Ashley

Ronnie's POV

I didn't go home for 2 days. When I did, it was only to get the stuff I needed. I threw my raggedy old notebook full of songs, some clothes, a picture of Ashley I found in the school newspaper and framed(They always do an article on new kids. It was a picture of her and Max.), my toothbrush, a lighter, and a sweatshirt all into my backpack; after dumping out all the books, of course.

I scribbled a note and taped it to my door. It basically told Michael and Dad that I hated them both, that it was Dad's own selfish fault that Mom left him, that Michael was an egotistical asshole, that Michael broke my arm, and that I bid them goodbye; and I kept it all concise. I left the house.

I took about two steps, then stopped. Where would I go? Max's house? ....No, Ashley used to live there. And Max and I weren't that close. Liz's house? ...No, I hardly knew her, even though she did help me. I started walking again, as I thought some more. I suddenly snapped. There was a park by the high school! I walked faster. I hadn't gone to school in the two days I had been previously away from home. Las Vegas Academy wouldn't miss me. They didn't miss Ashley.

This, I knew for sure, because I ran into Max on one of my two days. He said all they did was run a small obituary in the paper that said, In memory of Ashley Marina Green; 10/3/1979-10/3/1994, with a small picture of her underneath. He gave me a copy of it that he'd saved, but I tore it up and let it sail down the street. I couldn't bear to look at it. Then he added that her funeral would be next Saturday, and left.

I thought about going. I thought about it all the way to the park. Ashley was dead. I had no time to lose. She'd died at 16. I wasn't going to at 17. Every second of life counts, I realized just then, as I thought about the funeral. In a way, Ashley's death made me feel more alive.

I reached the park. There was a boy who looked about 16 sitting under a tree, strumming on an acoustic guitar. I walked over to him. I liked the sound of whatever he was playing. "What are you playing?" I asked.

"Huh? Oh. Just a little something I came up with...just now," he replied.

"Got words?"

He shook his head.

I nodded once, then added, "I'm Ronnie. Ronnie Radke."

"Omar Espinosa," he replied, squinting at me through his long blonde bangs. "You look kinda familiar."

Suddenly, a woman's voice called. "Omar! Omar?" Liz walked up to us. "Omar! ...Ronnie?" she said, startled at the sight of me.

I looked at her; also startled. "Liz?"

"What do you want, Mom?" Omar asked.

"Ronnie! How are you-"

"Mom!?" I exclaimed, looking from Omar to Liz. There was a small boy hiding behind Liz. He peeked around her legs.

"Yeah. That's my mom," Omar stated.

"Liz is your mom?"

He nodded.

"...feeling?" Liz finished.

"Fine. Wait, you said your last name was Espino-"

"I'm divorced," Liz explained.

"Ah."

Liz finished by telling Omar that she was taking his little brother, Stefan, home, and he could walk home.

"You look familiar, too," I said, after Liz had left.

"We both go to LVA."

"How old are you?"

"16."

"17."

"What happened to your arm?" he asked, looking my arm up and down.

"My brother broke it..."

"Harsh! Why?"

I paused. "Well...you know Ashley Green?"

Omar nodded sadly. "The new chick? Just died? Max's cool. We're cool. Ashley...She was hot-"

"Beautiful."

"What?" He stared at me, puzzled.

"Ashley was beautiful," I said quietly.

"Yeah she was. Some guy knocked her up...lucky bastard."

I blushed. "That...uh, that was me," I whispered.

"Oh! Dude. I'm so sorry! I heard she killer herself."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah." Then I told him about the whole making me feel alive thing.

"That makes sense."

I looked at him. "It does?"

He nodded, and began strumming what he had earlier. "Make a good song."

I began humming absentmindedly. "Ashley, baby," I sang in a whisper. "You make me feel so alive."

He stopped playing. "Dude. I heard that!"

I frowned. "Heard what?"

"You singing! You've got a voice! D'you think you can sing it again?"

I nodded, confused, and sang, louder this time.

He stopped playing once again, and smiled at me. "We are totally writing a song!"

I raised an eyebrow.

"About this Ashley chick. It would be like, the bomb if you sang this at her fun'ral!"

Just now, as I noticed his "psychedelic" slang, I smelled the smoke. "You're so blazed," I stated.

He smiled. "So? It'd still make a good song!"

Blazed or not, he was right. So I pulled out my notebook, and we got started.