two, actually.”

She rolled her eyes. “Make fun all you want, but I’m still your mother and you’re still my baby and I didn’t want you to feel like we were ousting you from the house. We’ve got a single bed in the nursery so you can stay whenever you need to, and of course at Christmastime.”

Shaking my head at the unnecessary worry in her eyes, I walked over to her, arms outstretched, and pulled her into a tight hug. “I can’t believe you were worrying over telling me this.”

She melted into me. “It’s what mums do.”

After a while I pulled back. “I take it you didn’t get rid of my stuff, though?”

“No. We boxed it up. I thought maybe you could go through it just now and decide what you want to keep and what you want to throw out.”

I really should have been getting back home to start work, but Mum and Dad never asked much of me and I knew it would help them out if I got organized as quickly as possible. “Okay. Oh, Sunday lunch might be out for me tomorrow. Got a pile of marking.”

“Oh, well, just leave the boxes for now, sweetheart.”

“Nah.” I waved her off, heading toward the stairs. “I was probably going to have to miss it anyway.”

Although I knew I would be walking into a different room from the one I’d left behind, it surprisingly winded me a little to see the cream walls painted a warm buttercream yellow, to see that my double bed had been removed and replaced with a beautiful whitewashed cot and a single bed. The posters I’d left up on the walls were all down, the books I’d left were packed away, and the photographs of my friends were boxed up too.

I stared at the boxes stacked on the floor at the far end of the room. My childhood was inside them, my developing personality, my teen years. I smiled as I walked toward them.

An hour or so later I’d pushed aside boxes of clothes that could go to charity, Dad had returned home and come upstairs to say hello and leave me with a cup of tea and a biscuit, and I was just ripping open a box I assumed was filled with books because it was heavy.

I found some books inside, but I also found diaries. My heart thudded a little at the sight of them, and I lifted them out to put them aside, with no intention of reading them. Ever. I was just lowering them to the “to keep” pile when a photograph floated out of the leaves of a black journal from my later teen years.

My heart no longer thudded.

It pounded.

Eight years ago

My English teacher had held me back after class to talk about entering my short story in a local competition. The thought freaked me out. My writing… on display like that to people who would judge whether it was good enough or not? I said no, thanks.

So why was I kicking myself as I hurried out of the school entrance toward the gate? I glanced around, noting that nearly everyone was gone. I’d missed the bus. It looked like I was walking home.

I hung my head, heaving a sigh.

Why had I said no to Mrs. Ellis? If she thought the story was good enough for the competition I should have just gone for it. Ugh. Sometimes I hated being this shy. Sometimes I even wondered why I couldn’t change that somehow. It didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere.

Frustrated at myself, I moved through the gates, catching sight of three older boys kicking a football against the school wall and talking. I recognized one of them.

Marco.

I didn’t know what his surname was because he was in fifth year and I was a third-year. I only knew of him because he was so popular his name had made its way down the years. And also because he was hard to miss. Really tall. Really good-looking. I’d heard he was foreign, but there were so many rumors flying around about where he was from, I didn’t know for sure.

Looking away quickly so I didn’t get spotted ogling him, I turned left and started heading for home. I’d taken only about four steps when my feet faltered on the fifth and sixth.

Up ahead, smoking, yelling, laughing, and swearing at one another were Jenks and his crew. They were in my year. We’d had first-year classes together, but things had changed, since we’d gotten to choose which classes we wanted to take as our high school careers progressed. My friends and I were smart and didn’t care to pretend that we weren’t. Jenks and his friends had picked on us since first year. To begin with it had just been in class, calling us “teacher’s pet,” “geeks,” and “swots.” Lately, because they couldn’t get to us in class, they’d taken to verbally abusing us as we got on the bus, or when they saw us in the corridors. The verbal abuse had gotten slowly cruder and nastier.

I glanced up the road to make sure there weren’t any cars coming, then dashed across the street to avoid the boys.

Unfortunately, Jenks wasn’t in the mood to avoid me.

I was looking at my feet, head down, when I heard him yell my name.

As if it knew something I didn’t, my heart started hammering hard against my ribs.

Looking up, I was filled with dread as a grinning Jenks casually swaggered across the street toward me, his two friends following him with nasty smirks on their faces.

“Whit’s up, geek?” Jenks stopped in my path and I moved around him.

He grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop.

