Verwandte Artikel zu This Side of Falling

This Side of Falling - Hardcover

Chan, Eunice

 
9781641295178: This Side of Falling
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 1641295171 ISBN 13: 9781641295178
Verlag: Soho Teen, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

In a devastatingly honest coming-of-age debut, a Chinese American teen navigates grief in the wake of her first love’s death by suicide.

Not real. The mantra seventeen-year-old Nina repeats to herself the morning after her almost-boyfriend, Ethan Travvers, jumped onto the tracks in front of a freight train. The two words that keep the truth just far enough away so the loss can’t touch her, grief can’t break her. After all, there is the family image to uphold, especially when her dad’s startup begins to flounder. Maintaining the illusion of wholeness and success is everything to Nina’s mom and grandma.

The pretense is working—until Nina’s all-star older sister, Carmen, is dismissed from college and abruptly returns home. Carmen’s arrival and strange behavior dig up buried memories, leading Nina to wonder if there is more to the story of Ethan than even she knew. The truth is not what she wants to believe: about Carmen, about Ethan, but mostly, about herself.

Emotionally layered and unflinchingly honest, this novel will resonate with readers who love deeply affecting stories that tackle teen heartache in the vein of Kathleen Glasgow and Laura Nowlin.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Eunice Chan hails from Davis, California, and is a graduate of UC Davis. She has completed a program in Special Publishing with the Institute of Children’s Literature and has published fiction with Clubhouse magazine. Currently she lives in Phoenix, Arizona, and works as a civil engineer.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

Not real, I tell myself. Not real.

My fingers tighten around the handle of my violin case. I see heads turn as I pass the art building and sense the sudden hush. Like this isn’t some twisted joke, like Ethan Travvers really—

“Nina!” Someone calls my name.

I glance behind me. Roger Kishimoto is pushing through the crowd, one long, skinny arm waving wildly. He wants me to slow down. Stop.

“Nina Yeung!” he calls again, louder, and even from this distance I can see the worry in his eyes—

No. This isn’t real. I need to find Beatrice Ryzhenkov. I need to see her. I need to know.

“Nina, wait!” Roger shouts.

But I’m jogging now, my new sneakers slipping on the worn concrete, violin case thumping against my leg. It’s the first day back after winter break, the halfway point of my senior year. Lockers slam, voices shout across the outdoor halls.

“You went to Paris for New Year’s?”

A short scuffle followed by a burst of laughter. “Hey! That’s my new phone!”

“Sorry, I have basketball practice until six. What about tomorrow?”

Bits and pieces of conversations. A collage of lives: past, present, future—

I push past them, turning down one hall then another. She could be anywhere, I tell myself. But the familiar bitterness rising in my throat reminds me otherwise.

Just past the history building, I see her: muscular frame, purple hair, tall combat boots.

Before I can cover the ground between us, the warning bell sounds for first period. I’m caught in the sudden exodus from the girls’ bathroom. I’m spun around, feet tripping one over the other, falling—

I hit the bank of lockers behind me with a sharp thunk. Send the doors rattling against their thin frames. The couple making out just down the row look up, annoyed.

“You okay?”

Someone reaches out to steady me. I don’t turn to give an answer because Bea stands just a few feet away at another bank of lockers, her jaw set, fists clenched, knuckles bloody.

“Bea?” I begin, but instead of turning, she slams her fist into Ethan’s locker, over and over. Like she’s been doing this all morning. Like she’s going to do this all day.

“Bea,” I say again, needing her to look at me.

But it’s as if she doesn’t hear me, doesn’t see the people who’ve gathered to stare.

I take a step toward her, my body tense, already bracing for her barbed comment. She never thought I belonged with Ethan.

Slam.

The force of impact makes me flinch.

Slam.

Black mascara runs down Bea’s cheeks. I’ve never seen her cry, didn’t think she knew how.

Slam.

Bea’s arm drops and she staggers back, gasping for air. In that split second, our eyes meet and I see it. The Truth.

