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Die first, Nessa Barrett
Sawyer
I sat against my pillows. My phone screen illuminated my face with each frustrated message I sent to Josh. He’d been spamming me with texts the entire evening, pleading for me to hear him out. I would but I just wanted to be upset. Being placed in a vulnerable position was unusual for me, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it.
I read through his texts and sighed. The sound of rustling outside captured my attention. I froze, my heart pounding as a silhouette clumsily climbed through my window. It was like a scene from a bad horror movie. I reached over to turn on my light.
“Asher?” I gasped, my fear replaced with surprise.
I watched as he rose to his feet, his features coming into full focus. His expression was a mixture of sheepishness and concern.
“Hey, Ms. Bennett.”
He didn’t move, just hovered in the corner of my room with his hands behind his back.
“What are you doing here?”
He took a step closer. The moonlight filtering through the window cast a soft glow over his features.
“Josh told me you’ve been avoiding him.” He explained. “I wanted to check on you.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I averted his gaze.
“Let’s just say I haven’t had the best week.”
He frowned, crossing the room to sit on the edge of my bed.
“You and Josh will figure it out.”
“It’s not just about Josh.” I admitted. “I applied for a competition at an art gallery, but I never even made it to the showcase round.”
“What’s the showcase round?”
“We needed to get our art displayed at the local galleries and have scouts judge it.” I said. “I approached the owner, but he refused. He said my art was mundane.”
He turned his head to the painting my mom saw.
“Is that it?”
I shook my head.
“This is a new one.”
He stood up and gazed at it. I stifled a laugh as he pinched his chin, as if he were a critic. He leaned further and squinted his eye.
“I think it’s incredible.” He said, turning to look at me.
“No offense, but I doubt you know anything about art.”
He chuckled.
“I don’t know a thing, but wouldn’t that make me the perfect judge?” He asked. “Think about it. How many people who go to galleries know anything about it?”
Valid point.
“Fair enough.”
“I’m your target audience.” He said. “The layman.”
