The morning air smelled like cold metal and bus exhaust. Asher stood at the stop with his hood up, waiting. He hadn't slept much. The sound of that ball outside had turned into a metronome that played through the night.
The bus showed up late and half-full. He took the seat by the window, set his backpack beside him like a barrier, and watched the rows of houses slide past. Kids shouted from the back; someone was already filming a TikTok. He put in his earbuds, no music again—just quiet.
When the bus lurched to a stop in front of Jefferson, the crowd spilled out like a starting whistle.
He walked slower.
Inside, the hallways pulsed with noise. The smell of cheap perfume, cafeteria hash browns, floor wax. Posters for the fall dance clung to every locker: LIGHTS OUT FRIDAY — BLACKOUT THEME! He wondered what kind of person actually looked forward to that stuff.
His first class was English II. He slid into a seat near the back before anyone could make it weird. The room buzzed with introductions—people catching up after summer, groups reforming like magnets.
The teacher, a tall woman with coffee-colored glasses, clapped once. "Alright, folks, new semester, new chance to surprise me. Name cards, please."
He wrote Asher Holt in slanted print and tried not to think about the way a few heads turned when she read his name aloud for attendance. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe somebody had a parent who remembered the tournaments. His brain was good at inventing spotlights.
"Leah Kim?" the teacher called.
"Here," came a calm voice from the row ahead.
She turned slightly when she said it—short black hair, dark hoodie, a small silver hoop in one ear. She smiled at the teacher and then went back to sketching in the corner of her notebook, quick strokes that made real shapes out of nothing. Asher caught himself looking too long.
The period dragged. The teacher talked about an upcoming essay on "personal turning points." Asher felt the irony and kept his eyes down.
Second period, Algebra. Third, Biology. Lunch was chaos.
He picked an empty table near the vending machines. A few minutes in, someone dropped a tray across from him.
"Dude, you're the kid Jordan keeps talking about," said a voice with too much confidence to be shy.
Asher looked up. Jordan. Of course.
He had a sandwich in one hand and the same grin as yesterday.
"I'm not—" Asher started.
"Relax, I'm not recruiting. Coach just told me to stop bugging people during lunch." He unwrapped his sandwich. "Did you think about it, though?"
"No."
"That's thinking about it," Jordan said, mouth full.
Asher rolled his eyes. "You ever shut up?"
"Not on purpose." Jordan leaned back. "You'll come around. You can't wear hoop shoes forever and not play."
"They're comfortable."
"Sure." He nodded like that was the funniest thing he'd heard all week. "Anyway, you should meet Leah. She's in our friend group. Artist. Way too serious for any of us."
Asher frowned. "Leah?"
"Yeah, Kim. You probably had English with her. She sketches during class like she's getting paid for it."
Asher remembered the quiet girl with the notebook and looked down at his tray. "I don't really—"
"—do friends?" Jordan finished for him. "Yeah, you strike me as that type."
"Glad I give off that vibe."
Jordan laughed. "You'll fit in fine."
He left before Asher could answer, leaving the smell of mustard and something like sincerity behind.
After school, Asher cut through the library to kill time before his bus. The room was almost empty. He liked it immediately—quiet, air-conditioned, the kind of place where nobody expected anything. He found an empty table by the window, dropped his bag, and opened a notebook he didn't plan to write in.
A soft scrape of a chair pulled his attention. Someone sat two tables over, sketchbook open, pencil moving fast. He didn't need to look twice.
Leah.
She noticed him a few seconds later. "Hey. You're in my English class, right?"
"Yeah," he said. "Asher."
"I know." She smiled, small but real. "You kind of look like you'd rather be anywhere else."
"Is it that obvious?"
"Only a little." She kept drawing, lines quick and sure. "You new here?"
"Yeah. Moved this summer."
"From where?"
"Across town. Just needed a change."
Leah nodded like that made sense. "I get that. Sometimes a new place helps, sometimes it doesn't."
He looked at her notebook. "You draw people a lot?"
"Mostly moments," she said. "People move too much."
"What's a moment then?"
"Something that looks like it means more than it probably does."
She glanced up. "Like right now, you staring at my sketchbook like it's a math problem."
He snorted. "Sorry."
"It's fine." She closed it gently. "What about you? You play anything?"
Asher froze just long enough for her to notice. "Not really."
"Okay." She didn't push, just nodded and started packing up her things. "Well, if you ever want somewhere quiet, this table's usually open."
"Thanks."
She slung her bag over one shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Asher Holt."
The way she said his name made it sound like a fact, not a label. He watched her leave through the stacks, light from the window catching on the silver in her ear.
The bus was emptier that afternoon. Asher sat near the back, head against the glass. The gym doors were visible from the street when the bus rolled past Jefferson. He saw a blur of movement inside—players running drills, the echo of sneakers flashing through the glass. He couldn't hear the ball, but his body filled in the sound.
When he got home, the note on the counter was shorter this time.
Dinner in the fridge. Working late. — Mom
He ate without reheating it. The pasta had gone cold again, like déjà vu.
Later he went to his room, sat on the edge of the bed, and picked up his phone. Jordan had sent a new text:
Jordan: saw you talking to leah 👀
Jordan: told you she's cool
Jordan: also we have open gym tomorrow. no pressure. just fyi.
Asher typed stop texting me and deleted it. Then typed maybe and deleted that too. He tossed the phone onto his pillow and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Outside, somewhere past the apartment buildings, he heard it again.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He didn't close the window this time.