The Temple in the Sky by Fernando Herrera Jr (top 10 novels .TXT) 📖

his cousins and second hand family members had attended, but Jasper didn’t really know them well enough to be social.
His mother dragged him around introducing him to his aunts and uncles. “Isn’t he the handsome fellow?” Meredith would ask the aunts, though most of them did not agree. Jasper didn’t think he was, either. He was incredibly self-conscious about his appearance—his body in particular: He was six-foot-two inches tall, yet weighed only 136 pounds. You do the math. Not the brawniest of boys. His skin was as pale as a plucked turkey, yet freckled to the dermis; but he did have a type of particular attractive something about his appearance: that once “awkwardly-cute” boy had senesced into a different awkward type of good looks: not an obvious beauty, which is so sought for by the ordinaries, but more of a type of imperfect beauty with much more character and eccentricity, a type that takes much more observation and insight to be acknowledged. Not the ordinary of folk could appreciate one like his. To elucidate: a “perfect beauty” might be that of a model in a magazine; but sometimes too much perfection can be a bit bland; imperfections add character and thus, interesting, engaging allure. Consequently, because the ordinaries are ordinary, he was ordinarily labeled as “slimy.”
After all those years, Daisy had filled in very well. He appreciated it. Remember, he was quite the appreciator. He appreciated the way her long golden locks still coiled upon her tender shoulders, and the way her face had developed with sharp edges and a rosy flush. She was no longer a pretty little girl but a beautiful young woman. So there he sat on a bench of the garden, beside a neat tree, and beside a fountain, observing the guests socializing from a significant distance: the children running wild through the garden’s stone paths, dogs tugging on a forgotten sweater, the ladies sitting around one of the tables talking while laughing about things that weren’t funny or important, and the men sitting around another, talking about even less important matters. He was bored. He was always bored. The only thing that cold make this day his day was Daisy. So he sat in eager wait. She was late, two hours to be exact. It was now almost two in the afternoon and the time for the luncheon banquet was approaching. He contemplated on how he never did play that game and how disgusted Daisy had been about him drinking from her soda. He wondered if that had only been due to a phase of a little girl: a silly little girl who was grossed out by any germs that were not her own; maybe now would be different; she might have grown out of that; boys would certainly be of her interests by now. He tried to picture her in his mind, closing his eyes for a better semblance. But his imagination could never be enough. He wanted the real thing. He wanted her real features in front of his own—that face with that angelic smile and that dilly giggle that would provoke tingles in his loins. While he thought of her, his heart beat increased. He was a nervous wreck. He wondered what she had gotten for him: what present or presents she might have conjured up for her best friend—or he thought he was her best friend. Maybe a kiss? That would be the gift to end all gifts. No! The gift to end all gifts would be Daisy as my girlfriend.
“Jasper!” He heard it coming from his right shoulder. He felt a warm halitus collide on his neck. It smelled of grape lollipops. He inhaled the warm scent of an angelic fume by his expanding nostrils. He turned slowly and found her smile: teeth that were like pearls that had been perfectly graven into a perfect dentition. Her eyes appeared even greener than the leaves of the trees behind her, and the golden speckles were even gloder than the rays of the sun behind her. There she was: his lovely, his angel, his goddess—even more beautiful than the pretty girl he remembered and had captured in his imagination. But those locks did not coil upon her tender shoulders—not anymore—not today—but no matter, different was good: Her hair had been magnificently done into a type of chignon that exposed every square inch of her pale, yet, blushy face. The felinity of her eyes had been accentuated by an umberish, glittering pigment that complimented her yellow dress very well. It was a type of chemise without sleeves. It hung barely above her breasts, tugging on the summits, exposing most of her upper chest, which too, was glistening by the forenoon sun. He followed the trail if her arm all the way down to her hand, which was bound to another hand, and noticed how hairy and coarse it was—how the blonde hair curled up long—wait—what? That’s not beautiful! What is this? A hairy hand held by my lovely? He followed the trail of the brawny arm all the way up to a rigid face of a young man. And who is this imbecile?
“Jasper! Happy birthday, honey.” She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then took a gift box from the young man and handed it to Jasper. “And this is for you. I hope you like it.”
“Thank-k-k you.”
“Open it!”
Jasper opened the box and pulled out a book. “The Great Gatsby? Thanks, Daisy.”
“It’s supposed to be amazing. I know how much you like to read. I hope you like it. Oh, and this is my boyfriend, Scott.”
His heart disunited the arteria coronaria and broke like a vase made of china into hundreds of little pieces that stabbed at his chest. He then took a deep gulp to swallow back in his pride because it was trying to escape through his rima oris. A few little whimpers escaped.
“Jasper? Are you ok?” She grabbed his skinny bicep and shook it to get his attention. “This is Scott, my boyfriend.”
