Miles

When I got home from baseball practice, Dad's Land Rover wasn't in the driveway, and I breathed an enormous sigh of relief. I was certain that Vice Principal Milton had called him already to inform him of my detention. Dad was going to be furious. But since he wasn't here yet, I had a bit of a reprieve.

I put the Jeep in park and hopped out. As I unlocked the door, my phone dinged in my pocket. It was Rachel.

Hey Miles, how did it go with your dad?

I had told her after lunch how worried I was about my dad's reaction and the fact that she had thought to ask made me smile despite my anxiety. I hung my backpack on the rack in the hall and threw myself down on my back on the couch.

he actually isnt home yet so im safe for now. What did ur parents say?

They were pissed, but they'll get over it.

I wish that could be my dad's response... it would've been if my mom were still here.

well thats good. hey wanna have breakfast before school tomorrow?

She answered immediately.

I'd like that. Can we go to the Donut Hole?

sure. want me to pick u up?

Yeah. 624 Seahorse Lane, near Grand Panama.

ok be there @ 6:45

Okay... text me after you talk to your dad.

will do

Just then, I heard my dad pull into the driveway. I closed my eyes. Here we go, I thought. I jumped up and went into the kitchen, figuring if I looked like I was doing some chores he may go easier on me.

The door opened, and he slammed it behind him, walking into the kitchen. I inhaled as I waited for him to scream at me. 

"Hey Dad," I said, wiping off the counter with a Clorox wipe.

"Miles, do you want to tell me why I got a phone call from your vice principal today?" he started, pulling a stool out and perching on it, folding his hands on the countertop. He was eerily calm.

I swallowed. "I skipped school half the day yesterday," I said. I knew Milton had told him; there was no point in trying to lie.

"And why the hell would you do that?" His voice was so quiet, it was deadly. I would rather he yell.

I couldn't tell him the real reason. "Honestly, Dad, I just had to get out of there for the day. I felt like I was suffocating. I was so stressed." It wasn't entirely untrue.

He scoffed. "Son, you have a lot of growing up to do. You do not understand what stress is."

Anger burned in my stomach. How dare he say that to me? Did he not realize that all the shit he put me through every day made me a walking ball of nerves? But I pushed the anger down. "I'm sorry, Dad. It won't happen again, I swear. Coach Wilkins made me run laps today during practice. I ran until I puked." That part was true.

Dad laughed. "I guess that's punishment enough." And shocking the hell out of me, he got up, got a beer out of the fridge and retreated to his office.

He stopped halfway down the hall and called back, "Sorry about the bruise, Miles."

I was facing the window, so when my mouth dropped, he didn't see it. I couldn't believe it; he had never shown a trace of remorse for hitting me. I didn't even know what to say, but I didn't have to answer because I heard his office door snap closed.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sent Rachel a text.

he didnt even yell

Really? That's good, right?

i guess. then he apologized for leaving the bruise on my cheek

Wow! That's great, Miles. Maybe things will get better.

Unfortunately, I had lost all hope of that happening long ago. But I didn't want to worry her further.

yea maybe. see you tmrw morning at 6:45

Good night, Miles.

night Rachel

At 6:44 am, I pulled up in front of Rachel's house on Seahorse Lane. It was a two-story gray brick home, modest—not too big and not too small. It was pretty, but when Rachel appeared on the front porch wearing a blue and white flowered sundress, her golden blonde hair falling around her shoulders, it was beautiful.

She waved and jogged to the car, and I tried without success not to notice the way the dress accentuated certain parts of her body.

I jumped out of the car and ran around the front, opening the passenger door for her. 

"Good morning, Miles," she said and surprised me by kissing me on the cheek.

I felt my face heat. "Morning, Rachel. You look beautiful," I said, my eyes traveling down her body but back up to her face in a second.

She blushed. "You like this? I got it last night."

"Last night?"

"Yeah, after I talked to you, Brooke came over and we went to Pier Park."

I smirked, and I had to wonder if she got that dress just for our breakfast date.

"Cool," I said instead. "You hungry?" 

"Starving."

"Good. Me too."

I reached over and turned up the radio. It was on a country station, a love song.

Rachel started humming along and then singing. "I can't count the times I almost said what's on my mind, but I didn't."

My eyes snapped in her direction. She had a magnificent voice. Jesus, is there anything this girl can't do?

I thought about commenting, but I just listened until her voice faded out.

I glanced over at her again, and she leaned back against the headrest, her eyes closed.

I guess she felt me staring because she looked over at me. "What?" she asked, lifting her head up.

"Nothing—I just didn't know you could sing. Your voice is perfect."

"Oh, please. It is not."

I glared at her. "What did I tell you about self-deprecating?"

She laughed. "Fine. I took voice lessons until James' accident."

"Wow. That's awesome," I said, wanting to ask why James' death made her stop, but deciding not to.

"Yeah, I just couldn't do it anymore after he died. I sang at his funeral. And to tell you the truth, I haven't sung in front of anyone since then. Until just now." She looked at me and smiled.

"Wow," I repeated. "Well, you can sing in front of me anytime." Just then we pulled into the Donut Hole.

"Yessss," she said, seeming grateful to change the subject. "Did I mention I'm starving?"

"Yeah, you may have," I said, getting out to open her door. I offered my hand to help her down, and she took it.

And she didn't let go.

I looked down at our hands as we walked inside, my heart racing. We fit together like the last two missing pieces of a puzzle. 

We stood in the sizable line and ordered our food. I paid, even though she tried to protest, and we chose a table in the corner by the window.

"Don't judge me," she said as she pulled her plate toward her, three powdered donuts stacked on it.

I laughed and held up my hands. "No judgments here!" I pointed at my plate, which held a chocolate donut, three slices of bacon, a piece of sausage, and hash browns.

When we finished, we stood up to throw our trash away in the nearby trashcan. I glimpsed her face out of the corner of my eye and laughed.

"What?" she asked.

"You've got a little..." I motioned to my cheek with my finger, and her hand flew to her face, but she missed it, the powdered sugar still lingered.

I lifted my hand and whisked it with my knuckle, the softness of her skin igniting something inside me.

She reached up and entwined her fingers in mine, and we left the restaurant the same way we came in–hand in hand.