yours.

[49] Miles

I've been at the copy machine for nearly ten minutes now, trying to figure out how this thing works.

No one thought it would be a good idea to give me a sort of tutorial or introduction to anything in this office, and so far, I've been defeated by the coffee pot, an electrical fan, and now this copy machine.

And it's only noon.

"Miles, honey, you press the print button."

I look up to see my mom beside me. She looks amused, and I roll my eyes. "I knew that."

"Then why have you been staring at the screen of that thing for five minutes?"

I jab the print button with a finger and wait for the machine to start printing. It does, very slowly. "Because I'm stalling." It's only a half-lie.

My mom's look turns disapproving. "Miles," she starts, condescending, "stalling has no place in the office. You need to stay productive--"

I groan loudly, cutting her off. Her gaze sharpens. "Yes, Mom, I know I need to be productive, you've been telling me that all summer." 

But then I realize my mom's urging is the entire reason Jasper and I met. If she'd never sent me over to his house that morning, I would have stayed in mine -- in my room, honestly -- and I may not have ever spent all this time and made all these memories with him. My eyes widen.

"Is this about Dave?" The question gives me a welcome escape from my thoughts.

I laugh, thinking back to her frantic escape from his office as soon as I realized the truth about her and Dave's feelings for each other. "Yes, Mom, I'm mad at you for liking your boss, so I'm sabotaging him by not bringing him copies of his report."

She cracks a soft smile, saying, "So you don't think it's weird?"

"Of course I do. But I'm not going to stand here and gossip with you about your love life, so I'm actually just going to take these..." I slide the warm papers out of the machine's tray. "And go." I flash a grin at her, then push past her toward Dave's -- sorry, Mr. McArthur's -- office. My mom doesn't try to stop me, and that makes me glad. Working near her is strange enough, I don't want to actually see her all the time.

"Here you go," I say, laying the sheets on Mr. McArthur's desk. "What's next?" I don't want to actually do anything, I just need something else to get me out of this office.

But of course, Mr. McArthur has other ideas. He motions to a chair near his desk, and I reluctantly take a seat. The chair is annoyingly comfortable. "So, Miles," he begins, his tone casual, "how are you liking the office so far?"

"It's stuffy," I say honestly, "and cold. Why is it so cold in here?"

Mr. McArthur beams, and I can see his teeth are really white. "That's the way most people here like it. But really, how are you doing? Are you adjusting well?"

I shrug. "As well as I can, I guess."

He shifts in his seat, and I feel the conversation take an uneasy turn. "About your mother and me--"

"No, okay, I'm not doing this." I stand, then quickly realize I can't actually go anywhere without his permission.

"Miles, please--"

"I get it, you've got the hots for my mom, but I don't really care. It's none of my business."

Mr. McArthur seems relieved. "So it's okay with you, then?"

I don't know why they both think they need my permission to bang -- they're the adults here. "Yup. Go for it."

He smiles -- actually smiles -- and sits back in his chair. "Great." He nods. "This is great."