That’s actually what we’re doing.
Yeah, we kiss. Some nights we kiss a lot, and there are wandering hands involved too. I refuse to let him kiss me on campus. That’s gross. We’ll hug and hold hands. Everyone knows we’re a couple, and we’re at that age where a lot of us in my class have been in long-term relationships.
But I’ve never told Ben I love him. He’s never said it to me either. I have friends who are in relationships where they say I love you within a week. That’s moving way too fast for me. Almost like they say it only because they think they have to.
Love should be earned. And once earned, it should be considered precious. A gift. You give it away too freely, and it becomes meaningless.
Do I still see Ash at school? Of course I do. He’s on the varsity football team this year, our quarterback, and I’m right there on the sidelines, cheering him—them—on. We’ve played four games so far this season and we’ve won all four of them. In fact, I’m walking to my car right now after a game, exhaustion making my steps slow. Fridays are the worst. The long day in class, the time after school where we’re hanging out in the cheer room and getting ready before we finally go out and cheer at the game.
It’s past ten, and my car is in the side lot at the high school where no one else really parks. My coach is still up in the cheer room, and I walked out to the parking lot with Kaya, who’s also on the team with me this year. But she already took off with Jaden, who was waiting for her in his black Dodge Charger.
Meaning I’m all alone.
The school campus is sprawling, and this particular parking lot leads to the school bus and van parking area as well. No one’s really out here at this time of night. The band room isn’t too far from the cheer room, and I can hear some of the band members still calling to each other. See a few parents waiting in their parked cars for their kids to come out so they can leave. Normally I’m gone by now, but I helped our coaches put away some of our equipment, a duty those of us on the team trade off every time there’s a home game.
Usually I leave with Ben. We go out for pizza with our friends, or sometimes we sit in his car at the park close to school, where we usually end up kissing for a while. But he’s out of town this weekend. He’s at some sort of bonding retreat for the basketball team and won’t be back until Sunday night, so I won’t see him at all. Which is probably a good thing. I need to clean my room. Catch up on laundry. All that boring stuff I usually push aside, which aggravates my parents to no end.
I hear a familiar voice call my name and I stop, glancing over my shoulder, but no one’s there. Uneasiness sends a shiver down my spine and I look around, spotting a giant man sitting in an equally giant truck. I recognize him. A parent of one of the boys on the band’s drum line. He doesn’t know my name, so I know it’s not him calling me, but it’s reassuring to know someone is out here. I can scream bloody murder and he’ll probably come running.
I’ve started walking again when I hear my name once more. Louder this time. Coming from my left. I turn, squinting into the darkness, and that’s when I see a flame light up. A match. It illuminates his face, the sharp angle of his jaw. I recognize those dark eyes and the equally dark hair, and everything inside of me lights up like that match he’s still holding.
Asher Davis, sitting in his vehicle.
“What do you want?” I call out to him, sounding completely put out. I don’t want to talk to him.
I so want to talk to him.
He laughs and practically leans out the driver’s side window. “Now that’s a loaded question.”
Rolling my eyes, I slowly approach his vehicle, a beat-up old truck that’s probably seen better days, and those days were a long-ass time ago. I tell myself I shouldn’t do this. Someone might see us—who, I’m not sure. All I’m doing is talking to him. Big deal. Is that such a crime?
Look at me mentally arguing with myself.
The passenger window is open and I lean into it, wrinkling my nose when the scent hits me. Ash is propped between the driver’s seat and door, his gaze hooded, with what I think is a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Or maybe a joint, I don’t know, so I decide to ask. “Are you smoking a joint on school property?”
“No.” He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and shakes his head, laughing. “When did you turn into such a prim little maiden, Callahan?”
I can’t even believe he called me a prim little maiden. Who says that? “Then what are you smoking?”
“Just a plain ol’ cigarette. Looking for that nicotine rush,” he says, as if that’s the most logical answer ever. “I’m guessing since you can’t distinguish between the two, you’ve never smoked a joint before?”
“No.” No one I know smokes actual joints. They all use wax pens, not that I ever have. Drugs scare me. Mom’s preaching against them actually worked, at least with me.
“Have you ever vaped?”
“Ew, no.” I shake my head. Thank God Ben isn’t into vaping, though I know a few of his friends are. We’ve gone to parties together and drunk alcohol, but I’m always a little scared of losing control, so I keep it in check. “You?”
“No.” He sucks on the cigarette and then blows the smoke out, filling the cab of his truck. “That shit will kill you.”
Ah, the irony.
“And cigarettes won’t.” My voice is flat. I don’t know why we’re having this conversation. It’s pointless.
It’s like my feet are rooted to the spot, though. I haven’t talked to him in almost a year. A year. That’s insane.
“Not as fast as a fucking vape will. Don’t you watch the news?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. “Besides.” He shrugs, leaning forward to stub out the cigarette in the ashtray that’s near the gearshift. “I’ll quit before I turn twenty.”
“If you’re still alive by then.” The moment the words leave me, I feel bad. That was rude as hell to say to someone, even Ash.
But he’s not offended. He’s grinning at me like a big dope. “Nothing can kill me. I’m invincible. Didn’t you see me out there?”
I’m guessing he’s still feeling high from their win tonight. “You played a good game,” I admit reluctantly.
“Took everything out of you to tell me that, didn’t it?” His smile widens, if that’s possible, and it’s a sight to see. He’s usually scowling when I see him on campus. Scowling on the football field right before he throws another amazing pass. Scowling whenever I pass him in the hallway or see him in the quad at lunch. Scowling in class—though we don’t have any classes together this year, so I can’t confirm if that’s true or not.
Did I mention he transferred out of chemistry a week after our infamous makeout session? Yep, he sure did.
The coward.
When he’s not scowling, he’s got his tongue shoved down some other girl’s throat. Usually during lunch. It’s enough to make me want to lose my actual lunch, every time I see his possessive hands on a girl, their lips locked. It’s so disgusting.
He’s so disgusting.
He’s all the rage, and I hate him for it.