Wilting Blooms and Blossoming Flowers

II

Ashton

Ashton's weekend was a farce. Everyone was ecstatic over their victory against the Iron Maidens. He got congratulatory notes in the mailbox and texts from all of his teammates about how proud they were. But he knew otherwise. That if he hadn't made that kick, his house would have been egged and wrapped in toilet paper. That Cassidy Stranem, head cheerleader, wouldn't have slipped her tongue into his mouth in the end zone.

He went to a few of the parties hosted the rest of the weekend talking to his classmates and occasional townspeople that had heard about the outstanding play. They chattered on and he feigned listening, nodding his head and giving the obligatory words of modesty, "it was a team effort" and "couldn't have come this far without everyone's encouragement". He would smile and every person around would swoon and fawn over their hero. But he never thought twice about any of it.

He was there because he was good. And he was good- no, great- because he practiced instead of partying. Ashton studied on bus rides to away games in order to stay ahead in class. The last thing he needed was to be benched for having poor grades. Because he was the third Branwen to become the most valuable player for Wintercane High. He was to get a full ride to some Ivy League school on the east coast and live in excess for the remainder of his life doing whatever it is he was supposed to do.

Uncertainty was not something he was supposed to be feeling. Especially after getting multiple offers from highly praised schools. But after winning the game that Friday, and nearly every Friday before that, Ashton realized that he didn't feel a thing when he succeeded anymore. He'd always felt some bit of pride for achievement in the past. Whether it was getting an outstanding GPA, exceeding the benchmarks on the ACT, SAT, and any other college tests, kicking field goal after field goal flawlessly, having beautiful dates to every dance.

He worried that maybe he had peaked. He was as good as he would ever be. And without a way to improve, to become better, he had nothing to show. All of that was weighing him down, crushing him into the floor as he walked with heavy footsteps into school Monday morning.

He found his way to first period, avoiding the crowded hallways by being late to school, much to his parents' dismay. Mr. Saynt was in rare form, "Out celebrating all night?" he queried.

Ashton probably still had sheet marks on his skin. The indentions a clear indicator of just how sound he slept the night before. What little sleep he had gotten. Yes, Ashton had indulged in a couple parties but Sunday night he devoted himself to studying for Mr. Saynt's anticipated weekly pop quiz. He had awoken that morning to find his textbook still lying open beside him.

But Ashton didn't reveal this to anyone in the room giving a dismissive shrug and taking his seat in the back. The window he would have usually glanced out of let in rays of sun too blinding to be anything but a nuisance to his straining eyes. As the quiz Ashton predicted was passed down the rows, his head found a resting spot in the crook of his elbow. He faced away from the window, obviously, and after finishing the questions in front of him, Ashton let his sky eyes, close, marveling at the night he created by doing so. Maybe I can catch up on a bit of sleep. He thought as his mind accepted the spurious darkness as a queue to doze.

The rustling of papers being shoved haphazardly into bags woke Ashton and, to his surprise, his eyes found a pair staring back. He didn't know the name of the soft spoken girl that sat next to him. He recalled once thinking that her hair looked the same color as the Earl Grey his mother sipped in the mornings. Ashton had never talked to anyone outside of his clique but he wasn't completely oblivious. He knew her by face- or hair rather- and had seen her at the game Friday. She was the only one left in the stands after everyone had rushed the field.