The Number 8 Read Online Free PDF Page A

a blanket, but sadly not for him.
    His mind drifted to Dante and the difficult summer he’d been having. Asmir would never admit it, but Dante was his Yin. Yang needed a Yin. Complete opposites but ultimately dependent on each other. He knew who he was. He was the guy that liked to party, to have fun and create memories. Dante was the sensible one. Reliable and determined. Together they made up for each other’s flaws. Like most best friends they would rather take a Mike Tyson right hook to the eye socket before admitting they needed each other, but it was a fact. In reality, he needed this trip too. His University grades had not been good either. He wasn’t too concerned with that, but his Dad was. His Dad was a Russian lawyer from a line of lawyers. It was expected. His Dad had always clung to the hope that Asmir would follow in his footsteps. He held that misguided vision until a couple of months ago when Asmir’s grades came through. Asmir hadn’t heard anything from his Dad about “the proud Nankin name” since, which in some ways pleased him. His Dad was off his case and he could do what he wanted. But he also hated seeing the disappointment in his Dad’s eyes as he read the grades. Asmir actually thought he saw the moment that his Dad’s dream for him died. It was right around the second sentence of Asmir’s grade report.
    Asmir knew what he wanted. He hadn’t even told Dante. In fact, he hadn’t even verbalized it. He was scared to say it out loud because that would make it real. His Dad would never back him and he wasn’t even sure if his Mum would, but he knew Dante would. Dante was all about chasing your dreams. Creating plans and going for it.
    Blah Blah Blah.
    Easy for him to say. His Mum wasn’t nearly as tightly wound. Asmir’s parents expected excellence and there were only two things he was excellent at. The first was drinking ridiculous amounts and retaining his sober reflexes. This was only useful when you arrived home with two bottles of vodka in you and could still socialize with your parents’ guests. The second was more useful and was unquestionably his passion: photography.
    It had not been a lifelong passion. He had stumbled upon it by chance. In University, he had gone around all the societies trying them out for himself, one by one. He had enjoyed a few but only repeatedly frequented two, the poker society and the photography society. Poker because he liked to hone his deception skills there. Most people in that society didn’t like him very much because he talked continuously. To make it worse, he was actually quite good so he ended up winning a few of the games. He wasn’t typically competitive, but poker brought it out in him. Every time he lost, even if it was one hand, he’d bite his tongue and only unclench when he won the next one. Then, of course, he would start talking again.
    The photography society had happened by accident. He had heard through the grapevine that they were going to be taking photographs of a nude model. There would be a male and a female posing. So naturally, he turned up. He wasn’t the only one with the same idea. It seemed like half the male population of the University had turned up too. Most were turned away but he managed to get in by feigning knowledge. He had mentioned something about shutter speed and macro photography which he had luckily picked up from a show on cameras that his Dad had been watching while Asmir had been making breakfast. He didn’t even know if he was using the terms correctly but it got him in, so either he got lucky or the guy on the door had no idea either and was here for exactly the same reason he was.
    That day had surprised him. Initially, he had marveled at the girl’s body but then his mind began to change what he was seeing. He wasn’t just seeing her curves. He was seeing her elegance and the patterns that her body was creating. He was seeing how the bright lights accentuated the features on her face and how