The Art of Falling

By Jenny Kaczorowski

For seventeen-year-old Bria Hale, image is everything. She's a militant vegan with purple hair, Doc Martens and a permanent scowl. Kissing captain of the football team Ben Harris? Definitely not part of that image.

Now with each secret kiss, she's falling deeper for the boy every girl at Oceanside High is crushing on. Throw in a few forbidden bacon cheeseburgers and she's facing one major identity crisis.

Ignoring Ben should be easy, but when a flashy display of artistic spirit lands her in close quarters after hours with the boy she's too cool to like, she can't keep pretending those kisses meant nothing. With her reputation and her heart on a collision course, Bria must either be true to herself or to the persona she's spent all of high school creating.

Praise for THE ART OF FALLING

THE ART OF FALLING gives an honest look at self discovery during those delicate teen years, and how easy it can be to succumb to the stereotypes, yet how brave it is to rise above them.
- Ginger at www.greadsbooks.com
Jenny Kaczorowski's writing is easy to follow and before I knew it I was halfway through the book. If all of Bloomsbury Spark's books are like The Art of Falling they have a winning formula.
- Luna at Luna's Little Library
Jenny Kaczorowski's debut is fun, engaging and sweet and I'll definitely devour her future novels when I'm in need of an afternoon of escapism!
- Sophie at So Many Books, So Little Time
The romance between Bria and Ben was heartwarming, and the journey as Bria struggles to break out of the role she's created is very satisfying.
- Airianna at Ninja Girl Reads

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Dec 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781619634695

Jenny Kaczorowski

Raised in Avon, Ohio, the duct tape capital of the world, Jenny began her writing career as a featured columnist for her hometown newspaper. After spending her college years earning a BA in journalism (focus on photojournalism) from Kent State University, she vowed to never spend another winter in Ohio. After moving to Los Angeles, she found a job as a grant writer for Sound Art, a non-profit that teaches music in inner-city neighborhoods. At the urging of a friend, Jenny finally decided it was time to do something with all of the snippets of stories she wrote during microeconomics and wrote THE RIVER REMEMBERS, a YA paranormal mystery that earned a spot in the quarter finals of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award, where is was described as “atmospheric, evocative,” “richly textured, dark and dreamy.” Since then, she has completed two more novels for young adults and is seeking publication one step at a time. Apart from writing, Jenny is still an avid photographer, loves music despite no discernable musical talent and reads the dictionary for fun. She lives near Los Angeles with her husband, baby daughter and terror, er, TODDLER son. The four of them are always looking for their adventure.

Book preview

Author

Chapter One

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 once-over 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.

Crap. Can’t let that happen. Of course you’re the one picking up Star Trek references.

I’m allowed to be a nerd. In fact, it’s kind of cool. Ages had passed since the last time she’d been alone with Ben, but she fell into step with him, matching his steady stride with familiar ease.

Granted. He shrugged. Under his shirt, the muscles in his chest flexed, reminding her that he wasn’t a kid anymore. We’re doing two-a-days. I need a break from football.

You?

I know. Shocking, right? His gaze softened. It’s kind of nice to be out here. Unless you want me to go.

No. No, of course not. The hope is his voice revived her long-buried crush on her best friend’s brother. I’d just hate for you to get caught with me. Captain School Spirit and the angry vegan? It’s madness.

He laughed. Good thing we’re halfway to Santa Monica.

I don’t know how you stand being part of that crowd.

They’re not so bad, once you get to know them.

She shook her head. I’ll stick to my art nerds and theater geeks.

Hey, how was New York? He nudged her arm. I missed seeing you around.

Amazing. She danced a little way ahead, unable to contain her excitement. The art and the music and the city. All the noise and the lights. The food. The food is killer. It’s all so vibrant, so alive. It made me feel like I was a part of something, you know? Like I could be me.

His even stride hitched and he stared at her, warming her cheeks. I’m glad you’re back. Maybe Abby will stop moping now.

She nodded toward the gathering at the other end of the beach. Even from a distance, the bright pink and turquoise in Abby’s hair stood out. She seems pretty over it.

What are you guys even doing at the beach? Don’t cool kids like you avoid crowds? You should be at like a poetry slam or one of those silent movie theaters or something.

Do you have any idea what you’re talking about?

Nope. He grinned, white teeth shining.

She moved closer. Abby talked me into it. She wanted to have a party before school starts on Monday.

So you got sick of babysitting and wandered off? He raised a dark eyebrow.

She laughed. Something like that.

