Our Beating Hearts

21

WHEN I GET HOME, THERE'S a Nordstrom bag on my bed. My pink suit. I know before I even look inside. My stomach twists as soon as I see it.

I FaceTime Mom at work. "What the hell is this?"

"Wow. That's not the reaction I was expecting."

"We can't afford this." My cheeks feel warm. "I'm returning it."

"Ashton."

"We're not spending two hundred and fifty dollars on a-"

She cuts me off. "Okay, first of all, it wasn't two hundred and fifty dollars. It was on sale."

"I don't believe you."

She flips her palms up. "Well, it's true. It was ten percent off, and then I got another fifteen percent for joining their email list."

"That's still almost two hundred dollars."

"Ash, this isn't for you to worry about."

"How can I not worry about it?" There's a lump forming in my throat. Yet again. This is ridiculous.

I'm not even a crier, but now I'm spending half my life on the verge of a breakdown.

"Ashton, we're fine. You know that, right?" She rubs the bridge of her nose. "I've got all that overtime from last month, and we've got another check coming in from your dad-"

"I don't want him paying for this."

"But you're okay with him paying for your cell phone? Your sketchpads? Ash, that's how child support works."

"Well, it's gross."

"Okay, you know what? He's only paying for another two months, and then you can be as financially independent as you want. But for now, can we just say, hey, it's done? It's paid for. He can afford it." She shakes her head. "Do you have to make everything hard?"

"Excuse me?" I say. And for a moment, we just stare at each other.

She exhales, shoulders sinking. "Look, can we talk about this when I get home?"

"Um. If you want."

"Okay. Good. Sweetie, please don't worry about the money, okay? We're fine, I promise."

I press my lips together.

"Ashton, for real. We're good. I wouldn't have bought it if we couldn't afford it. You know that, right?"

"Okay." I feel myself softening.

"I love you, okay? I'll be home at six. I can't wait to hear about your trip."

"Love you, too," I mutter. "And thanks for the suit. I guess."

She snorts. "Keep playing it cool, Ash. And you're welcome."

But I'm not cool. Not even close. I practically rip the garment bag open as soon as we hang up. I stare at the suit.

It's as perfect as I remember. Maybe more perfect. I forgot how badass pink can look.

I slip out of my jeans and wriggle into the suit, tugging on a white button-up and the blazer.

I flip on the bathroom light and peer at my reflection. And it's sort of a miracle: I don't look like shit.

The pale pink of the suit makes my skin look creamy, and my hair falls in loose curls just at my jaw.

Even my cheeks look apple-round and flushed. Now I want to stare into the mirror until I memorize myself. I want to cast this version of me in every daydream. This is an Ashton who could kick some solid ass. It's an Ashton who could make out for days.

When I get back to my room, my phone screen lights up with a text. I sink onto the bed, still wearing the suit.

It's Michael: Are you back?

I want to say no. Maybe I could disappear. Just for the rest of spring break. I could hole up in my

bedroom and not talk to anyone and spend the next four days cycling through my ever-expanding repertoire of daydreams. Like the one where I'm drumming in a stadium, wearing my prom suit, totally nailing it, and then Calum catches my eye from the audience, and the music slows, and he's smiling that full-smile that I only see when were alone. I can only assume he does because he's literally trying to wreck me.

I miss you! Luke adds. Want to do Starbucks on Friday?

Yeah. So now I feel like a dick because I haven't even thought about Luke in days. I barely remembered he existed.

Ashton: Yes! Bring Michael?

He writes back with a smiley emoji.

Luckily, Luke's an early bird, so I can head straight to Starbucks after dropping Mom off at work. But I forgot what a shitshow this place is on Friday mornings. The line for the drive-through is so long, I can barely get into the parking lot, and I end up having to park in the lot for the gentlemen's club next door. I'm five minutes early, but Luke's car is already here, and as soon as I step inside, I see her-light hair in a neat ponytail, back to the door.

She's sitting across from Luke.

I'm so angry, I could vomit. My stomach is actually lurching. Crystal catches my eye and murmurs something to Michael, who twists around to smile at me. He waves me over.

I just stand there, staring.

Luke turns back around, leans toward Luke, presses his hand down on the table, and stands. Then he walks straight toward me.

"Are you kidding me?" I ask him.

"Ash, no. Come on. You guys need to talk."

"I can't believe you lied to me."

Anna winces. "I didn't lie."

"You said it was just going to be Mikey and you."

"Technically, I replied with a very ambiguous emoji."

"It was a smiley! That's not ambiguous." I glance over his shoulder at Crystal, who gives me a tentative smile. Yeah, no. I turn away from him quickly. "You knew I didn't want to talk to her."

Luke rolls his eyes. "Okay, do you even realize how ridiculous you're being? It's senior year. There are two months left of school. Ever. And you guys have been friends since middle school. You're going to throw that away? Are you that fucking stubborn?"

"Don't you dare act like this is my fault?"

"God, just stop." Luke sighs. "Ashton, she knows she messed up. She was upset. She said something stupid. Can you please just let her apologize?"

"Calum's the one she should be apologizing to."

"Well, you're the one who's upset about this."

"You think Cal's not upset?" My cheeks are suddenly burning. I can't even say his name without blushing.

"Can you just talk to Crystal? Please?" His voice softens.

I look at him, and suddenly I'm eleven years old. A freckly mess of a sixth-grader with no friends.

Literally none.

I'd go to school, come home, and watch TV with Mom. I'd spend lunch periods reading Harry Potter in the bathroom. It was right after my mom told me that we were moving from Quakers Hill. It was just after I found out that Michael was moving there too, and the thing about Michael and Luke is that they were the first people here to give a shit about me. They were my friends, even before I knew Louis and Niall existed. So maybe I'm an asshole. Maybe I'm overreacting.

I swear to God, someone tied a knot in my stomach.

Luke shakes his head slowly. "Like, what's next? Are you going to find a reason to hate me? And Mikey? What about Cal? Are you going to shut us all out because you can't deal with saying goodbye?"

"Okay, that's bullshit, and you know it."

"Is it?"

"This isn't about me," I snap. "Crystal said something racist. And she didn't apologize to Cal. So, that's it. We're done here."

I turn on my heel and storm out of Starbucks, leaving Luke standing in front of the counter with his mouth hanging open.