Page 3 of Saving Barrette

Believe me, I know. I’ve been drooling over him long before she noticed. I noticed Asa over an hour ago, but I didn’t want to give myself away. I’ve been watching him the entire time, my heart fluttering with every blink of his dark lashes and the way his golden blond hair shines under the shimmering sunset. He’s just as beautiful as the day he left. It should be a crime for a teenage boy to be beautiful. It’s unfair to all the girls that work at it and he probably—I know he does—just rolls out of bed that put together.

“When did he get back in town?” she asks, as if implying I should know by the tone of her voice.

Cadence knows our history. I cried on her shoulder for two weeks after he left. She gets it. Trying to play it cool, I shrug. It’s easier than telling her I don’t know. One would think given our past I would know exactly when Asa returned to town, but I don’t. I lost touch with Asa not long after he left.

It happens then, his eyes slowly drifting to mine, meeting my gaze. Only this time, they don’t hold. He looks away, as if his expectation of what he thought he’d seen, he hadn’t.

Did he not recognize me? Sure, I look slightly different, but just because I have boobs now doesn’t mean I’m completely unrecognizable to the girl he used to know.

You know that feeling when a memory hits you and it plays out in your head like a nightmare? That’s the feeling I get when I recall the day Asa left and me begging him to take my virginity. Yep. At fourteen I had it in my head I needed my virginity taken and it was going to be Asa Lawson. It had to be as far as I was concerned. Wasn’t exactly my best memory of the last four years because spoiler alert, he said no. He said, “I can’t take that from you.”

Whatever the hell that meant other than, screw you—actually no screwing happened—I’m not having sex with you. And then he laughed, pushed me away and smiled before following up his soul-crushing denial with, “You don’t want me like that, and you know it.”

Cadence glances over her shoulder at him, and then quickly looks away. “Did you ever hear from him at all?”

My hands tremble at the memories, my heart catching. It stills, tries to understand, but it’s something beyond comprehension for me. Dryness seizes my lungs and I swallow, or attempt to. Nothing works. My heart races, my breathing fast and rapid.

Why does he still spark this reaction in me after four years?

Cadence bumps my arm, my drink sloshing in my cup and spilling over the sides. “Hey, did you hear me?”

I stutter, “W-What?”

Her blue eyes snap to his and then back to me. “Have you talked to him?”

“No.” I bite the inside of my cheek. Can you hear the way my heart thuds? Do you notice my breathing and the quick hitch to the shifting of my feet in the gravel where the water’s edge tickles our bare feet? When you’re an eighteen-year-old girl on the verge of everything you don’t understand, those are the emotions that drown and suppress words.

I lift my eyes to his and notice the quick glance to mine, as if he knows I’m watching him. To my surprise, he crooks a half smile in my direction.

Holy crap. Look away.

I can’t.

He still has that same smile, boyish but serious. It’s the same smile that used to instigate my own. And he’s beautiful, as always. Me? I’m nothing like that fourteen-year-old girl he left. For a moment, I’m lost in my own head, remembering the smallest details about a boy everyone in this small town worshiped, including me. It’s then I realize he’s looking right at me.

Shit, he noticed.

And here I thought he seemed completely unfazed by my presence here, or at the very least, unaware. Quickly as I can, I divert my eyes because my face is probably redder than the plastic cup I’m holding. It pisses me off that I’m so easy to read it’s ridiculous.

“Roman said his mom died,” Cadence adds, a certain sadness to her voice. “That’s like, so sad. I thought for sure she’d beat the cancer.”

Afraid to risk a glance in his direction, my eyes deceive me again and land on the boy who held my hand for two years through the awkward middle school years, and harshly left me when I needed him the most.

With my cup pressed to my lips, I mumble, “Yeah, she passed away last week.” Just because I didn’t keep in touch with him didn’t mean I hadn’t stalked his dad to find out every little piece of information I could about him. His dad? Orthopedic surgeon. I intern at his office doing filing only so I can hear every detail about Asa’s life. If that doesn’t scream pathetic, I don’t know what does. Probably me stalking him on Instagram under a fake account—which I do—but we won’t discuss that. Maybe throwing yourself at him and begging him to take your virginity. That’s probably one too.

“I heard he has a full ride to UW.”

“Yep.” Again, I only know any of this because of his dad. It’s the same reason I applied there too.

Cadence stares at Asa, eyeing his appearance. I can’t really blame her. I do it too. He’s wearing relaxed jeans, a black T-shirt, and a hat. Though I can’t see his eyes, I’m familiar with their exact color. Dark brown with a hint of green to them. He stands across the fire, solid, strong, a red cup in hand. Is he drinking beer? Vodka? Water? I’m dying to know.

There’s a girl beside him, black hair, busty, but his interest doesn’t lie with her. He hasn’t even looked over at her, but it doesn’t stop the burning sensation in my chest or the pinch to my brows as I attempt to melt her with my gaze. I wish I was the one standing next to him, sharing the space and conversation, but I can’t make myself move closer to him in fear he’ll say he doesn’t remember me.

Sliding her sunglasses up, Cadence tilts her head to mine when she hears his laughter in the distance over something Roman says to him. “He seems okay, like not sad.”

Not sad? Sure, that’s probably what he wants everyone here to believe. I know the truth. Years can’t erase that. I can tell by the rigid set of his jaw and the slump of his shoulders, he’s not okay. And that laugh? It’s the one he uses when he’s trying to be nice. I know this because I know everything about Asa Lawson from every single facial expression to the way he smiles when he lies. Time can’t erase everything. And I bet if I walked over to him and leaned in, he’d smell the same, a mixture of pine trees, spice, and oranges. It’s like Calvin Klein threw up all over him. It sends a familiar tingle up my thighs.

Cadence bumps my arm again, attempting to untangle her sunglasses from her wavy hair. “You should go talk to him.” I stare at her as she pulls and tugs only to rip a clump of her hair out with the sunglasses. She winces and rubs the spot. “Damn it.”

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