a/n: double update! make sure to read the last chapter before this one :)

One week.

She was gone for exactly one week, and now she's back.

I remember when I was younger, I would try to find the pattern. I would sit on my bed late at night, and write everything down in my planner. The dates of her business trips, the dates she returned from them, how long she would stay home. Thirteen-year-old me didn't do a very good job considering I could hardly remember every time she left or came back. That's when I realized there is no pattern; she comes and goes as she pleases.

"I got a call from your school this morning," she says to me without looking up from her home magazine in front of her.

I freeze, my arms still holding onto my hair that I was in the middle of tying up. "What about?" I ask in ignorance although I know exactly what the school called about.

"They informed me that we have to attend a conference to meet with your teachers. The secretary also told me that they gave you the sheet of paper that you were supposed to give me so I could schedule a time that works for us."

I nod along slowly as I grab a protein bar from the pantry. "Right. I completely forgot about the conferences."

She narrows her eyes at me as she takes a sip of her black coffee. "Hm," she mumbles in suspicion. "Well I scheduled ours for not next week but the week after. Monday at 3:30."

I try to hide my disappointment. A small part of me was hoping she wouldn't want to attend the conference. It's hard to understand and divide her two different personalities: the mom who doesn't care enough about her child and the one who cares too much.

I nod, taking a deep breath. Fortunately, it doesn't seem like she has more to say to me. I grab my backpack from the bottom of the staircase and feel my back pocket to check for my cell phone.

As I'm about to head back up the stairs to grab my phone, the doorbell rings. 

"Who's ringing the damn doorbell this early in the morning?" My mom asks as she stands up from the stool by the island.

My eyes widen once I realize who's on the other side of the door.

"I'll get it!" I say, trotting over to the door before my mom gets the chance to do it herself.

I open it slightly, meeting eyes with a confused-looking Asher. He gives me a small smile.

"Hi," I say.

"Hey," he drawls. "I texted you a bunch of times telling you I was here. Just wanted to make sure everything is alright... do you still need a ride or—"

"Who is it, Estella?" My mom calls out from the kitchen.

I hold up a finger at Asher before turning around. "It was no one. I'm going to school now. Bye!"

I step outside and quickly shut the door behind me. Any second, my mom will run out here and insist on driving me herself. But I grab Asher's forearm and we make our way to his car as fast as we can.

"What the hell?" He asks as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking spot. "You wanna tell me what that was about?"

I sigh, looking out the window to avoid his curious gaze and also to make sure my mom isn't opening the front door. "Not really."

"Estella."

"My mom is just a little... strict," I say, which isn't the complete truth but also not a lie. "I was talking to her and I left my phone in my room so I didn't see any of your messages. My bad."

He nods. "No, you're good. It's just that you seemed a little— I don't know, scared when you opened the door."

Scared seems accurate enough.

"I wasn't," I say, probably a little too defensively to sound believable.

"You're right." He turns onto another street and I almost sigh in relief. "I've seen you scared. Like the way you looked before we got on Ghost Rider. I thought you were gonna fucking puke all over me."

I smile. "But I didn't."

"I applaud you for it." He laughs.

Asher was right about Ghost Rider— it isn't the roller coaster of death in my eyes anymore. I think I might have enjoyed it more than any other ride. It was a thrilling experience. The combination of Asher screaming beside me and gripping onto my hand the entire ride left me wanting to go on again.

"You didn't pick Aaron up today."

He scoffs. "He went to office hours for some test coming up."

I hum in understanding. "For Calc?"

"No idea." He shrugs. "I take Statistics."

I nod. After a moment, I realize that at Westwood, only studengs who have enough credits to graduate take Stats. I'm about 95% sure that Asher doesn't care for math at all, so I have no clue how he's in the class.

"You miss him or something?" He asks, glancing in my direction.

"What?"

"Are you worried he's out with a girl right now?" He continues. "Cause I wouldn't worry about that."

I roll my eyes. "No, I was just asking, Asher. I— never mind."

A laugh escapes his mouth. "Now don't get flustered, Estella."

My face betrays me by heating up, coating my cheeks in a light blush. I wish I had some way to control it, but it's completely out of my hands. I've blushed more times in the recent month than I have for my previous seventeen years of life.

