Page 66 of Little Pieces of Light

Now that we weren’t whispering, I noticed Miller’s voice had pretty much already changed. Deepening but without that squeak to it, like poor Benji Pelcher, who sounded like he took hits off helium balloons. Miller had a nice voice. Low and kind of scratchy.

“Well?” Miller asked. “What do you want?”

I cocked my head at him. “You’re awfully grouchy.”

“Maybe I have a reason to be.”

“Which is?”

“None of your business.” He glanced around at the darkened forest behind him. “I should get back.”

He said it with a kind of sadness. The giving-up kind. Like he would rather do anything other than go back.

So don’t let him go.

I softened my tone. “Can you at least tell me what you’re doing out here?”

“I told you. Taking a walk.”

“In a dark forest at night? Do you live nearby? I’ve never seen you before.”

“We just moved. Me and my mom.”

“Cool. Then we’re neighbors.”

Miller jerked his chin at my house. “I don’t live in a house like that.”

The bitterness in his voice was so strong, I could practically taste it.

“Won’t your mom worry you’re out here?”

“She’s at work.”

“Oh.”

I didn’t know any parents who worked at night in my neighborhood, unless they were in tech like my dad. He spent late hours at his computer, but I doubted that Miller’s mom was working late at InoDyne or one of the other big places near the university.

Most tech kids could afford shoelaces.

A silence fell, and Miller kicked at the dirt with his boot, hands still jammed in his jacket pockets, eyes on the ground, as if waiting for something to happen next. Frogs chirped, and the forest breathed behind him.

“So you’re new here?”

He nodded.

“I go to Coastline Middle.”

“I’ll go there too.”

“Cool. Maybe we’ll have some of the same classes.”

Maybe we can be friends.

“Maybe.” He glanced up at my house, a longing expression on his face.

“Why do you keep staring at my house?”

“I’m not. It’s just…big.”

“It’s all right.” I slumped down against the wall like he had earlier.

He smirked and sat beside me. “What’s wrong with it? Not enough butlers?”

“Ha ha. The house is fine. It was perfect, actually.”

“And now it’s not?”

“My parents aren’t happy lately.”

“Whose are?” Miller tossed a pebble into the dark.

“Yeah, but I mean, they’re a lot unhappy. Like screaming matches and throwing things. Never mind.” My cheeks burned. Why did I say that?

But Miller’s eyes widened in alarm. “They throw things? At you?”

“No, it was just the one time,” I said quickly. “Maybe twice, but that’s it. No big deal.” I cleared my throat. “All parents fight, right?”

“I wouldn’t know. My dad died a few months ago,” he said, looking away. “Just me and Mom now.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said softly. “That’s got to be hard.”

“What do you know about it?” Miller asked with sudden tightness in his voice. “At least you can live here. At least if your parents start shouting, you probably have a big cushy room to hide out in instead of…”

“Instead of what?”

“Nothing.”

Another silence fell. Miller’s stomach growled, and he quickly tried to cover up the sound by scuffing his boots.

He started to rise. “I gotta go.”

But I didn’t want him to go.

“Today is my birthday,” I said.

Miller froze and then sat back down. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m thirteen. You?”

“Fourteen in January. You had a big party, I suppose.”

“No. My friend Shiloh and I saw a movie, and then my parents bought me a cake. I only ate one piece, and I don’t think Mom and Dad had any. There’s a lot left. Do you want some?”

Miller’s narrow shoulders rose and fell.

“It’s going to go to waste if we don’t eat it,” I said. “And there’s nothing sadder than a birthday cake with only one piece cut out.”

“I can think of a hundred things sadder,” Miller said. “But yeah, I could eat some cake.”

“Great.” I got to my feet and swiped dirt off my butt. “Let’s go.”

“Into your house? What about your parents?”

“It’s safe in my room. Dad sleeps in the den now. Mom will be in her room, but she never checks on me. Like, ever.”

Miller frowned. “You’re gonna let me hang out in your bedroom?”

I started to climb back up the trellis. “Yes. I never do anything I’m not supposed to, but today’s my birthday, and they screamed at each other on my birthday, so here we are.” I peered over my shoulder down to him. “Are you coming or not?”

“I guess.”

“So come on.”

I climbed back into my room, and Miller followed. I moved the lamp to make room for him as he crawled across my desk and gracefully jumped down.

“Now we know the trellis can hold both of us,” I said.

Not sure why I felt that was important, except that something told me, even then, that this wasn’t going to be the last time Miller came up to my room.