I did my best not to show fear as he stepped into my personal space, his eyes moving down my body in a way that made me feel nauseous. “I said whit’s up, geek?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head and tried to move away, but the three of them blocked me. “Look, I’m late for home.” I wished my voice were stronger. I wished I could set them down or beat them or just somehow get them to stop thinking they could intimidate me.

“We just want tae talk.” Jenks sneered at me. “So fuckin’ stuck up. But ye always were.”

Jenks’s friend Aaron punched him playfully in the arm. “She got fuckin’ tasty, though. I’d shag it.”

I blanched, taking a step back.

Jenks grunted, glaring at me. “She’s still a fuckin’ swot.” He took a step toward me. “Maybe a guid pumpin’ would loosin ye up, though, eh?” He reached a hand out to grab at my waist and I stepped out of range.

I felt the blood rush in my ears at the decidedly dark turn of their bullying. “I’m going home.” I tried to inject authority into my voice, but the words came out in a trembling tone.

They laughed and Jenks grabbed for me again.

My shriek of alarm was immediately quieted at the sight of Jenks crashing like a rag doll into Aaron. They almost fell to the ground, only barely catching each other. Their other friend, Rube, stumbled back, too, and my eyes went from them to the person who had shoved Jenks.

My gaze traveled upward in surprise.

Towering over us all was Marco.

A very angry Marco.

His menacing glower was fixated on Jenks.

“Whit the fuck?” Jenks pushed himself off Aaron and scowled up at Marco. “Who the fuck dae ye think ye are?”

I was astounded that he’d be so aggressive with Marco. Even Rube and Aaron looked unsure.

“Get out of here,” Marco said quietly, calmly, his words soft and rounded with an accent. “I see you try this shit again and you’ll be dealing with me.”

Jenks opened his mouth as if to fight, but Marco was suddenly flanked by two friends. Seeing they were definitely not going to win against the older boys, Jenks spat at Marco’s feet and marched away, fists clenched at his sides.

I shuddered at my near escape.

“You missed the bus?”

Taken aback, I realized Marco had directed the question to me. His voice was rough, gravelly. I stared up into his blue-green eyes, eyes that were startlingly beautiful against his dark lashes and caramel skin, and I forgot to breathe for a minute.

He was gorgeous. And there was something about him… an aura around him that made me wish I were closer to him.

I nodded, still too awestruck to speak.

His eyebrows drew together. “Where do you live?”

Not awestruck enough to be stupid, I gave this person I didn’t know a suspicious look. To my surprise his lips twitched like he wanted to laugh. He held up his hands as if in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Going with my gut instinct, I replied, “Stockbridge. St. Bernard’s Crescent.”

He glanced back at his friends. “I’ll see you later.”

They gave me curious looks but nodded and turned away, walking up the street in the opposite direction.

I was left standing in the street alone with Marco – alone with a six-foot-something seventeen-year-old boy after having been accosted by mean boys. I should have been afraid, but when our eyes met again, I felt the complete opposite. I felt safe.

“Come on,” he said gruffly, walking past me.

Baffled by my feelings, I hurried to catch up to him. “What are you doing?”

“Walking you home. I don’t trust those idiots not to come back. They bother you a lot?”

“At school sometimes. They pick on my friends and me, but they’ve never tried to…” I grew quiet. I couldn’t quite say the words out loud. I actually couldn’t believe they’d even threatened me with rape, much less that they might follow through.

I looked up at Marco to find him giving me a dark, warning look. “You need to be careful. Jenks is a soulless little shit. He shouldn’t have been here. He’s suspended from school.”

“Really? For what?”

He studied me a moment before finally deciding to tell me. “The police are investigating him. He’s been accused of raping a girl.”

My mouth fell open as my heart sped up again. “Honestly? Why haven’t I heard of this?”

Marco shrugged. “Don’t know. Just be careful though, okay?”

I nodded. I would definitely be careful from now on. I felt a little sick.

We fell quiet as we walked side by side toward my house. I was tall for my age, but still nowhere near Marco’s height. He was athletically built, with strong forearms showcased by his rolled-up shirtsleeves. His size made me feel strangely protected and, for the first time ever, dainty.

Intrigued by my brooding would-be rescuer, I found that my curiosity overcame the self-consciousness I usually felt around people I didn’t know. I tucked my short blond hair behind my ears and looked up at him again.

“Where are you from? America or Canada?”

Marco looked down at me, bemusement in his expression. “Most folks just assume I’m American.”

