16 | full moon

ASHTON

Someone says my name in the distance, swirling through my unconscious mind in repetition. I ignore it.

"Ashton!"

They sweep my hand from under my chin, head dropping with a heavy thump on the desk.

"Fuck! What the--"

Chef Kent comes into focus as I rub my forehead, her eyes wide and piercing. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sleeping Beauty. Did I interrupt your nap?"

I grumble and glance around at the rest of the class watching my rude awakening. Nick facepalms as Chef Kent snatches my test away, adding it to her collected stack.

"Did you even finish? Honestly, Ashton, I'd expect a scholarship student to approach test taking more seriousl..." Her voice trails off, eyes flitting across my thorough answers. "Hm."

Words swallowed, she gives me the side-eye and moves on. Once all the tests are safely tucked away in her desk drawer, she tells us that our results will be ready next week.

"Now quickly go get changed. Chef Ross is waiting for you in the kitchen."

I'll never admit this out loud, but baking doesn't come naturally to me. At least, not as naturally as cooking does. It's so precise and constraining. One minor mistake and the whole thing can go south. For example, take the mille-feuille we made the other day.

Puff pastry is a delicious but cruel bitch, a never-ending process of folding, rolling, and waiting. And so-called "simple" custard is all good and well until you end up with a pot full of lumpy goop. Of course, I didn't show how much I hated it all. I pulled it together to make it look good enough. The taste was another story.

But Summer? Well, Chef Ross practically bust a nut when he tasted the slices she presented him, raving about the perfect buttery layers and creamy custard. It took a lot for me to brush away the green-eyed monster sitting on my shoulder that day.

Ever since I word-vomited all that stuff to Nick, I've been holding off whenever I get that itch to provoke her. Trying to edge my way onto her good side.

I thought we were making a little headway that day our partnership was solidified over boiling eggs, but now? No dice. She hasn't expressed her annoyance with me, she hasn't expressed her baking superiority, she hasn't expressed anything. Not one smile or a signature eye roll thrown my way. Nada.

I watch Summer sprinkle flour over the bread dough in front of her, diving into the smooth kneading technique Ross demonstrated. Every move she makes is intuitive.

Damn, did she work in a bakery or something?

I smack my ball of dough down and subtly replicate her.

"So, how'd you find the test?" I ask after a few minutes.

Her kneading doesn't waver for a second. "I'm not in the mood to listen to you gloat about how easy it was, Ashton."

"I wasn't going to gloat."

"Sure."

I grimace and squash the dough, along with the urge to add a comment about the test being a cake walk.

Summer balls her dough up and places it in a bowl. "But I guess it was good for a first test."

She unfolds a dish towel and covers the bowl, getting ready to leave our workstation. The next urge comes up, not to gloat, but to cut to the chase on the information I've wanted to get from her all week.

"It's Friday tomorrow."

She pauses. "And your bread will never rise if you keep pummeling the dough like that."

"Huh?"

"Oh, are we not just saying obvious things?" She picks up the bowl and starts walking to the proofing room.

I fling my dough into a bowl and follow. "Right, yeah. But I was actually getting at Charlie's party. It's tomorrow."

"And?"

"And, are you going?"

"Me? A party?" She slides the bowl onto a shelf. "I'm way too stuck-up for that kind of thing, don't you think?"

I hold her stony gaze, the smell of dough and yeast intoxicating this stuffy room. "So is that a no, or...?"

She finally gives the first eye roll of the week. "No. Against all my better judgment, I'm going."

"You are." I don't mean to sound so pleased or let a smile surface, but I do. Just for a moment. And she catches it.

Her hard stare softens slightly, travels over my face, soaks me in before something flickers in her eyes. She breaks away and zips around me.

"Whoa, hold up." I shove my bowl on the shelf and grasp her wrist just as she reaches the door. She jerks back like I've singed her. "Are you... mad at me or something? I mean, more than usual?"

"No."

"Really? 'Cause you've barely looked at me the whole week."

"So?"

"So you're a surprisingly shitty liar."

"I'm not mad, Ashton!" She spins around and leaves so fast I half expect a dust cloud to be left in her wake.

Maybe I let this tug of war with myself go on for too long. Fought the pull of the magnet she held so much that she let go of it... of me.

But I can change that. I've made up my mind now, and this type of clarity is rare.

I don't know how I reach this conclusion, but I decide that if I can make Summer smile, or laugh, or show any form of warmth towards me again—that magnet hasn't dropped yet.

❖❖❖

"Please, Janice!"

"It's such short notice, Ashton!" She bangs the broom she's sweeping with against my shoes. "Why the heck do you wait so long to ask for favors? You need to work on that."

"I didn't know I needed it until today."

