ASHER

"How are you doing?" Jess asks. We found an empty row and have just settled in.

"You don't really care," I tell her, my words more angry than hurt.

"Asher," she chides. "I do care about you. I still love you."

"No. You don't," I scoff. "If you loved me you wouldn't have done this." I'm still not sure if it was the betray that stung the most or the fact that her actions have made me question my own reality. It's a crazy game of real or imagined, and I've fallen down the rabbit hole so many times already.

"Don't say that," she pleads. "I just need some time to figure everything out."

A laugh without humor falls from my mouth into the space between us. Anger burns hot and painful in my chest. There are so many things I have thought about telling her since this all came out last night, but I know none of it will matter. She's made her choice—even if she hasn't realized it yet.

"So what's your plan? I'm supposed to sit around waiting to see if you choose me?" The words cut like a knife through my soul. She's already chosen. I know that, but what I hate the most about this whole thing is the hope that bubbles up somewhere near my heart when she implies she might choose me.

"No. I don't expect you to sit around and wait for me. I just...I just want to think about things."

"Oh," I say dramatically, "now you are going to think about things." My jaw clenches. "Lifehack Jess: you should think about things before you actually do them. Like, I don't know, maybe how it would feel to fuck up a relationship with a person who would do anything for you."

"This is the exact problem. You don't understand me." She reaches for my arm, but I pull it away.

"You're right. I don't understand you. I can't even wrap my head around the idea that this—this behavior and these thoughts—are yours. Who are you? There is no way you are the same girl who swore she'd never do this exact thing." I'm fuming. It's an awful mash-up of anger and pain. My stomach rolls and my thoughts play tug-of-war with each other. I should get up and leave her, or should I stay and let her explain?

"I grew up. You grew up. We aren't the same people anymore." Her eyes fill with tears, and I want to tell her to save them for a later time when she realizes what she's done. I hope regret hits her like a train.

"I'm the same guy," I tell her. "Are we done here?" I need to leave because it's so easy to give into the hope that we can fix it, I worry if I don't go now we will spend the rest of the plane ride rehashing every terrible thing that was said last night. It won't do anything to fix this.

"Asher," she says. "Can't we still be friends?"

I stand and look down on her. There is so much history between us. I struggle letting that go. "One day."

We are headed to Mexico. There are tons of teens on this plane, and I'm sure even more already there. College kids will be partying it up there too. This trip was supposed to be the best part of our senior year together. Now I will be wondering where she is and who she's talking to. It's like watching your heart dance around outside your body. I want to grab it from her and shove it back in my chest so the aching space where it once was will no longer hurt so severely.

As I make my way back to my seat, I realize I was able to be stronger just now than I had been last night. Last night, I cried for the first time in years. I never wanted to show her that she had the power to hurt me so terribly, but sometimes life throws you a curveball. And sometimes those curve balls hit you when you least expect it. Right now I'm trying to take my base after getting hit, walking as if nothing hurts when in reality I can't feel anything but my heart breaking.

"So there's a trick," Harper says immediately when I make it back to the aisle. She's holding my magazine, her book long forgotten and shoved into the seatback in front of her.

It's an abrupt swing in my mood. I laugh. "A trick, huh?" I ask as she stands up to let me into the row.

"Yes. It turns out it takes some sort of superpower for men to be able to orgasm multiple times." She turns the page, studying the words.

"That's a pretty specific superpower," I tell her as I drop into my seat.

She sits down too but doesn't relinquish the magazine. "So do you want to hear the trick or not Super O Man?"

"Now that's a superhero I could get behind." I smile and wait for the big reveal.

"You have to stop yourself before...." Her words fade off, and I'm wondering if she thought about where the sentence was inevitably going to go.

"Go on," I tease.

"You know," she says, her expression telling me she needs to me know because she sure as shit isn't going to say it.

"I'm afraid I don't," I lie.

She thinks about it for a minute. "Ejaculate."

"Ejaculate?! Who says that?" I ask with a laugh.

"What do you mean?" she asks. Her cheeks are red again, and I love it. It makes the butterflies in my stomach take flight.

"Teens aren't supposed to say ejaculate. I promise none of them do."

"Fine," she thunders. "What should I say then?" She's huffy and irritated at my teasing, but that's only making my interest in her peak.

"Come?"

Her cheeks darken even more.

"Blow your load?" I toss out.

"Seriously?" she asks rhetorically and with her eyes squinted in my direction.

"Bust a nut?" I can barely keep my composure. No one really says these things either, but watching her reaction is priceless.

"Thanks. I think I've got it now," she tells me. She's pretending to be irritated with my childishness, but I can see the hint of a smile on her perfect lips.

"You're welcome. Super O Man to the rescue. It was nothing. It's just my job."