Ben sat down on the ramp up to a guard tower. The light over the door traced the perfectly balanced proportions of his profile and shone in his close-cropped hair. He had the kind of strong, chiseled face that made her wish she were a sculptor instead of a painter.

Sorry my sister is such a pain in the ass, he said.

Hey, that’s my best friend you’re talking about. She settled beside him.

Yes and I’ve been stuck in the same class as you two since kindergarten.

Another nine months and you’ll be free from us.

He gave her a half laugh. Don’t remind me.

Bria shifted, leaning against the handrail. Have you made a decision yet?

Not officially. I don’t sign until February, but I gave Oregon a verbal no last week.

Seriously? Abby said you had a full ride.

He shrugged. It didn’t feel right.

But Oregon is one of the best schools for football, right? Kind of seems like a big deal.

Ben looked around the beach, still deserted save for a lone seagull, before his eyes settled on her. I want there to be more to me than football, more than being that guy.

She stilled, aware of her heart beating in her chest and the air filling her lungs. Yeah. Yeah, I get that.

I don’t know. He stretched out his long legs, gazing at the ocean. I guess that’s why I’m out running after spending the entire day in practice. When I run, there’s no expectations, no demands. Just me and the sand and the sky and the surf.

I’m not exactly built for running, she said, eyeing her figure, much too tall and all soft around the edges.

You’re fine, Bria. Girls like Alyson Kane are the ones who aren’t built for running.

Bria snorted. She’d give anything to squeeze into Alyson’s tiny cheerleading uniform. Her body just wouldn’t agree.

So what about you? Ben said. Abby told me you visited some fancy art school in New York?

Oh. Yeah. She looked down at her hands, picking at a fleck of paint clinging to her cuticle. Pratt. I just have to get my application and portfolio in by November first for early decision, but admissions said I’m basically in if I want it.

Good for you. Wow. New York.

I know.

He tapped his foot against hers. Why don’t we do this anymore? Just hang out and talk.

Come on, Ben. It’s bad enough that you and Abby ended up in the same grade. You don’t need to feel bad for finding your own friends.

Abby says I’m not cool enough to hang out with you guys.

Bria burst out laughing. Ben – star quarterback, perpetual crush, best smile in school – not cool enough? The Queen of Cool herself is probably passed out drunk by now.

Hey. That’s my sister you’re talking about.

Sorry about that. She bumped her arm against his, lingering a little longer than necessary. When she pulled away, something in his gaze made her hands fidget and her tongue trip over her words. I mean, I love her, but you know…

Yeah. I know. His laughter faded away, leaving something sweet and tender and totally unfunny in his eyes. He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone, the kind of simple, casual touch that made her insides turn to mush. I’ve really missed you, Bria.

We went different ways. It’s fine.

His hand stayed pressed against her cheek. I wish we hadn’t. Drifted, I mean.

The cool night breeze and the relentless rhythm of the waves brought her closer, meeting him halfway. Side by side, knees and arms touching. Heads only a breath or two apart. The kind of charged air that forms when too many things are left unspoken.

She wanted to stop him, to push his hand away before he could ruin the uneasy truce she’d made with her feeling for him. But there is was: the moment she’d kept nestled in her daydreams for so many years, safe from reality, from possibility. Ben was looking at her. Seeing her.

Kissing her.

Good. Lord.

His lips were hesitant, just a quick brush against hers before he pulled back with nothing but questions written on his face. Questions she couldn’t answer.

But she didn’t move. She didn’t turn away. The shock worked its way from her lips through her limbs and across her skin, tightening her stomach into a ball of nerves.

He bent to kiss her again and this time she tipped her mouth to meet his full on. Warm, and soft, and tasting like Skittles.

Cupping her face in his hands, he shifted to pull her closer. Exploring, and searching, and still unsure. Warmth against the cool night.

Bria? Abby’s voice carried down the beach. Everyone is going home.

She eased away from Ben, averting her eyes.

Bri? Abby called again. I swear I’m done puking. Your boots are safe.

Ben bit his lower lip to control a laugh and Bria took that moment to extricate herself from his hold.

I should… she began, backing away across the sand. You know. Before Abby sees us and freaks.

Bria. His voice ached.

I’ll see you around. She flashed a smile, throwing up all her walls again. Someone needs to make sure Abby doesn’t fall into the water. Beside, don’t want people thinking I’m into jocks now or anything. So I should go.

He said nothing to stop her from half-running back up the beach.

Where were you? Abby asked, stifling a yawn. Was that Ben?

