yours.

[4] Jasper

I freeze at the sound of the stranger's voice. A thousand scenarios run through my head: children kidnapped and stolen off the streets, or sold into trafficking systems, or worse--

The person steps closer, and I can't help but look up. I let out a soft breath of relief as I see it's just a tall boy, about my age, with dark blond hair and eyes such a bright green they contest with the grass beneath his feet.

"Who're you?" I ask. I know my question sounded rude, but I don't care. There's a stranger in my yard.

He seems surprised to hear me speak. "Are you... British?"

I look back down at the boxes in front of me. "Yes," I say slowly. "Is that a problem?"

He takes another step toward me, and I tense. "No, I..." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I'm Miles. I live next door." Motioning to the yellow house beside mine, he follows my gaze to the stack of cardboard. "Do you need help?" he repeats.

"No." I cast a glance over my shoulder, hoping I won't see my father's broad frame walk through the house's open doorway. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes," I say firmly. "So you can--"

"Jasper!" a voice booms from inside the house. My arms jolt out to grab two boxes, shocked into action by the force in my father's words. "What are you doing out there?"

The boy lifts a dark eyebrow. "Jasper?"

"I... I need to go." I quickly turn away from him. "Sorry," I mutter. Then I rush into the house, balancing the two boxes as I struggle my way through the living room to the kitchen beyond. Depositing the packages on the marble countertop, I take one look at my father, who's busy directing the movers in the family room, and duck back outside to grab more boxes.

The boy is still there.

"You have to let me help," he says once he sees me. "My mom won't let me back into the house until I do."

I grab another box, this one much heavier than the previous ones. My muscles strain to support the weight, and the boy -- Miles, I recall -- steps forward to help. I jerk away from him. "I don't need--"

Wordlessly, he takes the box from my grasp. Its weight clearly doesn't affect him as much as it did me, and I frown, looking anywhere but at him. He reads the green label stuck to the cardboard. "'Max's room,'" he reads, then glances back up at me. "And where is that?"

I lift a smaller, lighter-looking box. "Up the stairs and to the left." I shake off thoughts of my brother. "Just leave it outside the door." Then I turn and head back inside, wondering why Miles has to be so... stubborn. I know my father will be angry when he sees him, but there's nothing I can do to stop him.

It's just another train wreck in my life I can't seem to look away from.