London Falling Read online

  “No. I’m fine. Just a little banged up.” Startled and embarrassed, I looked at the assailant. Was I really that absorbed in a snowflake that I walked into an oncoming bike? Maybe the handlebars clipped the side of my backpack just enough to send me spiraling to the sidewalk.

  His hand was outstretched and his face worried.

  “My fault. Let me help you up.”

  No arguments here. He clasped my hand in a firm grip and I pushed off the ground. The biker pulled me straight up before I was ready to be vertical. I caught myself before I slipped again.

  “You sure you’re ok?” He tilted his head. I noticed earbuds dangling from around his neck. He was wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt. Not exactly cold weather gear.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Thanks.” I dodged his concerned look and retreated in the direction of the bus stop.

  “Uh. Ok. Bye.”

  As I scrambled from the scene of the accident, I thought I felt him watching me. Not wanting to get caught with a sneak peek, I waited until I crossed the street before turning around. I watched as he grabbed his handlebars, slung one leg over the side of the bike, and pushed down on the pedals.

  Through a confetti parade of snowflakes, he wheeled off and disappeared behind Graham Memorial. I hadn’t even bothered to berate him for his crazy steering or thank him for taking the time to help me up. After four years of dodging maniac bikers, one had finally hit me. It was bound to happen.

  A deep sigh produced another hovering crystal cloud of breath, I thought I could reach out and grab. Bike Guy had been kind of cute with his deep-set eyes and sandy brown hair. It was hard to miss his arms with that T-shirt. I shook my head. No, he was just a random guy that plowed me down on the sidewalk and saw me act like a complete idiot.

  The unmistakable sound of the air brakes for my bus squeaked to an ear-piercing stop. I dashed off before I was stranded on campus for another hour. Nina was probably already waiting with pizza and zombies.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Professor Garcia swished a red pashmina over her left shoulder and strolled to the front of the lecture hall, letting the impact of her heels on the floor command attention.

  The sudden sounds jerked me out of my dreary thoughts. The left side of the auditorium was flanked with floor-to-ceiling windows, and the only thing I could see from my seat was a gloomy gray sky and naked oak trees glistening with melting icicles. The January temperatures hovered around forty degrees, making it a miserable existence on campus for my cold-natured body.

  “Welcome back, everyone! Let’s get started.” Jumping into the presentation, she pointed her remote at the smart board. “This is the day you’ve been waiting for. It’s finally here. It was a long few days, wasn’t it?” A Cheshire-like smile spread across her face. “I’m going to reveal your final project.”

  Ok, this was starting to feel like student hazing in some twisted kind of academically acceptable way. The three-day buildup for the mystery assignment had manifested itself in unrecognizable nervousness in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t even get this worked up before walking on stage. Why was Professor Garcia being overly dramatic about this?

  “Ok, gang. Here it is. I had a little help from last year’s class with the video.” The outlandish professor lowered the room’s lights and pressed play on the screen with the quick click of the remote.

  The growing mumbles and whispers circulating in the seats around me halted once the video began to roll.

  The young announcer’s voice boomed over the footage. “In today’s world, television is dominated by reality shows. But is it real? Can people really survive on a deserted island? Would you fall in love going on perfect dates? Do the wives of athletes lead the most glamorous lives? Could you convince your friends to eat roaches for money?”

  I winced at the image of a scrawny, sunburned woman cramming a handful of the creepy pests into her mouth. Pictures of other popular shows flashed across the screen. I recognized scenes from The Islanders, World Race, Matched, and Roommates—all shows I didn’t have time to watch since I was always in rehearsals.

  The music carried to a frenetic pitch. “Now it’s your turn to prove whether there is any reality in reality TV. Is this all just a network scheme to get viewers and money, or is it real? This semester you are one of these reality stars.”

  The students gulped and the whispers were almost deafening.

  Professor Garcia smiled and raised the lights in the lecture hall. “All right. All right. Keep the comments to yourselves. This is how it works. Using a handy little computer program, I have paired each of you with another classmate. Each pair has been assigned one of these reality shows. You will incorporate the theories from your weekly reading assignments into your final assessment of the show. At the end of the semester, you will present your findings to the class.”

  She followed the steps to the top of the hall and surveyed the highest row of students, apparently still trying to absorb the assignment being thrown at them. She slammed the remote on the podium.

  “I do not want a paper. You can write a paper in your other classes. I want you to live this. Discover it. Be it. Understand?”

  I was certain I wasn’t the only one who had no understanding of what was going on. How could this be happening? My final grade, the one I needed to graduate, was hinging upon some outrageous project that I had to work on with some random student and was being hijacked by Professor Crazy. I didn’t even watch reality TV.

