Falling Like Leaves (Bramble Falls, #1)(14)

“Thanks,” I say.

“Everyone, this is Ella,” Jake says.

“Ellis,” I say.

“Right. Sorry. This is Ellis,” he says.

“I heard you’re the mayor’s niece,” one of the guys says, licking orange Cheeto residue off his thick fingers. He flicks his head like he’s twitching as he tries to get his ash-brown hair out of his eyes.

“Yep,” I confirm.

“No shit,” Jake says. “You’re Sloane’s cousin?” He takes a bite of his turkey and lettuce sandwich.

“I am.”

He studies me, chewing, then finally says, “You two do have the same eyes.”

“We do,” I say, unsure how to respond to his observation of the only feature I got from my mom.

“She talks a lot more than you,” he says. “Not in a bad way. Sloane rules. I mean, not that not talking is a bad thing either….” I stare at him. “I’ll shut up now.”

The guys at the table laugh, and when Jake blushes, I can’t help but join them.

I push around a cherry tomato on my tray and try not to look at Cooper, even though I swear I feel his gaze on us.

Cheeto Fingers points to my tray. “You gonna eat that or…?”

“Are you saying you want it?” I ask him.

“If you’re not—”

“Don’t take her food, Slug,” Cooper says to Cheeto Fingers. “Give her time to eat.”

I’m torn between thinking it’s sweet that he’s telling his friends to back off my lunch and annoyed that he won’t talk to me but he’ll defend my food.

In any case, my appetite disappears when I don’t sleep, so I grab my apple, then hand my tray to the guy. “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” He picks up the grilled cheese sandwich and shoots Cooper a smirk.

“This is Slug, by the way,” Jake says.

“… Slug?” I cock an eyebrow at the nickname. At least I hope for his sake it’s a nickname.

“Slowest guy on the football team,” Jake says. “But he’s a lineman, so it’s fine.”

“I have no idea what that means, but okay,” I say.

“I think we met a long time ago, actually,” Slug says. “During one of your summer visits. Probably went by Brent then, though.”

“Oh?” I rack my brain. “I don’t remember you.”

“Shocking,” Cooper mutters under his breath.

Jake looks at him, confused. “And this is Cooper.”

“We’ve already met,” Cooper tells Jake.

“Oh,” Jake says, peeling an orange. He turns to me. “Didn’t realize you already knew people here.”

“I don’t really,” I say. “At least not anymore.”

Cooper’s amber eyes meet mine as Slug says with a mouthful of bread and cheese, “So, you’re probably stuck helping out with all the fall events, huh? Living with Mayor Sullivan, I mean.”

“It’s seeming that way,” I answer, tearing my eyes from the boy sitting across from me.

Jake pops a slice of his orange in his mouth. “Well, I’m working the register at the orchard this weekend. Coach makes every player volunteer for one fall event, so I figured I’d get it over with. We can be volunteer buddies,” he says, softly bumping me with his shoulder.

“Yeah, okay,” I say, earning me another one of his pearly-white grins.

Jake seems like the popular guy who can talk his way out of bad grades using his charm and good looks—the type of guy I can’t stand—but he does seem nice. And if I’m stuck volunteering anyway, at least I’ll be hanging out with someone who could potentially be a friend.

And Mom does have a point about adding it to my college applications—maybe I can get Aunt Naomi to write a recommendation letter. Then it’ll be worth it, especially because I don’t have a bunch of AP classes and extracurriculars to pad my résumé with here.

I take a bite out of my apple, a sense of calm settling in now that I have a plan.

Bramble Falls might not have a whole lot to help my chances of getting into Columbia, but it does have the Falling Leaves Festival. And I’m going to use that to my advantage.





Chapter Six




Sloane talks nonstop on the way home from school. About Asher (he finally got his license), about her classes (she has a notoriously hard Spanish teacher), about the newest book in her favorite series (it releases next week), and about my new friend.

“Is Jake not ridiculously hot?” she asks.

“He is,” I agree. “Not really my type, though.” Not that I have a type, but if I did, he wouldn’t be it.

“Please. He’s everyone’s type. Well, everyone who’s into guys, anyway. Athletic, funny, nice.” Taking her eyes off the road, she turns to me. “You can’t judge him for not bringing supplies to class.”

“It’s a major red flag,” I half joke.

Sloane rolls her eyes playfully as we pull into the driveway. We grab our backpacks and head inside, where Aunt Naomi is sitting in the living room, still sorting the autumn decorations.

“Hey, girls! How was your first day?” she asks, grabbing a pile of orange candlesticks of various lengths from a box.