Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(11)

With a weary exhale, she stared off into the distance, beyond the grassy hills to the running path. Joggers of all ages, sizes, and shorts lengths ran together in sweaty harmony. And then her eyes zoomed in on one specific jogger.

A guy. Her age, or maybe older? He was so tall it was a thing, and also a bit gangly. With his long legs and arms, his form should’ve been awkward, but he moved gracefully. Like a pro, even. A mop of dark curls with blondish tips framed his face. His hair was lighter than his deep bronzy-brown complexion—which was disorienting. In a hot way.

Breathing hard, sweat glistening, chest pumping… he was mesmerizing. It was nice, having something to focus on as her world fell apart. Like in elementary school when her mom was hospitalized for migraines. Audre would be left at home with a sitter, and she’d gaze at her sparkly malachite collection on the nightstand till she felt relaxed. Watching the pretty shapes move and morph was soothing.

He kept running along the path, until Audre got a closer look at him.

Wait.

Was he running in pink Crocs?

“Stop!”

Audre heard a girl call after him, from the grass. At the sound of her voice, Pink Crocs peered over his shoulder. He stopped, almost causing a ten-person pileup. Quickly, he ran off the loop into the grass where she stood.

Audre squinted, her drama radar going off. She didn’t look familiar. And she’d remember a girl this stylish. Shoulder-length micro-locs, a few decorated with gold cuffs. A tote reading BLACK, BOOKISH, WITCHY. Whoever she was, she wasn’t used to running, as she was breathing heavily and clutching her heart.

Uh-oh. They were having a contentious conversation. As every good therapist knew, body language often revealed more about emotions than words did. Witchy Tote was passionately gesturing at his pants pocket. Finally, she yanked his phone out of the pocket.

Oh shit, thought Audre, relieved to be distracted from her life. What did he do to her? Probably cheated. More than likely, she’d caught him texting some other girl. Typical. Most Brooklyn boys were allergic to being faithful.

Pink Crocs watched as Witchy Tote punched something into his phone’s keypad. Then she shoved the phone back in his face. He grabbed his phone back. Glanced in Audre’s direction briefly. Did a double take. Paused. And then, after a huge exhale, he walked away.

The girl just stood there, looking after him. It was impossible to read her expression. Finally, she shouted his name.

“Bash! Come back! BASH HENRY!”

Audre gasped. It was him. Bash Henry. Damn. Maybe he had appeared because she said his name three times today.

Bash turned to face Witchy Tote. Head hanging a bit, he walked back to her and pulled her into a hug. She leaned in, rising up on her tippy-toes. Then he whispered something to her and she smiled. Interesting. Apparently, she was too blinded by his coppery skin and sculpted, tall frame to stay mad at him.

Too easy, thought Audre. Make him work for your forgiveness, sis. You’re teaching him how to treat you.

She hated to see a girl down bad. But it was guys like Bash who kept Audre in business. Poor Witchy Tote, poor Sparrow, and poor Coco-Jean with her pregnancy scare. Their only fault was trusting the wrong guy with their heart.

She does look happy, though, thought Audre. Maybe ignorance actually is bliss. After all, I’ve pretty much figured out the teenage brain, and look at me. I’m miserable.

Wait.

Bash was walking over to her now.

Oh no.

Why was he approaching her? Did he realize she was spying on him? Audre sat up straight against the tree and attempted a neutral expression. It was officially dusk now, but she wished she had sunglasses.

Three breaths later, Bash was standing over her, impossibly tall and peering down into her face. He was even more… overwhelming… up close.

“Uhh… hi?”

“Hi?” she said, matching his questioning tone.

“Not to be rude, but are you staring at me?”





1, 2, 3, 4… THRIVE!

A Teen’s Rules for Flourishing on This Dying Planet


By Audre Mercy-Moore


Rule 2:

If you see tall, curly-haired boys in the wild, avoid looking directly into their eyes. Their retinas have special powers that turn smart girls stupid. This is science.





Chapter 6


His voice was deeper than she’d expected, which threw her off. Also, how was she supposed to explain that, yes, she was staring at him? Don’t mind me, I’m a professional eavesdropper?

To kill time, she stood up and made a big thing of brushing nonexistent dirt off her short slip dress. Unconsciously, she tucked her braids behind her ears.

“I wasn’t staring at you,” she said.

The corner of his mouth quirked a bit. “You sure?”

She straightened her posture. “I mean, it’s kinda presumptuous of you to think I was staring. It’s a park—there are people everywhere. I was looking in your direction, that’s all.”

“All good,” he said with an easy sigh. Then he stuck out his hand. Audre looked down at it like she’d never seen a hand before. She shook it quickly.

“Hi, I’m Bash.”

“I know. I’m Audre.”

“I know.”

She arched a brow, instantly suspicious.

“Everybody knows who you are,” he said with a little smile. “Should I pay you thirty-five dollars now or later?”