Close to Me Read online

  Kind of, I want to say, but if he were to ask me why, I probably couldn’t come up with a good answer. So I just nod and shrug. “It doesn’t really matter, I guess.”

  He actually looks hurt by my words. “It wouldn’t matter?”

  “I don’t know,” I say carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “I suppose it would be nice to see you while I’m cheering on the sidelines.” Though I don’t know how much I would actually notice him.

  “It wouldn’t bother you that I’m there? That I would be at practice a lot with the team? Boys you go to school with?” he asks, his voice curious.

  “I’m at practice too so…” I shrug. Him being there really won’t make a difference in my life.

  “I just don’t want you or your brothers and sister to think me doing this will take time away from the family,” he says as his gaze drifts around my room. “Did you move your furniture around again?”

  I do that a lot, rearrange the furniture in my bedroom. I’m constantly wanting a new look, and I know it irritates them sometimes. Dad says I’m going to scratch up the wood floors, but I never do. I’m always careful.

  I decide to change the subject.

  “Are they paying you? The high school?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. We have enough money, I think. We live in a huge house in the most exclusive part of town, with a gorgeous view of the lake. We have a dock on the lake too, though we don’t own a boat yet, despite having lived here now for a year.

  At first I thought it was isolating, living on the lake. Now I realize it’s a coveted spot, and lots of kids party near my neighborhood, which really isn’t a neighborhood at all, not like we used to live in. Everything’s so spread out, and everyone owns so much land, including us.

  There’s a spot on the ridge, though, just above us, where everyone goes on the weekends. I haven’t been invited to go yet, but when you’re a freshman, they all ignore you.

  I’m going to be a sophomore now, and a cheerleader. That has to give me some sort of cred.

  “They’re giving me a stipend, but I’m not doing this for the money. I’m doing it for the kids. For the boys on that team. I get the sense that they need some sort of leadership,” he says, and I can see it in his eyes that he means every word he says. My dad only wants to do good for people. Sometimes too much. Mom says his kindness gets taken advantage of sometimes, but she’s more wary. Not as trusting.

  I guess they balance each other out.

  “The boys have a lot of potential,” Dad continues. “They have a great quarterback.”

  Yeah. JT the dick, who tried to get me to send him naked pics last year.

  “And the one who’ll replace him next year is amazing. So much raw potential. He’s just—troubled,” Dad finishes, a dark look on his face.

  My entire body goes tense. I know who he means.

  Ash. Asher Davis. Does he play with matches because of his name?

  That’s how I always figured it. Who knows if I’m right? I don’t even talk to that guy.

  “He’s kind of a jerk,” I tell my dad, deciding honesty really is the best policy.

  He winces. “He’s not had the best life.”

  Curiosity rises within me. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t really discuss it with you.” Reaching out, he sets his big hand on top of my head and messes up my hair. I dodge away from his touch and his hand drops. “Just give him a break. Okay?”

  “Sure.” I shrug. No way am I ever giving him a break.

  Ever.

  Three

  It’s the first day of school, and I walk into my sixth period chemistry class, smiling over at Mr. Curtin, who’s sitting behind his desk, already chatting with a couple of students. All of them girls. He’s younger, in his late twenties, and I’ve heard more than once from girls who think he’s hot or they have a crush on him.

  Ew.

  But anyway.

  I realize quick I don’t have any friends in this class. I sort of knew that already, since none of my closest friends have chem during sixth period, but I was hoping for a few acquaintances at least.

  I know no one.

  Making my way to the back of the classroom, I settle in at the last table in the left row, closest to the door. I pull my phone out of my backpack and check Snapchat—Dad finally gave in and let me have it—where I have a message from Kaya. She’s my best friend, and we constantly talk. Even though we just saw each other at lunch, which ended not even ten minutes ago, we still snap each other. DM each other. Sometimes text each other.

  I open her snap to see a blurry photo of the back of some guy’s head. It’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

  Ben Murray is in my history class!

