𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟾𝚝𝚑, 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢
Parkers POV

It's much later in the evening on Monday when I feel the need to get out of the house. I've been trapped inside the school's four walls all day long, and sitting in my bedroom staring at these walls isn't doing me any good tonight.

That's how I end up here, sitting alone in the back booth of a 24-hour downtown diner.

Not that this is the most glamorous place to go when I feel like clawing the brain out of my skull, but it's better than driving myself crazy at home. I always feel bad going to my parents when I get in these moods because I don't like inconveniencing them, even though they always claim that I'm not a bother.

Sometimes it's hard to believe that because I'm annoying the fuck out of myself right now.

"Fries and shake?"

Blinking, I look up at the waitress who's holding my food. The same food I forgot that I ordered.

"Yeah, thanks," I mumble and straighten up as she sets the basket down with a kind smile. I purposefully avoid her longing eyes because I'm not here to check out the college girls. I have a bigger issue on my mind.

Miles. Always Miles. Or, at least, he has always been on my mind recently.

Tonight, instead of desiring his touch, I desire to punch that idiot. Okay, maybe that's taking it too far, but I'm still pissed off. I cannot believe that he doesn't remember what happened at the party.

That moment made me open my eyes to a whole world of possibility and what we could be.

To him, it was just another night. Just another kiss, just another boy.

Fuck him. I curse in my head, even though I have no one to be angry at but myself. I knew he was drunk, but I teased him anyway. I made the first move by touching his face and his lips. There's nothing that I wouldn't do to take that moment back.

Before I can get lost in my anger, the phone buzzes in my pocket. Scowling, I take it out and glare at the screen.

I swear to god if Griffin is trying to contact me again...

(1) New Instagram notification: heyitshannah
Hey! Sorry that I'm bothering you so late. I just wanted to get in touch...

Yeah, I would bet that she's definitely not sorry.

The rest of her sentence doesn't appear on my home screens preview, and I exhale out of my nose as I jab the notification. It brings me straight to the Instagram DM where Hannah kindly offers me a date this Thursday night.

Impossibly, my night just got worse.

Or... I think to myself and lean back against the leather seat, this may be a sign.

Lousy timing, sure, but still a sign. There's no way I could have Miles, even if I did want him. Hannah is soft-spoken, easy to get along with, and an open book. A good girl. It's a no-brainer.

That's why, in my fit of anger, I reply to her without questioning my logic.

Hey Hannah. I have practice on
Thursday night, but maybe we can
work something out afterward.

She replies almost instantly.

That's no problem!! Plenty of places
will still be open. I'm going to bed
soon, but let's talk about our
options tmr, mkay? :)

Sure no problem. Sleep good.

Hannah replies with a thumbs-up emoji and a sleeping emoji. I grit my teeth and clear the app away.

Momentarily remembering the food before me, I take a fry and dunk it in my shake. Irritation fizzles when the fry tastes like dust in my mouth. I'm so worked up over this romance bullshit that I can't even enjoy these carbs.

The bell at the front of the store jingles as another lat night customer comes in. I glance up to see what kind of poor soul washed up here, except my mouth goes dry for another reason.

For all things bad timing...

There he is, waltzing in here. There's no mistaking the swagger and the kinky black curls. Miles.

Panic trickles through my bloodstream, and I grab the back of my hoodie, tossing the hood up over my head. I'm quick to slide down in the booth and move my phone up higher, trying to hide my face and look busy as I aimlessly click and scroll on Twitter.

Unfortunately, my curiosity betrays me, and I glance at him again. My eyes drag over his body since his back is to me, taking in the tangerine-orange sweatshirt he has on, black sweatpants hanging low on his hips, white socks, and black Nike sandals. He looks effortlessly comfy and effortlessly hot.

I'm going to stick my head in the fryer, I chide myself for the thought the second it lights up in my head. It's disgusting how one second I'm setting up a date with a girl, and the next I'm finding another boy hot.

As much as I know I should probably look away, I can't as I watch him flirt with the waitress at the register. He says something that makes her laugh and dip her chin down. I can picture his charming smile clearly in my head as he passes over dollar bills, his confidence unwavering.

