For the Love of Ash (3 page)

I just hoped that Woodbury would allow me to do that. If not, I'd have to figure out a new plan. And I really hated planning anything. My first goal was to join one of the programs that lets new teachers teach English at schools across the globe. But things had gotten worse at home during my last semester of school. I couldn't leave while my siblings were still in high school and living in that house. They needed me more more than I needed to leave.
 

I parked my graduation present, a black Ford F250, in the faculty lot in the back of the school and locked the doors just in case. I wasn't really attached to the thing, but I did like having my own truck in case I needed to make a quick exit. 'Always have an exit strategy' was my main motto to live by.
 

The hallways at Woodbury were very different from W Prep. For one, they were white and blue tiled, alternating in an oldies kitchen style. And they were small. I felt huge walking to my office even though I was average sized for a man. Six foot, but not large by any means.
 

The good thing about being a gym teacher was that:
 

1. I was the only one in the school, which meant that I managed myself. My biggest deadline was submitting lesson plans and such to Principal K, who honestly acted like he didn't care. I'd find out soon enough.
 

2. I was a gym teacher. There wasn't much paperwork to do, and all I had to do was make children's days more fun. I liked helping people understand their athleticism and teaching them new things.

I unlocked my office and went over the schedule and rosters for the day. I was able to create a schedule that allowed me to take classes at Western for my master's degree. My prep periods and lunch were all at the end of the day, so on Tuesday's and Thursday's I was able to leave early without it disrupting my full load of teaching.
 

Of course, I couldn't just enter Western and begin my master's with perfectly transferred credits. Nothing in education was that easy. I had to take two lower level classes that were prerequisites for my Child Psychology classes. UConn never made me take them and now it was biting me in the ass and setting me back a semester. Hopefully, a higher degree would open up more options for me down the road—like teaching in a faraway land.
 

A knock sounded at my office door, and I stood from behind my crammed desk of papers I had put off reading and opened it. I had a mini room, so I didn't have to go far. Mrs. Kellar, the school counselor, stood before me with a stack of papers held to her chest.

She was attractive enough, not that I was really looking. Her hair was like my sisters', dirty blonde and clearly artificially colored. She was a bit too plain for my liking, but it's not like I was going to sleep with her.

"Come on in," I said, gesturing for her to enter. My office sucked, but it was mine, so I wasn't too bitter about it. I had an empty bookcase, a desk, and two chairs. That's it.
 

"I just wanted to let you know about one of your students."

"Okay," I said as I pulled out the stack of rosters I was given. "Which student?"

"Well, it looks like he's in your fourth period class," she said, biting her lip. She shuffled through her own stack of papers. They weren't in a pile but stacked haphazardly, corners sticking out from the group. "Yes, his name is Asher Larken."

"Okay, what about him?" I asked.

"His family died in a car accident last year, and it looks like he's been in therapy, but his guardian stopped by this morning. I told her that we'd monitor him a bit more closely and just make sure he's doing fine."

"What exactly is wrong with him?"

"I guess he exhibited some anxiety and depression last year right after their passing. She said she hadn't noticed anything lately, though. Like I said, it shouldn't be a problem, and he doesn't need extra help, but I felt bad for his guardian so I said I'd tell the teachers, so that's what I'm doing." She bit her lip, bouncing in the old chair like she was excited for the first day of school. Maybe nervous.
 

"Okay. That sounds fine. I'll keep my eyes open for you. I'll let you know if anything seems off."

"Great. Well, I hope your first day is spectacular." She flashed me a thumbs up, and I had to hold back a chuckle because of how cheesy she looked. What a strange woman. I put a little asterisk next to the boy's name, Asher, and then prepared for my first class of the day.
 

Chapter Three

Maggie

I got to Western College earlier than I expected. The new car smell wafted through the air, and as I drove down Route 15, I blasted the music and sang my heart out. I didn't want to smoke in my car mostly because of the smell, so after I parked in the empty main lot, I sat down on a bench outside of the college and lit up.
 

I hadn't been able to kick my nicotine habit yet. Although I had been trying. I found it was therapeutic when I was alone with a cigarette. Asher sucked his thumb; I sucked on smoke. I couldn't help it. I refused to smoke in front of Asher, so I had turned into a closet-smoker, only outside when he wasn't around or late at night after he had been put to bed.

When I took over custody of Asher, I quit school and figured I should take time to adjust as just the two of us. This was my first semester back at college, the first at this school. Luckily, it was a four year college with the price of a community college. I was lucky that they accepted my transferred credits.

It was different than my last school. There wasn't as much concrete, most of the grounds covered in bright green grass and shaded by giant oak trees. The school split on two sides of a one lane road.

East campus was smaller, housing mostly art classes. There was only one parking lot, surrounded by concrete circles with grass in the middle. A few people sat on the islands of green, open books on their laps.

My class today was on West Campus, the larger of the two. It looked to be brand new, with a full wall of glass windows that reflected the high sun.
 

I finished my cigarette and dragged myself through the double glass doors to a large open foyer. A security guard sat behind a small desk with a monitor on it that showed video surveillance. I nodded at him as I passed his desk and ran up the stairs to where I guessed my classroom was at.
 

I looked for W213.
 

