Miah and Kee

Jeremiah

Jeremiah and Cherokee rode in silence, focusing on beating one another. Jeremiah kept the lead, but down occasionally to Let Cherokee catch up.  He didn't know what it was about skateboarding that made him feel okay. It could have been the giddy excitement of doing a trick that you've been practicing for weeks, or the exhausting pleasure of his legs hurting and lungs burning, or the sense of belonging when riding with a group. 

When the roads started to become brick, they hopped off their boards, bot breaking into sprint. While Cherokee, being a sprinter on their schools track team, was faster than Jeremiah, he was a distance runner, with three years of soccer experience, could sprint longer.  Instead of continuing down the brick road, they turned onto flat glass, running up a small hill, where once Jeremiah reached the top, he yelled, "I win!" Then promptly collapsed onto his knees, with his board falling next to him. In between laughing, he coughed, his lungs screaming for air. Cherokee, sat next to him, throwing her board down and panting. They caught their breathing together, then looked at each other, and laughed. 

"That race was completely unfair!" She exclaimed punching him in the shoulder. 

"How?" 

"Your legs are longer, for one." Truthfully, Cherokee wasn't 'short.' She was 5'7, with hazelnut colored skin like his own, with long, thick legs. 

"And? Your a sprinter. Pretty sure we've decided your faster than me." 

"Shut up and help me with the blanket." 

Jeremiah got up, and with Cherokee's help, spreads out the thick black blanket. He lays down first, and looks up at the sky, getting reminded why they named this spot, 'stars.' The nighttime sky is riddled with them, white shining.  They blink in and out of existence, each burning bright. He feels Cherokee lay down next to him, her heat radiating off, her and warming him. With a jolt, and their hands touch and his heart bends in 8 different directions. His body tenses, and Cherokee moves her hand away. "Sorry," her voice is barely a whisper. He hears it in his dreams, calling out to him, singing to him, screaming for him. Without her hand in his, he feels cold. 

"It's okay." The silence isn't awkward or deafening, it's filled with understanding of them both. This has happened before; she'd hug him, try to touch him, and Jeremiah would pull away. Jeremiah would try; hug her, try to kiss her even; and she'd tense up and back away. They knew better than to blame each other. But it still hurt. They were stuck at a standstill. Stuck in the middle; not dating, not best-friends. Something more. Something Less. 

"Do you remember how we met?" She says suddenly. And how could he forget? They'd been in 9th grade. Both new to the school; the black kids in a predominately white school. Without meaning to, they sat next to each other during lunch. Chose each other as partners for projects. All they had was each other for they first quarter. When Jeremiah first saw her, he thought she wasn't beautiful or delicate like the white girls there. And yet, she took his breath away. Dark hair fell down her shoulders, with bright brown eyes. She was taller than him back then. "Of course I do." He wouldn't ever forget the time she smiled at him. "What did you think of me?" Her voice is small, and vulnerable. There had been moments like this, ever since George Avehill. "I thought you were breathtaking, Cherokee." She's silent, but he can feel her tense body tense next to his. "And now?" Almost a whisper. But he can hear the words she's trying to scream. "Your something more. Not beautiful, not delicate, not breathtaking. Your something I can't describe, you'd have to crawl into my heart to see." Too much. Said too much. Not enough. 

Cherokee is silent for a long time, but at least she isn't tense anymore. He said something right. Then, "thank you."

He exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding. His eyes are making up constellations in the sky when he says, "What'd you think of me?" Their out of his mouth before he could stop them. Before Alex, he would never have asked this. But now, with Cherokees voice and laugh flooding his head, with the pieces of his heart coming back together to spell her name, it did matter. It's all that mattered. It takes her a long time to answer. 

"When I first met you, you were like fireworks. Big, bright, loud, and beautiful. You were the only other black kid, yet somehow you were still detached from everyone, even me. Guess I thought you were mysterious?" He can tell she's smiling just from her voice. A black, scrawny kid with wild hair, mysterious? It makes him smile. "And now?" He asking, his fingers beginning to beat against his leg. "Your like my artwork," his heart pounded heavier on his chest, "sometimes your ugly and abstract. Or beautiful and clear. Or dark and confusing. But no matter what, you always tell a story." She's looking at him, and he can't help but look back. He's searching her face, he doesn't know for what. But his eyes lock with her lips, an he can't look away. Not until she smiles and says, "eyes are up here, Miah." Jeremiah shoots back, "obviously I know where your eyes are. But I'm more interested in your-" She hits him and looks away, laughing. He does the same, looking up at the sky. His heart reaches out, slowly, hesitantly.   And she takes it. At first, his heart, his entire body wants to back away and hide. To put up wall and wall of metal and never come out. But he tightens his grip on her, letting his broken heart mend.