7
Ashtyn
Thenerveonthatguy.
As I walked to my beat-up, rusty Ford Explorer in the parking lot, I thought about what West said during art class.
What kind of teacher blatantly flirts with a student like that? It's disgusting. He's probably fucked his students before. Who knows, you could be his next target.
His words weren't exactly false. Mr. Reynolds had been more than friendly toward me since my first art class freshman year. It wasn't until recently that I felt him looking at me a little more, giving me leeway to do certain things during class, and even changing his assignments to something I'd prefer to do. It was obvious he felt a certain type of way about me. But he was friendly and a little flirty with everyone in class–even the guys–so I didn’t think much of it. Some people just had that type of personality.
I learned at a young age how to detect when men improperly looked at me. I dealt with it enough with Mom's boyfriends throughout the years. Eventually, she stopped bringing them home because they would openly leer at me or make inappropriate comments. She didn't keep them away or scold them because she was protecting me. She was jealous.
Jesus Ashtyn. Put on a different shirt! Do youwantBill to stare at you? Are you doing this shit on purpose? You just hate that I have a boyfriend and you don't!
I was fifteen at the time of that little exchange. I was utterly humiliated at the thought of a forty-year-old staring at me and Mom thinking I liked it or encouraged it.
It was scorching hot as I walked across the asphalt to my car. The sun blazed, creating a sheen of sweat on my skin, making me regret my choice to wear skin-tightblackjeans. Shorts and skirts were in order for the rest of the week.
My stomach roared like a fucking lion.Should’ve eaten lunch, Ash.
"Ashtyn, wait!" Gabby yelled from across the parking lot. A line of cars impatiently waited for her to jog in front of them–although with her platform boots, she went as quickly as she could. "Hey," she huffed as she reached me, trying to catch her breath. "Guess what I heard in my econ class last period?"
"What..."
Gabby breathed heavily and put her hands on her hips. "Sorry, I ran from the other side of the school. In platforms."
"What did you hear?"
"People were talking."
"About..."
"Remington. It wasn't good, Ash. You need to talk to him. A few guys from the football team said they went to a college party last weekend and Rem was there. They said he was on something, doing all kinds of crazy shit..."
"Fucking hell." My stomach dropped. My brother was using again. The heat and humidity somehow felt even more suffocating. It choked the breath from my lungs and tingles started in my toes and fingers. My heartbeat sped rapidly, and Gabby's figure appeared to spin before my eyes.
"Hey, hey," she tried to catch me before I fell to the asphalt.
I couldn't hear anything. I couldn't see anything. I felt my ass hit the hard ground but that was it. I was moving. I was spinning. My brain felt like mush and stars filled my vision.
Big, strong arms wrapped around my back and under my knees and lifted me. I was moving again, changing scenery as Gabby–at least who I thought was Gabby–followed me and whoever held me against their hard chest.
"Ashtyn! Ashtyn!" Gabby yelled but it was muffled, like she was underwater, far away from me.
Ice cold water splashed against my face, trailing down my neck and chest, and pulled me from whatever other dimension I had been hanging out in. I started to regain focus and coughed on the water that made its way to my mouth.
"Jesus, West!" Shouted Bronx, who was standing before me along with West and Gabby.
"She was having a panic attack. It worked, didn't it?" West asked as he put the cap back on his water bottle.
He had splashed me with his water.
"You could've talked to her or donesomething elsebesides toss water all over her," snapped Gabby.
"Because what you were doing was working wonders. Look, who gives a shit, I got her off the hot ground and out of her head. She's fine now, right?" West asked me.
"What the fuck happened?" I was sitting in the driver’s seat of West's Challenger, my legs dangling off the side. It occurred to me that I was probably the only other person to sit in this seat aside from West. South side guys didn’t let other people touch their rides.