The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

“You asked…and yeah. We’re friends.”

I peered up at him, and he looked down at me, and happiness filled in the cold spaces left by my parents’ new hatred of each other.

I found a smile. “Ready for cake?”

I cut slices of strawberry cake with vanilla icing, and Miller and I ate and talked some more. I nearly made him spew Coke out his nose laughing, telling him about the time one of the skater dudes, Frankie Dowd, tried to jump his board off the lunch table in the cafeteria and fell, sending trays of food flying into people’s laps.

“It set off a food fight,” I said. “Oh my God, the principal was pissed and tried to give the entire seventh grade detention all at once.”

Miller laughed harder. I loved his laugh; it sounded good in his scratchy voice and his entire face lit up. That stressed-out tension went away, just for a few minutes, and that made me feel like I’d done something even better than giving him food.

We ate until we were stuffed, and Miller heaved a sigh. “Crap, that was good…” A thought seemed to occur to him, and that damn worry swept right back over him again. “I should go.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I do.” He got to his feet and shouldered his backpack. “Thanks for the food. And the cake.”

“Thanks for eating it with me, so I don’t feel so pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Miller said fiercely, then jammed his hands in his pockets. “Do you think maybe I can take another piece with me?”

“Take the whole thing. I don’t want it.”

“No,” he said, his voice low. “I’m not taking your birthday cake. Just one piece. For my mom.”

“Oh. Of course.” I wrapped a piece of cake in napkins and handed it to him. “Miller…?”

“Don’t,” he said, putting the cake into his backpack.

“How do you know what I was about to say?”

“I know what you’re going to ask but don’t bother. Tonight was a good night. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Telling me where you live would mess it up?”

“Yeah, it would. Trust me. Might mess us up.”

“Us?”

“Being friends,” he said quickly. “You might not want to be friends with me.”

“I doubt that, but okay. I won’t bother you about it anymore.”

For now.

“Thanks. And thanks for the cake.”

“Sure,” I said. He started toward the window, and I bit my lip. “See you tomorrow?”

“You want me to come back?” His blue eyes lit up for a quick second, then he offered a careless shrug. “Yeah. Maybe.”

I rolled my eyes and clasped my hands in front of me. “Oooh, maybe. So I’ll just wait up all night for you, hoping and praying and pining for you to come back.”

He laughed a little. “You’re so weird.”

“And you’re grouchy. We sort of fit. Don’t we?”

He nodded, his eyes dark in the dimness. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He started to climb out the window.