6

Asher

Age 15

Sometimes, the best things in life happen in the dark.

Ever since that night at the park, Blair Bennett and I have shared a secret.

No one knows we’re friends—Blair Bennett, Little Miss Vote-Most-Popular, Future-Prom-Queen, Bel-Air-Rich-Girl, and me. Shit, “friends” doesn’t even sound like the right word for it. But whatever this is, it happens without anyone knowing: her parents, her friends, my friends. They’re all in the dark. Metaphorically, I mean—one of the only words I actually remember from English class, before I started skipping most days.

Tonight, though, it’s literally dark. It’s 8 p.m. on a bleak-ass February evening, and even Los Angeles gets a little cold around this time of year. Blair and I are standing at the edge of an apartment building roof. Had to sneak past the snoozing security guard to get up here.

“You sure about this?” I ask.

“Of course,” she replies. “You don’t have to ask me every time, you know.”

I smirk. “Just trying to be a gentleman.”

She giggles. “Oh, right. Asher Stone, the perfect gentleman. Who only wears black, is covered in tattoos at fifteen, and hates 99% of humanity.”

I laugh too, but something stirs in me. Why can’t I be all that and still be a gentleman, to her at least? Since I met Blair, other girls just don’t do it for me anyway.

I take another drag of my cigarette. “Fine, maybe I’m not a gentleman.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I wish you wouldn’t smoke, Asher.”

I do it out of the house, so my grandma doesn’t have to breathe it in. She’s frail enough as it is.

“And I wish Rihanna would answer my DMs,” I say, exhaling a stream of smoke into the night. “We all want things we can’t have.”

Blair rolls her pretty brown eyes. Still, I flick the cigarette off the side of the building, over the gap between this roof and the next.

Tonight, we’re jumping the gap.

It’s not huge—maybe six feet. Easy on the ground, a bit trickier up here. But Blair gets it, like I do. The way most other people in the world don’t have a damn clue.

You need the risk, or you don’t get the high.

I nod toward the drop. “Not scared, are you?”

Her brows knit together. “I’m not stalling. I just care about your respiratory health.”

For a certified Good Girl, Blair’s got a wild streak. That’s what I like about little Blair Bennett—beneath the perfect-princess veneer, she’s a dirty little thrill seeker.

Months ago, she nearly fell out of a tree at the park, and I caught her. She ran off after her friends, but not before glancing back. I didn’t get her number. Preppy rich girls aren’t my type. But I kept wishing I had. A week later, I’m at the skate park and who turns up? Blair . Glancing around all nervous. Telling me she wants to go climb another tree.

It was the best goddamn moment of my life.

Not that it’s saying much. I’ve been dealt a shitty hand. Dad: none. Mom: lost her mind and swallowed a bottle of pills. Family: my grandma. I’d go to the ends of the earth for her, but she’s getting older and weaker. It burns me up to see it.

Me and Blair never talk about why we keep this in the dark. Why we only meet at night, just the two of us. Why I hear her on the phone to her spoiled friends, saying she’s at home studying, or telling her uptight mom that she’s with chick named Mackenzie.

“Let’s do this, then,” I say.

We lean over the edge. Her hand tightens around mine, her little pink nails digging in. My stomach twists. This is the only time we touch—when we’re doing some adrenaline junkie stunt. And these days, that’s pretty damn often.

Some kids go to the mall or sneak booze at house parties. Normal teenage stuff. But Blair and I? We’re different.

She gulps. “Okay, maybe I’m a little scared, Asher.”

I glance down. Truth is, I’m scared of heights too. Shit, no one wants to fall to their death, right? I’m only fifteen, sure, but I learned years back that you have to do things scared or you won’t do them at all. That’s the only way to break the fear. You have to wrestle it, smash its head in, like it’s some rabid creature that’s trying to sink it’s nasty fucking teeth into you.

“We can always just hang out here if you’re not up for it,” I say.

Her gaze hardens. Even after months, I don’t know exactly why, but I know she needs this as much as I do. “No, I’m doing it. But you go first.”

I like knowing Blair’s secret. I like being her secret. No one else in the damn world knows that the perfect ballet princess secretly likes to get her adrenaline kick on.

I breathe out, hard. Back up across the roof. Burst into a sprint. The cool night air rushes past my face as I launch myself into the gap. I know I’m supposed to keep my eyes forward, but I look down. The street below looks tiny from where I’m flying. Makes me feel like a damn god.

Slam .

My feet slam hit the concrete on the other side. The impact vibrates through me, a mix of pain and euphoria.

I turn, my eyes finding Blair before I can even get my balance. She’s laughing, clapping, her face lit up.

I take an exaggerated bow. “Piece of cake. Told you it’s easy.”

“My turn,” she calls.

I stand back. Shit, I’m more nervous for this bit than I was for myself. I don’t want Blair to get hurt. Never . But I know, like she does, that the risk is the essential part of it. Telling her not to jump would be denying her the high.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Ready,” she says, straightening the pink bow on her headband.

She takes a running start, her form graceful, powerful. She leaps, her ballet-perfect posture slicing through the air. I must’ve looked like a clumsy animal compared to her. She lands light on her feet.

Without thinking, I cheer and grab her, spinning her around. We’re both laughing, the adrenaline and relief swirling into a crazy cocktail. It feels better than any liquor my friends ever handed me at a party.

I set her down, but my arms linger around her.

