by Ali Merci
Judgment
After Cromwell had thrown him one last revolted glare and stormed away with Hunter following behind her, Asa let his muscles relax and cursed under his breath.
Which brainless disciplinary head did not listen to two sides of a story? The one that worked at his high school, apparently.
He was going to have a hard time explaining this to his mother. God knew how many times his thoughtlessness and brash attitude had landed him in detention over the past few years. The only reason they didn’t resort to expelling him from the goddamn school was probably because his father was on the school board. There was also the fact that Asa was an asset to them, what with him winning the all-state swimming championship last year for the under-eighteen category.
Hell, the first reason was most definitely the only thing this school thought mattered about him anyway.
Needless to say, Asa was in a pretty shitty mood for the rest of the day, scowling at anyone who even so much as made eye contact with him.
By the time lunch rolled around, his mood had worsened along with his gut where Hunter had attacked him with his head. Asa was quite certain there was a bruise already formed on his abdomen.
He didn’t finish that thought when he rounded a corner and somebody ran into him—somebody much shorter. As in this somebody’s shoulder was low enough to knock into his bruising stomach—of all places—sending a flare of pain up his entire body, making him hiss and recoil.
“Watch where you’re going, asshole,” he ground out through gritted teeth, waiting for the flash of pain to fade away from his abdomen.
“Excuse me?” a girl’s voice answered and the venom in her tone made him look at her wearily. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight.
“You don’t pull a goddamn Usain Bolt around a bend in the hallways,” he said, glaring at her. “The person on the other side can’t see you, genius!”
She looked thoroughly unimpressed, and her hazel eyes—which Asa found hard to look away from—flashed with annoyance. “Listen here, Ace—or whatever the hell your name is.” Asa realised she was probably a new student. “I’ve heard enough on my first day here to know the kind of tool you are. And maybe the entire student population here is okay with Mr. Popular walking them over, but I’m not that girl, all right? I don’t take bullshit. From anyone.”
. He was staring at her, completely discombobulated and at an utter loss for words, then the girl shot him one last glare and stomped away.
What the actual hell? When had he ever walked over anyone in school, let alone the entire student population?
This day was just turning out to be one great train wreck. He couldn’t wait to just get home and drown himself in a book.
•••
As it turned out, Asa couldn’t go home just yet. The detention imposed upon him was staying after school and helping put the library back in order.
Having an unparalleled love for books, however, made this task seem rather welcoming than exhausting. For once, he found himself being thankful that people normally assumed the worst of him; it came with the popularity. Because he was sure nobody knew he was actually a bookworm; he was dead certain it wouldn’t have even occurred to them that he knew how to read.
To them, he was just the airhead with a pretty face and a nice body whose saving grace was his athletic abilities.
“Hi.” He heard a familiar voice say from near the librarian’s desk. “I want to fill out a form for my library card? Can I…” Then he heard the sound of ruffling paper and pen scribbling across it. “Thanks.”
Stepping out from around the shelf that housed the non-fiction works, where he was stacking the books in alphabetical order, Asa saw the girl who’d run into him earlier today.
She was sitting by one of the library tables, hastily filling out details on the library’s pale green form. Her hair fell around her shoulders in wavy locks, the deep chestnut colour complimenting her hazel eyes.
He must have been standing there too long because she then lifted her head and looked at his way. Instantly, her shoulders dropped and a groan left her mouth.
It amused Asa, really. He didn’t expect her to fall at his feet or to be mesmerised with him at first glance—he knew most girls had more self-respect than that—but the way she just seemed to dislike him with such vehemence intrigued him. Especially for someone he hadn’t crossed paths with before.
“What are you doing in a library?” she asked him. “Not here for some payback because someone actually had the guts to stand up to you, are you?”
He frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She gave him a roll of her eyes. “Please.” She scoffed lightly. “I know your type. Popular boy with the school at his feet, breaking hearts left and right because he thinks girls are toys.”
Asa didn’t correct her. What was he to do? Drag her along with him as he went about his day and force her to stay by his side just to show her how wrong she was? This shouldn’t bother him anyway. It came with being at the top of the social hierarchy. This was typically what anybody assumed of him, and it was okay.
It had to be okay. He could brush it off and learn to live with it, right?
“But you didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out. “Why are you here in the library?” She cocked her head to the side curiously before a horrified expression settled on her face. “Oh my God, please don’t tell me you use this room as one of your quickie spots!” She sounded so full of disgust that Asa actually debated between feeling offended or laughing out loud. “You don’t make out with people in libraries, it’s just wrong—”
“Calm the heck down,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’m just here on detention.”
She visibly relaxed, but that look of disapproval in her eyes didn’t go away. Asa wanted it to go away. He didn’t like disapproval.
“Either way I was right.” She shrugged, getting out of her seat and walking to the librarian to hand her form over. Miss Garcia shot the girl a warning look and told her to keep her voice down. Asa watched as the girl’s cheeks grew pink.
“Right about what?” he asked once she came back to the table to collect her bag and pen.
