ADD IT UP ✰ RODRICK HEFFLEY x MALE! OC

CHAPTER 1

ONCE upon a time, I parasocially lived through the regulars that weaved in and out of a run-down ice cream shop. But I couldn't help it. The window of Old Timey Ice Cream Parlor was my only glimpse into what it was like to belong to a genuine relationship. Because the universe did everything in its power to ensure that I, Miles Macey, didn't have one.

Not just a romantic relationship, either. The shop was a mosaic of so, so many different kinds of love: couples going on first dates, sports teams celebrating victories, and parents getting ice cream with their kids, among other things. They were living. As warmth pulsed through their veins, the frigid March air stung my face, the afternoon glow of the sun taunting my cold skin, making me feel so numb that my clammy hands could be mistaken for those of a corpse. Yet, from four to nine p.m, I would busk robotically until the sun set over the town of Plainview.

I made good money, playing my guitar on that street corner— even more so than I would if I worked an ordinary job. I was doing what I loved, and, on top of that, able to profit off of my dearest hobby. But something inside me was missing.

I envied the people within the warm interior of the ice cream parlor. Seeing the way that their relationships blossomed and grew made my blood boil. It hurt to admit, but I was jealous of them. Bitter, even. Lasting relationships were always just within my grasp, until they slipped away, falling through the crevices of my hands like hot sand. Sure, I appreciated every donation dropped into the case of my guitar, but it took every ounce of self control in my body to not take shelter in the little shop.

The patrons were more familiar to me than the back of my hand, and the employees even more so— which was why Rodrick Heffley, the Crossland High School Heartbreaker, stood out like a sore thumb. His work uniform was scruffy and untucked, dark brown hair sitting messily atop his head, his skin a freckled, dark olive hue. He donned dirty converse, and his band name, "Loded Diper," was bleached onto his black jeans. This was all a stark contrast to the rest of the employees, who donned neat, ironed khakis and wore their hair slicked back.

Rodrick was scrubbing a table, but his gaze burned dreamily through the window, his eyes staring longingly at my guitar with a starstruck expression on his face. I recognized him as a classmate from public school. We were never close.

"Rodrick!" the shift supervisor retorted. "There're customers waiting! What is outside the window that's more important than your post?"

Their shift supervisor, a retired Navy veteran, ran Old Timey as if he were on the verge of leading his employees to war. Chuckling, I plucked out a mellow, acoustic ballad on my guitar, looking up as the sun began to creep lower and lower in the sky. The Plainview sunset was always the highlight of my evening, marking the end of a busy day.
As my phone alarm struck 9:00, I put my guitar back in the case and hopped on my bike, getting ready to leave for the night. Just then, I heard a raspy, unfamiliar voice yelling behind me.

"Hey! Wait! You! Guitar lady!"

It was the new employee at the ice cream parlor. "I'm not a lady, you shithead."

"But you know," he began. "I'm a drummer."

    I looked at him quizzically.

"A drummer! In a band! We play in that abandoned building down the street." He nudged me with his elbow. "You should maybe check us out sometime! I could comp you a ticket or two."

He shifted his weight towards my bike, to which I quickly cycled away, tripping over air and landing on his palms.
"So that's a yes, then? Maybe? No?"