  “You are probably anxious to see who your semester partners are. The pairings are listed in alphabetical order. Raise your hand when you see your name and find each other. Once everyone is paired up, I will give you your reality show. I’ll let you take the rest of the class to meet and come up with a game plan. Ready?” She paused with precision timing. “Oh, this is so exciting.”

  The students stared at the white screen, waiting for their names to appear.

  The presentation music started again. The first name on the screen flashed once and crawled into the left-hand column. Chuck Adams timidly raised his hand and waited for the name of his partner. The entire class turned and watched as Meredith Cruise smiled brightly, gathered her belongings, and relocated in the seat next to Chuck.

  I got the sinking feeling this was like something out of The Hunger Games. Come to think of it, Professor Garcia would fit in nicely in the Capitol. There was nothing I could do but sit and await my reaping results. Whom was I going to end up with for an entire semester?

  The roaring music drew my focus back to the screen. The next name to appear was Beau Anderson. That name sounded vaguely familiar. Before I could place where I had heard it before, the next name to flash on the screen was London James. Doing my best to catch my breath and look like this was the most natural selection process in the world, I cautiously searched the seats for Beau, whoever he was.

  Scanning the rows behind my seat, I hoped this guy was just as serious about getting an A as I was. No luck. I kept my hand high above my head, feeling more and more like an idiot on display in a bad game of middle school dodgeball. Where was this guy? I seriously considered giving up and asking Professor Crazy for a redo in her computer’s matching game.

  In the top seat, closest to the door, I spotted a raised hand. I peered at the male figure half cloaked in the shadows cast by Professor Garcia’s classroom theatrics. The mystery partner threw me a smile and a wave. Slightly relieved, I returned the seemingly recognizable gesture. However, as I collected my notebook and shoved it in my backpack, prepared to climb to the top of the classroom, I stopped. I remembered where I had seen that smile before. It was Bike Guy. As in, saw me land on my ass in the quad, Bike Guy.

  Not wanting to seem thrown by the partnership, I jogged up the stairs and slid into the open seat next to Beau Anderson, my partner for an entire semester.

  “Can you believe this? Crazy, huh?” He moved his book bag over to make room for my feet.

  Maybe he couldn’t tell I was eyeing him suspiciously, or ma
ybe my happy partner act was working. Didn’t he recognize me as the girl he had plowed down by the quad only two days ago? I wasn’t going to mention it.

  “I’m London.” I smiled.

  “Yeah. I saw that on the screen.” Beau leaned back in his seat and chewed on the end of his pen. “I’m Beau.”

  “I saw that on the screen.”

  I jerked as the sarcastic snip fell from my mouth. That was not what I meant to say. Something about this whole scenario was completely unnerving. I wasn’t sure if it was the project, the crappy introduction with Beau, or his apparent amnesia that was bringing out my bitchy side.

  My sarcasm didn’t seem to rattle him.

  “So, what show do you think we’ll get?” Beau reached for the bill of his hat and spun it so that it was it was facing backward.

  “Uh. I have no idea. I hope it’s something halfway interesting. Did you finish the reading over the weekend? The article on how reality shows are contributing to a culture of bullying was really cool.”

  “You actually read that?” Beau scoffed. He reached for a Styrofoam cup on the floor and took a sip of something that looked like orange juice.

  I tried to keep my heart from sinking. “You didn’t do the reading?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get to it. I had something I was working on for my blog.”

  “Wait a minute. That’s how I know you’re name. You’re that blogger guy my roommate told me about. You wrote the senior year bucket list blog.”

  “Yeah, that’s me. You read my list?” His voice cracked and I stifled a small giggle.

  “I read it. But you can’t possibly expect people to do all of the ideas on your list. Some of the stuff is out there.”

  “Honestly, I don’t care if other people do it or not. I’m going to check off every single thing on the list. I made it for myself.”

  “Impressive.” Ok, that was intentional sarcasm. Where was all this negativity coming from?

  It looked like everyone was paired off and nervously exchanging small talk. I saw Blair and Maggie from one of my other Communication classes in deep discussion. Those two were always together. Professor Garcia and her heavy boots began their ascent to the top of the classroom.

  “Here we go. I have your reality shows in my hand.” The colorfully clad woman shook a stack of note cards in her hand. “I’ll walk around and pass them out. It will give us an opportunity to chat a bit.”

  Taking two long strides, Professor Garcia landed behind us. “You two get first pick.”

  She presented the note cards fanned in a semi-circle, and before I could blink, Beau drew one from the center. He flipped it over in his palm and laughed.

  “What is it? Which show?” I took the card from Beau. It felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest.

  Over Beau’s sneering laughter, I read the card: Love Match.

  “Do you two have any questions?” Professor Garcia chimed in over the shock and awe plaguing us in that moment.

  Somehow, I managed to stammer out one. “Is this the dating show where people are supposed to propose at the end of the season?”

