Page 6 of Falling Like Leaves (Bramble Falls #1)

Sloane drives us the two miles to Bramble Falls High, where the original brick structure with two large white pillars sits on a lawn dotted with trees both big and small.

Sprawling acres of infinite woods sit behind the building, the early morning sun captured in a thick mist overhead, giving the picturesque illusion that the trees are glowing.

Sloane parks in the student lot, and we climb out of her junky brown hatchback.

After spending the final day of summer break holed up in my room yesterday, working on my Columbia application while everyone else celebrated Labor Day with a cookout and friends in the backyard, I tossed and turned all night, my brain a never-ending carousel of thoughts—about my fight with Mom, about my dad still not calling me back, about my first day of school.

When my alarm went off this morning, I’d just fallen asleep.

I looked at my single rack of clothing, full of the basic fall essentials I thought I might need for the next three months, and sighed, trying not to think about what fun, quirky outfit I might be curating if I were back in New York.

Instead I pulled out a sleeveless white button-down dress I made from an oversized men’s oxford and paired it with red tube socks and some soft brown Gucci loafers.

To finish it off, I tied a green-and-red Gucci ribbon underneath my collar and secured it with mom’s cameo brooch.

I curled my hair into loose waves and tried to hide my tired eyes with concealer and mascara.

Now I’m running on adrenaline and the harvest spice latte Sloane and I stopped for because I would have died without it.

Luckily, I didn’t have to endure Cooper’s death stare at the crack of dawn, since Sloane said he doesn’t work mornings on school days.

As we walk up the short flight of concrete steps toward the front door of the school, a few girls run over to us and throw their arms around Sloane, squealing about how much they missed her despite seeing her around all summer. My heart twitches with what I think might be… jealousy?

I have plenty of acquaintances in New York—ones who are in the same extracurricular clubs, ones I compete against for better grades, ones I commiserate with about upcoming tests, ones I walk into school with.

But Fern is the only close friend who’s ever lasted.

Everyone else got tired of me saying I was too busy to hang out.

After I blew off enough parties, they stopped inviting me.

I go to a competitive high school, so everyone is focused on their academics.

But in their free time, my old friends do what other teenagers do—movies, parties, sleepovers, shopping, dates.

My “free time” is allocated to anything and everything that will help me get into my dream college or eventually get me a job at Dad’s company.

In high school, friends quickly became a thing of the past.

Fern and I work only because we don’t require too much of each other.

Sloane introduces me to everyone, including her friends Hannah, a curvy white girl with wavy brunette hair and cute denim overalls, and Preeti, a stunning Indian girl with eyelashes to die for, both of whom I met many summers ago but barely remember.

They all disperse, some going to find their lockers and others going to find more of their friends, and Sloane grins at me.

“You’re going to love it here,” she says.

I give her the best smile I can muster given the circumstances. Sure.

Sloane pulls me through the propped-open double doors into the school.

A blue Bramble Falls High banner hangs from the ceiling of the commons, where students loiter, catching up with friends or sitting at tables staring at their phones.

Ahead, freshly painted white walls are lined with blue metal lockers.

“The freshmen and sophomores are down that hall,” Sloane explains, pointing to a hall to our right.

“I’ll be with the juniors in that middle hall, and you’ll be down there.

” She points to the hall to our left. “It’s super easy to navigate.

Each grade level is set up in a U shape with both ends leading here. It’s impossible to get lost.”

“Good, because I have the worst sense of direction,” I say.

“I remember,” Sloane says with a chuckle, probably recalling when I managed to get lost at the mall during one of my summer visits here.

Sloane shows me the gymnasium and the auditorium, the art room, and a music room that also serves as the band’s practice space throughout the winter. Once our short tour of the school is over, she leads me to the heavy mahogany door of the main office.

“Welp, I probably won’t see you today, so good luck, have fun, and I’ll meet you at the flagpole out front at the end of the day,” Sloane says, her eyes catching on somebody behind me. “Ash, wait up!” She gives me one last look. “And let me know if you need me to punch Cooper.”

I laugh. “I never knew you were so violent.”

