by Emma Scott
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 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?”
“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 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.
“You know how it is,” I said. “I’m a geek, and he’s a football god. He doesn’t know I exist. But we’ve been in school together since kindergarten and I… I don’t know. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have a crush on him.” I smacked both hands to my cheeks. “I can’t believe I just told you all that. Please do not tell anyone when school starts. I’ll be mortified.”
Miller looked away, reached for his soda. “I’ll forget you even mentioned it.”
“Right, so…anyway, you’ll also meet Shiloh. She’s super smart and sarcastic. And beautiful, too. She looks a lot like Zoë Kravitz. She’s my best friend. My only friend.”
“I got none. You’re doing all right.”
“Yeah, but you just moved here. I’ve lived here my whole life.” I brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “But you and me—we’re friends now, right? Let’s exchange phone numbers! So we can text.” I grabbed mine from off the bed. “Holy crap, it’ll be so cool to get a text and not automatically know it’s Shiloh.”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” Miller said, brushing his hands off on his torn jeans, not looking at me.
“Oh. Wait, really?” I let my phone drop in my lap. “How do you survive?”
“If you have to live without something, you just do.”
“I can’t imagine it.”
He scowled. “I’ll bet.”
“Hey…”
“Well? Didn’t you just say you couldn’t imagine it?”
“Yes, but that’s not fair to—”
“Why are you getting mad at me?”
He opened his mouth then snapped it shut. “I’m not.”
I let a few seconds go, then glanced up at him. “It’s okay. You can tell me stuff. If you want.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Any kind.”
Like where you live.
“We just met,” Miller said. “And you’re a girl.”
“So?”
“So. Guys don’t talk about stuff with girls. They talk with other guys.”
“Friends talk to each other, remember? And besides…” I made a show of looking around and then peeked under the bed. “No guys here.”
He snorted a laugh. “God, you’re a dork. But kind of brave, too.”
“You think I’m brave?”
He nodded.
My cheeks felt warm. “No one’s ever called me brave before.”
A small smile flickered over his lips as our eyes met. The air between us seemed to soften and grow still. Kind of perfect, just sitting there with this boy on my birthday.
Then my mom threw open her bedroom door from down the hall with a bang, and her footsteps thumped down the stairs.
I flinched, and then Miller and I froze. A few minutes later, her voice rose and my father answered, both of them growing louder and louder, until they were in a full-blown shouting match. I could feel Miller watching me, and my face burned. My stomach tightened into knots around all the food I’d just eaten, making me feel sick.
“I can’t believe it,” Mom screamed from below. “Another one, Vince? How many more?”
“Jesus Christ, it’s after ten at night. Get off my back, Lynn!”
Their words became indistinct—Mom probably chasing Dad deeper into the house, waving some papers at him like I’d seen her do.
Humiliation burned right through the center of me. I drew my knees up and covered my ears, wishing they’d both drop dead. The green scent of pine needles and the spicy bite of salsa wafted over me.
I peeked one eye open. Miller had moved to sit beside me. He didn’t put his arm around me but sat close enough that we were touching. Shoulder to shoulder. Making contact. Letting me know he was there.
I leaned over, tipping into him, and we listened until my parents’ blow-up faded out. Mom’s footsteps thumped back upstairs. Her door slammed. Below, the den door slammed too, and silence descended.
“They fight a lot?” Miller asked in a quiet voice.
I nodded against the worn material of his jacket. “They used to love each other and now they hate each other. I feel like I was in a simulation of the perfect family, but there’s a glitch in the programming.”
“Why don’t they just get divorced?”
“I think there’s some kind of money situation. They don’t tell me anything, but I know they can’t split up until it’s fixed.” My eyes stung. “But I keep hoping the money situation will sort itself out and it’ll fix them too.”
Miller said nothing, but I felt his shoulder press into me a little more.
“We’re friends, Violet,” he said finally, looking straight ahead.
“What?”
“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.
“Hey, wait!” I said, stopping him. “I didn’t ask your last name. Is it a first name? Ted? John…? Oh! Is your name Miller Henry?”
He smirked. “It’s Stratton.”
“Mine is McNamara. Nice to meet you, Miller Stratton.”
He smiled but turned his head away before I could see all of it.
“Happy Birthday, Violet.”
Oh my God, Diary, that was nuts!!! I just snuck a boy in my room! We talked and ate and laughed, and I feel like I’ve known him forever. I don’t know how else to explain it. Like when I met Shiloh, and we were friends right away. Miller’s not like any other boy at school, who makes dumb sex jokes and plays video games all day. He’s deep. No, that sounds cheesy. He has depth.
His grouchiness doesn’t bother me either, and he didn’t mind—too much—that I asked a million questions. Even so, he’s still kind of a mystery. Like it could take years to get to know all of him, I think. He wouldn’t tell me where he lived. I get the feeling he and his mom are poor since he was so hungry, and his clothes are in bad shape. But all the houses around here are huge. He can’t have walked very far to get here.
I invited him back tomorrow. I hope he comes. I want to give him some more food without making it look like he’s my charity case. But mostly, I want to talk to him more. I want to get to know him and let him get to know me. I mean, how often does that happen? Getting to know a brand-new person…that’s kind of like opening a birthday present.
Speaking of which, I now have two friends.
Happy Birthday to me!
ii
Miller came back that night and the night after that, and for the next two months solid, as the summer came closer to its end. My first friend, Shil
oh, lived with her Grandma but spent every summer in Louisiana visiting relatives, so Miller slipped into her vacancy perfectly.
We hung out in my room at night, eating snacks—Miller was always hungry. I studied and he wrote in an old, bent notebook. He never showed me what he was writing, and I never snooped. But once I caught a flash of a page and saw what looked like poetry.
Most days, we walked to downtown, or we went to the Boardwalk and played video games in the arcade before walking along the beach. Other times, Miller was busy doing odd jobs around town to make money to help his mom. He said she worked at the diner on 5th but he never brought me over there to meet her.
I introduced him to my parents, and by my secret request, Dad hired Miller to do yard work once a week, even though we already had a gardener.
“He paid me fifty bucks,” Miller had told me later after his first day on the job. He glared at me accusingly. “That’s too much.”
“We have a huge lawn,” I’d replied innocently.
He wanted to argue but I think he needed the money more.
One late August night, Miller sat with a notebook on his knees, scribbling at something while I studied.
I shut my algebra workbook and took my glasses off to rub my eyes. “Done. One less class I have to worry about in high school.”
“You’re going to be like that old show, Doogie Howser,” Miller said, finishing off the ham and cheese sandwich I’d made him. “You’ll be in college when you’re sixteen.”
“Nah. I’m not that good.”
“You’re damn smart, Vi,” he said.
That was another thing. He started calling me Vi. Which I sort of loved.
“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re writing?” I asked.
“My college master’s thesis.” He tucked the notebook in his backpack. “Thought I’d get a jump on it.”
“Ha ha.” I shrugged my shoulders up and down and stretched my legs in front of me. “I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
“You’re meeting Shiloh tomorrow.”
She was back from New Orleans, and I thought it was overdue for Friend One to meet Friend Two.
“That makes you nervous?”