After walking up and down the halls twice, I was convinced that it was invisible. Inhaling a long breath, I curled my fingers around the strap of my bag and spun around. I took one semester off, but as I searched for this stupid, invisible room, I swore that I must've lost all my brain cells in my time off.
 

I looked down at my cellphone and saw that I just had a few minutes to spare before class started. I suddenly felt faint, my palms sweaty. I shouldn't have smoked. A janitor walked by with a large neon-yellow cart, and I chased after him, nearly tripping over my own feet.
 

"Do you know where W213 is?" I asked him. He didn't say anything, but stopped and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.
 

I looked in that direction, thinking he'd told me to get lost, but then it clicked, and I ran towards where his finger directed. I found the room the next second. It was fucking two doors down the hall. I shook my head, smiling as I laughed at myself.

The first day in a new classroom was always the worst. I hated school, hated the format and classroom style. But I knew that I needed to have a degree and a real job to support myself and Asher. My dream was to leave this town full of ghosts behind and move on with our lives somewhere that is safe and feels right.

When I went to college before, it was just to pass the time and get the hell out from under my parents. I loved college for the experience and lifestyle, not for the classes. I barely even could make it to class, let alone pass. I had no career goals or life aspirations.

But now that I had full custody of Asher and he depended solely on me, I knew I needed to do something. I figured teaching would give me great hours and I'd have every holiday off. You just couldn't beat it. Plus, it would mean all my down time could be spent with Ash.
 

I walked into the room and beelined for the back row. I sat down in the farthest seat. There were only a few kids in the class, two in the row by the windows and one girl sitting in the center of the room. They ignored me, so I ignored them.

Every time someone entered the room, I glanced up. Since Western was in Norwalk, I knew there was a chance someone I knew would walk in. I grabbed my knee to stop my leg from bouncing. A chubby girl waltzed in, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked up, like usual. But this time, she glared at me, giving me a don't-fuck-with-me vibe. I frowned as I took in her appearance quickly before I was victim again to her glare.
 

She had really amazing tunnels of black hair. It was short, only hitting the bottom of her chin. The under part of her hair was lavender, making her look like a bad-ass. An angular set of bangs cut across her forehead, which made her face stand out.

I wished I could pull off some crazy hair-do. I remembered during my junior year of high school, my friends and I decided to play with some hair dye that we had bought from Walgreens.
 

My mother would have had a breakdown had she seen me doing it, but since she and my dad were out at some social gathering, the house was all mine. Asher was only two and had an on-call babysitter.
 

Karina was an expert at all things bizarre and punk. Her hair had been chopped into a short pixie cut with a little wave near her hairline in the front. The fluff in the front was aqua, the under parts maroon. She pulled it off like her hair naturally came in neon shades, and I was jealous.
 

I had my head down in the sink, and I began second-guessing myself. I acted as if I didn't care what my parents thought, but deep down, I really did. I pretended to be strong all the time when all I really wanted was their acceptance, their love.
 

I remembered thinking that by having bright red hair they might notice me. That was when my schemes for attention began. I didn't stop until they died, taking their love to the grave.
 

"What have you done to yourself, Margaret," my mother said when she saw my awesome hair. I had to admit, it was pretty bad-ass .and I felt confident with fire-red hair down to my shoulders. It didn't exactly go with my lighter skin tone, but it was fun.
 

It only lasted that one night. My mom dragged me to her personal hair stylist the next morning, making me skip school and miss a test. She said my father couldn't see me like this or I'd be out on the street. I smiled because I had gotten what I wanted: her attention.
 

I got to spend the morning with her. Sort of. She sat beside me as a hairstylist fixed my "mistake," sipping on her coffee and punching buttons on her blackberry. She did a lot of charity work, but it was more like a real job, because it was all she ever did. She loved being asked to chair things, loved organizing parties. I got my neat-freak ways from her, so for that, I was at least thankful.
 

I shook my head, and my eyes met with the girl in the seat next to me. I could've sworn I knew her from somewhere, but I just couldn't place her. Her eyes were familiar in the strangest way—especially how she looked at me. I trained my eyes down on my desk but peeked up at her as she squirmed in her chair one aisle over from me. My heart beat rapidly for some reason, and I continued to face my tan desk, memorizing the stupid swirls in the wood-like plastic.

She began to hum to herself, something upbeat and happy. I looked over from the corner of my eye and saw her pull out a notebook and pen. I turned back to my desk fast, so I wouldn't get caught, and watched the door. But she caught my attention when she gasped, her breath audible from beside me.
 

I knew the sound came from her since nobody else was that close to me. She tapped me on the shoulder with a pen, the point jabbing into my skin. I glanced towards her, again caught off guard by her familiar face.
 

"Hey, I know you," she said, her voice low and raspy like a long-time smoker's.

"Oh, um—" I stumbled over my words, not knowing how to get myself out of this awkward situation. I swore she was right, we did know each other, but like a moron, I just couldn't remember how. I turned hot all the way from my chest to my forehead.

"It's okay. I'm June." She held out her hand, a cheeky smile on her face. I took it. "You might know me better as Pudge. At least that's what you and your friends called me in high school."
 

My eyes immediately widened, my cheeks heating even further. I hated my high school self, mostly because of the people I thought were my friends and how they shaped me into a selfish brat I never knew I had become. I pulled my hand back and rubbed the bottom of my shirt, rolling the fabric over my thumb. Suddenly, the remembrance flooded back.