What is wrong with you, Estella?

Good question, subconscious.

"I'm not flustered," I respond. "It was just an observation."

He pulls into a parking spot in the school's lot, an amused grin still plastered onto his face. I shake my head. No matter what I tell Asher, he'll always find my struggle to maintain composure a source of entertainment. From the day I met him and each day since then.

"I believe you, Estella." He laughs as we get out of his car and make our way to the school building.

-

"Aaron, focus," I say for the tenth time since we began working on our project for History class.

"I am," he replies, turning back around in his chair to face me again.

Mr. Sanders is a strong believer that we complete tasks to the best of our abilities with the people we choose to work with. He says that since all of our other teachers believe the exact opposite, he'll be the one to balance it out. So he lets us choose who we want to work with for simple assignments and big projects, like the one we're chiseling on right now.

Right when he announced we would be choosing our partners for our project on generations, Aaron gently tugged my ponytail, letting me know he wanted to work with me for the assignment.

What I didn't expect was Aaron's short attention span, at least when it comes to History. No matter how many times I tell him to focus on our project, he forgets about it within a couple minutes and ends up conversing with the two guys who sit across from us.

"Okay, then tell me. What characteristics do you think Generation X inherits that impact the world positively?" I ask him.

"They raised Gen Z."

I roll my eyes. "That's not a characteristic, Aaron."

He narrows his eyes. "Then I got nothing. But, hear me out, Estella. What if we focus on their lifestyle instead? Their music, style, things like that. All of that shit still impacts the world today. You know what I mean?"

I nod along to his suggestion, which I must admit, is a good one. Our driving question that we need to answer is how Gen X has impacted the world today. I like the way Aaron thinks out of the box and instead decides to focus on something many people overlook.

"That's a good idea." I smile.

"Thank you." He nods. "Told you I'm smart."

I chuckle, typing away at our currently blank document, filling it with ideas based on what Aaron suggested. He does the same, finally finding a rhythm as he jots down his own ideas.

"How we doing over here?" Mr. Sanders asks as he makes his way over to our desks.

"Great," I reply. "We've got some ideas."

He nods in approval as he scans over our document after I hand him my computer.

"Interesting approach," he mumbles. "I like it."

"Thank y—"

"What are we talking about over here?"

Asher takes a seat on top of Aaron's desk, crossing his arms as he inserts himself into the ongoing conversation. Aaron and I give him a confused look, which he returns with a smile and a small shrug.

"Get back to your seat," Mr. Sanders says, shaking his head. "No one was talking to you, Asher."

"Wait, but I actually have a question," he replies, waving around his index finger. "What exactly is the point of this project? Just my dying curiosity, you know."

"We can memorize all 45 presidents if you think this is pointless. I'll even quiz you on them," Mr. Sanders counters. "Maybe that's more useful?"

Asher's top lip curls in disgust. "You know, on second thought, I think I'm gonna go work on this extremely important-to-learn-about assignment."

I laugh as he reluctantly walks back to his seat beside Devin's. Something tells me she'll end up doing most of the work between the both of them in order to complete the project.

"Alright, good work guys," Mr. Sanders says as he walks away from our desks.

"I guess you are pretty smart." I smile, nudging my shoulder against his.

He returns the smile. "Estella Ramirez called me, Aaron Fulton, smart? Fuck, I mean— my life is complete."

I roll my eyes at his obnoxious tone. Sometimes I forget just how cocky he can be, but never for long because he never fails to remind me of the trait.

"You're not funny."

"I'm being serious," he says with a shrug. "My life is now complete. Thank you, Estella."

Just as I'm about to respond, Mr. Sanders addresses the entire class, letting us know this project is due next week and that we won't be having any more class time to work on it. We'll need to find some place else to complete the project.

"When do you wanna work on this?" I ask Aaron as we pack up our things.

"Mm," he mumbles. "We can go to Starbucks or something on Friday. Or anywhere, it doesn't matter."

"I can't Friday." I frown. "I'm going to Madison's, remember?"

"Right," he drawls. "For the throuple costume. Saturday then."

"Saturday," I repeat, mostly to myself. I'll have to figure whether or not my mom will be home. If she is, well that's a bridge I'll cross on Saturday. "Sounds good."