14

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I see Aster often over the next week. The near-kiss in the pool doesn’t seem to have bothered her, for which I’m grateful. It does bother me, however, which stings. It’s not that I’ve never been turned down before, it’s just that I’ve never cared. If a girl wasn’t interested I’d move on to someone who was. Now I don’t want to move on. The longer I know Aster, the more I want her.

On Wednesday I stroll over to Aster’s dorm. We have plans to study at the library, and I walk slowly, enjoying the rare day of sunshine, feeling oddly happy for a guy who hasn’t gotten laid in months.

I adjust my bag over my shoulder and squint into the sun as I see Aster step out the front door of the building with a large box in her hands. A young girl walks behind her, wheeling a suitcase, and there’s a car parked at the curb, with two people, presumably parents, loading things into the trunk.

I approach just as the three get in the car. Aster leans over to say something through the window to the girl in the backseat, then straightens as they drive away. She waves, but there’s tension in her shoulders and a phoniness in her smile.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

She jolts and turns to see me waiting. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. Who was that?”

She runs her hand through her hair, the blond strands immediately falling back into alignment. “Sydney. One of the girls from my floor.” She sounds sad. “She’s leaving school.”

“Permanently?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? What happened?”

She waves for me to follow her inside, and in the elevator she slumps against the far wall. “She cheated on a test and got caught. When they accused her, she panicked, lied about it, lied some more, and basically made everything worse.”

“And they expelled her?”

“Yep.”

The elevator stops and we get out. I hold the door as Aster grabs her book bag from her room and returns seconds later, dropping it on the floor as she shrugs into a denim jacket. She studies her feet, looking miserable, as we ride back down. Even the sunshine—the first glimpse we’ve had in weeks—doesn’t improve her mood.

We walk in silence. Aster’s wearing red flats with little bows on the toes, so shiny they reflect the black of my combat boots, and I admire the contrast as we trudge along.

“Hey,” I say, when we’re a block away from the library. “Let’s do something else.”

Aster stops. “Like what?”

“I need some ice cream.”

“Huh?”

“And you definitely need some ice cream.”

“I do?” But she doesn’t resist when I take her arm and steer her away from the library.

“Who knows when we’ll see the sun again?” I say reasonably. “We should take advantage of it.”

Her mouth quirks. “I guess any excuse to eat ice cream is a good excuse.”

I hold the door to the shop and Aster passes through ahead of me. It’s mid-afternoon and the place is packed with students who had the same great idea. We get in line and contemplate the flavors, and when it’s time to order, Aster gets vanilla with sprinkles and I get orange-licorice swirl.

“I’ve got this,” I say, when she reaches for her wallet.

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to. Because I’m so chivalrous.”

She snickers. “Oh, right. And don’t forget modest.”

“Screw modest. Don’t forget handsome.”

The cashier rolls his eyes at the exchange, but I don’t care about anyone else right now, because Aster is finally smiling as she winds through the crowded room and finds us a tiny table in the corner.

“So,” I say, taking the seat opposite her.

“So,” she replies, licking sprinkles off the side of her cone. “Let’s talk about something.”

My heart stutter stops, waiting for the ax to fall. Let’s talk never leads anywhere good.

It takes a second to find my voice. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Aster props her chin on her hand. “Have you always liked disgusting ice cream, or is this a new thing?”

I freeze stupidly. “What?” My heart feels like it’s trying to beat again, but can’t remember the rhythm.

“I know people like to experiment in college, but don’t you think you’re taking it to the extreme? I mean, orange and black licorice? Aidan, that’s revolting.”

I sputter. “You got the most boring option on the entire menu. I was going to be a gentleman and overlook it, but you’ve crossed a line.”

“I’m boring?” she asks, fluttering her lashes as she twists the cone in her hand, tongue poking out to make a ring in the vanilla.

My cock does not think Aster is boring.

I squirm in my seat. “So boring,” I manage.

She smirks. “Well, maybe a little.”

A trio of girls clambers into a booth nearby, and Aster sobers as she observes them.

“Were you two close?” I ask.

“With Sydney?” Her brow furrows as she thinks about it, like she really wants to get the answer right. And even before she replies I know she cares more than she wants to, and that for whatever reason, this hurts her. “Maybe not close enough,” she answers.

“How close are you supposed to be? You’re resident advisor to what, forty kids?”

“About that. It’s just, she dug herself such a deep hole, and I can’t help but feel that maybe if she’d come to me, I could have helped her out of it.”

“You can’t be responsible for knowing what secrets the students are keeping.”

She studies her fingernails. “I bumped into her once, in the bathroom. She was crying. I didn’t know it then, but she’d just been caught. She told me she was homesick and I fell for it.”

“It’s not your fault, Aster.”

She blows a fallen sprinkle off the table. “I know. I just keep thinking that if she’d told me the truth, I could have helped her somehow.”

“Maybe she was embarrassed.”

“Or maybe she didn’t think I was someone she could talk to.” She raises those blue eyes to mine, her pain on display. “That’s my whole job, Aidan. And I don’t think I’m very good at it.”

I scoff. “You have to be kidding. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever known, minus your ice cream choices. You’re very easy to talk to.”

“Would you tell me?” she asks. “If you’d gotten caught?”

My throat closes up for a second. “Cheating?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never cheated on a test.”

“Something bad, then. Would you trust me not to judge you?”

I picture her giving Jerry a box containing the ashes of his burnt belongings. “Of course,” I lie.

Something flickers in her gaze, the blue darkening a shade. “Okay,” she says, smiling sadly, resigned. “Then there’s nothing more I could have done.”

“Nope,” I say. “Not a thing.”

She stares out the window and eats her ice cream.

“You know what else might cheer you up?” I ask.

She glances at me warily. “What?”

“Kill Glory 5.”

She makes a face. “That stupid horror movie franchise? Pass.”

“It’s not stupid, it’s brilliant. And the new one opens on Friday. Come with me.”

“I have to wash my hair.”

I flick a stray sprinkle at her. “Your hair always looks dirty anyway. Just wear a hat.”

She laughs, a real, reaffirming sound that makes something inside of me ease. It’s a sound I didn’t know I needed in my life until now. A sound I didn’t know I’d been missing.

“And to think I was considering your invitation.”

“What’s to consider? Remember how handsome I am? We just talked about it.”

She groans in mock disgust, but I know I’ve got her.