JANUARY 5, 2014 / SYMONT HIGH SCHOOL
When people talked about Asher, the least they could do was try to be subtle about it.
The murmurs trailed after him, whispers clinging to his heels, dragging him back as he shuffled through the hallways. Ignoring the talk was impossible. It was an attack on Asher's ears, each snicker and whistle a sniper taking aim. The students would not miss their target.
News of Krista Ming and Asher Delrov was spreading like a virus. Asher wondered how famous she was, if a one night stand lit the fuse to a worldwide buzz.
Ryanel walked next to him, equally insistent on trying to not notice the gossiping.
"It's true, though, isn't it?" he asked.
Asher busied himself with taking out his Physics essay, though they were nowhere near the classroom.
"Asher," Ryanel said.
Asher tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, a sheet of paper between scissor blades.
"Yeah," he eventually said, once their Physics classroom came into sight.
Ryanel's eyes stayed on Asher for a while; he could feel it, like the effervescence of newly opened soda on his back. Still, he pretended to proofread his essay — though no force in the world could make him register more than the first sentence. Bernoulli's equation can be thought of as the conservation of internal energy for non-compressible fluids . . .
"How good was it?" Ryanel asked the question lightly; Asher could even detect the familiar tremble of his vowels when he was on the verge of laughter. It was the silence before and after the words — heavy and toxic, smothering the brief levity in his friend's voice — that made him rethink.
Asher answered honestly, having to force the first hit of his breath out with a tension in his stomach, "Can't remember."
"Dude," Ryanel said, with a solemn undertone snaking its way through his smirk. The remark was deceptive; summery yellow paint hastily layered over bitter black.
Their Physics teacher lazily strolled in, and after that, they did not speak again other than a quick exchange of goodbyes when school ended.
Asher sped from the oddly tense situation with his best friend. His phone chimed and vibrated, making his leg tense in response.
you made the front cover of hot right now XD
Hot Right Now was a tacky tabloid magazine that made its profit from catering to teenage girls desperate for shirtless pictures of their idols, and being on the cover was more of an insult than a compliment to Asher.
He'd never seen the number before, but an inkling of who texted him was sending shocks down his spine.
who is this?
He could feel himself warming up, muscles tensed for the reply. If it was who he thought it was—
sexy
saxon* ;)
Asher swore under his breath. His fingers twitched above the screen, about to type a reply when his teacher snapped, "Asher. Phone away now, please."
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Asher ✓
General FictionBoys with bone diseases shouldn't race motorcycles. ⋆☆⋆ Asher Delrov knows he's fragile. He's known this since his diagnosis in infancy with osteogenesis imperfecta: imperfect bones. When racing offers him all the freedom, confidence and adventure h...