My phone becomes much more interesting when I notice their fingers touch.

Spiteful, I chow down another fry. I wildly scroll through my feed, but nothing catches my interest enough to stop the whirlpool of thoughts in my head. Switching to Instagram, I tug on the hem of my hood. I wish that I could disappear into the black abyss of fabric.

"Yo, Park? What are you doing here?"

Miles voice instantly hooks me, forcing my chin up. I smile politely, trying to remind myself of his words from earlier so that his good looks won't enrapture me.

Nope. Nothing but walking inside the door at the party Saturday night and then waking up in my bed Sunday morning. His words circle around and around and around.

"Hey dude," I reply lamely. Yeah, that'll put him in the friend zone. "I was sitting at home restless, so..." I motion at the food. "Here we are."

Miles nods and stops by my booth. Resting one hand on the back of the seat, he uses his other hand to motion at the empty cushion across from me. "Mind if I join?"

I bite my cheek. "Not at all."

I'm going to run into oncoming traffic.

"Cool." He slides into the booth and makes himself comfortable, going as far as to prop a foot up over on my cushion. "I hear you loud and clear. I needed to get out of the house too."

I lower my chin down in acknowledgment and let my eyes slip over his body. That confidence he had a minute ago is gone. The way he's holding himself together reminds me of how I found him outside smoking on his first day of school and how he was after the beach race a few weeks ago when he told me about his dad.

Lost.

I'm trying to keep my thoughts cold toward him, although my heart can't help but pull in sympathy. Before I can ask what's going on, his attention drops to the fries.

"Are you going to eat that?" Miles asks graciously.

I shrug and move the fry basket between us. "Probably not all of it. It was a bad idea to order all of this junk, anyway. I try to stay clean for football."

"Mhm, football? Is that your one-way ticket out of this city after high school, or do you plan on being a one-hit-wonder?" Miles teases, quirking an eyebrow as he snags a few fries.

"Good question." I snort. He is voicing the same concerns I've had for the past year. He picks up a fry and waves it when I don't retaliate.

"Okay, mystery man, are you going to leave me on the edge of my seat? You've got to have a plan, especially if your uncle is not only an ex-NFL player but a full-on football psychopath. Talk to me."

I hurl a sharp look at Miles, even though I know he's trying to be a good, cordial friend.

"Honestly? I don't know." Shrugging, I watch as he keeps eating my fries. "What are you doing?"

Miles freezes, a handful of fries halfway to his mouth. "Um... eating? I'm saving you some.

"No, you dummy, you're doing it wrong." I grab my shake, placing it between us. He looks between the shake and me, confusion clouding his eyes.

"Thanks, man. I'm not thirsty."

"It's not to drink! Seriously, have you never dipped your fries before?!" I laugh in disbelief and grab a fry, dunk it, and toss it in my mouth.

Miles shakes his head vigorously as he studies me. "Yo, you're fuckin' crazy! These are two separate food groups. I've never seen that combo before."

"What? It's good! You've been to probably how many restaurants, and you've never considered nor seen this?" I tease and do it again, but this time I hold the dripping fry to him, all of my anger from a few minutes buried. For now.

"Fuck no, you white folks are crazy." Miles grins and takes the fry, inspecting it for a moment before consuming it. I smile softly as I watch his facial expression turn from confusion to pure bliss. "Okay, crazy, but maybe on to something. That's not bad."

"See!" I crow and sit back smugly, crossing my arms. "You need to trust me. I told you it's good!"

Miles laughs and shrugs before dipping another fry into the shake. "Yeah yeah, you told me, I know. But this shit isn't going to distract me from the answer I never got. What's the scoop with your sport?"

Damn. I was hoping to distract him with the food. Slowly, I inhale to buy myself time.

"I wanted to play for fun in middle school." As I start to speak, I look away from him and trace my pinky nail along the patterns on the tabletop. "At first, I really enjoyed it, but when I entered my freshmen year of high school, my uncle put me on the varsity team instead of letting me go JV with my old teammates.