  Jealousy rises, but I tamp it down. I’ve had a minor crush on Ben for the last few months, and Kaya knows it.

  I take a selfie and quickly tap out my response.

  No one I know is in this class

  She responds almost immediately.

  You get to stare at Curtin for the next forty-five minutes.

  Kaya included a heart eyes emoji and I send a rolling eyes emoji in response.

  I’m not hot for teacher like everyone else in our grade, gross.

  The girls surrounding Curtin’s desk all scatter back to their tables and he rises to his feet, walking over to the open door and pushing it shut. Immediately the sounds from outside are gone, and the class becomes eerily silent. He goes to the board and picks up a pen, writing his name across the blank white expanse, then turns to face us.

  He remains quiet for a moment, his gaze sweeping the room, before he finally speaks up.

  “Please tell me I don’t scare you,” Mr. Curtin says with a chuckle, and we all smile in response.

  Yes, even me. I can admit his easygoing personality will go a long way with this class, a subject I’m not particularly looking forward to. But I have to take it, especially if I want to go to a good college and get away from this boring little town my parents seem to love so much.

  Curtin starts talking about chemistry and I immediately start spacing out, forgetting all about my good intentions. A syllabus is passed out. He mentions that we’ll be partnering up with the person sitting next to us at our table for our lab projects, and I glance over at the empty seat beside me.

  “With the exception of Miss Callahan, it seems,” he says, making everyone turn to look at me and laugh.

  My cheeks burn and I slump in my seat. I still have a problem with attention being focused on me. I took dance, I competed on stage for a couple of years, and that was no big deal. I’m now on the cheer team and while we haven’t cheered at a game yet, I’m not worried about it. Yet a teacher calls me out for something minor and I want to disappear.

  I need to get over it.

  Suddenly the door bursts open and in strides the very last person I thought I’d see.

  Ash Davis.

  The smirk on his face is annoying, even though it’s not aimed at me. His hair is dark as sin and a mess, flopping across his forehead in a clear indication that he needs a haircut. His eyes are so dark they look pitch black, and I swear if Satan had a son, it would be this boy.

  Mom has said from the moment Dad started coaching the football team that Ash looks like trouble, but there was always an affectionate tone in her voice. As if for some reason, my mother actually likes him.

  I don’t understand why.

  “Ah, Mr. Davis.” The teacher smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. More like he appears super irritated, which I think is a consistent emotion among the teachers when it comes to dealing with Ash. “So kind of you to finally join us.”

  “Sorry I’m late, Curtin.” Ash casts his smirk upon all of us in the classroom, as if he’s performing on stage and we’re all watching him from the audience. “What I’d miss?”

  A few girls giggle, me not included.

  I just stare straight ahead, not really looking at him, not really looking at anything. I’ve never had a cla
ss with Ash before. I figured we were on different tracks and our paths wouldn’t cross, at least not during class time.

  This is what I get for thinking I’d never have to deal with him again—more like I was in a major state of denial. I should’ve known. More than that, I should’ve remembered that we share a friend group, though he’s more on the fringe of it. He’s on the football team and I’m a cheerleader—though he’s on JV so we don’t cheer during his games. At lunch, or whenever our friends are sitting together, I try my best to avoid him.

  And he knows it.

  I don’t know why I avoid him. Maybe I didn’t like how he blunt he was when we first met. Maybe I don’t like how he struts around campus like he owns the place. Maybe I don’t like the way he looks at me, as if he can see right through me, right down to the very essence of my soul.

  That sounds dramatic, but it’s true. Ash Davis makes me uncomfortable. Most of the time in a bad way.

  Sometimes, though I’d never tell anyone this, he makes me uncomfortable in…a good way.

  Though I refuse to have a crush on him. Every other girl in the sophomore class does already. He doesn’t need to add me to his list.

