The Stepbrother // Luke Hemmings

You Named Your Drum, Tom

12

You Named Your Drum, Tom

I almost don't recognize the clad in all black, hazel-eyed boy, sitting all alone on the curb and drinking a juice box when I enter the shopping plaza on Tuesday. Ashton's chestnut hair is pushed to the back behind his ears, curls resting down and over his shoulders and he's staring down at the toes of black shoes; focused on sipping his juice.

Walking over to him, I silently take a seat next to him and nudge my knee against his. "Hey there," I comment. "Almost didn't recognize you with all the black on."

His eyes trail up my legs to my face and he grins, "Well, khakis don't really suit me."

With that, he gently cups his hand over my knee and gives it a light squeeze before standing up; pulling me up along with him. I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling and I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear before taking a look around the parking lot.

Briefly, I allow myself to wonder what Ashton would want to do out here. I come up short and turn back to him. "Soo, what great adventure do you have in mind for today? Are we gonna do like some parkour on these cars?"

He shoots me a small smile, shaking his head, and I watch as he tucks the straw of his juice into the corner of his mouth before he takes his time finishing it. When he's all done, I roll my eyes playfully, "You done?"

"Wait," he says. I watch as he saunters over to a garbage can disposing of the box and then back over to me. "Okay, done."

Grabbing my hand, he tugs me off the curb and over into the parking lot. "So, I was thinking, maybe we could just hang out at my house?" Glancing over his shoulder at me, he insts, "My mom makes the best brownies."

I don't tell Ashton that under my mother's directions, I'm not actually supposed to leave the plaza. Luke is supposed to pick me up in an hour and then we're meant to go downtown for dress fittings. But, that's in an hour. I'm sure I could make it back in time. I shake off the thought with a smile, nodding again.

"Of course, I love brownies."

"Great, my house then." He grins, dimples and all, and his hazel eyes glint in the sun; turning them an excited emerald Then, he lets go of my hand and disappears behind a car.

It's small, like incredibly small, and a tannish brown color. The windows are rolled down a bit, and from where I'm standing I can see the mountain of papers and trash piled up in the backseat.

Scrunching my nose up at the thought of actually riding in there, I secretly make a mental note to make sure my car never gets like this, and then call out, "This is your car?"

Ashton laughs, "That's hilarious."

"What?"

"This is nice compared to what I got."

I don't even have time to say anything back, because when I look up Ashton is standing in front of me, with his hands on the handlebars of a black bike.

"Hop on," he smiles.

I laugh, then stop and stare, and laugh again. "Wait, seriously?"

"What?"

"A bike?"

I watch as his smile slowly fades before he tugs his lip in his mouth. "I know," he starts, with a shrug of his shoulders, "It's not really the most impressive ride, but you know, it gets the job done."

He flushes then stares down at it, gently running his fingers over the brake, "I know you're probably used to guys having cars, and I promise you I'm saving for one, but it's tough."