Five minutes of begging Janice to cover my shift tomorrow, and she still hasn't budged.

The movie theatre is closed, but she always gets here early. It's not her job to sweep, but she does. It's not her job to scour the seats and pick up trash, but she does. There's no one else who cares more about keeping this place afloat than her, not even the owners, which is why she's the one to go to for work favors. She cares enough to make sure everyone is happy. But she's gotta be happy, too.

"What do you want? Money? I'll give you all my tips next week." I grab the broom to get her attention. "All of them."

"You realize you are literally bribing your superior, right?"

"Concession stand superior." I correct her. "You're not my boss boss. And you've got no moral problems taking a cut when I fill up the jar. Where do you draw the line, huh?"

"Apparently when the best employee asks for the busiest night off one day in advance."

"Best employee?" I put on my flashiest smile. "Color me flattered."

"Oh, relax." Janice yanks the broom back. "Best as in teenagers like you and they fill up seats in droves. Mediocre in everything else."

I walk backwards as she continues sweeping. I need to speed this up. My dad's all over me about finishing up that car I've been dragging my feet on. Time to lay on the butter.

"Can I just say how great you look today? So bright. So fresh."

She glares at me, dark eye bags contrasted against washed out skin.

"And is that a new bracelet? Sterling silver?"

"Yeah. Gift from my new girlfriend."

"Ahh, new love. Such a beautiful thing—"

"For Pete's sake." Janice stops dead. "You're not gonna leave me alone, are you?"

I shake my head, and she rolls hers back with a sigh, fiery bangs jutting out before flopping back into place.

"I guess I can get Luis to fill in for you. He's been talking about picking up some extra shifts, not at the concession stand but—"

"Thank you!"

She points at me sternly. "And I still get the tips next week."

"They're yours." I thank her again and head to the entrance.

"I hope whatever you're willing to lose money for is worth it, Ashton!"

She is.

❖❖❖

The best party I ever went to was on the day I got accepted into culinary school. I was more alive and freer than I'd ever felt in my life, which is ironic considering my life almost ended that night.

Parties have the ability to make you feel like things can happen, right? Rules are broken and for one night you're given a chance to embrace the extraordinary. Well, combine that with life-changing good news, and a typical party can make you feel invincible, like death is reserved for the old and sick. Fuck no. Everywhere, all the time, Grim waits around the corner for those stupid things you do when you think you're immortal.

So here's what happened: on a drunk dare, and I mean pounding back forties and tequila shots drunk, I climbed on top of Tyler Rust's roof and made a three-story jump into the pool.

For a moment it had been glorious. Flying above the crowd, hearing those shouts of encouragement, feeling the buzz of adrenaline coursing through every nerve. On top of the world.

And then I hit the water.

I remember the spots of black taking over my vision like blooming flowers; I remember the weird and tight sensation of ice filling my lungs, and I remember my last thought being—this is it?

Even on the brink of blackout, I was disappointed that I never got flashes of my life like they show in the movies.

The insignificant moments, like when I was still learning how to skate and sprained my wrist, or the engrained image of a car's winding anatomy. Or the not so insignificant moments, like the first time Nick sat across from me in the cafeteria and wordlessly pushed half of his PB&J over, or my mother's chestnut eyes gazing at me from a photo I stole.

Then again, maybe I didn't get any of those flashes because I didn't actually die. Maybe I won't be so disappointed when my real end comes. I hope so.

The next thing I knew, I was coughing water all over Kristen Weir who'd been giving me mouth to mouth. There I was, lying on the grass, everyone gathered around and witnessing my almost-death. It was like I was looking up at them from my grave. I'd laughed it off through my gasping breaths, given them permission to laugh too.

Nick was kneeling next to Kristen, hair dripping from pulling me out of the pool and face so pale I thought he was having a stroke. When I was up on my feet and breathing easy, he pushed me back in the water because he was so angry. He pulled me right out again, sure, but it's still the angriest I've seen him to date. And the most relieved.

I didn't take it seriously enough that night. It could have been a lot worse if I hadn't landed in the water. I was too full of manic energy to digest how close I had come to losing a future I'd held in my hand so briefly. But despite the recklessness, I don't regret jumping off that roof.

It showed me the irreplaceable value of that future I've held firm ever since, and it's still the most fun I've ever had at a party.

Those are the best kind; the parties where things don't just feel like they can happen, but the ones where you make things happen. And that's what I'm doing tonight... minus the near death experience part.

❖❖❖

"Diego, beer." Ryan claws out to the backseat where Diego and I are sitting.

"Seriously, dude?" Nick quickly intercepts the beer being passed. "We're almost there."

"Exactly!" Ryan shakes the wheel like he's about to rip it off. "It's not fair you guys are already buzzed. I'm telling you now I'm not gonna be the designated driver later."

