yours.

[9] Miles

Early the next morning, I wake to the sound of a downpour crashing against my bedroom window. Rolling over, I squint through the haze of my vision to the rain-fogged glass and realize suddenly that this must be a... warning, of sorts. Jasper won't be outside in this weather, so I won't be able to visit him. And maybe that's for the best. Then, out of revelations, I slump onto my pillow and fall back asleep.

* * *

Once I finally rise from my bed, my eyes still bleary and unfocused, I trudge downstairs to see my sisters and mom bent over a massive puzzle taking up most of the kitchen table. I try to avoid them, ducking into the pantry to grab a box of cereal, but just before I can pour it and sneak it back up to my room, Chelsea calls out, "Nice of you to finally join us, Miley."

I grunt and step out of the pantry. "I told you to stop calling me that." I fill the bowl with milk from the fridge, then the sugary cereal I picked.

"Yeah, well, I told you to stop being such a little loser all the time, and you didn't listen then, either."

Lesley bursts out laughing, and I glare at them both, making my way over to the table just to yank on Lesley's short, blond ponytail. When she yelps, my mom swats at me and tells me to "be more nice." I sink into a seat at the table, watching as Chelsea reaches for a puzzle piece, and her curly red hair falls to brush the table. 

I always used to think it was funny, how Lesley and I came out with features identical to our mom's: straight, blond hair; startlingly green eyes; and no fewer than a thousand freckles scattered across our tan nose and cheeks. But Chelsea looks just like our dad, with her flame-red hair, gray eyes, and clear, pale complexion. At this point, most people don't believe Chelsea and I are siblings at first, and I don't think either of us has much of a problem with that.

"What is this supposed to be, anyway?" I ask, staring at the incomplete puzzle.

"A birdhouse," Chelsea replies simply, clicking her piece into place.

Lesley sorts a few blue pieces from red ones. "You'd know if you actually looked at it."

I push away from the table and rise from my seat, cereal bowl in hand. "Fine, okay. I see where I'm not wanted." I wince, thinking back to my awkward encounter with Jasper yesterday. Trust me, I know.

"No, no, stay," my mother pleads, grabbing onto my arm. "Join us."

I shake her off. "I'm good, thanks." Then I escape the kitchen, jogging up the stairs and not stopping until I reach my room.

* * *

"Okay, nope. No, I just... I'm done." I throw my headset to the floor beside me, angrily clicking off my monitor as I spin in my chair to face the window. Still raining.

Hours of Strike Brawl don't calm me down the way I want them to, and I've made no progress in the game, and it's still raining. I know I can't go back downstairs without facing my sisters, but there's nothing left to do in my room. I'm trapped.

My thoughts wander to Jasper. What is he doing, now that he can't go outside? Is he spending time with his family, like my sisters? Or is he on his own, like me?

Is he thinking about me?

I jolt out of my chair, startled by my thoughts. Why does it matter if he thinks about me? Why am I thinking about him?

My fingers fly to my hair, and I try to distract myself with the soccer posters my mom insisted I hang around my room last semester. "They'll inspire you to be great," she claimed.

"What, I'm not great now?" I retorted.

"Of course you are." Then she kissed my temple, and I shoved her away, embarrassed.

Now, I trudge over to the window, resting my forehead against it as I refuse to let my eyes drift to the house to my right. I keep my gaze fixed firmly on the street below, watching some expensive-looking car slosh through a puddle near the curb, spraying it up to splash a person walking in front of my house.

Who then turns to walk up my driveway.

Not believing what I'm seeing, I rush out of my room and down the stairs, arriving at the front door just as the doorbell sounds. "I got it!" I yell back to my mom, needlessly. I swing open the door, and there stands Jasper, drenched in rain and puddle water and scowling deeper than ever.

He thrusts a wrapped tray of cookies toward me. "Take it." When I don't, he shoves it into my chest. "Take it, Miles," he snaps as a drop of water trails down his nose. His dark hair is stringy and plastered to his forehead, and some foreign part of me feels the urge to brush it away from his eyes.

I take the tray warily, meeting his steady, annoyed gaze. "Why... did you bring this?"

His hands free, he wipes a jacket sleeve across his eyes. Finally, he's dressed for the weather. "We finished unpacking today, and my mum was in a good mood. She started baking, and... she wanted you to have these."

"But... why?"

"To make a good impression, Miles, I don't know," he says, exasperated. He crosses his arms. "Give them to your parents. And keep the tray." Then he turns and starts back down the steps.

"Jasper, wait."

He turns slowly, the simmering rage in his eyes burning hot enough to make me take a step back.

"I just... I feel like I should apologize. For yesterday. And all the days before it."

He lifts an eyebrow, and something in my chest clenches. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that."

"I should have just left you alone," I admit finally. "It was clear you didn't want me bothering you, and I just kept showing up every day, and..." I ramble on, thinking of the lie I told him yesterday, the poor explanation I gave for wanting to spend time with him. I don't know why I didn't just tell him my mom told me to go keep him company, and instead went on that rant about being lonely and making friends and...

No, I... I know why. As much as I hate to admit it, I was scared of what he'd say if he knew the root of my actions wasn't genuine.

Now, he holds up a soaking palm, the open sides of his jacket swinging to cling to his body. "Stop. Please, just... stop. You don't need to apologize."

"But I--"

"Shut up, Miles." My mouth clamps shut. "It's fine. Really, I don't care."

"You... don't?"

He rolls his eyes and lets his hand fall. "No. I actually... I didn't mind your company. Even though you're loud, and your eyes are annoyingly green--" I snort, a smile growing on my face. "--you're not the worst person to have around." He averts his gaze to the door beside me to avoid meeting my eye. "So yeah. If the weather's nice tomorrow, I'll be outside. Like usual." Without waiting for a response, he retreats down the stairs and around the corner, out of my sight. When I don't see him walk down the driveway, I know he cut through the grass.

Stifling a laugh, I shut the door and look down at the tray of cookies in my hand, still dry despite the rainfall outside thanks to the plastic wrap covering it. I set it down in the kitchen without explanation and, still encouraged by Jasper's invitation to join him tomorrow, don't object to joining my family's game of Scrabble.