“You being in the library for no good,” she said, slipping on the strap of her bag on one shoulder. “I mean, what do testosterone-filled jocks like you know about books anyway?” She sniffed and tilted her chin up, daring him to say something. Then she walked out of the library with a triumphant face when he didn’t.
Because what could Asa have said, really? She’d painted such a picture of him in her head already. And she’d called him a jock. A jock. That was stereotyping at its finest right there.
But Asa had spent so much—too much—to get to where he was now. He’d dragged himself from out of the mud and up to the top to earn the goddamn respect he knew he deserved, but here was someone he just met, throwing it all away like it was nothing.
Like Asa was nothing.
But Asa knew what it had been like to be nothing for so, so long. And he didn’t want to feel that way ever again.
He decided he was going to change her mind. It didn’t matter how he did it or how long it took, he was going to do it. Asa would get the girl, whose name he didn’t yet know, to see him in a different light.
And if there was anything Asa loved as much as books and swimming, it was the chase. The challenge.
Maybe his grandfather’s words about his rashness should have occurred to him then. It should’ve served as a warning. He’d always told Asa that he’d have to end up sleeping in the bed he made.
But Asa’s heart was already in the task he’d set out for himself and there was no taking it back now. Asa’s impulsiveness and his need to just be seen was his own catalyst.
And nothing was going to be the same again.
04.
The Hazel-Eyed Girl
When Asa stepped into the living room, his mother gasped when her eyes fell on him, the smile instantly dropping from her face.
“Qué pasó?!” She rushed to him with a horrified expression, her tender hands holding his face as she took in the bruises and the cuts on him.
“Es nada, Ma,” he mumbled, gently prying her hands away.
“It’s not nothing!” she exclaimed, her dark eyes shining with fury. “Was it that Hunter boy again? I must do something! This is becoming crazy—”
“Déjalo.” He sighed, cutting her off, as he dropped his bag on the couch and sat down with a sigh.
“You’re always asking us to let it be.” She frowned, looking about ready to storm out of the house with a baseball bat in search for Hunter.
Asa chuckled softly. “That’s because I can take care of myself, Ma.” He smiled. “It’s not like before. I can hit back now. In fact, you should’ve seen his face—” then he grinned devilishly “—it was worse than mine.”
“Not making me feel better,” she muttered grudgingly. Her eyes, however, softened as she came closer to him and inspected his face again. “Does it hurt?” she asked gently.
Not as much as seeing the terrified look in the eyes of the bullied girl, he wanted to say. But he didn’t. Instead, he shook his head. “Not the face, just the stomach. Goddamn puta, he head-butted—ow!” Asa rubbed his forearm that his mother had just slapped sharply.
“Language!” she snapped, eyes flashing. “What have I said about language? Not in this house, not around your parents!”
Asa’s cheeks flushed in humility, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry Ma,” he mumbled. “It just slipped. Hunter’s just a pain in the a—butt. In the back, neck. Just wherever, you know.”
His mother cracked a smile, shaking her head fondly, as she watched her son. “Get cleaned up then. Made some of your favourite pozole rojo.”
Asa’s eyes lit up, his stomach acting on reflex at the mention of his mother’s impeccable cooking as it growled. Both he and his mum dissolved into fits of laughter at the sound.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” he said as he got up from the couch. “Don’t finish it all yourself.” He smirked, knowing she had an appetite bigger than him and his father’s combined.
“Just go, Asa.” She sighed exasperatedly.
But he saw the affectionate smile on her face as she turned away.
•••
Asa found the hazel-eyed girl in his AP English Literature class the next day, during third period. But he didn’t approach her until the bell had rung and the class let out.
He should’ve turned around and just walked out, but he found his feet carrying him towards her desk, where she was packing away her things. He wondered if her eyes would hold that same smudge of disapproval when she sees him.
He hoped not.
“Look at what the cat dragged in.” He grinned as he stopped right in front of her desk.
She groaned at the recognition of his voice before lifting her head up to glare at him. “If I throw you a bone, will you go away?” she asked him scathingly, the corners of her mouth turned down.
Would he? He didn’t think so. But he wondered if his behaviour was indeed comparable to that of a dog. But here he was, wagging his tail in hopes that she’d get rid of that disapproval, that she’d see him as an obedient golden retriever than a rabid stray.
He felt pathetic for a moment there, maybe ashamed even. He was weak, wasn’t he? He didn’t want to be weak. He’d been that before, and it hadn’t done him any good. And yet, he still stood there in front of the hazel-eyed girl.
“Probably not,” he replied, making himself grin and play off the words casually.
“Right.” She snorted. “Because guys like you don’t know how to take no from a girl. What’s wrong? Blow to your ego?”
“Girls don’t really say no,” he muttered thoughtfully. Of course, Asa had made out. A lot. With many girls. He didn’t think they were weak because of it, though. He knew they’d just been looking for a good time, the same thing as he had. It didn’t put him above those girls; didn’t create the notion that his ego needed to be inflated each time he came in physical contact with one. And that was why the girls that came to him probably chose him—because he didn’t trash them for it.