There was a question in his tone, so I answered, “I read a lot and, well, you know, a lot of Scottish people immigrated to Canada, so it would make cultural sense that you might be a Scottish-Canadian.”

He studied me, a small smile playing in the corners of his mouth. “How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“You’re pretty smart.”

I grinned at him. “That’s what they tell me.”

This made Marco laugh. Triumph swelled in my chest. I’d never seen him laugh and felt sure he didn’t do it often, since there was something kind of sad in the back of his eyes. “You look older than fourteen.” His gaze flicked over me quickly. “You’re not in any of my classes, so I knew you had to be younger. I didn’t think that much younger, though.”

I liked that he thought I looked older. I didn’t like the fact that he thought fourteen was young. Technically, I was fourteen and a half. I wanted to say that to him but was afraid it might come off as childish. I pondered how to casually slip it into conversation but came up blank.

Realizing we hadn’t spoken for at least thirty seconds, I said, “So… are you Canadian?”

“Nah. American. Depending on the area, a Canadian accent is different from an American accent. And then there are different accents in different places in the U.S. You just have to listen carefully. I’m from Chicago.”

Soaking up this new information, I replied, “That’s really cool.”

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“Why did you move here?”

Marco was quiet so long I didn’t think he was going to answer. I was feeling an irrational amount of disappointment over that when he suddenly said, “My grandparents sent me to live with my uncle and his wife.”

That one sentence told me a lot without really telling me anything. I guessed that meant his parents weren’t in the picture, and that made me wonder why. The sad possibilities made me feel bad for him. I also wondered why he’d been sent away. Sensing that the first question might upset him more than the second, I went with the latter.

“Did you get into a lot of trouble there?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you writing my biography?”

Having been surrounded by sarcastic adults my whole life, I was immune to any kind of teasing. I stared him straight in the eye. “So what if I am?”

Marco smirked at my response. “Yeah. I was getting in trouble. They thought it might be better for me here.”

“And is it?”

He shrugged again, a small frown furrowing his brow.

Realizing he didn’t want to talk about it, I changed the subject. “Your name is Marco, right?”

“D’Alessandro. I see my reputation precedes me,” he replied, a wry little smile on his perfect lips.

It occurred to me that Marco didn’t talk like the kind of boys he hung around with at school. And it wasn’t about his accent. I’d overheard them enough to know that they took pride in being rough in speech, sometimes overplaying Scottish slang and swearing so much their mothers’ ears would have bled if they’d ever overheard them. They avoided sounding intelligent, whether deliberately or as a consequence of a collective lack of brain cells.

“Not to sound like a bitch or anything, but I don’t think I’ve heard anyone in the crowd you hang with use a word like ‘precede.’”

He grunted. “One of us needs to know how to read and write. You never know when crime might involve those basic tools of communication.”

Although he was joking, I could hear the edge in his tone and felt stupid. “Sorry. That sounded really judgmental.”

“Maybe. But I guess you’re not wrong.” He slid me a look and it was as if he saw right through me. “Some of us aren’t great at school. I’m not great at school.”

Another question popped into my head; I couldn’t help myself. I’d never been so curious about anyone before. Then again, I’d never gotten butterflies from just being in someone’s presence before. “What are you great at?”

A cloud passed over his features. “I don’t know.”

“You must be good at something,” I insisted. I couldn’t imagine that Marco didn’t have some kind of talent. There was just something so special about him. I didn’t even know what it was, but I knew it. I just knew it.

“Design and tech.”

I stared at his hands, feeling somewhat envious. I’d been rubbish in design and tech. I tried to make a Perspex clock in the shape of a star and it ended up looking like… well… a star that had been in a car crash. My metal coat pegs almost caused me a fatality of the thumb and my wooden pencil case didn’t close correctly. “You must be really good at it to be taking it in fifth year.”

He didn’t say anything, just scowled at a leaf that skittered by on the pavement.

Hmm. “So what do you want to be?”

He shot a quizzical look my way. “What do you want to be?”

“It changes every few months,” I answered in consternation. My friends all knew what they wanted to be when they were older. I still hadn’t made up my mind between a writer, a teacher, a doctor, or a librarian. “I really need to focus.”

“Maybe you should be a reporter.”

I snorted at his teasing. “The twenty questions? Right. Sorry.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” His eyebrows drew together, as if he were surprised by his own confession.