"It started a lot of drama and shit, naturally, even though I was the backup QB and only played when our team was leading games by 30 points. Then, in sophomore year, when all the seniors graduated and my old teammates moved up to be benchwarmers on varsity, I was already the top dog leading the team. Most of the guys got over the dramatics by the start of this junior year, but..." I shrug. "I dunno. It was a lot of mental strain. Greyson refuses to stop pushing me. For fucks sake, he signs me up for more scholarships than I agree to."

Now that I've said all of this out loud, I can't help but laugh a little. It's just so stupid. I sound like an entitled crybaby.

Miles keeps his eyes on me the entire time, nodding along until my last sentence. He finishes chewing before speaking. "So... it sounds like your mind is already made up about playing in college."

I look away again to watch the fog crawl in from across the harbor outside the window. "I haven't made a decision yet. I still have time, plus those scholarships could save my family and me a lot of debt from college."

Miles chuckles and says mockingly, "Uh huh, I'm sure your parents are real worried about money," before sliding my food back to me. I'm quick to eat some more fries before he can wolf everything down. I raise an eyebrow at his bold statement. Except he's not wrong.

Before I can say anything else, the same waitress from earlier comes over with Miles food and sets it down, a bright, lustful glimmer in her eyes. I can't control my satisfied smirk when he blows her off, hardly giving her a passing glance as he slides his burger closer, mumbling a thank you.

I take a moment to glance at the time on my phone while Miles starts to stuff his face.

11:31pm. Good grief.

"What time do you need to be home? It's almost midnight," I ask, curious if he has a curfew or something. His mom has to be aware that her son is out at ungodly hours most days of the week. Then again, here I sit too.

Miles laugh is muffled by the sound of food in his mouth. He swallows before responding, "Curfew? Qué demonios? How old are we, ten? My mom doesn't give a shit, as long as she can see my face once a week to know that I'm not being trafficked in Russia. That's enough time in the government's book to know she's not abusing me by abandonment."

My stomach clenches at his response, and I try to hide the shock from my eyes. He's okay seeing his mom once a week? If I'm being totally honest, I would go crazy without my parent's advice most days. I enjoy being around them. It's nice not to be judged or have expectations constantly looming over my head.

Now that I think about it, I guess my parents didn't shoot me as a child, either.

"Oh," I mumble, not knowing how to respond. I don't know the criteria for navigating these conversations. Still, I don't want to be a dick and change the topic. Instead, I let my curiosity take over and hope he won't get offended by my prodding.

"Hey, speaking of, how is your mom doing?"

Finishing another bite of his burger, Miles shrugs and wipes his fingers off on a napkin. "Fine. Her correction officer had to come out the other week to check on her and found marijuana in her blood. He has been keeping a close eye on her since then. My mom is trying to stay extra busy at the restaurant she waitresses, constantly picking up doubles. She says it keeps her attention away from other things, but who knows? As long as she's keeping her hands out of the pills, I guess it doesn't matter."

His words twist a knife in my heart. Suddenly, the fries I was munching on aren't as appetizing. Obviously, I knew that his family has had some issues in the past, but this?

I can tell he's trying to blow this situation off and be heartless, but deep down, he worries for his mom. A lot of empathy and hurt are swimming in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Miles," I say quietly and lean back again, drawing my knees up against my chest. "This situation is super shitty. It's terrible that she has to keep so busy, but I guess it's better than... the alternative."

"O.D.ing again? It's fine to say it. These topics are nothing new to me."

I watch as he pops one of his fries in his mouth. Overdose again?

How he can talk about these things and eat is entirely beyond me.

In an attempt to relate, I nod slowly and take that as a green light to proceed with my questions. "So... you mentioned having a sister a while back...?"

That gets Miles attention. Finally, his eyes fly up to meet mine. I'm taken aback by the emotion he's stuffing down.

"I did?"

"Yep."

"Hm. Don't remember that." He grabs my shake and sips it, which I don't acknowledge.

"I do. Do you mind talking about it, or am I just getting nosy?" Maybe it's the late hour getting to me, but I'm genuinely curious about his story. All the fury I held him to earlier is out the window. I crave to know more about him and understand his ways. Why he is the way he is.

