Jasper's constant rejections should deter me from trying to keep our friendship afloat, but they only encourage me. Well, if that's what I can even call it, a friendship. More like a series of repeated tense, forced encounters that keep me on my toes. But it never fails to send me reeling... and thinking.
And questioning. Everything.
Late that night, I'm lying in my bed, my mind replaying that moment from earlier, when Jasper and I sat so close, our noses nearly touching. The memory remains painfully fresh, and I can't help but overanalyze it, trying to see from every angle if what I suspect is true.
Was it intentional? On my part, or his?
Why did he pull away so soon? And if he didn't, would I have?
But, above all: Why didn't it feel awkward? Why did it feel--
I sit up in my bed and groan, shutting down my thoughts before they can go any further. Why do I care?
"We're friends," I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face as sleep rises, threatening to claim my mind. "We're just friends... I think." I smile, comforted by my words. "Yeah... friends."
That night, I dream of kissing a dark-haired boy.
* * *
The next morning, I'm hesitant to return to Jasper's doorstep. I start to worry he'll run away from me again, or worse, tell me to leave. Again. But that might be for the best, right? At least then I won't be so... confused all the time.
Starting down the carpeted staircase to my kitchen, I snort at my own inability. I try to make one friend -- just one -- and this is what I get: daily rejection and hot dreams.
When I get downstairs, Chelsea is the only one in the kitchen, already halfway through a new book. Her gaze is so focused on the page in front of her that I almost get away with my bowl of cereal. Almost.
Her head snaps up as I try to slip past her. "Miles," she greets, and I slow down, turning to face her. "Will you stop frowning like that? You look like the Grinch."
"I do not."
"You do," she says simply, kicking the chair beside her to give me a place to sit. "And Mom says she doesn't want you eating in your room anymore."
I slouch into the seat. "Of course she does." Chelsea watches me quietly as I eat my cereal, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. It feels like she wants something from me, but I don't know what. "What are you reading?" I try.
"Fables of Burnhaven. It's the third in this long fantasy series..." The light slowly goes out of her eyes as she remembers who she's talking to. "Never mind, I know you don't care."
I motion to the book. "No, go on." At her skeptical look, I add, "It's not like I have anything better to do." So I listen as she details the adventures of some metaphorical rabbit and robin, and I try to keep up, but my thoughts keep wandering, sliding to the boy in the house next door. I quickly block those out, trying to remain focused on my red-headed sister next to me. I'm trying to be nice, listening to her prattle on about this story I couldn't care less about -- the least I can do is actually pay attention.
Besides, Jasper is just a friend, right? A new friend, at that. And new friends don't think about each other nearly this much. Not in... that way. My fingers tighten around my metal spoon as my dream from last night flashes through my mind.
His mouth, so warm on mine--
"...and I just got to the part where they meet the wizard in this, like, log cabin thing, and he gives them..." She trails off, her glare falling on me again. "You're not even listening."
I blink back to attention, the memory of my dream fading behind my eyelids. "I... I'm sorry, I--"
"It's whatever," she says curtly, her gray eyes flicking to the ceiling above us. "I don't know why I thought you were trying to be nice for once." She starts to rise from her seat, and guilt begins to rise in my gut, fresh and sour.
"Okay, wait--"
My sister waves me off. "Nope, you already--"
"Chels, please." The use of the nickname surprises us both -- I haven't used it in years. "Wait, I just..." I don't know exactly what to say, but I know I have to say something to make this vile sense of regret go away. So, I say the one thing I know will make her happy.
Even if it'll be torture for me.
"I... need help."
YOU ARE READING
yours.
Romancetwo boys. two houses. two hearts. Seventeen-year-old 𝗠𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 has a long stretch of boring, lonely summer ahead of him. So when a new boy his age moves in next door, he sees an opportunity -- for what, he doesn't quite know yet. Meanwhile, 𝗝𝗮𝘀�...
