yours.

[3] Miles

I'm off my bed and in the kitchen in less than a minute. My mom is baking a batch of those oatmeal-raisin cookies she thinks everyone loves as I take my place in front of the stove.

"We're getting new neighbors?" I blurt.

My mother hums softly to herself, shaping the dough into a ball in her palms before placing it on a baking sheet. At first, I think she's ignoring me, but then I notice the wireless earbud in her ear.

"Mom," I snap, and she finally looks up at me. "Are we getting new neighbors?"

She narrows her eyes at me, taking out an earbud and laying it on the counter.  "Do you see the massive 'To Rent' sign in front of the house? It's been there for weeks."

"I..." I never noticed it, actually. I don't spend much of my free time outside. "Of course I did," I lie. "But... did you know they're moving in today?"

Her eyes light up. "Today? They're here today?" When I nod, she grins down at her uncooked dough. "Maybe we can bring them some cookies."

I immediately know I have to save our neighbors from my mom's terrible baking. "No, it's probably too soon for that. They're still unloading boxes and everything." Then her smile fades, and I add, "I'm sure they would have loved the cookies, though."

She stares down at her baking sheet for a while, thinking, then glances back up at me. "You should go help them. You can get a headstart on your summer productivity." When I begin to protest, she rushes on, "It's better than all the sulking you've been doing in your room."

"I haven't been sulking--"

"You have," my nine-year-old sister, Lesley, calls from somewhere in the living room.

I scowl. "Shut up," I mutter, and she somehow hears.

"Mo-om," she whines. "Miles just told me to--"

"I heard," my mom cuts in, and her gaze focuses on me. "Miles, go help the new neighbors. I'm sure they'd appreciate it." Then she sticks her earbud back in and goes right back to shaping her dough and humming, like our conversation never happened at all.

Grumbling to myself, I trudge into the house's entrance and pull on my sneakers, shooting a glare at my sister, who's lounging on the couch in the room to my right. Her knees are pulled to her chest, her wispy blond hair spilling over the surface of the iPad in front of her. 

"You're the worst," I tell her, then push through the door before she can fire back a response.

Walking across my lawn to the house next to mine feels like the longest trip of my life, and all I really want to do is duck into my backyard and sneak back into my house from there. But then my gaze falls on the enormous white moving van parked in front of the house... and then the boy standing behind it.

He looks around my age, but it's hard to tell from a distance. I draw closer, watching as he shifts on his feet, reaching for one cardboard box, then another, then another, but never actually grabbing one. He keeps glancing over his shoulder like someone's chasing him, and I have to wonder what's making him so nervous.

"Hey," I call out once I'm on my neighbors' lawn. It occurs to me a second too late that this could technically be considered trespassing. "Do you need... help?"