The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

“You can trust me, Miller.”

His hard expression softened, and he started to answer, but the timer on my phone went off.

“That’s the wash. Be right back.”

I hurried downstairs, past the den where I could hear the TV droning and see its blue-ish light spill out from under the door. Dad, still exiled out of the master bedroom to the foldout couch, while Mom was ensconced in their king-sized bed.

I stopped outside the den door. I could ask my dad for help. For advice.

Then I thought about him waking Mom because Miller was in my room—my bed. They’d freak out, humiliating us both.

In the morning then.

In the laundry room, I switched the clothes to the dryer, and when I came back up, Miller looked to be asleep.

I propped my desk chair under the doorknob just in case my parents remembered I existed and turned out the light. I lay down beside him and pulled the covers up around us. My head nestled against my pillow and he opened his eyes.

“Vi…” he whispered.

“I’m here.”

“What am I going to do?” His voice was thick, and my heart felt like it was cracking into a thousand little pieces.

“Sleep,” I said, trying to sound brave. Like he told me I was. “We’ll figure it out.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve been in that car for weeks, but it feels like I was born there. Sometimes, I just want the earth to open and swallow me up.”

“I won’t let it. I need you.”

“You can’t tell anyone. Swear to me you won’t.”

“Miller…”

“Swear it, or I’ll leave right now and never come back.”

He seemed too exhausted to move, but I knew he’d haul himself up and crawl out my window if I didn’t promise. I squeezed my eyes shut, hot tears leaking out.

“I swear.”

“Thank you, Vi.”

I bit back a sob and snuggled up close to him and put my arms around him. He smelled so clean and warm, but thin. Too thin.

He’s lost weight since we met. It’s making him sick, living in a car

Miller stiffened for a second and then pulled me in close, and I tucked my head under his chin, and we fit together so perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

His chest pushed against my cheek in a deep sigh, and I listened to his heartbeat—a little too fast, I thought. If I were a doctor already, I’d be able to help him instead of feeling so helpless. The beats were like seconds, counting down to something, though I didn’t know what. Something bad, maybe. I drifted to sleep, the fear sinking down with me.

iii

The next day, we walked downtown Santa Cruz, along tree-lined sidewalks, past cute little shops, restaurants, and art galleries. We were headed to the Brewery Café to meet Shiloh. I watched Miller closely, noting how his face still looked pale. I’d found two empty water bottles in my bedroom trash when I woke up, and he’d complained of being tired, even after sleeping in my bed.

“I hardly remember a real bed,” he’d said that morning. “I forgot what it felt like.”

My stomach tightened. “You can sleep in it every night.”

I’d said it like an offer, but it was a command. If his mom got to sleep at motels, then I’d make him sleep in my bed and drink all the water he needed. I watched Miller walking beside me, stoic and uncomplaining. We took so much for granted every day: heat, toilets, water at the touch of a tap. Privacy, space, a bed. Miller had none of that and yet he’d kept it all inside, faced it alone.