brown haired boy ✓

four.

i sipped my coffee hesitantly, my hands coming up to play with the spinning menu which i'd become accustomed to, "what's the point of playing chicken anyways? are you trying to kill yourself?" i asked quietly, my left hand tapping against my jeans, a sign of nervousness.

when i was nervous, i couldn't stay still.

miles, either ignoring or not knowing of my fidgeting, sent me a smirk, "yes."

and even though i didn't know him, i felt obligated to help him.

or at least try, "killing yourself isn't the answer to any of your problems, miles," i warned.

playing with his chicken tenders, he rolled his brown eyes, "okay, mom."

"i'm serious-"

i heard the soft tapping of a microphone and then uncle darrel's voice interrupting any oncoming conversation, "and now, a regular performer, my own flesh and blood, georgia lewis. get on up here niece-y"

miles smirked.

"they're calling you, georgie."