Come on, Bria said, steering Abby toward the parking lot. Let’s get you home before you make a scene.

Darling. Abby wrapped her arms around Bria’s neck. Anywhere we are is a scene.

Bria opened the door of her old Corvair. You’re sure you’re done puking?

I’ll be fine. Abby flopped down on the seat. All ice blue Disney princess eyes and white-blond hair, she looked nothing like her brother. But with only eleven months between them and the misfortune of birthdays that kept them in the same grade, it made sense that they’d try to separate themselves.

Does anyone else need a ride?

Nah. Abby slumped sideways. They’re all crashing at Vega’s house.

Bria glanced at the fire pit, but the crowd had dispersed. She said a silent prayer for her friends to all make it home safe, then scanned the beach for Ben.

Seriously, don’t be one of those girls, Abby said.

Those girls?

You know. The ones throwing themselves at my brother. Abby rested her head against the back of the seat. You’re my best friend and he’s my brother, so it’s practically incest.

Bria fastened Abby’s seat belt for her. That’s just gross. And you are really drunk.

I have to share everything with him. Don’t make me share you too or I swear I will disown you.

No worries. I so don’t have time for boys.

Seriously. Aunt Becky will totally freak if you screw up Pratt.

Yep. Bria shut the door and walked around to sit sideways in the driver’s seat and pull on her boots again.

You’re so wrong for him anyway, Abby said, stifling a yawn.

A white pickup with oversized mud tires pulled into the parking lot, driven by one of the other guys on the football team. Some loud, crappy rock shook the windows and the couple of guys in the bed of the truck exchanged screams for no apparent reason.

Ben! Alyson Kane opened the passenger door and yelled across the beach. Hurry up!

Bria ducked her head, retying the nonfunctional laces on her boots while Ben came up to the truck. Rick Wallace tossed at football at him and he plucked it out of the air without missing a beat. Alyson leaned out of the truck and wrapped her arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Bria jerked her head away, catching her reflection in the side view mirror.

The eyes staring back held her gaze. Her mother’s distinctive blue-green eyes. Normally she could disguise them behind layers of makeup and the bits of hair falling from her ponytail, but there they were, demanding honesty.

The truck roared away, leaving the parking lot empty and silent.

Bria raised her fingers to her lips, fighting a painful twist in her stomach. Ben had kissed her. Ben.

Chapter Two

Bria skipped the last step and jumped straight into the kitchen.

Dad set down his coffee and blinked at her. You’re chipper this morning, he said, his voice still rough with sleep.

Not all of us are zombies before noon, she said, pouring her own cup.

"Consuela baked muffins yesterday. She said they’re ‘bee-gan.’" His imitation of the old woman who’d kept their home since Mom had died was spot on.

Bria lifted a blueberry streusel muffin from the top of the basket and took a bite. Did you tell her to get you some new shirts?

He gestured at the white V-neck visible under his bathrobe. What’s wrong with these ones? I have like a dozen of them.

Working from home isn’t an excuse to be a slob. Mom would make you shower.

Hmm. She’d probably make me get a haircut too.

Six years was just long enough that they could talk about her without the raw edge of pain that followed the car accident.

I’ll leave a note for Consuela to make you an appointment, Bria said.

Ready for the first day of school? Dad straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Sure. She took a long swig of coffee. Did you get a receipt for your meeting last night?

Right. Thanks for the reminder. He grabbed his wallet from the counter and pulled out a crumpled sales slip. Sorry.

Bria smoothed it and typed the expense into an app on her phone. You know you can deduct fifty percent of qualifying meal and entertainment expenses – if you keep track of them.

I know. But it was just me and Josh getting some sushi.

She jotted down the music executive’s name on the top of the receipt. What did you talk about?

The Vintage Radio Incident is releasing a new single. He wanted to show me the cover.

Business expense. She wrote VRI artwork below his name. For all his many fine qualities, Dad sucked at accounting.

I’d be lost without you, he said.

I know. She tucked the receipt into an accordion folder with his other expenses for the month. How did the contract negotiation go yesterday?

You know, another exciting day for an attorney. Still trying to work out the rider.

Freeing an oversized blueberry from the muffin, she popped it into her mouth. What kind of absurdity did you put in this one?

White chocolate macadamia cookies with no nuts.

Is that even possible?

It is if they ask the guys for clarification. Dad pushed back from the table and stood, stretching his arms and legs. They need to know promoters are paying attention. It’s a safety thing. If they can’t get the cookies right, how can they trust they got the stage setup and stuff like that right?

I guess.

He twisted his arm