  “Lucky you, Asher, you haven’t missed much. Here’s the syllabus.” Curtin hands Ash the piece of paper he passed out only a few minutes ago and then flicks his head. “Go find your seat. It’s next to Autumn Callahan, who’ll be your lab partner this semester.”

  I sit up straighter, looking over at the empty seat next to me before I search the room, mentally counting…each…full…seat.

  Oh my God. He’s going to be my lab partner?

  For the entire semester?

  Kill me now.

  Asher saunters toward my table and I watch him, our gazes connecting. Holding. His smirk disappears, his lips thinning the slightest bit, as if I might disgust him, and I swallow hard, curling my hands together on top of the table.

  “Hey.” He nods in my direction as he flops into the chair next to mine, tossing his backpack on top of the table, making a lot of noise and causing Mr. Curtin to pause for a second in his discussion. “It’s been a while.”

  I look away, staring straight ahead once more. “Please don’t talk to me,” I say as quietly as possible. He knows I don’t like him.

  Well…it’s not that I dislike him.

  More like he completely unsettles me. Just having him this close, I feel something crackling between us. Electricity? Chemistry?

  Oh, ha ha. That’s funny, considering we’re in a chemistry class.

  I frown and dip my head, staring at the table. My thoughts are ridiculous. My reaction to Ash is ridiculous too. He’s just a boy. A very good looking, confident boy, who leaves me on edge every time I so much as look at him.

  Chuckling, Ash shakes his head as he unzips his backpack and pulls out a tattered notebook and a pen. Didn’t even bother to buy school supplies for the new year, while I live for that kind of thing. The back-to-school section at Target in early August is my favorite place ever. “You’re something else, Callahan.”

  I say nothing. I just lift my head and keep my eyes glued on the whiteboard as Mr. Curtin keeps talking. I reach for the brand-new binder that’s already on the table in front of me and flip it open, finding the color-coded tab for chemistry and turning to that section so I can slip the syllabus into the folder. I can feel Ash watch me the entire time, that smirk returning when I glare at him, and he looks ready to laugh.

  “You’re one of those girls who gets off in office supply stores, huh.” Somehow he makes that sentence sound dirty.

  “I do not.” I lift my chin, not daring to look in his direction.

  He scoots his chair toward mine, closer and closer, until his breath causes strands of hair to fan across my face. “Liar.” His breath is hot, his voice low as he speaks directly into my ear. “I bet you practically cream your panties every time you’re in the planner section.”

  A gasp leaves me and I turn my head so fast, our noses practically touch. He rears back, though not far enough. Anger has my blood running hot, though it’s not enough to drown out the weird, tingly feeling I’m experiencing.

  I hate that weird, tingly feeling with everything I’ve got.

  I also hate Asher Davis.

  “You’re disgusting,” I practically spit at him.

  He leans back in his chair, looking very pleased with himself. “You like it.”

  “No,” I say vehemently. “No, I do not.”

  “Is there a problem here, Mr. Davis? Miss Callahan?” Mr. Curtin asks.

  Ash says, “No.”

  At the same time, I say, “Yes.”

  Curtin rests his hands on his hips, staring us both down. The entire classroom has gone silent once more, a few people turning in their seats to watch us, and I wish I could disappear.

  This is so not how I wanted to kick off my first day of sophomore year.

  “Do I need to separate you two?” Mr. Curtin continues.

  “Please,” I say.

  “No, we’re good,” Ash chimes in.

  I glare at him again, but this time, he’s the one who won’t look at me. His clutched hands are resting on top of the table, the expression on his face is downright angelic, and that is not a word I would’ve ever associated with Asher Davis before.

  “You two need to keep quiet,” Curtin finally says before he resumes his lecture yet again.

  Forty long minutes later, the bell rings and I gather up my things quickly, shoving everything into my backpack without care, which is totally unlike me. I have seventh period P.E. because of cheer, and I’m guessing Ash has P.E. too since the entire football team takes weight training the last period of the day. This means we’re both headed to essentially the same place, and I don’t want him to walk by me or even try to talk to me.

