Heartfall, p.1
Heartfall, page 1
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of
the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
WORDS OF PRAISE
CONNECT WITH J.B.
DEDICATION
PREFACE
PROLOGUE
PART 1 (YOUNG ADULT CLAIRE)
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
PART 2 (NEW ADULT CLAIRE)
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
EPILOGUE
PLAYLIST
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
"Emotional, beautiful, and tragic... It's taken me a day just to wrap my head around what I had read." - Anna Gorman
"Heartfall is pure perfection and puts out such a powerful message to all" - Paula van Keulen
"Just know, this book is one hell of an emotional roller coaster, it will take you on the ride of your life, with so many highs, so many lows and several loopty loo’s that will leave you wanting to get off for fear of your hearth bursting into a million pieces but never wanting the ride to end, so buckle up, hold on tight and keep the Kleenex handy cause you will go through so many emotions. But after saying all that, I hope that truly speaks volumes to how amazingly written this book is and how much this is an absolute must read." - Lustful Literature
"The characters were complex and the story line flowed perfectly and never felt like it was dragging even for a moment. I felt every emotion as I was going on this journey with Claire - I felt her happiness, her self-doubt, her heartbreak, her anger, and finally her peace." - HopeLuvsBooks
"It’s rare for me to find a book that can play with every single one of my emotions, but McGee accomplished that through her diverse characters and twisted plot." - Rachael Duncan
To the person who told me they liked me outside the studio when we were fifteen, thank you.
You will forever have a special place in my heart.
I hope you found your peace.
To the Robinses, Nickys, Tiffanys, and Audrinas of the world – Your words and actions forever changed the person I saw staring back at me in the mirror and shaped me into the person I am today. But thankfully, there were more Sebastians, Liams, and Heartfalls whose voices were stronger and more powerful. To those people, thank you for investing in me, for always pushing me to pursue my dreams, and twisting my fate in the best of ways.
When I was five years old I wanted to be a ballerina, so my mom signed me up for dance. Over the next ten years, I explored all three styles: tap, jazz, and ballet. Tap ended up being my favorite, and I studied it for ten years, ballet for four, and jazz for one.
The years I took ballet, I was told to grow my bangs out, to wear my hair in a bun because that’s what ballerinas do. When I ate my snacks from the convenience store because that’s what my single mom bought me after school on her way to drop me off at the studio¸ I was ridiculed and told if I lost just a few pounds, I’d be the perfect size for a ballerina. I was in elementary school. Looking back at those pictures, I wasn’t fat. Not even close.
After my entire class was promoted to pointe and I wasn’t, I quit ballet.
While this story is fiction, there is a lot of me in Claire, but it only takes a few minutes to read the trending headlines to see that this happens to a widespread audience every day. I think there is a lot of every girl in Claire.
Do you like every part of yourself when you look in the mirror? Or did someone, society, make you feel if you lost just a little bit more weight or changed a small part of who you were, you’d be better in their eyes? And then after so long you found you didn’t like the person you saw through your own eyes, didn’t even recognize her?
Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think so.
When I started this book, that’s not the message I’d hoped to spread or share, but that’s what it ended up being. Like all of my other books, Claire’s story was cathartic for me because it helped me release a part of my past I didn’t realize I’d been hanging onto so tightly. As much as I loved dance, those years in the studio damaged me. But on the contrary, each day in the studio, each mean girl, each hurtful comment, they took an oyster and produced a pearl. A one-of-a-kind, oddly shaped, uniquely colored, and beautiful pearl.
Every day since writing Heartfall I’ve tried so hard to look in the mirror and find something I like about myself or to ignore something I’d ordinarily criticize, and I challenge you to do the same.
We’re all beautiful and strong women. This is Claire’s story on finding her beauty and strength. Along the way, she’s blessed to find incredible love too. I hope you enjoy it.
For two years I’ve been working this job. Countless times I’ve safely ushered some of the most gorgeous girls from the dark parking lots to their dorms as a proud member of the Cambridge all-girls college security team. Never once have I actually wanted to date any of them. Heck, I’ve never even really wanted to get to know them. It’s easier to protect them that way. No distractions, no attachments. All that changed when I got called to the side stage in the fine arts building. That’s when I saw her, her foot arched, her entire weight on the toes of one foot while she bent and unbent the knee of her other leg, briefly touching the toe of that one foot down to propel her body into a spin.
