Chapter 4: Three Weeks Left

I’m walking to lunch, about to partake in the delicious consumption of the almighty beef fingers, when I’m ambushed by Ashton.

He follows me until I sit down at an empty table, parking himself on the seat right next to me.

I turn and give him a mock smile. “Hi, Ashton.”

“Hey,” he exhales with a breath, oblivious to my sarcasm. He flicks his hair and grins back, asking, “Have you changed your mind yet, little girl?”

I shake my head. “I’m sure you’re not told this a lot, but no.”

Ashton perks his eyebrows up, furrowing them into a quizzical expression. “What do you mean ‘I’m not told this a lot’?”

I sigh, dismissing, “Never mind.”

“No, really,” Ashton insists, grabbing my forearm. “Tell me.”

I raise my eyebrows, and admit, “You’re a pretty boy.”

“Are you trying to insult me?” Ashton smirks. He bats his lashes and adds, “Because it’s not working. Tell me I’m a pretty boy. The prettiest boy you’ve ever seen.”

“You are,” I repeat, and he blushes a little and looks down. “That’s the thing. You’re the type of guy who has everything go your way. Good grades, nice family, I’m sure even your adolescent bourn acne is under control.” He looks up at me as I continue, “I’m not the same breed as you, Ashton. I’m the girl who never gets her way. I’m always disappointed. I’m always angry. You’re a theme park, and I’m just a crack in the sidewalk.”

Ashton considers this, sitting quietly, gazing off at the wall. After about twenty seconds of pure silence, me expecting him to get upset and respond with examples of times things haven’t gone his way, Ashton blurts,

“So, you’re a part of me.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Do you have any friends coming?” Ashton interrupts, switching subjects, whether it be purposely or not.

“What? No,” I answer truthfully.

“Have you made any friends?” Ashton asks quietly.

“Why would you care?” I mumble.

Ashton delicately takes a strand of hair from my eyes, tucking it carefully behind my ear. “Because you’re a beautiful person. I don’t like to see beautiful people be hurt.”

“I’m not hurt, okay?” I lie, guilt twinging in my voice.

“Never said you were,” Ashton replies calmly. He tilts his eyebrows into a sympathetic look, adding, “But I don’t ever want you to be.”

“This is very sweet and all, Ashton, but I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” I admit.

“Why?” Ashton asks. “Do you not like boys?”

“Well, no,” I confess.

“You’re asexual?” Ashton guesses.

“No,” I repeat.

“Then what?” Ashton wonders.

“Look, I just don’t want to date you, okay? Or any boy for that matter!” I exclaim. I notice some people glancing over, so I lower my voice as I proceed, “Ashton, I’m really at a strange point in my life right now.” Yeah, about two weeks before your untimely death is a strange time to be alive.

“Hey, that’s fine,” Ashton assures. He raps his knuckles on the table, trailing off with, “So, you aren’t looking for a boyfriend.”

He peers over at me with his greenish blue eyes, the right corner of his mouth curling up into a crooked smile. “I’ve not given up on you yet. Just remember that, contrary to popular belief, Ashton Riley does not get everything he wants.” He stands up, finishing, “But I’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.” With that, he walks away. I don’t see him for the rest of the school day.

My mom drives me home, which reminds me all too much of my old school and its corresponding routine. I go directly to my room, wanting nothing more than to curl up in my faded duvet with my battered but personality filled copy of 1984 and disappearing into the world of George Orwell. Unfortunately, I’m not in there for twenty minutes when my mom calls up the stairs,

“Reagen! You have a visitor!”
I saunter down the stairs, wondering who it is. No one really sees me. Ever. I haven’t had a friend over since sixth grade. Once upon a time I had a lab partner over sometime after It happened. He tried to touch me, assuming that because of It my standards were low enough for him to meet. I swore him out, forced him to leave and accepted a D on the assignment that I did not deserve.

I enter the living room, not sure what to expect. As I walk in, I know that it will be a bit of surprise no matter who it is, and remind myself to stay calm.

And when I see Ashton Riley sitting with my mom, chatting about the superior czar Ikea and drinking English Afternoon Tea, I choke on my own spit.

Ashton spots me while he’s talking about this gorgeous stained mahogany mantle he saw the other day window shopping and grins. He excuses himself from my mom, taking another sip of his tea, which I can see is saturated with sugar. He gazes at me, greeting,

“Reagen, darling!”

“Hi,” I reply through gritted teeth. Ashton came to my house. I never told him where I live. He invited himself in and figured he’d be welcome. Who the Hell does that?

“You’re probably wondering why I would go to such an extent to visit you,” Ashton tells so convincingly that I wonder if he can read my mind. I send a telepathic message for him to say “weasel” if he can read my thoughts.

He must not receive this particular psychic message, as he continues on with, “I was given your phone number as I’m your school guide, so I decided to call. It was your home phone number, so your mom picked up, who was kind enough to invite me over.”

“How nice of her,” I respond. I glare at my mom, and then ask Ashton, “Will you excuse us ladies?”

Ashton stands, taking his tea with him as eh exits the room.

“Mom, why’d you invite a boy you don’t even know over?” I hiss, trying not to be overheard by Ashton, who’s wandered off to God knows where. “He could be a serial killer! Or a rapist! Or a salesman!”

“Reagen, calm down,” my mom orders. “He’s a nice boy.”

“I never said he wasn’t,” I point out.

“Then why on earth are you so opposed to having him over here?” Mother questions.

“He wants to date me,” I admit, lowering my voice.

My mom’s jaw drops. Her lips finally upturn into a goofy grin. “Aw, he wants to go out with you? You just have to say yes!”

“I don’t want to!” I whine, not caring how immature and ungrateful I sound. I’m probably the only person in the world who would ever turn down Ashton Riley. If I’m being honest, even heterosexual boys would start a revolution to get with him.

“Reagen, you have this incredible boy who’s obviously interested. Why are you dragging your feet?” Mom reasons.

Maybe because I don’t want to have him weeping over my coffin. “I’m just not looking for a relationship right now.”

“Then tell me, when are you?!” my mom cries, seeming to surprise herself with her aggressive tone of voice.

I feel so guilty I could cry at that moment. A realization strikes me like a truck. My mom is never going to have any grandchildren.