The Art of Falling (excerpt)

Chapter 1

Bria Hale hadn’t been to the beach in four years. It was one more thing that set her apart from the mass of bleach-blond sun worshipers at Oceanside High School, like her Kool-Aid purple hair and her fondness for long sleeves even in summer.

Yet there she sat on a rock jutting up from the sand, watching over her little tribe of misfits like a mother hen – if mother hens wore Doc Martens and too much eyeliner. 

With the deepening night, the motley crew gathered around the bonfire. Laughter erupted, directed at a boy running down the beach.

“Run, Forrest, run!” Abby Harris yelled, projecting with the kind of force only a drama kid could achieve.

Ben Harris slowed to a jog and waved to Abby without breaking his perfect stride. “Hey, sis.”

The laughter broke out again, Abby’s distinctive giggle louder than the rest. A few snide comments about jocks rang out, but Ben just grinned and kept running. It took more than his sister to ruffle the unflappable Benjamin Harris.

Bria took a deep breath to calm the flutter in her stomach. She hadn’t seen Ben all summer, but that didn’t seem to have dulled her reaction to him.

With a quick onceover to make sure her friends were in no danger of hurting themselves or each other, she hopped down from her rock and wandered across the star-swept beach. Once the fire disappeared behind a lifeguard tower and the boom of the surf swallowed the noise of the party, she unzipped her heavy boots and buried her toes in the damp sand edging the shoreline.

Four years was far too long.

The waves – icy Pacific swells, even in late August – nipped at her calves, but she waded deeper into the rising tide.

She had no idea why she’d let the beach-hating myth continue. It wasn’t the strangest story she’d heard about herself – like how she drank her dead boyfriend’s blood (Mik was just at college and blood grossed her out) or that she was friends with Metallica (she didn’t even like their music and just because her dad worked with them once ages ago didn’t make them friends) – but it was persistent enough that even she’d come to believe it.

She passed another guard tower and tossed off her trademark hoodie. The thick cotton felt heavier with each passing season, and now, on the cusp of senior year, the burden of her carefully crafted image didn’t seem worth it anymore.

The misty ocean breeze picked up, lifting her hair and setting it dancing. She inhaled the briny sea-scent and exhaled the nagging sense of shouldn’t. After a few careful, measured steps, she let herself follow the wind and twirled across the sand. She reveled in the freedom, the solitude, her bare toes picking out pirouettes and tour jetés across the ebbing surf.

“Never thought I’d see you dance like that again.”

She spun around, nearly toppling into Ben. “Holy – where did you come from?”

“Finished my run.” His eyes glittered with amusement, but it didn’t quite reach his mouth.

“So you thought you’d cool down by scaring the shit out of me?” She pulled on her hoodie again, hiding the faded scar slashed across her collarbone.

“You know you don’t have to hide that around me,” he said.

“It’s bad enough that we both know it’s there. No need to talk about it.” She tugged up the zipper. “What are you doing out here on a Friday night anyway? You’re always with the rest of the team.”

“I haven’t been completely assimilated.”

“Dude.” She lost her usual scowl to a smile. “Your nerd colors are showing.”