My mesmerized eyes fixated on her, and every time her face flashed in front of me for a beat, I was pierced by her blue eyes that stood out against her dark features. Even with her spinning, her exquisite beauty struck me. Maybe because her black hair was slicked back into a bun and the only thing I could focus on was her face, not her graceful arms, not her strong, toned legs. Just her face.
She stopped at the exact time the music I’d drowned out ceased. The auditorium fell so silent the rise and fall of her breaths reached my ears. She arched her spine, let her head fall back, and extended one of her legs out to the side while resting her weight on her other knee. The mounds of her full breasts were pushed up to her long neck. She wasn’t like the other dancers. Instead of being so thin I could count all her ribs, she had curves in all the right places. I sucked in a breath as my brain conjured what it’d be like to run my hand from the side of her cheek down her neck, and then strum the delicate flesh of her breastbone before traveling further south. I exhaled, then inhaled, hoping to get a whiff of her scent, but she was too far away. Instead of applause filling the room, a man sitting behind a table in the empty audience leaned into a microphone. “That completes your audition. Thank you, Claire.”
Claire.
She stood and turned toward me as she pranced off the stage. Her eyes connected with mine, and no matter how hard I tried to pry them away or sever this instant connection that drew me to her, I couldn’t. The closer she got, the more her cheeks flushed. She tucked her head down as she passed me, and my body’s temperature must have increased by ten degrees as I inhaled vanilla, flowers, and Claire for the first time.
A scent I knew I’d never forget. One I’d crave.
In less than two minutes, I’d become attached.
In less than two minutes, I’d wanted more than I ever knew I could have.
In two minutes, I’d started falling.
Worse than that, I didn’t even know if I’d ever see her again.
“You said you wanted to be a ballerina, Claire. That’s all I’ve heard for the past year.” Mom lifts my chin. “That you wanted to be a princess and twirl on your tippy toes.”
My eyes fill with tears as I look around the room.
“What’s wrong? Tell Mommy.”
I shake my head and start to run for the door, but Mommy pulls me into her arms. “Claire, don’t run away. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m scared.”
She smoothes my hair back. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, though, sweetie. Just be yourself.”
“But what if no one likes me?”
A tall man walks up to me and smiles. “Someone not like you? No.” He shakes his head. “I already like you, Claire. I’m Mr. Robins. I’d like to teach you how to twirl on your toes along with my new friend, little Tiffany. Would you like that?” He looks like the prince from Sleeping Beauty, but with longer hair and dark brown eyes. He’s wearing tights and slippers with a baggy shirt. Despite being nice, I squeeze Mommy tighter.
Tiffany smiles at me and offers her hand, tilting her head, but I stare at her big blue eyes. Her brown hair is twisted in a knot on the top of her head. I’m not sure how she got it like that, but it looks like it’s tight, like it’d hurt. My mom just put mine in a ponytail. “Would you like that, Claire? To come with Tiffany and me?”
I shake my head.
Mommy laughs. “You’re not here for people to like you, silly girl. You’re here to dance. Just dance. Chin up, Claire.” She tilts my head up and swipes my tears away. “You can do this.” I try to smile. She kisses my forehead. “You’re going to absolutely love it. The dance.” She pushes me back some and puts her hand over the thumping beneath my leotard. “It’s in here, Claire. It’s inside you. Go learn how to show it to the world.”
My arms squeeze Mommy’s waist as tight as I can, but she pushes me away. “Don’t go, Mommy.”
“I love you, my Claire Bear. Now, go learn how to be a ballerina.”
“I don’t wanna go to Nicky’s stupid company slumber party.” I glare at some random, arbitrary spot on my pink wall, stretching my body across the floor between my spread legs, holding my hands above my head. “Can’t we make up some lame excuse to miss it? Like we have food poisoning or something?”
Tiffany, my best friend for the past twelve years, huffs. “We have to go. That excuse only works so many times.”
I stare at the ceiling. “What’s the point of these anyway? It’s not like the entire company goes. It’s not fair Sebastian and Ben get a pass.” Sebastian Reyes and Ben Dolin, the two guys in our company. Obviously, it’d be inappropriate for them to attend a slumber party, but I’m sitting here trying to come up with some excuse as to why it’d be inappropriate for me to attend. And me wanting to rip Nicky’s hair out probably won’t work, either.
“Maybe this time it’ll be fun,” Tiffany says. Momma taught me if I don’t have anything nice to say, then to just keep my mouth shut. So that’s precisely what I’m doing. “Nicky and Audrina aren’t as bad as you think they are.”