“No—” My voice is lost in the roaring that has started in my ears. Axles jolting, gravel scattering. Steel wheels screaming along steel tracks, picking up speed.

Davis High Senior Ends Life on Tracks. The news app headline on my phone this morning that went on to give a name. Ethan’s.


Chapter 2

Both passenger and freight trains pass through Davis, a university town in northern California located on Interstate 80 between Sacramento and the Bay Area.

The train station downtown, the railroad tracks, the blast of the train horns are all familiar to me, as much a part of life as the surrounding farmland and the fifty-plus miles of trails and bike lanes connecting the community.

But nothing felt familiar as I biked to school this morning. Instead of the rumble of the early morning trains passing through, the only sound I could hear was the heavy thudding of my own heart.

It wasn’t him, I told myself as I biked past the gourmet grocery store, the bank, the donut shop. The name in the news release had to be a mistake. After all, there are over five hundred seniors at Davis High—

I skidded to a stop, my way blocked.

Road Closed. The large rectangular sign was mounted on the traffic barricades at the bottom of the overpass bridging the tracks. The same overpass Ethan and I often crossed on our bikes, fighting our way up the steep incline and coasting down the other side.

Behind me, cars turned, following the smaller black and orange signs marking the detour.

No. I shook my head. No. But the thudding in my chest only grew heavier.

Now, as I approach the double doors to first period orchestra, I swallow hard, trying and failing to block out the image of Bea in front of Ethan’s locker, mascara tracks running down her cheeks, her knuckles bloody.

Not real, I tell myself.

Those words are a wall, a wedge, between me and the Truth I saw in Bea’s eyes.

“You heading in?” the timpani player asks, holding open the door.

Yes. No. I don’t know.

Somehow, I force a nod, and holding tight to the handle of my violin case I step inside.

Symphony orchestra is always chaos the first day back after winter break. Folding chairs topple. The bassoonists and bass clarinetist brawl, three against one. The flautists shelter behind a bank of music stands a respectable distance away.

At the other end of the orchestra room, the violists cluster in solidarity, whispering furiously. Apparently, their section leader has turned in her viola, picked up the sousaphone, and joined the pep band. Who does that?

I head straight for the violin section. But out of the corner of my eye, I see the lights on in the small office by the double doors. Mr. Martinez, our orchestra teacher, works on his laptop, a tin of breath mints and three cups of coffee lined up on his desk. Fuel for the morning ahead.

I draw in a shaky breath—Not real.

Davis High is a nationally ranked high school with a reputation for strong academics—and an exceptional music program. Mr. Martinez’s standards for performance are high, and getting his letter of recommendation for my college and music-intensive applications last fall meant everything to me.

I know I should go to his office and talk about the string quartet’s winter repertoire. Get his thoughts on any new pieces we should consider. After all, Mr. Martinez has given me the lead role for the string quartet this year, a role I’ve been fumbling.

I desperately need to get back on track and in his good graces. At least that’s what I told myself all winter break. But now I can’t think, can’t speak. In my head I’m replaying that split second when Bea’s eyes met mine this morning.

Not real.

“Excuse me . . . Sorry.” I jostle down the row of violinists, keeping my gaze averted, sheet music clutched to my chest. I don’t want them to talk to me. Don’t want them to look at me.

“Hey, Nina! What’d you do over break?”

“I like your jacket.”

“Are those new sneakers?”

I do love my new high-top sneakers, the down jacket that makes it look like I actually spend time outside. Likely on a glacier. But I don’t smile, don’t say a word. Their question marks hang in the air as I take the second chair next to Roger’s girlfriend, Lucy Beyers.

Not first, but second chair.

Setting the sheet music on the stand between us, I open my violin case and check the tension of the bow hairs, apply rosin. Try...

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Verlag
Soho Teen
Erscheinungsdatum
2025
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1641295171
ISBN 13 
9781641295178
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
272
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Soho Press
https://sohopress.com/the-best-of-soho-press-2021/

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