Diego smacks the side of Ryan's head. "Then why'd you make us come in your car?"

"I didn't think it through, all right?"

Ryan shifts his attention to Nick, silently urging him with an intense stare.

"Hell no." Nick cracks open the beer. "I'm not staying sober, and I'm not babysitting anyone."

He turns and drills his eyes on me.

"What? Why am I the only one you're looking at? I don't need a goddamn babysitter."

"Cool, then try not to kill yourself, yeah?"

I down the remnants of my beer before answering. "I've come a long way, Nicholas."

"Uh-huh," he mutters. "Gotta see it to believe it."

I crunch the can and toss it on the floor. "Charlie doesn't care if you crash at her place anyway, Ryan. Just don't go in her room and she's good."

"Oh, her room's off limits, huh? Don't want me to bust in there and catch you two going at it like bunny rabbits?"

"You could bust in there but you wouldn't find anything. Not with me, at least."

Ryan whips around so fast he swerves onto the dirt shoulder of the road. "What's that mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

"The fuck buddy thing is over?" Diego asks as Ryan steadies the car.

"Yup." I open a fresh can and take it with me through the open sunroof. "Do with that what you will, little ones."

I hear the two of their muffled voices arguing about who's going to take a run at Charlie tonight, but I don't care. Warmth from the building alcohol settles in my chest, creeps its way up to my head as the wind flows in waves. The air is humid tonight; it smells like rain. Earthy and thick. 

Ryan turns onto Charlie's street and I feel myself getting amped, impatience taking hold. Summer's saltiness hasn't deterred me at all. If anything, it's only fueled me. And just as my mind brings her to the forefront, her Lexus comes into view opposite us.

Ryan hastily pulls into the last open spot outside the house, making me grip the roof for balance. Beyond the beaming headlights, I see Summer thump her steering wheel as Lola peers around the street for another parking.

One smile, one laugh... something that proves she hasn't let me go yet.

I down the rest of my beer in a couple gulps and then lift myself out of the sunroof, stepping down the windscreen and jumping off right onto the street. Summer screeches to a halt as I plant my hands on the hood of her car.

She sticks her head out the window. "What the hell, Ashton? I could have hit you!"

"Jesus. What were you just saying about not needing a babysitter again?" Nick calls from behind.

I wave him off, keeping my eyes locked on Summer. Maybe my tactics haven't worked this week because I took the wrong direction. By not provoking her, I never gave her an opportunity to hit back. That's when she comes alive; when I get under her skin so bad she can't help but enjoy the stinging strikes between us. Relish in the venom.

Summer gives the outside of her door a slap. "Move! I have to park my car!"

"And what a car she is," I hum, gliding my finger along the polished surface. "A real beauty. It would be such a shame if someone tried to... taint her."

I turn and see the others waiting around Ryan's car. He's already drinking the beer Nick deprived him of a few minutes ago.

"Hey guys, you see the full moon tonight?" They squint to the sky as I undo the top button of my jeans. "Nah, not that one."

I lower my jeans just enough to feel the night air on my bare ass, and the reactions are instantaneous. Over my shoulder, Summer, Lola, and Fawn's jaws drop as the guys start laughing.

"Get a good look, ladies!"

"Why are your freaking pants down?!"

"Well, this wouldn't be as effective if they were on, would it?" I hop back on the hood, gyrating with enough force to get the car bouncing. Fawn collapses into a fit of giggles.

"Don't encourage him!" Summer yells. The party guests hanging on the front lawn haven't taken much notice of the scene, until she slams down on the horn in aggressive bursts, each word separated by a honk. "Get! Your! Dirty! Butt! Off! My! Car!"

I grind down through her ferocity, my cheeks starting to hurt as I go. Face cheeks, that is.

Nick's laughter is the first to die down, and I begrudgingly stop when he snaps his fingers at me.

"Killjoy," I say, sliding off the hood and shrugging my jeans back on. A door slams behind me and Summer is storming over. I take a second to register her short skirt and sheer black top leaving painfully little to the imagination. "Enjoy the show?"

"You wish!"

"What, you want an eyeful of the real goods instead?" I grin, pulling my zipper up. "At least buy me a drink first, Cupcake."

The headlights illuminate her face and give me the clarity to identify what I'm looking for—the humor breaking through, the corner of her mouth twitch. Something.

She grabs the front of my jacket and shoves me away. "God, just get off the road already!"

I stumble onto the grass and catch up with the guys, joining in the laughter like my gut hasn't just been totaled. I was sure that would rile her up enough to work.

Before we walk through the entrance, I glance back and see Summer yank the car door open. She pauses and rakes back her hair... smiling to herself.




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