Encouraged, I jumped to my next question. “D’Alessandro? Like the restaurant?” There was an Italian restaurant with that name, only a five-minute walk from my house.

“It’s my uncle’s.”

“Great food,” I said honestly.

Again, he didn’t respond.

I got the feeling he didn’t want to chat about anything related to family. “I heard the pizza in Chicago is the best.”

That received a grin. “You heard right.”

“Do you miss your friends there?”

He was quiet again, so I thought he wasn’t going to answer this one either. I was thinking it was a no-go on any really personal questions, but then… “I didn’t really have friends. Not good ones anyway.”

Our footsteps slowed as we found ourselves on my street. I squinted against the sunlight peeking through a cloud as I looked up at him. “I hope you’ve found good ones here.”

When he looked at me my heart almost puttered to a stop at the warmth in his eyes. “You got a name?” he asked softly.

I shivered, not understanding my body’s reaction to him. “Hannah Nichols.”

He smiled, drawing to a stop to hold out his large hand.

Feeling the butterflies riot in my belly, I determinedly ignored them and placed my small hand in his. I tried to hide my reaction to the tingling that shot up my arm from where we touched. I wanted to tighten my grip and had to mentally stop myself from doing so.

“Nice to meet you, Hannah.”

“You too. Thanks for helping me out with Jenks. And for walking me home.”

“Not a problem.” He let go of my hand and I instantly bemoaned the loss of his touch. He took a step back, preparing to leave, but I grew still at the suddenly stern expression on his face. “Try not to miss the bus again.”

He disappeared down the street before I could say anything, and I stared after his broad back, feeling so many things I’d never felt before.

After walking into my house, only to spend the evening distracted, I came to one conclusion: I had my first crush. On Marco D’Alessandro.

I should have joined the debate team. I shook my head, marching toward the main exit of the school and cursing my shyness to hell. At the beginning of the year my politics teacher had asked me to join the school debate team, and because I was sure I’d never be able to speak up and articulate in person what I was so good at saying on paper, I’d turned the offer down.

Now I’d missed the bus because I’d come across the team working in an empty music classroom and had stopped to listen to them. I’d been filled with the sudden urge to just stride in, introduce myself, and start airing my opinions. I had loads of opinions inside of me. I also had this fear that one day they’d just explode out of me, wreaking havoc and leaving disaster in their wake.

There were so many things I was missing out on because of how damn quiet I was. And in truth, I wasn’t really that quiet anymore. I said what I thought at home, consequences be damned.

I frowned back in the direction of the school as I opened the exit door. It was definitely time for a change. I could feel it coming.

With a sigh of regret, I hurried forward, my eyes searching out Marco and finding him waiting alone by the gate for me.

For whatever reason, over the past year Marco had waited at the gate most days, watching me get on the bus. There had been several times I’d been late and he’d walked me home. Most of those times my lateness was not my fault, but I do admit to being deliberately late a few times in the last couple of months just so I could be around him.

I was addicted to the feeling inside me when we were together, or even when I was thinking about him – and I thought about him a lot. He didn’t make me feel like a shy, awkward nerd. And to my delighted surprise, I discovered that I could make Marco – this boy who was definitely prone to brooding – laugh. He laughed at my jokes and teasing and he constantly remarked on how smart I was, as if it was something to respect rather than to mock. When I looked at him, my belly would flip, my pulse would race, and I’d get this delicious tingling all over my body.

I wanted him to kiss me so badly.

I couldn’t tell if he felt the same way. I was fifteen now and five foot nine. Boys at school had started paying me more attention since I’d grown boobs and my hips had filled out. But I didn’t know if Marco had noticed those things.

He’d surprised me over the last year. He wasn’t the most talkative person on the planet, but he was patient with my questions even if he didn’t answer a lot of them. He let me chat about the books I was reading and the music I was listening to and actually seemed interested when I did.

He’d also been there for me when I told him about the time my family went through one of its most difficult situations. When I was thirteen my big sister, Ellie, was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and although it turned out to be benign, the whole thing scared the crap out of us all. As had the brain surgery she’d had to have. I’d never really talked about it with anyone, or the effect it had on me, but Marco listened to me and somehow managed to give me comfort in his silence.

