yours.

[21] Miles

"Miles!"

I pause my game, lifting one side of my headset away from my ear. "What?" I shout back, annoyed. I was just getting in my groove. "What is it?"

"Someone's here to see you," my mom calls from downstairs, and I straighten in my chair, surprised. Jasper? I wonder. It wouldn't be the first time he arrived at my door unannounced. And, despite my better judgment, I kind of... hope it's him.

But, no. It's Rayland, one of my soccer teammates from school. He's standing in the front entryway with my mother, his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets. "Hey, Miles," he greets mildly.

"Hey," I say, wary. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk."

My mother edges her way into the kitchen, but I can still see her peeking around the corner to watch. "I'll be in here if you kids need me."

I wave her off. "Sure, okay." I turn back to Ray. "And what are we talking about?"

He sighs, letting his gaze settle on the second-story ceiling above us. "Miles," he starts calmly, a sarcastic smirk growing on his lips, "I swear, we all thought you were dead."

"What?"

His eyes snap to mine, and he runs a hand through his sun-bleached hair. "You seriously don't know what I'm talking about?" When I shake my head, he motions to the pocket of my sweats, where the rectangular outline of my phone is visible. "Check your messages."

Warily, I pull up one of my texting apps, scrolling through dozens of unread messages before finding my soccer group chat. I click into it, feeling my brows lift at the hundreds of messages my teammates have left since the start of the summer, a good number of them directed at me. I scan them quickly, surprise growing to disbelief as the texts grow more recent.

"See?" Ray crosses his arms, cocking his head at me. "You haven't responded to any of our texts in weeks."

I chuckle, slipping my phone back into my pocket. "That's because I blocked you. All of you," I admit.

His eyes narrow. "You what?"

"Yeah, I blocked you. Just for the summer, though."

"But... why?"

I shrug, saying, "I don't know. That DM just gets tiring after a while." And so do the people in it.

"Okay, but what if one of us is trying to ask you something?" he asks, looking pointedly at my concealed phone. "Like Damon was last Friday."

I let out an exasperated breath. "No, Krystina is not available, and no, she would never get with someone like him." I usher him toward the door. "If that's it--"

He hits my hand away. "Dude, you know you can't just... block us," he says, his voice serious. "We're supposed to be here for each other--"

The doorbell rings, and we both turn to face the door. Confused, I reach across Ray to open it. "Another surprise visit?" I mutter, and it is. Only this time, it's a welcome visitor who comes knocking. "Jasper," I breathe, relief evident in my voice.

His eyes flick between me and the boy standing next to me. "What's going on--"

Before he can finish, I grab him by the elbow and pull him into the house. "Sorry, Ray. My friend Jasper's here, which means you can't be." I gesture through the open doorway, and Ray glares at me one more time before stepping outside.

"Okay, I-- okay!" He extends a hand to stop me from closing the door on him. "Just... think about it, Miles. And unblock me."

"Sure, man." I close the door.

"Who was that?"

Jasper stares up at me, his shoes in hand. I didn't even see him take them off. "Rayland," I tell him. "Just some guy from school."

"Why was he here?"

I grin, a little surprised by his questions. "He came all the way over here just to make me respond to some text." I glance toward the door as something new occurs to me. "How did he even get my address?" I mumble to myself.

"What was so important about the text that he had to... track you down?" Jasper's eyes are narrow, unconvinced.

"Why do you care?" I laugh, punching his arm softly. For once, he doesn't recoil at my touch -- a simple act that makes me unreasonably happy. "And why are you asking me so many questions?"

He sets his shoes down beside the door. "I don't know." He looks around the airy entryway, and my mom fails to duck out of view before he can spot her. "Was that your mum?" he whispers, and I nod. "Why is she hiding?"

"Enough with the questions, Jasper--"

"I was just wondering." We lock eyes, and he glances away, toward the staircase this time. "Where is... No, fine. Take me to your room."

I chuckle at his correction and lead him up the stairs to the second level. "What are you doing here, anyway?" I ask, waiting for him at the top. "I was going to come over to your place later."

"Well, I didn't want to stay there," he says vaguely, brushing past me. Something happened, I think. Maybe... with his dad? I stop myself. No, that's none of my business. He clearly won't want to talk about it -- he probably doesn't want me thinking about it, either--

I catch him before he can walk into Chelsea's room. "Trust me, you don't want to go in there. So many... books, and stuff."

"I can hear you, idiot," my older sister calls from inside.

"Yeah, idiot," Lesley echoes before Chelsea shushes her.

Jasper studies the closed door, then pushes through the door to my room. I feel an acute sense of dread wash over me as I realize I probably should have cleaned my room before Jasper got here. But then again, I guess I didn't know he'd be coming over.

I watch from the doorway as Jasper explores my room, picking over my desk before drifting to the stack of games I have piled beside it. He picks up Strike Brawl, eyeing the cover.

"That one's my favorite," I tell him quietly.

He glances over at me. "Want to play?"

I step toward him, excited by the challenge. "You know how to play--"

"Obiously," he cuts in. "I wouldn't offer to play if I thought I'd lose."

"Oh, you're confident."

He sits in my desk chair, grabbing the Player Two controller from the floor and spinning toward me. "Prepare to lose," he says, his voice grave.

"Big words from a new player." His silence unnerves me, and I quickly exit my previous game in Adventure Mode and start a multiplayer one in Freeplay. The new game starts with a countdown, and then we're fighting.

At first, it seems like I have the upper hand, but it slowly becomes apparent that Jasper is more than just a "new player." He beats me in less than five minutes.

I look at him in disbelief. "How did you..."

"Again," he demands, his gaze fixed on the screen.

This time, I almost last three minutes before Jasper obliterates my team. Again and again we go, with Jasper mercilessly destroying my troops with increasing speed. I don't know how he does it -- I've been playing this game for years.

Finally, after his seventh time winning, Jasper slumps back in his seat, setting his controller on my desk. "You're bad," he says calmly.

"What? No, I'm..." I struggle to defend myself. "You're just... strangely good."

"Lots of practice. I used to play with..." He trails off, his eyes drifting downward. "I used to play." Then he rises to his feet, continuing his exploration of my room. He pads past my unmade bed, toeing at discarded shirts and hoodies scattered across the floor with a socked foot and glancing around at the posters stuck to the walls.

There's something strangely vulnerable in letting him explore a space so personal to me, like I'm showing him a part of myself I can't try to put into words. And though I expected to feel embarrassed, or at least tense about the sudden exposure... it feels good to let him in.