Miles takes a few seconds to respond, going as far as to scratch behind his neck. "No, no, you deserve to know. It's a long story, but summarized, my mom's problems are nothing new. She was battling this drug shit when I was 13, 14. Things kinda blew up inside of my dad's operation the same night he found out my sexuality. He blew up on me that night and then my family. Mom had to take things to the extreme and call the police when he shot me, busting herself in the process."

Miles takes a moment to breathe slowly and taps his fingers on his legs. I observe him, my heart aching for him. Every fiber inside of me wants to close the space between us and rub his back, hold his hand, anything to give him comfort. Maybe I should tell him to stop talking, but I can't. I won't.

He keeps talking. "So... the police came to find my family in shambles. We were all separated, with my dad going to jail, my ass in the hospital, my mom stuck in rehab for a few days, and my little sister going to my grandparents.

"After dealing with some bullshit and court and stuff, my mom was deemed unfit to raise a six-year-old child. Shit with the gang was getting too dangerous, and my mom couldn't work, so the officials sent her to the states to find work and get out of the streets. I was stuck going with her since my daddy was... is... in jail, and all other family isn't an option, so we've been on the road since."

Miles pauses and finally looks up, meeting my eyes. "To answer your question: yes, I have a sister somewhere out there, but I only talk to her on the phone once a month. I haven't seen her in over three years."

Three years. I can feel the sadness rolling off of him, especially by that isolated look in his eyes and the tightness of his frame. My conscious is so deeply anguished for him that I feel tears prickling behind my eyes.

"What's her name?" I keep my voice low as I ask, fearing my voice will crack.

"Kenya." Miles smiles around the tears shining in his eyes, too. "She's something else. You'd really like her."

I laugh, partially in disbelief and partly because if she's fully related to this guy, then I can only imagine what her personality is like.

"Huh, if you say so, I probably would find her really cool." I smile kindly back at him. Watching him light up about the good side of his family makes me happy for him, yet it still doesn't sweep aside everything else that he admitted.

"I don't doubt it. Life is a bitch, so I'm glad I can talk to her when possible."

I nod in agreement and watch as Miles finishes his burger. He grabs my shake and shakes it a little before holding it out to me. "Do you want any more?"

"No thanks. It's all yours." He deserves it more than I, anyway.

"Thanks," he mutters before chugging down the rest of the drink, his eyes flicking to watch outside of the window. No one is driving at this hour; instead, the thick fog continues crawling in from the ocean. It's spreading over the town, making the other side of the parking lot disappear in a milky haze.

My eyes slide over Miles while he's distracted. He seems lost in thought, but it makes sense since I made him relive all of his old memories, good and bad. Never in a hundred years would I have imagined that this kid buried so much trauma.

Sure, I knew something was up from the get-go, and then again at the ocean when he showed me that scar, but all of this? I want to give the poor guy a hug.

As I contemplate, I'm taken by surprise when his eyes suddenly flash over at mine. It only takes a second for him to toss a cover over his emotions. Instantly, all that loss and sadness is put behind his mask of confidence.

"Since we're playing 21 questions, answer this for me: What's the biggest misconception people have about you?"

My heart patters in surprise. It takes a moment for me to laugh, and when I do, I run a hand back through my hair self-consciously. "Oh, that's kind of a weird question to ask..." I fix my hood over my hair again, trying to keep my hands busy. He took me off guard. "Why?"

"Hey, you can't fuckin' 'why' me after you interrogated me about my family!" Miles grins as he teases. "It's just a question. I want to get to know you better. Unless you don't want to answer, then I totally get it--"

"Oh, no, no. You're right, um." I glance down to fiddle with my hands. Why do I get to skirt around such a simple question when he tackled my questions with ease? Taking a second to contemplate it, I try and relax as I come up with an answer.

"I think... I think that people assume I have such an amazing life. Like, great parents, lots of money, nice car, whatever. I get that, and unfortunately, it's true, but those material things don't make my life great. Everyone thinks I'm supposed to be this happy camper, living life on easy mode when the majority of the time I just... just... wish things were different." I stutter and go quieter as I talk, not daring to look at him.

I've never opened up about this. Ever.

