Page 20 of From Asher, With Love

“Ms. Keeler?” Mr. Jorgeson says beside me.

“Yes.” I snap my head to the right.

“You may return to your seat now.” His eyebrows rise over his thick, black-rimmed glasses. “Unless you have more to your report on how the Declaration of Independence was drafted?”

I blink, swallowing the lump in my throat. Today isn’t my day.

Between the snickering and hushed giggles from the rest of my classmates, my cheeks engulf into flames. “No, sir,” I mutter, before shuffling back to my desk in the third row,directly in front of the boy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

He’s wearing the same clothes he’s worn every day that I’ve seen him, but I can’t help the thoughts running through my mind. It’s as if there’s this secret between us—one only either of us know—and every time he looks at me, my heart skips a beat. He still hasn’t spoken to me. I’ve never heard his voice, and while it’s three weeks into the start of our senior year, this is the first time I’ve seen him at school.

I take my seat in front of Asher, only knowing his name from when our teacher introduced him to the entire class less than an hour ago before directing him to take the empty desk behind me. I rest my head in my hand, shielding myself from the rest of the class.

While staring at the pressed flower between the pages of my history textbook, I hear Miranda giggle beside me. “Not only is her family an embarrassment, but she is, too.”

“I know,” I hear Courtney whisper back. “Can you believe she’s wearing that fuzzy jacket? What animal had to die so she could look that stupid?”

“Right?” Miranda croons. “She’s just screaming for attention. She’s so lame.”

Tears sting the back of my eyes, and I inhale a shaky breath. They both continue in a fit of hushed laughter as Mr. Jorgeson calls another student up to give their report. A tear slips from my eye, and I shudder when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

Sniffing, I wipe the tear away and quickly glance behind me. My eyes meet his golden browns before falling to the piece of folded paper in his hand.

I grab it swiftly before twisting back around to unfold it under the shield of my wooden desktop.

My hands are still shaking when I read the five words written on his note.

I thought it was beautiful.

I stare at them before looking back up. Mr. Jorgeson’s attention is on Trey reading out his report. I flatten the paper on my desk and scribble out my response.

Beautiful? I wouldn’t exactly call the drafting of the Declaration of Independence beautiful.

When I’m finished, I refold the paper and twist back in my seat, hastily dropping the note on the top corner of Asher’s desk before anyone notices.

I swear my heart beats loud enough for the entire class to hear. I bite my lip, expecting Mr. Jorgeson to look up and tell me to quiet it down, but he doesn’t.

I wait impatiently for Asher to read my reply, knowing I’m already falling for the boy I’ve never even spoken to.

What is happening?

My mind in spinning in circles, and my stomach flutters, when there’s another tap on my shoulder. The folded piece of paper slips down the front of my chest and into my lap. My cheeks are sore from grinning so much when I pick up the paper and unfold it again.

No, not that. Your voice.

I’m fixated on the last two words. Forcing my giddy heart to calm down, I stuff the note in my bag and pretend to focus on the rest of Trey’s presentation.

But the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about Asher’s note both burning a hole in my bag and on my heart.

SEVEN

CHARLEIGH

I was tempted to bail on Julianna’s plan to go out tonight, but I changed my mind last minute because I need a night with my girls.

Sitting in my apartment, alone, was only asking for me to think about Asher. Every breath inside the four walls for the past few days has been a hollow reminder of the life we used to have together. Every memory on repeat like a silent movie. The flickering of black and white. The kisses. The tears. The fevered touches. His finger tracing my collarbone. All of it silent but full of meaning.

But unfortunately, along with the pain comes the reminder of how my love for him blossomed. His adoration used to feel like the warm sun beating against my skin on a sticky summer’s afternoon. I can’t deny the haunting memories of how strong his touch used to be, or how the taste of his tongue used to light my entire body into flames. Over time I thought the memories would become foggy, but ever since seeing him again at the bar, I’ve been proven wrong. Every memory of Asher is crystal clear, and I hate it.

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