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The gel pen clattered to the ground.
“I got it,” you said, grinning at Miles. You squat to grab it before the boy can act to get it himself, and he sighs as you hand it to him.
“Thanks.”
Miles turned the pen every which way between his fingers.
You had gifted it to him on the first day of school, with that same expectant grin. The little cartoon dogs that surrounded the perimeter had begun to fade with use because – admittedly – it had actually turned out to be a good ass pen.
He’d thought initially that you were just being nice; maybe you were handing shit out to everyone because it was the first day, understandable.
But then, it was highlighters (the erasable ones).
Pink sticky-notes on his locker, telling him to have a nice day with the ‘i’s dotted with hearts.
A new sketchbook for Secret Santa.
Miles’ pencil case had rapidly gotten bulkier, and when you rushed to grab a seat next to him during the one class without assigned seats, it finally clicked.
You were trying to get his attention. And he wasn’t sure what would happen if you got it.
“I like the new braids.”
He was snapped out of his thoughts, and turned to you.
“Huh?”
“The braids ,” you laughed. “I like the pattern. Who did ‘em for you?”
A tiny smirk ghosted the boy’s lips.
“My mom. Just like the last time you asked me.”
He ran a hand instinctively over the meandering zig-zag pattern that his cornrows had been sectioned into. Miles looked at you from his periphery; you were still staring.
“Bitch, just ask him out already!”
Your friend smacked the back of your shoulder as the two of you took your sweet time getting back to your lockers.
“Alright, today , I swear,” you said, hand over your heart for emphasis. A beat of silence passes. “But what if he says no?”
She groaned.
“Then he says no , and you can save your money. But say something , it’s getting embarrassing.”
Your friends’ encouragement landed you here, around the corner of a building where Miles and a gaggle of other boys from your homeroom were bursting into raucous laughter.
“Yo, why you ain’t bag her yet? She wants you bad ,” one boy said.
Unsure if the ‘she’ in question was you, you stay where you are and keep listening.
“I dunno, she kinda annoying,”
Miles’ low voice makes your ears perk up.
“One day she gon’ run outta things to say about my hair, she has to!”
…Oh.
The buoyant feeling in your chest sinks as the group erupts into another laughing fit. If you asked him out now, you’d hear about it for the rest of the year.
Shoving your phone into your pocket, you turn back the way you came.
Miles knew something was off when you sat down the next morning without a word.
“You good?” he asked.
You glanced at him, then nodded before going back to playing with the beads in your hair. The excruciating silence stretched on for almost the entirety of class before it was broken again.
“Do you…wanna help me with my homework? I’ll really let you, this time.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Morales, you got an ‘A’ in every class.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Your name’s on every bulletin board.”
“Damn,” the boy muttered to himself as his leg bounced under the desk.
Your beads clattered against your back as you rose from your seat. The bell had rung, finally. You didn’t even say ‘bye’.
Miles cracked open his locker. One of your sticky notes from last week had begun to un-stick and fluttered to the ground. There were no new ones. He bent to pick it up, noticing how neat and round your handwriting was on these compared to the way you wrote in class. The letters didn’t run together, like you were in a rush.
Neatly folding the note and sticking it in his pocket, Miles shut his locker to reveal your face. The boy nearly yelped in surprise.
“Where the hell did you come from? Scared the shit outta me,” he said with a grin.
“I want my pen back.”
Miles froze.
“Which pen?”
You tilted your chin up towards the one he was currently gripping in his left hand. He looked down at it like a wad of cash.
“Oh.”
He couldn’t just not give the pen back to you…
…but he didn’t want to give it to you, either.
“What you need it for? Don’t you have, like, a whole store full of these?”
“Miles, I gotta get to class. I’m not playing,” you reached for Miles’ hand, but he raised it high above his head.
Instead of a smirk or mocking sneer, something like worry was etched onto the boy’s features.
“Tell me what’s up witchu first.”
“What are you talking about? I’m about to be late, c’mon.”
“You ain’t said a word to me all day,” he dropped his hand momentarily. “Are you sick? Did I do something? What–hey!”
You had snatched the pen out of the boy’s hand when he wasn’t looking, throwing it into your bag.
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
You turn to retreat down the hallway, but stop with a huff when Miles calls after you.
“Wait!”
“I’m waiting.”
“Come see me after school?”
You kicked an empty can down the sidewalk in front of Miles’ apartment.
“Make this quick, I gotta go study.”
He looks everywhere else to avoid meeting your eyes, looking for the right words.
“You didn’t answer me earlier,” Miles awkwardly shuffled his feet. “Are you mad at me?”
“...Yeah, kinda.”
“For what?”
You stop to think for a moment, crossing your arms.
“For…for letting me hand you that pen, knowing you weren’t gonna give it back,” you began.
Miles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s it?”
You shook your head profusely, “N-no, I’m not done. You let me buy you all that stuff, put all that dumb shit in your locker, whole time you don’t even like me–”
“You don’t know that,” Miles interrupted. Your head snapped up to look at him, and you paused.
“I don’t?”
Neither of you say anything for a moment, then Miles remembers the note in his pocket. He takes it out and shows it to you.
“These? Are cute as fuck ,” He searches for more words, ten continues,”A-and I use that sketchbook every day. That pen? It’s like, my favorite,” he laughs. “I got half a mind to steal it back from you.”
Miles watches you expectantly. Your arms are still crossed, but the corners of your lips quirk up in amusement.
“So you like getting free stuff.”
“ No -! I…”
The boy’s arms had begun to flail around in frustration. You hold back a giggle, never having seen him squirm like this before. It’s a nice change of pace.
“Alright, listen . I like hearing you talk to me every morning, and…”
He trailed off. He had begun slightly bouncing on his toes.
“...I like you. ”
At some point while watching Miles struggle to explain himself, the float-y feeling in your chest had come back. You tilted your head to the side, and smiled.
“Okay. What are you gonna do about it?”
The boy’s eyes lit up.
“Where do you wanna go?”