Silence settles between us, broken by the crooning of Rascal Flatts on the jukebox. My body goes tense as I wait for any usual answer.

Do you know how many people would kill for your life?

Open your eyes, dude. You're so lucky.

But your life is amazing. You're just ungrateful.

What on this earth would you want to change about your life to make it better?

Want to trade places?

"I hear you, man. I'm sorry that people think that about you when it's obvious you're not happy. At least, I can tell it because I've been there before."

I quickly look up at Miles, trying to hold down my tears. That was not the answer I expected to hear out of his mouth. Especially his. Considering his family's situation, he has all the reasons in the world to tell me to shut the fuck up.

But yet, he has noticed?

"You can tell?" I ask quietly, afraid that my voice will break.

Miles nods and fiddles with his hands as he searches my face. "Yeah, kinda from day one. You've always stayed a little distant from everyone, not because you're cocky or trying to put yourself on a pedestal. It's... I don't know."

"Emotional, mental distress?" I offer, and before I can stop it, I keep talking. "Now that I say it, I think that's it. Everyone has this big image of me in their heads since I come from a semi-famous family. I have all of these titles and images to live up to now-- fuck I always have, even as a kid-- and it seems like when I put a toe out of line, the blade drops from the guillotine. I'm terrified to disappoint my parents and family, it makes me want to be sick thinking about not playing football for my uncle, it's draining to play the role of the famous jock all day in school. I have to watch what I say, what I post, who I talk to, who I date..." Slowly, I look up at him again. His eyes are trained on me, devoid of judgment. My heart aches. "I'm tired of it."

"I get it. No wonder you've always seemed a little distant." Miles shrugs.

My heart takes flight, and panic boils in my stomach. Can he tell I've been trying to distance myself from him emotionally? Did I drop too many hints when I said that thing about dating? Am I holding myself away from him on purpose? "Distant..?"

"Yeah, like, when people talk to you and shit. I can almost see your eyes glaze over like you're not being authentic. Don't get me wrong, you're still pleasant and whatever, but have I even met the real you?" Miles asks lightly, keeping all discrimination from his tone. He's not trying to be mean or make me feel bad- I know he's trying to drive his point home.

And it does hit home—hard, right in my gut. I find myself shuffling through my memories with him, from our first real talk outside of the lunchroom, our moment by the trucks after he tackled me, how we talked under the stars near the ocean, all the way to this moment.

"Yes," I whisper, then try again. "Yeah. You have. I'm sure you know it, too."

Miles nods again and shifts his weight as he looks me over. "I do. I want to make you aware that you haven't lost yourself yet. You're no shell Park, not a puppet of your family or any shit like that. Take a deep breath and find the things that make you feel alive, then stick with that. Things can be different, but it's up to you to realize what you want to be different and make the change."

God damn.

Who hired this guy? His words leave me baffled. All I can do is stare at him and contemplate what he just said. I keep coming back to what I want to be different, what makes me feel alive.

This kid is the first thing that has made me feel alive in a long goddamn time. I want to be different for him.

I also want to tell him all this, but I can't. That's the puppeteer engraved inside of me, my emotions bound up by strings, holding me away from him at an arm's distance.

Before I can scrounge up something to reply with, Miles' phone buzzes. He grabs it from his pocket and reads the screen before mumbling something incoherent in Spanish. Quickly he looks up at me and waves his phone.

"Sorry, Park, I hate to cut this wonderful conversation off, but I need to get home... Mommas back. Everything I said still stands, so don't think I don't care, alright? Get your ass home and go to bed," he commands and points at me while sliding out of the booth, a smile playing on his lips.

I laugh a little, broken out of my contemplation. "Don't worry about it. You get your ass home. Drive home safe. See you tomorrow."

"Likewise. Hasta la vista, baby." Miles grins and salutes at me as he stands up before turning and walking out.

I wave, and my cheeks go pink as I grin, although I know he didn't call me baby in a loving way.

Either way, I can't stop repeating the word in my head as I watch Miles walk out the door, disappearing just as fast as he came. I have no one to be mad at but myself for catching feelings for him and burying them so deeply.

Especially since I have to deal with Hannah.