You let them lead you to Ashley, although they could have told you where she was and you could have found her on your own. The school had that look in certain corners and in certain slants of the sun, it had that look like you'd never left it. It was more crowded than when you went here, for the most part. Although you did dimly recall that it was all crowded in grade nine for some reason or another, but grade nine was hazy.
"There," one of the grade nine girls says, pointing to Ashley in one of the media rooms. The grade nine girl bites her lip and looks at you with wide eyes. You blink, look down at her neatly parted hair, her skinny legs under a black skirt, the lust in her eyes. But to you she is a child.
"Thanks," you say, and she wanders off, walking slowly away. In the media room Ashley is fiddling with something, looking intently at the computer screen. Her hair is longer, it is the first thing you notice. Longer and curly and she is dressing different, slinky sexy shirts and jeans, high heeled boots. She doesn't look like a kid anymore and you think that is the difference. You glance back at the rows of lockers, the closed classroom doors with the little square windows set into them, this place where you were a child, or a teenager at least.
She doesn't see you, doesn't notice you, and you think it's almost nice to watch her before she is aware. She looks involved in whatever she is doing, a look you remember from doing music with her in 11th grade. And you can't get over how much she looks like a woman. Where did the girl you remember go? You shake your head, clinging to the corner of the doorway, knowing that at any second she could look up and pierce you with those blue eyes. How you have longed to be pierced like that again.
Some noise in the hall behind you, a slamming locker or a dropped book, and Ashley looks up fast and sees you. The blue eyes widen in surprise.
"Craig?" Softly questioning, your name on her lips again.
"Ash," you say, unable to interpret her stare. She looks out of place in this place to you, stuck in your past. In her past. You've never understood her decision to come back to this school.
"Oh my God, Craig!" She stands up, comes over to you and hugs you, and you stagger back a little bit. Remember hugging her on other occasions and this brings it all flooding back. You put your arms around her and you can smell the shampoo in her hair, something like apples or flowers.
She stops hugging, stops crushing you in her embrace, and she stands back a little and looks at you. You can feel her taking it all in, the messy curly hair, the beard stubble, the choker necklace, the jean jacket. You duck your head under her scrutiny, press your lips together. You are aware that you have no good reason to be here, to be in the halls of Degrassi like walking around some life sized photograph. Only her. But things are slippery. Last time you really talked to her she was leaving in tears to go to London, tears that you had caused.
It's almost time for school to let out and you wonder for a second if she's trapped here like you used to be, controlled by the bells and told where to go. You remember for a split second how much you hated school, hated being controlled like that.
"Want to go get some coffee, I mean, if you can leave, or, uh, after school…" A simple thing like asking her to have some coffee with you had too many angles to seem to get out of your mouth, and you look at her hopelessly, not even sure if she wanted to go, if she wanted anything to do with you. But she smiled, her wide smile with her white even teeth, and she clicked off whatever thing she had been doing on the computer.
"Sure," she says, and explains that she could leave early, she was only taking half days most of the time because she had enough credits, she was just working on some stuff of her own. You nod, and she gets up and follows you down the hall and out into the sun and the cold.
At the coffee shop you order a white chocolate mocha and she gets hazel nut with cream. Her make-up is different, her clothes are different, but you wonder what it was you expected. Everything to be the same as it was when she left for London? You lick your lips and realize that that is what you thought. And you are having a hard time interpreting this small talk. Does she think you're just passing through and that you happened to run into her? She seems very casual, very nonchalant, cool toward you and about you in a way you could never seem to be about her.
Talking and laughing, sipping her coffee, she seems to be in an okay place despite still being in high school, of all places. She seems to be in a more okay place than you, drifting from city to city, performing your songs that you fear are resonating and making sense only to you, despite the screaming fans. Girls. But you couldn't know what they liked, the music or your troubled musician persona. Leo pushing you at every turn until you wanted to scream. Ashley flipped her hair over her shoulder, a gesture you'd never seen her make before. All these signs that you never really knew her at all.
She leans toward you, lowers her voice.
"How are things going, really?" she says, and you don't know how to answer her. So you talk about some little shows you did and some ideas Leo has and you get tangled up in your answer, lost. Her eyes never leaving yours, and if you could kiss her right now it might make you feel complete.
"Craig, I talked to Ellie…" she trails off and you narrow your eyes at her, and some anger sparks up again. This is exactly how she sounded after you were in the hospital. That half pity, half 'let me take care of you,' tone she could get. And Ellie, how you had fucked that up. So that's where she was with you, your coke addiction and betrayal of Ellie forefront in her mind.
"You've been clean?" she says, and you raise up your shoulders, try to sink inside of yourself. How could you think you could ever be on equal footing with her? Your problems are always stacked against you.
"Yeah," you say, and hear the embarrassment in your voice, and it reminds you of the time she asked you if you took your pills.
"That's good. I was worried," she reaches her hand across the table and covers yours. You look at her hand, the nails painted a dark red, the silver rings. Maybe you were too hasty, maybe she worries about you because she cares, maybe she even loves you a little bit still. You take a deep breath, relax a little, and smile at her.