yours.

[15] Miles

I don't actually know what I need help with, but the statement is enough to grab my sister's attention. She lowers herself slowly back into her chair, her gray eyes watching me carefully.

"With what?"

I stare back at her, struggling to think of a suitable response. I could tell her about my situation with Jasper, but... not in its entirety. I don't even know all the details of it yet -- how could I describe them to Chelsea? "I... um." She rolls her eyes and reaches for her book again, and I tell her, "Wait, wait. I just... don't know how to word this."

She sits back and waits, her fingers still curved over the book's spine.

"So," I start, "have you ever..." I try to think of a way to phrase my issue. "Have you ever assumed one thing about yourself -- like, all your life -- and then one thing happens, and you're... not so sure anymore?" My brow creases as I conjure up Jasper's face in my mind, trying to word my exact feelings about him. "But you still don't really know how you feel about your new way of thinking, and you don't know how you want to feel?"

I glance up at Chelsea, who looks more concerned than anything. Not really the expression I want to see. "I'm lost," she admits, "but I think I could understand if I had some context." She lifts a thin brow. "Care to elaborate?"

"Not really," I say slowly. "But that's just because I'm still trying to figure everything out myself."

"Okay, well. From what I got, you're going through some... changes? In mindset?" I nod. "That's good," she reassures. "Change is good. But I think it's still important to make sure this shift is permanent, and not just... a phase. A spike in hormones, or something."

"Okay." I turn her words over in my mind. "That actually makes sense. I think."

She smiles. "Glad to help." She raps her knuckles against the cover of her book, laughing, "To be honest, I had no clue what you were talking about. That was just a stab in the dark."

I snort, shaking my head at my cereal bowl, which is almost empty at this point. "Thanks."

"Anytime." She stands and pushes in her chair, then pauses, turning back to me. "You know," she says, her silver gaze dropping, "You really can come talk to me -- anytime. I'm... I'm always here to help. That's kind of my job, as older sister. To help."

She meets my eye again, and I nod, an unspoken promise passing between us. This summer, the last summer we have before she leaves for college, we need to fix things between us. Things we broke almost six years ago.

* * *

I glance into my rearview mirror, squinting at the driver behind me. Why are they so close? I check my brakes lightly, and the other person slows, creating more space between our cars.

"Thank you," I mutter, then change lanes to turn onto a side road.

I ride in silence for a while, going on autopilot while I let my mind wander. The sun sets to my left, painting the sky in front of me with soft shades of pink and orange, a sight I normally wouldn't stop to appreciate. But now, on my way to the store to buy gummy rings for myself and pretzels for Lesley, I feel lighter, happier, even, than I usually do.

During an intense match of Strike Brawl today, the answer came to me. I don't like Jasper -- not like that, anyway. I just haven't made a friend, a real, authentic friend, in a while. And now, gaining one feels so good that my feelings have become all... mixed up. Confused.

I check my mirrors and swallow. Fine. Not the... best reasoning. But it has to do.

Because I don't like Jasper. I can't. I'm not... like that. I don't think.

I pull into the parking lot of the grocery store, finding a spot near the building and putting my car in park. Inside, it only takes a few minutes of searching the snack aisle to find a jug of Lesley's favorite brand of pretzels, then a few bags of gummy rings. The good type, not the overly chewy kind.

I balance the snacks in my arms as I make my way to the register. The self-checkout line is surprisingly long, so I head over to the regular checkout lines, glancing between the third and fourth lines before ducking into the third one. I hope my cashier is fast.

A song Chelsea used to like plays over the store speakers, drifting from the ceiling to play softly among the aisles. The singer croons about secrets and promises and all the things that only make relationships more complicated. I have to wonder if the song is supposed to be happy.

I study the racks of candy leading to the register and start to consider buying myself another snack when a familiar voice, accented and clipped, speaks up to my left.

"Thanks. Have a lovely day."

My head snaps up as disbelief floods my mind. "Jasper?"