“Just sayin’?”—she throws an arm over my shoulder—“I’ve got your back.”

“Noted,” I tell her. Sloane drops her arm to her side and grins at me before practically jogging over to a cute Asian guy wearing basketball shorts and a hoodie, an orange backpack slung over one shoulder.

He smiles as she approaches, and she says something that makes him laugh before she ruffles his black hair.

They disappear down the junior hall, and I turn toward the office, take a deep breath, and pull open the door.

After having me pick my classes and showing me where my locker is, the administrative assistant leaves me to navigate the senior hall alone.

Luckily, Sloane was right. It’s easy enough to find my first class, where I sit at a desk in the back of the room.

A few people glance at me. Some whisper to their friends, asking who I am, saying they hadn’t heard anyone new moved to Bramble Falls.

Someone says they heard from somebody named Forrest who heard from someone named Betty Lynn that I’m from New York, reminding me that I’m in a small town with a robust gossip mill.

Mr. Beck, the physics teacher, has me introduce myself to the class because, despite this being the first day for everyone, I’m the only stranger. He begins going over the syllabus, launching into a speech about his grading scale, the makeup policy, and the importance of science to the human race.

When he starts his slide presentation—telling us it’ll be posted online but that note-taking is good for information retention—the guy next to me leans over.

“Hey, new girl, can I borrow a pen?” he whispers.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Who doesn’t bring something to write with on the first day of class?

I reach into my backpack and grab my purple pen with the light purple pom-pom on top and hand it to him, not missing his iceberg-blue eyes set against tan skin. His blond hair is long and styled on top but fades to short on the sides.

It seems Bramble Falls is the secret hub for hot guys.

He looks at the fluffy pen and grins. “Thanks,” he whispers. Then he bites his bottom lip. “Um, can I also have a piece of paper?”

I look at him, deadpan. “Seriously?”

He shrugs, and I tear a piece of paper from my notebook—my notebook filled with purple-lined paper because there’s no reason notes can’t be cute.

“Thank you. Again,” he whispers with a flirty smile. He eyes the paper, then lifts it to his nose. “Is this scented?”

It is. “Shhh.”

“Where’d you get this paper? I need to get some.”

“Yeah, you really do,” I whisper.

He laughs. “I’m Jake, by the way.”

Mr. Beck’s gaze snaps to us. I ignore Jake, and in my periphery he faces the front of the room and leans back in his chair, giving our physics teacher his attention. Or at least pretending to.

I’m pretty sure he’s writing a note on that piece of paper.

The remainder of class passes quickly, and after two more uneventful classes, I walk into calc with my shoulders back, trying to exude a confidence I don’t actually have—one of Dad’s secrets to success.

“Never let people see your weaknesses,” he always says. “Success is all about perception. Put on a smile and fake it till you make it.”

I’m so busy trying to decide if I should sit in the back again or if I should stop hiding and grab a seat up front that I almost don’t notice Cooper sitting in the second row of desks.

He’s wearing a pair of cuffed jeans over brown suede boots and a plain gray T-shirt.

The kids filing in behind me begin filling the seats, so I move forward, my feet finding their way to the empty desk next to him.

His eyes dart to mine, then travel over my outfit before he averts them. “Ellis.”

“Cooper.” I unzip my backpack and dig a new notebook and pencil out. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t talk, so why would you?”

I draw my eyebrows together. “And whose fault is that?”

His head whips to me but he says nothing as he stares at me, the muscles in his jaw ticking.

“What’s your problem?” I finally ask.

“The fact that you don’t know says a whole lot,” he replies.

He grabs the stuff from his desk, stands, and throws his backpack over his shoulder.

I watch as he asks someone to trade seats with him, and a second later he’s sitting next to a blond girl, and a freckly redheaded guy has moved to the seat next to me.

What the hell?

I spend the rest of class distracted, racking my brain for hints of what went wrong.

The last time I saw Cooper before we left that summer, we sat in the meadow at Starglow Summit talking about everything and nothing.

He braided my hair—having apparently learned by braiding breads—and we made plans for all the things we were going to do in the future, as if we weren’t closing the book on summer. As if I weren’t leaving Bramble Falls.