  “Fascinating, isn’t it? It’s one of my all-time favorites.” A wide-eyed Professor Garcia descended on the next unprepared pair of students.

  So much for chatting with her and discussing the topic. I turned to Beau, desperately seeking a solution. “Do you think we can trade out or something? I’ve never even seen the show.” I tried to keep my voice low.

  “And you think I’ve seen it? I don’t watch shit like that. It’s a chick show.”

  “How do I know what you watch? We have to fix this.” I raised my hand, waiting for Professor Garcia to turn and catch my frenzied hand waving.

  “Yes? Do you need something, London?” Both hands were on her hips.

  “Thanks for coming back over.” I swallowed hard, thinking my voice sounded small and quiet. “My partner and I were wondering if we could maybe trade in our show. Neither one of us has ever seen it.” I smiled sweetly and kept my eyes wide, pleading with the professor to dole out some sympathy on our situation.

  “That’s perfect! You have the best scenario in the class. You can start fresh and unbiased. Open your minds to the possibilities ahead of you.”

  Beau handed the card back to the instructor. “What I think London is trying to say is that we want another show.”

  I shrank back in my seat when I saw her eyebrows repositioned to the top of her forehead. “Is it Beau?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “This isn’t kindergarten where you get to swap out things because you don’t like them. You drew the card. You take it or you fail the class.”

  The card hung between them. Neither was backing down. I snatched it from Beau’s hand and tucked it in my notebook.

  “Thank you, Professor Garcia. We can handle it.”

  Her gaze softened. “Good. I look forward to your presentation at the end of the semester. And, London, I’ve heard such rave reviews about you from my colleagues, so I’m expecting something extraordinary from you.” Grinding her heels into the floor, she walked toward a gawking pair of our classmates.

  “Are you trying to get on her bad side or something?” I hissed at Beau.

  “I don’t really care what side I’m on with her. This show is stupid. We should be able to trade out for another one. And what are you? Some kind of college teacher’s pet?”

  “Well, we can’t trade. So stop making it worse.” I took a deep breath. “This is the last class I need to graduate; it means something to me. I can’t fail. And, no, I’m not a teacher’s pet—just a really good student.”

  I shoved my notebook in the zipper pocket, heaved my backpack on my shoulder, and bolted through the swinging door at the top of the auditorium. I didn’t know how much more of Beau Anderson’s nonchalant attitude I could take. It was obvious he didn’t care about the class or our partnership. He probably didn’t even need the course for his major. I would just have to ace this one on my own.

  “London. Hey, wait up. Where are you going?” Beau half-jogged toward me through the empty hallway. The classroom doors were closed on either side of us, and I could see furious note taking through the glass windows.

  My thumbs were tucked through my shoulder straps. Quick, think of something cool to say. I probably looked like I just freaked out in class in a less than rational freak-out kind of way. “I thought I would get a head start on watching some of the Love Match episodes.”

  “Uh. Ok. That’s cool, but don’t you think we should watch some together? You seem kind of pissed at me.” He was fidgeting with the bill of his hat.

  I started feeling guilty. “Sorry. It’s just that I need this class. And if you hate the show, I figure I’m going to have to do it on my own. I’m going to get an A on this project.” Jeez, I sound like a super nerd.

  Beau retrieved his phone from his back pocket. “Ok, what’s your number?”

  “My number?”

  “Yeah, so we can talk about the show?” His right eyebrow was arched higher than the other.

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s 967-1101.” I watched as he tapped the digits into his contact list.

  Two seconds later, my phone buzzed in my bag. “That’s me. Just save my number.”

  Standing in the cold hallway of Manning, I felt my resistance to my unwanted partner warm a few degrees. Maybe he was genuinely interested in trying to share the responsibility for this God-awful project.

  “After you watch a few episodes, let me know what it’s about.”

  Ok, maybe not.

  “Are you serious? If you think I’m going to do this project for you, you’re wrong, Beau Anderson.”

  “Whoa. I was kidding.” He backed up and threw his hands in the air. “You’re not much for jokes are you?”

  Embarrassed, I tried to keep my cheeks from turning a bright rosy pink—the color my mom always said was the telltale sign I was wrong about something. “Right. Yeah, I knew that. Ok. Let’s
just text or something after we’ve watched some episodes.”

  I headed for the door. I had to get away from Beau. At least he didn’t remember me from last week; I realized that was actually a blessing. I was completely off today and everything coming out of my mouth was either bitchy or entirely dumb—neither one a part of my personality. I had even stumbled through the cold reading I did for Derek’s new play this morning.

  I pushed on the door’s handle bar and shoved forward, taking in a deep breath of cold air. I jogged down the Manning Hall stairs.

  “London, hold up.”

  I swiveled toward him, catching a patch of ice with my heel. There was nowhere to go but down. My arms flew out, trying to grab the railing, but I landed on my bottom.