I meet him after exam time. He’s waiting for me with his back pressed the wall, his black leather jacket contrasting with the creamy colored surface. The air is so cold outside that whenever he breathes out, thick clouds of smoke form. <Damnit. The one day I forget my jacket, and it’s freaking fifty below outside.> His hand reaches up to tousle some of his dyed navy-blue hair, still not noticing that I’m staring at him in all of his gothic perfection.
“Hi, Asher.”
His head turns.
“Thanks for waiting, it’s freezing out here, huh?”
He nods, then starts to remove his jacket.
“Oh, no, no. I’m okay. Cold is my natural habitat.”
He forces a smile.
“So where’s your next class?” I ask, looking around at the buildings. Asher’s head flicks over to Building C. The English building. “Cool, I have class there, too.” The walk isn’t eventful, we basically keep to ourselves. The fact that he’s so quiet isn’t surprising. Being seen with a non-’A lister’, would be equivalent to social suicide in his case. And us walking together could be seen as two people walking in the same direction, nothing odd. Finally, we arrive at Building C. He opens the door for me, and I rush into the warmth of the building with a ‘thank you’ trailing behind. “Mm. Building C always had a nice heater.” I say, rubbing my hands together. He smiles. We both make our way up the same pair of stairs, and the same hallway. A knowing smirk grows upon his pale face. He opens the door for me, and I meekly amble into the classroom.
--
Lunch time, and I’m sitting with Asher Smith. Freaking Asher Smith! He doesn’t get much of a lunch. An apple, granola, and, many, many napkins. We end up sitting in the far corner of the Cafeteria. My friends are on break, so I’m thankful that Asher sits with me. He pulls out a pen.
Hi. Lunch is boring, want to play ten questions?
Stunned, I stared at the message scribbled on his napkin. Ten questions? What? Asher rolls the pen to me across the table.
Sure. But why?
I pass the napkin back.
As I said before, lunch is boring. Next question!
P.S. That does count as a question.
I pull out a napkin out of the stack that he has and start writing what comes to mind first.
Question one: How old are you?
That’s a bizarre question. I’m sixteen. And you?
Fifteen, old man. Ready for the next question?
You already asked it.
Darn. What question number is this, then?
You’re on question number five. By the way, you’re really bad at containing your curiousness.
I roll my eyes, getting a smirk from him.
Question FIVE: What made you move to Greenfield Academy (for the gifted)?
He pauses, and twirls the pen between his fingers.
I moved away from my old school. Next question.
Question six: What’s your favorite color?
Blue.
Like your hair?
Yes. You wasted another question.
Question eight: Now we’re getting personal... do you have friends here?
No. I would count you, but we’re not friends.
Wow. That’s insulting.
Poor thing. Go cry about it.
Question nine: Are you usually so mean?
No, just to people I find interesting. <smirk>
My heart pounds, this is the question I’ve wanted to ask for a long time.
Question ten: Why don’t you talk to me?
Slowly, I slide the napkin across the table. He looks at it, smirks, and then answers.
I’m a mute.
--
A/N: Not a surprise, huh? Hehe. Tell me what you think. I like the idea of this story... I have a lot of plans for this story, too. ^^