  I don’t want anything to do with him.

  Ever.

  I’m out the door before he can even get his lazy butt out of the chair, and I shoot down the hall, making my way toward the gym, where I can hide in the girls’ locker room and never have to see him again.

  Until tomorrow.

  Ugh. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to survive the next semester working with him.

  Withholding the agonized groan that wants to escape, I turn left, running right into someone. We collide so hard I make a weird startled noise, and strong hands reach out to grab my arms, steadying me. When I look up, I see it’s…

  Asher?

  He’s grinning. “Can’t get away from me that fast, Callahan.”

  How did he catch up to me so quickly? It’s like he did it on purpose.

  “Don’t call me that,” I tell him, which of course makes him squeeze my arms tighter. Not enough to hurt, but not enough to easily break away from him either.

  “What do you want me to call you then? Autumn?” His voice pitches higher when he says my name and he makes a disgusted face, shaking his head. “That’s, like, the stupidest name ever.”

  I’m totally offended, which is annoying. I’m also…hurt, which makes me mad. He shouldn’t affect me whatsoever. He’s nothing. And how I feel about him is nothing too. “Right, and Ash is such a great name,” I throw back at him, sounding absolutely ridiculous.

  He releases his hold on me so fast that I stumble a little, though I catch myself before I fall. I didn’t realize how strong he is. Or how my skin is still tingling where he touched me. “It was my dad’s name.”

  He sounds defensive, the expression on his face arrogant. Like I should bow at his feet and tell him how great he is.

  Well screw that.

  “So you both have a stupid name, huh? Ash? More like you’re a total ass. Your dad is probably an ass too, just like you.” My voice is taunting, and what I’m saying is stupid, I know it is.

  But I can see the way his eyes darken—not sure how that’s possible, they’re so dark already—and I can tell he’s angry.

  Maybe even…

  Hurt?

  No. No wa
y.

  “Real nice, Callahan.” His voice is flat, his expression devoid of any emotion. “I hope making fun of someone who’s dead makes you feel better about yourself.” And with those final words…

  He walks away.

  Four

  “Mom?” I stand in the doorway of my parents’ bedroom, hoping she’s alone. Dad’s still at football practice and I always get home before he does. Mom might have Ava with her, or Beck. Or even Jake, though I’m pretty sure he’s locked up in his room playing video games like he usually does after school. He has youth football practice at six, so Mom will take him over to the high school in a few minutes.

  I really need to talk to her before she leaves.

  Mom exits her closet, stopping short when she sees me. “Oh, Autumn. I thought I heard someone calling me. You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I lie as I enter their bedroom and glance around, my gaze snagging on the giant windows that line the wall facing the lake. It’s a gorgeous view. Peaceful. My bedroom faces the front of the house, which isn’t as pretty. “I just wanted to ask you a question.”

  “I hope I have an answer.” Mom smiles and sits on the side of the bed, patting the spot beside her.

  I go to where she’s sitting and settle in, leaning my head against her chest briefly when she wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me into her, squeezing me tight. It feels so good, so comforting, that I almost want to cry.

  In fact, I sort of do, and she can tell, because I’m sniffing and suddenly wiping at my eyes.

  “Aw, sweetie, what’s wrong? Did something happen at school today?” Her voice is soft and I’m flooded with memories of my mom comforting me when I was little after I’d fall and hurt myself. Scraped-up knees and scratches on my arms are nothing compared to the pain in my chest I’ve been feeling this afternoon, though. I couldn’t concentrate at practice today. I kept messing up and my coaches were getting annoyed with me.

  “Yeah.” I nod and close my eyes tightly, like that’s going to stop the tears from flowing. Side note—it doesn’t stop them at all. “Is it wrong to insult someone’s dead father when you didn’t know his father was dead in the first place?”