“Mhmm.” I can’t hold the sarcasm back even when my mouth is closed and I’m muttering. “Have you forgotten what they did to Cayce at last year’s little slumber party?”
She snickers. “Claire. They did Cayce a favor.”
“Really?” Can she actually hear herself? “Is that what they call that these days?”
“Just sayin’.”
“I can’t believe you’re defending them.” I straighten my body, arch my back, and twist from left to right, then lean over and grab my right ankle. “They’re not nice people, Tiff.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. I gotta go. Mom’s calling me.”
“Bye.”
Speaking of moms. Mine tells me not to overanalyze things. So why do I find myself sitting here wondering why it feels like she didn’t really have to go, like she was sticking up for them, like maybe she’s their best friend instead of mine?
That’s just foolish, though. Because this is Tiffany. My Tiffany. Twelve years of having to pry us away from each other on Christmas Eve so we can spend twenty-four hours apart before we’re together again for another three hundred and sixty-four days. So, the very notion she’d entertain being friends with the mean girls whose sole purpose on this earth is to find ways to stab a knife in my heart is absolutely absurd, right?
“How was school?” Mom asks as I toss my book bag on the floorboard and slide into the worn leather bucket seat of her old Honda coupe.
I shrug. “Good. Tiffany told me I should try out for cheerleading. That she’s thinking about doing it.”
The car line barely moves as I buckle my seat belt. “And do you want to do that?”
“I’m not stupid, Mom. Despite you hiding behind your hair, I can see you grimacing over the bills. It’s all you can do to afford for me to dance.” Hence why she’s picking me up from school. She can’t even afford to get me my own car, even though that would mean she could actually have a lunch break that included eating instead of chauffeuring me around town.
The lines of her pale forehead smooth and she exhales as she grips the steering wheel a little tighter. She has long natural blond hair, and for some reason, it’s easier to see her features past it. “You let me worry about the money.” She glances at me, her blue eyes accentuated by the smoky lines of her charcoal eyeliner and brown eye shadow. Her nude lips form a small smile. “If you want to cheer, then try out.” I look nothing like her. Her eyes are a much lighter shade compared to mine. Hers the color of the sky on a clear day, mine the color of it on a bright night when it’s illuminated by a full moon. My father’s genes were clearly the stronger of the two. I don’t really remember him.
“I’ll think about it. That’s what I told Tiffany.” The line finally starts to move. “Money aside, I’m not sure how we’d hardly have time to do both.”
She nods, chewing her cheek. Sixteen years on this earth and I’ve figured out that’s what she does when she’s deep in thought. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’m not going to do it.”
“I’m not worried about it. It will all work out. Do it if you want.”
“Okay.” Raindrops start to fall on the windshield. Great. That explains why my mane is so uncooperative. I pull the visor down and drag the strands of my dark, frizzy hair into a ponytail, twist it into a knot, and secure it with the elastic from my wrist. Reaching down, I unzip my book bag to take my bobby pins case and secure any loose ends. “Mr. Robins won’t like it if either of us do anything other than ballet, anyway.”
“Huh?”
“Cheerleading. He won’t like it if we make the squad. He’ll be livid. He always says you pick one skill and perfect it. For us, that’s ballet. It’s been ballet for twelve years. You don’t all of a sudden try out for cheerleading halfway through high school.” I shake my head and throw my hands in the air. “Who does that?”
Mom turns into the convenience store she always stops at to get my afternoon snack before dropping me off at the studio. “You. If you want. Don’t be a follower.” She glances at me. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll—” She opens and closes the door. Everything in me should be thankful for the food she gets me before every class, for the gesture of her buying me a snack, for the fact she doesn’t want me to be hungry before dinner, but I can already hear Mr. Robins drilling in my ear about it. I’ll eat it anyway, though. I’ll likely consume every last unhealthy crumb of it, even if I have to hide doing it, because my stomach rumbles as she opens the door and tosses the bag in my lap. She puts the car into drive. “Thank you for the snack.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie. I’ll pick you up at the end of your class. Be watching for me so I don’t have to come inside, please.”
I nod.
The quick shop she stopped at is right across the street from the studio, so she comes to a stop in front of the old building in no time, and I lean across the console and give her a peck on the cheek while grabbing all my bags with one hand and opening the door with the other. “Love you.”
“Love you, Claire Bear.”
