(10.5) Jaron’s POV: First Glance - Part 2

Jaron makes his way to purple-hoodie-boy. The kid looks up, still wearing his signature faint scowl. That just seemed to be the boy’s resting expression. Default setting: mildly pissed. Jaron decides not to take it personally.

“Hello,” Jaron says brightly, holding out his hand as he does with all the others. His script always works. “My name is Jaron Ashcomb.”

“Ass Comb?”

Jaron blinks. He must have misheard. Must’ve. “Ashcomb,” he says again, firmer this time. He frowns.

The boy snorts. “Ass Comb.” He grins like he’s discovered fire and spends a solid minute—a full, painful, eternal minute—musing over what sort of profession that name descended from.

Jaron has no idea what to say or how to walk away without looking stupid. He probably already looks stupid. He is used to passive-aggressive jabs, condescending compliments, and contempt dressed up in politeness. That’s normal.

But he’s never met someone so openly rude.

The boy makes a shooing gesture. Childish, Jaron thinks. Not just the gesture—the whole attitude. Like a dog baring its teeth for no reason.

“I’m not here to make friends,” the boy says. “There’s plenty of others, though.”

Jaron glances at the group purple-hoodie-boy gestured to. Then back at him. Then down at his sketchbook.

It’s obviously Jaron’s father, drawn at the pulpit with cartoonishly shiny hair. There’s an opportunity here to embarrass him. So of course Jaron takes it. He forces a smile. “Is that the pastor?”

The boy grins. “Yeah. Dull as hell, huh?” He flips the sketchbook so Jaron can see.

“That’s my father,” Jaron says, trying to smother the smugness creeping into his voice.

The boy snaps the book shut. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “Sorry.” He looks genuinely embarrassed—which he should. “I said I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Jaron looks away again, only for a moment, to try and contain his smile.

“Come on, man, be real,” the boy continues. “Your dad is boring. I mean, the faith stuff is cool, but like… he’s boring.”

Unfortunately, that’s true. Very true. Even Jaron has to admit it—but he won’t give this boy the satisfaction. He glares instead. “Are you twelve?”

“Okay, sorry again. Forget I said anything.”

Jaron doesn’t know whether he wants to slap the kid or impress him.

Maybe both. It’s like a challenge, almost—a case to crack. Finally, someone with the guts to be real with him. Jaron isn’t used to being dismissed. He’s the pastor’s son. People don’t tease him. Don’t joke at his expense. Certainly don’t call him Ass Comb with a straight face.

Jaron tries to think of something clever to say back to this boy who made fun of his father, mocked his name, and waved him off like he was unimportant.

Since Jaron finds nothing witty to say, he just turns away.

He’ll be more prepared next time they talk. He won’t be the one who gets dismissed.

Oh, and he’ll get the boy’s name too.