Fuck, I want to kiss her.

The breeze cools my face as we catch our breath. Blair’s head leans against my shoulder. I pull her a little closer, and she lifts her head. For second I panic. Shit, did I go too far?

But when her eyes meet mine, they’re sparkling. Her cherry-pink lips are slightly parted. Like magnets in slow motion, we both lean a fraction closer—

Buzzzzz.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and Blair steps back, the moment shattering.

I instinctively pull out my phone.

“Gotta take this,” I mutter. “My grandma.”

“Asher?” Grandma’s voice crackles. “I’ve had a fall.”

It felt like my stomach dropped out of my ass when my grandma called. She said she was okay, but I told Blair I had to go. But she insisted on coming with me.

The problem is, Blair’s never been to my place before. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s never been south of her own neighborhood in her life.

At home, I set Grandma up on the couch, stacking her foot on three cushions. I hold an ice pack to her leg.

“You gotta be careful, Grandma. Want me to take you to the emergency room? We can go right now.”

She waves me off, replying in Russian. “I’m okay, Asher. It’s just a little sprain, I think. I shouldn’t have called you home.”

When I turn around, Blair is staring. There’s a strange mix of emotions in her eyes. What is this girl thinking? Warmth, sympathy, pity?

“Nice to meet you,” she says to Blair in English.

Her English has never been great. She moved here from Russia as a kid. The kids at school who used to mock her accent shut up pretty quick after they’d been on the other end of my fist.

Blair smiles sweetly. “So nice to meet you too, Mrs…”

“Chernoff,” I say.

“Mrs. Chernoff. I hope you’re not in too much pain.”

“It’s okay.” Grandma smiles knowingly. “Asher never has friends over.”

I stand quickly. “We’ll let you rest, Grandma. Just call me if you need anything.”

I wave Blair to follow me to my room. It’s dark and a total tip in here. I flip on the light, revealing piles of laundry and homework I’ve ignored for weeks.

“Sorry it’s a shitshow in here.” I flop down on the bed, gesturing for her to sit next to me if she wants.

Blair’s eyes roam around the room, but she politely doesn’t comment. For some reason, that annoys me. I want us to be so close that she doesn’t hold anything back. Close enough to hear her own thoughts.

“It’s so sweet how you look after your grandma,” she says, carefully perching on the edge of the bed. “I like seeing that side of you. She must really love you.”

I shrug. “It’s just been us for a long time. I owe her everything, I guess.”

“That must’ve been tough. Though I have my parents around, and it’s still awful.”

Curiosity sparks in me. “You never talk about that shit. What’s so bad?”

She sighs. “They’re so judgmental. Especially Mom. She’s got my whole life mapped out. Sometimes I feel like if I step even an inch outside the lines, she’d disown me.”

“What’s her plan for you?”

“She’ll let me go to dance school after graduation. But after that? Forget about a career. Marry some respectable guy from their snobby circle. Pop out enough kids to keep him happy.”

“You don’t want that?”

She shrugs. “I want to do whatever I feel like doing. I want to control my own destiny. I guess that’s why I like…”

“Hanging out with me,” I finish. “And the adrenaline.”

She nods, and I feel like I’m seeing the real Blair for the first time, beneath all the pink bows and blushing freckled cheeks.

And I really fucking like what I see.

“I mean, I like hanging out with you for more than just that.”

Something warm stirs in me. I clear my throat. I feel like if I respond, I’ll blurt out how badly I want her, and it’ll all get fucked up.

Her gaze drifts to the far wall. “What are these drawings?” she asks before I can reply.

My jaw tightens, embarrassed. “Oh. Just ignore all that.”

On the wall, I’ve pinned up nearly twenty different tattoo designs. That’s what I want to do. One of the things, anyway. I want to work at a tattoo studio.

“Asher,” she says, wide-eyed. “These are so good. You never told me you were an artist.”

Pride edges out the embarrassment. “Yeah, I guess. Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever . This is real talent.”

“They’re just tat designs, Blair.”

“You should go to art school.”

I laugh. “With what grades? With what money?”

She drops her gaze.

That’s what we don’t talk about. The fact that, no matter how you slice it, Blair and I come from different worlds. She’s probably never had to think about money a day in her life.

Instead, we climb trees and jump off roofs and get so high on the thrill that, for a moment, it feels like neither of us come from anywhere at all.

I shrug. “I don’t give a shit about college, anyway.”

Blair stays quiet. For a second, I feel hope drain out of me. Is she judging me?

“This is who I am, Blair,” I continue bluntly. “This cramped apartment I share with my grandma. This shitty neighborhood where you hear neighbors scream all night. This is where I’m from, and I know there’s no way out. Now you know.”

Sure, I’m only fifteen. But who freaking cares? I already know I’m going to love Blair Bennett for the rest of my life. But how could a girl like her ever think this was enough?

“I don’t care about that,” Blair whispers. “Not at all.”

She leans against me, holding out a pinky with strawberry-colored nails. “Friends forever?” she whispers.

I hook my pinky around hers. “Friends forever,” I reply gruffly.

What’s that old saying about a tree falling?

If this thing between us only happens in the dark, did it even really happen?

I want this to be real. I want it in the light. Something I can touch and grab and own.

Friends forever. It’s sweet to hear. But it stings, too. I want forever, but I don’t just want to be friends.

I want Blair Bennett all to my goddamn self.