We arrived early. Mom hadn’t shown me any photos so I wouldn’t start what she already called our relationship with preconceptions, except I had them anyway. I pictured Brad bald and fat, unfair considering Mom could’ve been a model. I imagined Asher as a gangly fifteen-year-old, resembling the boys at school whose growth spurts had been too much, too fast, and left them stretched out like bubble gum. We’d have nothing in common, I decided, and even less to say to each other. I’d be stuck at the stupid diner until I could make some excuse about having a stomachache and get us to leave early.
I sighed as I wriggled in my seat, the teal pleather already gluing itself to the backs of my bare legs, and promised myself I’d try to be good—civil, at least—for Mom. It wouldn’t be easy, but I was a good actress, so pretending for an hour wouldn’t be too hard. I looked around, saw three teenage girls with perfect, straight white teeth and killer cheekbones. If I was as old as them, if I was as beautiful as them, would Mom make me sit here? Would I feel as threatened by her having a boyfriend—ugh—as I did now?
Five minutes later the diner door opened, and Mom’s face lit up. I followed her gaze to the two people who’d walked in, realizing I’d got it completely wrong. Brad stood around six feet, had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, and a sculpted beard. He wore a pair of trendy jeans, and his blue T-shirt skimmed his flat stomach. He held up a muscular arm as he waved at us, and when my eyes moved to the boy behind him, my heart almost stopped.
Asher Bennett was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. He was a little taller than his father. His shock of dark brown hair—longer on top, shorter on the sides—had been swept back, revealing a face belonging on the cover of a magazine. Full, heart-shaped lips, a beauty spot to the right of his nose, which was neither too big, nor too small, but Goldilocks. I couldn’t stop watching the way he walked to us, self-assured and grown-up, his back straight. Mom had mentioned Asher ran track and wrestled in high school, and you could tell. His arms were toned, his chest broad. When he caught me staring at him, mouth agape, I blushed and dropped my gaze, hoping I’d die on the spot.
I forced myself to look at Brad, who gave Mom a chaste kiss on the cheek before shaking my hand and introducing himself, his words a garbled sound swirling around my ears. Asher’s presence made me will the floor to open beneath me. I wished I’d worn something other than my denim shorts, blue Mary Janes and the mint-green shirt Mom had bought me for my birthday that said √144 YEARS OLD in big white letters. Until then, I’d thought it was the coolest thing, except now it screamed nerd alert louder than anyone did at school.
“Nice to see you again, Ms. Scott.” Asher took Mom’s hand before reaching for mine, and I was convinced I’d burn up when our fingers touched. When it didn’t happen, my face continued to glow as a trickle of sweat rolled down my spine and seeped into the waistband of my shorts.
“Hi, Maya,” he said when I finally let go of his hand. “I’m Ash.”
Ash, not Asher, Mom, I’d have said, if only I retained the ability to speak.
She nudged me with her shoulder. “What do you say, Maya? Where are your manners?”
I couldn’t manage a single word. Ash lowered himself into the chair opposite me, while Mom fussed over him and Brad, handing out menus and rattling off the specials as if we’d been here a million times before. I couldn’t tell which one of us was more nervous.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ash said to me, his voice deep, his English accent as pronounced as his dad’s, only way, way cooler. As he perused his menu, I stole another glance, noticed his eyes were an orangey-gold color I’d only ever seen on the top of the old man’s walking stick in Jurassic Park, the original one Mom insisted I watch before the newer movies because she considered it a classic.
I still hadn’t spoken, and tried hard to come up with something that wouldn’t sound utterly lame. Impossible, so I kept quiet, focusing on getting a new bouncy sensation in my heart under control instead. I wondered if Mom might come to my rescue, but she and Brad were already engrossed in conversation, chatting about something they’d seen on the news.
Ash gestured to my shirt. “I’m guessing you’re twelve and a math fan?”
I looked up at him, swallowed hard and nodded once.
“Me, too.” He let out a small laugh, so lush and thick, I could almost taste it, like hot chocolate sauce poured over a banana split. “Well, I’m fifteen, not twelve,” he continued, “but math is my favorite subject.”
I took my first breath in what had to have been a year. “Not sports?”
“Sure, I love sports, too. But math is cool. If you ever need any help—”
“Hey, Ash, how are you?” One of the girls from the other table stood next to us, the prettiest one with the big, deep blue eyes, a blond mane, which almost reached her tiny waist, and glossy pink kiss me lips. She twirled a thick lock around her finger and shifted her head to one side as she waited for his reply.
“Hi, Sydney.” Ash sat back in his chair but wasn’t smiling. His face had gone into neutral—indifference, almost. He obviously had superpowers because I’d seen boys like him fall under the spell of girls like her in less than a nanosecond.
“We’re going to
