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 be wanted around, maybe.
He looked away from me—I was probably staring—to take in my impeccably neat room with its queen-sized bed and white, ruffled comforter. Bookshelves took up the wall facing the window, and posters of Michelle Obama, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, and the soccer player, Megan Rapinoe, up on the walls.
“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 guestrooms 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?”