Lawn Boy

“So how was your first day?” asked Shane.
“It’s was cool. I met some cool people in my classes. That kid Asher is in my English class,” I answered. I was driving us back home. Ashley and Jack sat in the back seat.
“Yeah, he mentioned that at lunch. Where were you anyway?”
“I like to eat lunch alone. I found a spot that I could do that.”
“Where?”
“Why would I tell you? You’d probably just ambush me and try to get me to join you.”
Shane smiled. “What’s wrong with that? If you wanna make friends, you have to start being more outgoing.”
I pulled into Shane’s house, we said good bye and I started back towards my new home. When we got there, all three of us dragged ourselves inside. My mom greeted each of us with a kiss on a cheek.
“How was your first day?”
All of our replies were shrugs and groans. I walked straight up the stairs to my room which was now magically box free. My mom must’ve unpacked my things while I was at school. I shook my head, still getting used to my room being virtually spotless.
I threw myself onto my bed. I heard the doorbell ring and remembered that Mr. Perkins gave us our first assignment of the year earlier. It was to write a poem. Asher said he didn’t know the first thing about writing poetry, so I naturally told him that I would help. I gave him the directions to my house and told him to come whenever.
After all, I had many poems and could just pick one out of my journal. I had all the time in the world to help Asher. I didn’t tell him this for some reason. I just told him that I would help. Anyway, I got up from my bed and I walked downstairs, sliding on the wooden floor because I had taken my shoes off earlier and was walking in my socks.
“Max, you have a visitor,” called my mom at the door.
I spotted Rebecca at the couch trying to peek at Asher. When she saw him, she glanced and me and bobbed her eyebrows at me with a smirk. I couldn’t help but laugh silently and go straight to the door. Asher smiled at me in a silent hello. I smiled back.
“Mom, this is Asher. We’re gonna do some English homework,” I said.
“Well, okay. Tell me if you two need anything,” she said.
“Follow me,” I said to Asher.
I started upstairs and I heard Asher’s footsteps behind me. I walked into my room and directly to my bed. Asher stood awkwardly in the middle of my room.
“Make yourself at home,” I said. I’d always heard people say that, but I never thought I’d ever get the chance to say it.
He sat in my desk chair on wheels. I looked at him and he looked at me. We stayed silent.
“So, how does this work?” he asked.
“Well, let me see…” I thought a bit. Where could I start? “Do you work better in total silence? Or maybe you work better outside where there are natural sounds?”
“Um… I like outside.”
“Okay,” I said. “We can go sit under the maple in the front yard.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Bring your journal and a pen. That’s all you’ll really need.”
He left his bag, I put on my shoes, and we headed back downstairs. I told my mom that we’d be working outside.
When we got to the maple we both sat under it, side by side. I felt a strange connection to Asher that I haven’t felt with anyone else — not even Mike or Gabby. I just felt close to him, I guess.
“So, what inspires you?”
“I don’t know,” he answered right away.
“That was a quick answer.”
“Well, I’m not too good at this English stuff. I’m better with science.”
“Um…well…what are you going through right now in your life?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything?” When he didn’t say anything, I took the liberty of picking a topic. “What about your girlfriend?”
“Brenda?”
“Yeah, why not?” I asked. “Lots of people write poems about love.”
“I don’t love Brenda. I’m not even sure she’s my girlfriend.”
“Then why was she all over you this morning?” I asked.
“Well, technically she is my girlfriend. But I just don’t feel for her what I used to. She’s changed.”
“Have you been going out long? Sorry if I’m butting in.”
“Naw, it’s okay. Um, I guess we’ve going out pretty long if a year and a half counts.”
“She changed in a year and a half?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. She’s just not the same person anymore. She’s a lot meaner.”
“Why don’t you break up with her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe that’s what you should write about.”
“What about you?” he asked. That question was almost inevitable. “What’re you gonna write?”
I opened my journal and showed him that it was full of poems. “I can just pick one,” I said.
“Read one to me.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t read my poems to anyone.”
“Why not? Aren’t you proud of them?”
“Yeah, I am, but-“
“Then read one to me. Come on—just one.”
“No, sorry. I can’t. I just don’t read them to people.”
“That’s disappointing. How do I know I’m getting the help from an expert? For all I know, your poems can suck.”
My heart was pounding in my chest and I could feel a giant lump in my throat. I felt guilty. I wanted to reassure him that I was a good writer, but how could he know that unless I read him one of my poems. I felt myself slowly starting to shake.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m just really nervous,” I said. “I told you I don’t read my poems to anyone. Not even my best friends at home.”
“They can’t be that bad.”
“No, I’m sorry. I can’t.” I got up and left immediately. I went back into my house. I knew it was rude, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was about to have a nervous breakdown. I ran up to my room and jumped onto my bed. Not too soon after, a knock came to my door.
“Max, it’s Asher,” he said from the other side.
When I didn’t answer, he slowly opened the door — as if he was unsure if he should come in. I didn’t really mind it, so I let him come in.