What happens when you can't even recognize your own parents, but you're able to identify the most notorious playboy in school? //
Asher Thomas lives in a world where she isn't able to recognize people's faces, including those of her parents and even...
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ASHER
Second day. Physics.
Today, I make sure to get into class a little later. I speculate that Aaron's pitiful game is still going on, for as soon as he stands to cross over to the seat next to me, the bell rings. Mr. Riley snaps at Aaron to sit down, and I almost hug him.
However, the turn in my mood is spoiled as soon as it started.
"We're going to jump right into the unit." Mr. Riley flashes us a toothy grin, making the class groan in unison. I'm looking at everything but him. For the first time, I notice how intricately torn the cover of my book is, how the paper ends in wisps-
"Asher."
I squeeze my eyes shut before looking back up.
"Please come up and help me with the distribution of textbooks." Mr. Riley's smile is so wide, I wonder if his cheeks are beginning to cramp.
I stand up, taking my time as I make my way to the front of the classroom. Stares are sticking me to me like molasses.
I've reached his desk, and on top of it is a gigantic stack of textbooks.
"I'll call out the number and the person's name, and you can hand them the right book," says Mr. Riley. I nod quietly, moving to stand behind his desk. Hibernation has never seemed so tempting.
"Rebecca Adams," he says, and he turns to me. "Number one."
I open the cover, check the first page, and hand her the book. She sneers at me.
"Taylor Atchinson. Number two."
Taylor saunters up to the desk, gives me a wink, and accepts the book. My insides crawl.
"Aaron Blakely." At the sound of his name, every girl in the class decides that the most logical thing to do is let out a dreamy sigh, turn to look at their God, and proceed to pathetically imagine all the different settings that they can marry him in.
He's walking up here now, as if the aisle were a catwalk. His long fingers rake through his hair, and I think I hear someone whimper. "Number three," Mr. Riley announces, staring at Aaron with disdain.
"My favorite seat partner!" He stops at the desk with a smirk. I feel the collective glares of a dozen girls. Aaron even looking at me triggers a temptation in their delicate hearts to gouge my eyeballs out.
I snort silently, shoving the book at him. "Go screw yourself."
His eyebrows arch. Accepting the book, he shrugs to himself airily and saunters back to his seat. The eyes of a dozen girls follow his every move.
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