As well as discovering that he was a great confidant, I’d also discovered that he wasn’t as terrible at school as he’d made out. Although some of his friends found themselves in trouble at school, Marco was quiet and kept out of the drama. His height and broad build had made other students wary of him. His good looks and the fact that he was American had made him popular. And his brooding intensity had given him a reputation for being utterly cool, and so all these things combined had garnered him respect. I knew he wasn’t a typical bad boy, no matter what rumors I heard. He studied and he worked with a tutor. He’d passed his exams last year, excelling in design and tech, maths, and P.E. He had an English tutor and his grades were passable.

“Why were you late this time?” he asked, falling into step beside me.

I shrugged, not really wanting to talk about the fact that I was failing at life.

“Should I be worried?”

The fact that he might care enough to be concerned for me made me feel all squishy and warm inside. I gave him a soft smile. “No.”

His eyebrows rose. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

I chuckled, kicking a stone out of my way. “You don’t tell me stuff.”

Marco seemed to process this. “Well, what do you want to know?”

Deciding that today was a good day to try to be brave, I asked, “Why don’t you talk about your family?”

He gave me a look as if to say, “I should have known you’d go there.” “I don’t really get along with them,” he admitted.

“All of them?” Since I came from a close family, the idea that Marco was estranged from his didn’t sit well with me. I knew how happy my family made me. I wanted Marco to be equally happy.

“Nonna, maybe – my grandma,” he replied. “Not Nonno – my grandfather. And not my uncle Gio. His wife is nice. Him, not so much.”

I didn’t like the sound of that at all and I wanted to know more, but this was more information than I’d gotten out of him in the past, so I decided not to push my luck. “I’m late because I was listening in on the debate team. My politics teacher asked me to join at the beginning of the year. I said no and now I wish I hadn’t. I need to grow some balls, Marco.” I sighed.

“You’ve already got them. You just to need use them. This supposed shyness of yours is all in your head.”

“And how did you get so smart?”

Marco gave a short bark of laughter and drew to a halt. I stopped with him, my eyes widening slightly as he stared at me intently. “You’re the first person to ever say that to me.” He shook his head. “I’m not smart, Hannah.”

Ignoring the shiver that chased down my spine as it did anytime he said my name, I gave him a disapproving look and skirted around him to sit down on the steps of the Georgian apartment building we were outside of. I looked up at him, my expression completely serious. “You don’t have to be book smart to be clever, Marco.”

Marco stared down at me for a few seconds and then sighed as he lowered his tall body onto the step next to me. His arm brushed mine and heat rushed up it, exploding through me. My cheeks flushed furiously, but Marco didn’t notice. He gazed out into the street, seeming lost in thought. Finally he asked quietly, “And you think I’m clever?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitating.

I did think he was clever. And talented. And so much more than he even realized.

His lips twitched. “I don’t think I’ve said anything clever to you.”

“You have a dry, clever sense of humor. You get my jokes,” I cracked, nudging him with my arm. While he smiled at me in return, I continued. “You always think before you speak. Some of the most intelligent people in the world haven’t learned how to do that.”

His eyes washed over me and my insides dipped like I was on a roller coaster. We’d never been this close to each other before.

“I bet your parents tell you you’re smart all the time,” he muttered.

“Yeah, they want me to believe in myself.”

“That’s good. You should believe in yourself.”

I made an impulsive decision right at that moment and my palms began to sweat as the blood rushed in my ears. “I think believing in yourself means having to be brave sometimes.”

Before Marco could reply to that, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his. My heart was slamming so hard in my chest I could barely hear anything over the sound of its beating. Marco stiffened beneath my kiss, but I didn’t pull back. Instead I put more pressure behind it. Seconds later, I felt the heat of Marco’s hand on my waist and his lips moved against mine.

I didn’t have time to feel relieved or triumphant because he was kissing me back, taking control of the kiss, and sending my hormones into overdrive. My skin was flushed, my lips tingling, and all I wanted was to sink deeper into him and feel his hands all over my body.

My hands suddenly had a life of their own, one coming to rest on his knee, while the other cupped the nape of his neck.

He squeezed my waist and I sighed involuntarily, my lips parting on the sound. Almost instantly I felt the touch of Marco’s tongue against mine, and the surprising bolt of lust that hit me between the legs made me stiffen in shock.

Just like that, I found myself pushed away as Marco abruptly stood up.

I looked up at him, panting for breath, watching him rub his hands over his short, dark hair and drag them down over his face. Then he dropped his hands and his taut features were revealed to me as he lowered his incredulous gaze.

Before I could say a word Marco strode down the steps and disappeared up the street.