Only If She Stayed

11. All the Stars

I curled my fingers on the wooden frame. "Are you going to help me?"

Ashton paused. "You want to go with me? But what about your boyfriend?"

"What about him?"

"I don't know. He seems like the jealous type."

It worried me that Ashton could tell how jealous Edgar was only after one interaction with him, and that was in the school parking lot for less than a minute.

"I didn't come to this party to babysit him." I used Edgar's words against him. "I don't care what he thinks. He's probably doing a keg stand right now or doing a drinking game with his lame friends."

"I presume you don't like them."

"Some of them are okay," I confessed. "But there are mean, unbearable ones that I can't stand. I don't want to talk about Edgar and his friends though."

"I can respect that." He left it at that and I couldn't appreciation him any more for letting the talk about my boyfriend drop that fast.

Ashton let me go first, helping get down to the portion of the roof that wasn't slanted. Once we were both out of the room, we sat side by side, facing the twinkling lights.

I didn't know a single thing about Ashton – other than where he was from. The odd way I was able to sit there in silence with him wasn't something I'd do with everyone.

Everyone didn't look like him, I thought and instantly hated how true that was. To stop me from doing anything damaging, I watched the sky.

"I've always loved the stars." I found myself whisper, unaware of how loud I had spoken. "I think the admiration comes from the fact that I don't know what's out there."

"That's everyone's fascination with it." He said, bringing his hands behind his head and supporting it. "There always this hope that there's something better out there, something that you couldn't find here."

His interpretation of what I was saying smudged my views, deepening them into seeming like I was running from something more menacing than my pathetic teenage life.

"It's not like I'm escaping from anyone."

Ashton craned his neck. "I didn't say you were trying to escape from someone."

I regretted my outburst, wishing I could reverse it.

Ashton's expression proved that I had not only confused myself by my random declaration. "Is there something you're trying to hint at?"

"No."

"It sounded like you were."

"I wasn't." I said pointedly. I went for a topic change and said the first thing that came to unfiltered thoughts. "Where's your helmet?"

"I didn't bring it with me. I didn't want to bring my bike." His foot began tapping. "I got dropped off."

"Ah, alright. What kind of bicycle do you have again?" I questioned, meaning to say it the way I did. "I want to know what kind of bicycle requires for you to wear a motorcycle helmet, as if it that's normal. I don't get why you have to lie."

On the first day, Ashton had given off the impression that he rode a motorcycle to school. He lugged around a beaten up, scuffed motorcycle helmet, carrying it from class to class with pride. When Edgar and I drove home, I saw that Ashton didn't own a motorcycle, but a bicycle. Granted, he referred to it as a "bike" and gave off the idea that he didn't mean bicycle.

Ashton's lips formed into a fine line. "I don't know what you mean."

"I saw you unlock your bicycle behind a restaurant near school," I uttered. "It's a real worn-out helmet. You should get a new one."

"I'm not getting a new one."

"That still doesn't go over why you'd make people think you ride a motorcycle. It is peculiar that you didn't clarify us and say you rode a bicycle."

I was prepared for a snarky, rude remark. Dating Edgar for more than two years taught me to prepare for the unexpected, and usually the worst.

"I'm not sure why I didn't correct my lie." Ashton caught himself, shutting his eyes as he answered to my question that wanted to probe into his life. "The thing is, it goes along with a long story. Long story short: I never had a motorcycle, but my dad used to have one. The helmet is his, or at least it was his. He wore it when he got hit by an eighteen-wheeler when I was fifteen. I keep the helmet with me," his voice broke, but my attention didn't fade. He returned to what he was trying to say, clearing his throat. "I keep the helmet with me. Kind of like he's here in some form in times when I know he can't be there. Like you'd imagine, I hate starting over. New school, new friends, new life. It's stressful for me. And the helmet calms me in a way nothing else can."

Well, don't you look like an asshole, Rose. I mentally kicked myself for how much of a jerk I sounded when I asked him about the bike.

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