The fact that she said that again caused his pride to escape for good. Hard it would be to get it back.
The fellow had his arm stretched out to him attempting to shake hands. Jasper was barely able to snap out of his traumatic shock and lift his hand to greet the lad. He gripped it so hard, Jasper’s fingers cracked. He was a great looking guy with practically perfect features. Probably some idiot Jock she had picked up at school. He looked like a model from a fashion magazine, especially because he was sporting fancy, aviator sun-glasses, a navy-blazer, and a pair of immaculate, neatly pressed, white pants.
“N-n-nice to meat you,” said Jasper.
“The pleasure is all mine, sheik.”
Sheik? thought Jasper. What is this guy?
“Heard all kinds a’ stories bout ya, mate—a little too many, if ya ask me.” He chuckled and simpered.
So, he’s an Aussie, Jasper assumed. “Really?” Jasper asked.
“Yep. My favorite is when you nippers found that treasure box filled with books… haha… You kids got so exited. Precious.” He chuckled.
Daisy was caught in a fit of giggles in the near background. Jasper mused and looked at Daisy who was already looking at him with dubious grin. She asked: “Whatever did happen to that chest? And did you ever find out who it belonged to?”
“No. I completely forgot about it. I mean, I did remember, just didn’t care to ask. I wonder what happened to it.” He looked at her with scruple.
She smiled as her eyes broadened and swiftly jumped to Jasper and griped him by the shoulders. It was the closest any girl had ever been to him--and Daisy wasn’t just any girl. She spoke directly onto his face, leaving a temptingly short distance between her face and his. The sweet scent of grape lollipops he could smell so well and the warm halitus of her breath was as humid as a summer day in Palm Springs. It made him feel quite uncomfortable. It didn’t help that Daisy was a sprinkler when it came to speaking. “This sounds like an adventure! How fun! It has been years since we went on an adventure! Let’s find it and try to decipher those books… which I now realize were probably somebody’s diaries! Maybe your grandpas. Think about it! They were all written by hand and they were scribbles. C’mon, let’s go look for it! What are we waiting for!? Where could it be!?” She spoke with high enthusiasm.
Jasper had no idea what she had uttered, for he was much too concentrated on her lips that were as close as they could ever be without touching his own. He remembered that game he never did play and wondered. But that blighter was standing beside them and he would definitely put those guns to use if he even tried anything so. He had lit a cigar and was huffing and puffing, as oblivious as Jasper was to what Daisy was saying. The smoke from his cigar fused with the grape scent and it reminded Jasper of his father’s hookah. It made him cough onto Daisy’s face.
“Eeewww!” she shrieked. “Why do you smell like cheese?” she asked.
“I-i-i-i had an omelet for breakfast,” he replied.
She laughed at him while she clinched the base of her nose. Scott held his cigar up to Jasper’s face and asked: “Ya wanna take a hit off this panatela? It’s Cuban. Delicious. Farthest thing from a stogie, if ya ask me.”
“Uh… no thanks.” He hadn’t an idea of what a stogie was. It wasn’t that Jasper was completely against smoking, though he did hate the awful smell of skunk, but more of his complete inexperience in smoking. Though he had had many bubblegum cigarettes in his childhood, he had never smoked in his life and he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his lovely. If the mere secondhand smoke had made him cough, an inhale would certainly stifle him.
Daisy, in the other hand, was more than willing. “I do!” she shouted out. She took it and took a deep whiff, then inhaled clean air before exhaling the smoke. She appeared cool while she did so and apparently knew what she was doing. She then exhaled the smoke gently and smoothly onto Jasper’s face. He rucked up in disgust and let out a tiny cough--that was more like a squeal--as his eyes began to moisten with tears of irritation. Daisy laughed and handed the cigar back to Scott.
“Jasper, lunch!” yelled Meredith from yards away.
“Oh, we should go eat,” Jasper suggested.
“Yeah, for sure. I’m hungry,” Daisy replied.
“Yeah, me too,” Scott added.
“We’re gonna finish this and we’ll be over there in a bit. You go ahead, Jasp,” Daisy said.
“Ok.”
So Jasper walked away from the couple, thinking of how sexy Daisy looked with a cigar in her mouth. He never figured a cigar as an apparatus to compliment or enhance feminine beauty, but then again, Daisy would always look good no matter what she did. She could make mathematics a sexy subject if she wanted to. He turned to glance at them while he walked down the angling landscape and noticed Daisy leaning onto Scott as he wrapped his thick, long fingers around her narrow waist. Covetous warmth filled his lungs. He hated Scott because he had in his possession Jasper’s greatest treasure, and Jasper felt that Scott would never be able to appreciate it as he did. Jasper didn’t know Scott but he assumed enough to believe that she did not mean to Scott what she meant to him. It wasn’t fair. He had fallen in