But, like everything else about Asa, the hazel-eyed girl misinterpreted this, too.
“Wow, you’re so full of it.” She laughed incredulously, her head shaking in mild disgust.
This one was going to be hard to crack, he thought. But when had he ever backed down from a fight?
“How did you survive in this school so many years with this guy around?” She turned to ask her friend (Asa assumed) who was sitting at the desk next to her.
The other girl looked startled, not expecting to be dragged into the middle of their argument.
“We’ve never really interacted, you know,” the girl eventually said, her voice even and steady, not carrying a single trace of her startled reaction earlier.
“Lucky you,” hazel-eyed replied. “Why can’t luck be on my side for once?”
The other girl didn’t reply and just looked away uneasily.
“Are the three of you planning on staying here the whole day?” Mr. Edward’s voice cut off any further arguing. “My class has been over for some time now. Get to your fourth period classes. Go along now.”
The other girl slid out of her chair soundlessly, as if she’d never even been there, and walked out of the class. Hazel-eyed, on the other hand, stared Asa down for a good few minutes, which only caused him to widen his smile before she gave up and walked away, too.
Asa was just about to move away when his eyes caught something sticking out from the pocket underneath the desks. He reached for it, pulling out a hardcover spiral book, with a plain, dark-blue texture.
He grinned. Now he had another excuse to approach hazel-eyed.
Fingers gingerly trailing down the edge of the book, he opened it. Carmen West.
The name was written on the front page in an elegant calligraphic style. Carmen, he tested it out on his head. He didn’t know what to feel about the name. Somehow, it didn’t suit hazel-eyed and he felt a flicker of disappointment, as odd as it was.
Not that it mattered now; he had something of hers. And she’d have to converse with him somehow. Asa’s lips curved into a wicked grin at the thought.
“Carmen,” he murmured to himself, feeling the syllables roll off his tongue in a gentle manner. “Carmen.” He smiled.
He could get used to that name.
05.
A Broken Mind
Carmen watched Asa while she nibbled on her grilled cheese-and-ham sandwich during lunch. She didn’t know why she found it hard to look away while he sat there with a bunch of other guys and girls. Maybe it was his good looks, or the way he kept shaking his left knee when he got uneasy or bored. Maybe it was the way his nose was slightly crooked, a consequence of being in one too many fights.
She didn’t know, but she just couldn’t look away.
Carmen realised her eyes kept marvelling at the golden hue of his skin. It was the kind of tan girls went to the beach for but could never get to their heart’s satisfaction. And then there were those long eyelashes— eyelashes that she couldn’t help but feel were simply wasted on a boy. It didn’t look so wasted on Asa, though—not in Carmen’s eyes, at least.
Her eyes swept over his slanting cheekbones, landed on his eyes that reminded Carmen of the coffee she sipped at night when things got too loud in her head. And her gaze travelled upwards, watching as his bruised knuckles from a recent brawl ran through his dark cinnamon hair.
Her fingers throbbed. She needed to draw something. She needed to sketch. To fill in another page of her journal. Maybe it’ll be a coffee stain this time. Maybe grounded cinnamon blending into the sand, the way Asa’s hair fell across his forehead. She just needed to get it out, before shades of brown and golden were all that occupied her mind.
Carmen reached into her shoulder bag, her fingers feeling around for that familiar smooth but hard texture of her art
journal. When her hand came up empty, she tore her gaze away from trying to memorise what it looked like when the sunlight shone on Asa’s eyes as it streamed through the canteen windows.
She placed the bag on her lap, opening it wide and peering inside for her journal. The movements of her hand turned frantic when her eyes didn’t spot the book right away. Abruptly standing up and almost knocking back her chair, she pushed away her lunch tray and took off down the hall, ignoring the calls behind her.
She needed that journal. She needed it to breathe. To find some quiet.
She was so used to screaming in those pages, so used to yelling and shouting and throwing her emotions in a hellish tantrum through wild splashes of colours, mundane sketches and just nonsense doodling.
It was part of her; it carried her heart and her soul and the broken shards of her dreams and fragments of an old life.
Carmen wasn’t Carmen without it.
Panic bubbled in her gut as she ran back into the empty classroom where she’d had AP Literature. Her lungs inflated, ready to release the breath of immense relief, but when she crouched down to check under her desk and found it empty, her chest constricted itself blocking her breathing.
It wasn’t there. The realisation pounded through Carmen with each frantic beat of her heart. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t there.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
It wasn’t there.
She shut her eyes, as if blocking her sight would keep away the pain, and rested her head against the edge of the desk.
If her art journal fell into the wrong hands, they’d see no sense in it and label her crazy.
And if it fell into the right hands, in possession of someone who could understand it and hear her strangled screams through every dent and stroke and curve on those pages…
Well, they’d still label her crazy too.
And Carmen would rather have someone think she’s insane out of misunderstanding than out from the knowledge that her mind was truly broken.