But having him there, up close and in the light of my desk lamp, my insides felt funny.

A little bit scared, a little bit nervous, a little bit excited.

He was taller than me by a few inches, and his blue eyes looked miles deep.

Filled with thoughts and a heaviness I didn’t see in any kid I knew, except maybe my best friend, Shiloh.

He saw me watching him and how my hands were clutched together in front of me.

“What?” he asked warily.

“I don’t know,” I said, pushing my glasses up and fidgeting with a lock of my black hair. “Now that you’re up here, it’s a little…different.”

“I’m not going to steal anything. And I won’t hurt you, Violet. I never would. But I’ll go if you want.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

Miller’s brows unfurrowed for a moment, softening his entire face, and his bunched shoulders loosened.

“Okay,” he said roughly. “I’ll stay.”

My heart squeezed with a little ache at how grateful he sounded. Like he wasn’t used to being wanted around maybe.

He looked away from me—I was probably staring—to take in my impeccably neat room with its queen-size bed and white ruffled comforter. Bookshelves took up the wall facing the window, and posters of Michelle Obama, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and the soccer player Megan Rapinoe were on the others.

“Don’t all girls cover their walls with movie or rock stars?”

“Yes, because all girls are exactly the same,” I said with a grin. “These are my inspirations. Michelle reminds me to stay classy, Ruth keeps me honest, and Megan pushes me to do my best. I play soccer too.”

“Cool.” Miller’s eyes widened, taking in my en suite bathroom. “You have your own bathroom? Wow. Okay.” He gave his head a disbelieving shake. He looked almost mad.

“Okay, so, um, hang tight,” I said. “I’ll go get the cake.”

I left Miller in my room and shut the door quietly behind me, then crept along the long hallway, passing guest rooms and bathrooms, toward the staircase. My nervousness tried to creep back in.

It’s a little bit crazy to let a perfect stranger into our house. You know that, right?

But I was a straight-A student, and teachers were always telling me how smart I was, how I had a knack for remembering facts.

And the fact was Miller had shown concern for my safety no less than three times in our short conversation.

His grouchiness came from suspicion, like he couldn’t figure out why I was being nice to him.

Because he’s not used to people being nice to him. Or bedrooms with attached bathrooms.

In our huge, granite-and-stainless-steel kitchen, I took the birthday cake box out of the fridge.

The sound of Miller’s growling stomach echoed in my head, so I filled a Trader Joe’s shopping bag with paper plates, a bag of tortilla chips, a jar of salsa, two cans of Coke, forks, and napkins.

I slung the bag on my shoulder, carried the cake box with both hands, and snuck back upstairs.

I fumbled my bedroom door open. Miller was gone.

“Crap.” My shoulders slumped with disappointment that bit harder than I expected. Then I nearly dropped the cake box when Miller appeared from my walk-in closet.

“Wasn’t sure if it was you,” he said.

“I thought you bailed on me.”

“Still here.” He eyed my grocery bag, and his voice tightened. “What’s all that?”

“Food. I’ve been studying all night—”

“You study in the summer?”

“Yes. I take high school prep classes. I’m going to be a doctor someday. A surgeon. That takes years of school and training, so I’m trying to get ahead.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“So I was studying, and it made me hungrier than I realized. It’s not much. Just chips and salsa and soda. Plus birthday cake. Not exactly Health Food Weekly ’s snacks of choice…”

Miller said nothing, and I sensed that he was too smart to fall for my thinly disguised charity. His hunger must’ve overcome his pride though, because he didn’t argue but let me set up our small picnic on the floor, shielded by the bed should a parental unit walk in.

I sat against the wall while Miller sat perpendicular to me, against my bed, his long legs in front of him. I laid out the food, and we ate and talked about some of the kids at school he’d meet.

“The captain of the youth football team is the quarterback, River Whitmore,” I said and immediately wished I hadn’t made him my opener. My face flushed red. “Do you play football?”

“No.”

“Um, yeah, so he’s the quarterback.”

“You said that already.” Miller’s sharp gaze slid to me then away. “You like him.”

“ What? ” I practically shrieked, then lowered my voice. “No, I… Why do you think that?”

“Because of how you said his name. And your face got all red. Is he your boyfriend?”

“Hardly. I mean, look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

And he did. His blue topaz eyes were on me, not just observing but seeing me. I felt as if the deepest secrets of my heart were painted all over my face. Warmth swept over my skin, and I had to look away.