yours.

[24] Jasper

When Miles appears on my doorstep that afternoon, he looks terrible.

Well, not terrible, exactly, but definitely worse than usual. His hair is all knotted and fluffy like he's been dragging his fingers through it, and his green eyes seem troubled. He's also wearing sweatpants, which I've never seen him in. They look good on him.

"What's wrong with you?"

His stare lasts longer than usual before he mutters, "Nothing."

My mind darts briefly to our staring contest from yesterday, and a part of me curls deeper into itself. Not now, I beg myself. Not today. "Well," I say, gesturing to the concrete stair beside me. "If nothing's wrong, then--"

"Why do you always wear jackets?" he interrupts, taking his seat at my side. "It's hot out, we live on the water, how do you never overheat?"

I glance away from him, absently tugging on the sleeve of my dark green hoodie. "I like them. They're comfortable."

"So are T-shirts--"

"I don't really care, Miles," I snap, and that silences him. "I like them, so I wear them. There." I feel bad about lying to him, but I can't exactly show him what's under my long sleeves. Miles remains silent for a long while, long enough that Maybelle comes to join us and curls up between us, mewling softly. "It's okay, baby," I soothe, and Miles watches me carefully.

He scratches her gently between her ears. "My--my sister Chelsea told me I should invite you to come to the carnival with us. It opens tomorrow, and I... I don't know, I was kind of hoping--"

"What time?"

He looks up at me, surprised. "You want to come?"

"I don't have anything else to do," I mutter, shrugging. I sigh and meet his eye. "What time?"

He smiles, his eyes brightening with his excitement. "Around seven, I think. I can pick you up -- well, Chelsea will, since she's driving."

"Okay." I try to think of how I'll ask my father for permission to go. I could just ask my mother, but then my father would just be angry I didn't consult him first, and then he might redirect his anger at my mother, and I can't let that happen. So I'll just have to tell him I want to spend a few hours with a... a friend, and I'll be back by eleven. No, ten. Nine? 

Definitely ten.

"You know how sometimes you see other people doing stuff, and you just kind of see it as something completely separate from you, and then you realize it might actually have a lot to do with you?" Miles rambles, then stares at me as if he expects me to understand what he just asked me. "Like... it might be a part of you, too?"

"No."

He sighs, resting a hand on Maybelle's back. "I'm not... great at explaining things."

"Oh, really? I couldn't tell."

"Actually?" He glances over at me, hopeful.

I can't crush him, not when he looks like that. "Actually."

His smile dims, and he adds, "No, but seriously. I... I've been thinking a lot. About myself -- and, um, other stuff." He swallows, his brow creasing in concentration. I wait. "About how I feel about other people, and who, specifically, I could--"

"Miles--"

"No, I just--"

"Stop." The word falls like a weight in the space between us. "Please, stop." I'm starting to understand what he means, and I can't handle the absurd amount of hope it's giving me. "You're not making any sense," I say sharply, hoping he doesn't question me.

He retreats slightly, looking down at Maybelle. "I'm trying," he murmurs, and a piece of my heart fractures.

"I know you are." Our fingers brush in the kitten's fur, and I glance up as a red flush emerges across his freckles, his green eyes scared.

My stomach drops out beneath me. He... does he--

Slowly, he moves to link our fingers across Maybelle's back, his thumb rubbing slowly down mine. We meet gazes, and his eyes search my face desperately, probingly.

"Miles..." I breathe.

His fingers squeeze mine for just a second before he whispers, "Tomorrow. Seven." Then, he rises, loping across my yard back into his house and leaving me with burning ears and hope surging in my chest.

And for some reason, his words strike me as more of a promise than just a reminder.