Young Writers Society

The next day my mom wakes me up extra early so I have plenty of time to get ready for school. Seriously; it’s only ten minutes away, and I don’t have to be there until 8:30, but she gets me up at six. Again, I know she’s just trying to be helpful so I thank her and get up when it’s still Goddamn dark out.

She drives me over, leaving the house at 8:00. It’s pretty quiet the entire drive there, me gazing out the window and my mom tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

We pull up to the school, a stout, but also tall building that recently received a new music wing. My mom looks like she wants to hug me, her arms reaching for me, but she drops the left arm, and gives me a pat on the shoulder with the right.

“Wouldn’t want to embarrass you on your first day,” she says, her grin infectious enough that it manages to spread onto my face as well, known for its smile immunity.

“Bye, Mom,” I call, hopping out. A millisecond before I shut the door, my mother replies,

“Bye, Reagen.”

I watch the car drive off, gas pumping in thick white clouds from the exhaust pipe. The car makes a turn that leaves it out of my sightline, so I go inside finally.

I find my way to the third floor office with relative ease. I was given instructions to report here for my schedule and my guide, who will be wearing an orange wrist band.

When I get to the office, no one is there but the secretary. Perhaps the guide fell ill? Believe it or not, even our bravest heroes, public high school tour guides, are susceptible to disease. Oh, bless them.

“Hello,” the secretary greets. She’s a woman with greying hair wearing a button down blue blouse with a neutral pencil skirt.

I wave at her, replying, “Hi. I’m Reagen Bennett, and I’m here to pick up my schedule.”

She goes into her filing cabinet, muttering to herself. I manage to catch, “Reagen Bennett Reagen Bennett ReagenBennettReagenBennetReaganBennett……”

She produces a sheet of paper, which she hands to me. “I can’t say I know where your guide is.”

Not a second after, the rumbling of footsteps cause both her and I to crane our necks to peer behind me where the sound had come from.

There before me stands the most gorgeous boy my eyes could ask for. He has pale, clear skin and high cheekbones. His hair is dark brown, the kind that would look black in poor lighting. He has blond streaks towards his cowlick where the hair parts and in chunks in the back. The locks hanging down his neck and forehead curl on the ends, giving him the appearance of a little boy. As he smiles, deep dimples form on either cheek. He has stormy teal eyes that shine like none other.

He’s wearing a red button down with a black blazer. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the orange bracelet that, under different circumstances, would hardly be visible. His skinny jeans cling to his narrow legs and are cuffed at the ankles to show off his red hi top Chuck Taylors.

He grins at me toothily, and although I don’t plan on it, I find myself smiling back.

The secretary, clearly unimpressed, chides in a monotone, “You’re late, Ashton.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I had to drop my baby brother off at daycare.”

As if the boy could get any better. Not only is he a babe, but he’s apparently a total sweetheart as well.

The secretary remains disgruntled by his general presence. “You’re lucky Reagen wasn’t early.” She extends a paper to Ashton, which he takes, thanking her.

“Let’s go, Reagen,” Ashton says, nodding his head towards the door.

I follow him out, and he looks through the paper that the secretary gave him. I peek over, asking,

“So, what is that?”

“A reminder to stay after school. She’s my mom,” Ashton explains.

“Wow, really?” I ask. “Sorry, I know it’s probably not what a son wants to hear, but your mother seems to have nothing but utter contempt for you.”

He laughs, a real, easy sound. He’s not afraid of laughing too loud or too strange. He admits, “That would suck to hear, if she were my mother.”

“Wait, she’s not your mom?” I ask. “You just said she was.”

He shrugs. “I’m a compulsive liar. They just come to me. My therapist says I do it for attention, which my actual mother never gave me.” His lips upturn into another grin as he continues, “All maternal issues and personality flaws aside, welcome to our high school.”

“Gee, what a welcome,” I scoff.

“My name’s Ashton Riley, and I’m your tour guide. So…. Let’s see what your first class is…..” He makes a tutting sound with his mouth as his eyes go down what must be a copy of my schedule in his hands. “I see you’re a sophomore. I’m an idiot junior, so maybe we’ll have some classes together.”

I chortle, agreeing, “Yeah, maybe.”

“English II first period….. Mr. Riley’s room. That’s on the fourth floor, I’ll take you there,” he says. He grabs onto the loop of fabric on top of my backpack, explaining, “So you don’t get lost.”

We’re on our way up the steps when a passing boy snickers,

“Hey Ashton, cute dog. Can I pet it?”

Ashton scoffs and pushes past him, taking my hand. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a jerk.”

“Are there a lot of them here?” I ask.

Ashton considers this, then shakes his head. “No. Even the popular kids are nice here. The mean ones are the hoodrats, like that lovely boy that we encountered a few moments ago.”

I chuckle, “That’s good to know.”

“You have a gorgeous laugh, like that of a princess in a Victorian novella,” he compliments.

“Thanks, I’ve never been so uniquely admired before,” I thank.

He beams at this, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging his shoulders bashfully, replying, “What can I say, I’m a unique guy.”

I’m huffing and puffing by the third floor, my breathing coming out choppy and parted. Ashton kneels in front of me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Hop on,” he orders, patting his back.

I laugh, telling, “I’m flattered that you think I’m so incompetent, but I’ll live.”

Ashton stands, saying in a serious tone, “I in no way find you incompetent.”

I stare at him, eyes wide.

He breaks out into a grin, adding, “’Kay?” and holding out his hand for me to take, which I accept. He drags me up the rest of the stairs, calling in between labored breaths, “Newbie coming through! Unadjusted, disoriented newbie! Who is not used to stairs!”

We get to the final floor, and I can tell by the heat in my cheeks that my face is, at best, pastel pink, and at worst, tomato red.

“Thanks for walking me up,” I say, looking Ashton in the eyes.

“My pleasure, ya’ little weirdo,” he replies, ruffling my hair slightly. He leaves, and I’m honestly quite sad to see him go. I’m turn, and am almost in the room when I feel someone grab my shoulder. I look over, to see Ashton. I face him, jutting one hip out. “Yes?”

“Do you want to go out with me, strange girl?” Ashton asks. He states it as if he were conversing with his table mates about the menu. Timothy, what would you prefer for appetizers, the gluten free popcorn shrimp, or the calamari?

I tickle his stomach, and he squirms away, the smile still indelible on his face. “Didn’t your mom tell you not to talk to strangers, let alone date them?”

“I’m a rule breaker,” Ashton replies.

I giggle, contemplating the idea. I’m about to say yes, when I realize what I should’ve earlier. I’ll be gone in under three weeks. I shouldn’t even be making friends, as I’ll end up hurting them in the end. It’s selfish, to have a boyfriend for my amusement and then leave him. I’m a bitch just for leading him on.

I also realize that Ashton is no normal boy. He’s not afraid of me. I’m not yearning for him, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. He’s not going to make me want him, either. He’s just going to act like a man and accept the fact that I’m not hopelessly in love with him, or at least acting like it. The fact that Ashton is extraordinary somehow makes everything worse. I can’t ruin a gem like him. That’d be the equivalent of shitting on the Mona Lisa.

So, I tell him no. “I cannot date you, Ashton Riley.” His mouth drops open a bit, and his forehead creases. He reaches for my arm, and seeing this, I turn before he can, hurrying into my class.