Miles stared at his closet for the second time that weekend, this time with significantly more confusion. What exactly did someone wear to study at a library? Not track clothes, obviously. But not the slightly nicer clothes he'd worn to Devin's either, right? That would seem like he was trying too hard.
He settled on dark jeans and a gray henley that Zoe had once said made him look "less like he'd just rolled out of bed." High praise from his sister.
"You look decent," Zoe commented from his doorway, apparently making a habit of appearing there unannounced. "Where are you going?"
"Library," Miles said, trying to sound casual.
"On a Sunday?" Zoe's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "With who?"
"Just a friend."
"The same 'just a friend' from Friday night?" Zoe made exaggerated air quotes around the words.
Miles threw a pillow at her, which she dodged easily. "Don't you have homework or something?"
"Already finished it," she said smugly. "Unlike some people who need to go to the library on weekends."
"I'm meeting someone to study," Miles clarified. "And I'm going to be late if you don't stop interrogating me."
Zoe held up her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Does Mom know you're going to meet your not-girlfriend?"
Miles sighed. "Yes, she knows I'm going to the library. And Kayla's not my girlfriend."
"Yet," Zoe said with a grin, echoing Trey's sentiment from the party. She disappeared down the hall before Miles could throw another pillow.
He checked his phone: 1:45. He'd agreed to meet Kayla at the Suffolk County Library at 2:00. It was about a ten-minute walk, so he had to leave now. Grabbing his backpack and shoving his history textbook and laptop inside, Miles headed downstairs.
His mom was in the kitchen, meal prepping for the week ahead. She looked up as he entered.
"Heading out?"
"Yeah, meeting a friend at the library to study."
She nodded, then paused as she registered his slightly more put-together appearance. A knowing smile crossed her face. "A friend, huh?"
"Why does everyone in this house think—" Miles began, then stopped himself. "Yes, a friend from track. We're studying for midterms."
"I didn't say anything," his mom said innocently, though her smile remained. "Just be home for dinner. I'm making lasagna."
"Will do."
"And Miles?" She called as he reached the door. "Have fun studying."
The way she emphasized the word "studying" made it clear she wasn't fooled in the slightest. Miles shook his head and headed out, wondering when exactly he'd become so transparent to everyone around him.
The air outside was crisp but not too cold, typical for early March. As Miles walked, he found himself surprisingly nervous. He'd spent time with Kayla before—at meets, getting smoothies, at Devin's—but this felt different somehow. More intentional.
The Suffolk County Library was a modern two-story building downtown, its large windows reflecting the afternoon sun. As Miles approached, he spotted Kayla sitting on one of the benches outside, wearing a blue jacket over a white shirt, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Something about the sight of her made his pulse quicken slightly.
She looked up from her phone as he approached, a smile spreading across her face. "Hey, you made it."
"Said I would, didn't I?" Miles returned her smile, suddenly feeling more at ease. "Been waiting long?"
"Just got here," she said, standing up and slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "Fair warning, I'm basically brain-dead after yesterday's practice. Coach Torres is trying to kill us before states."
"Same," Miles admitted. "I've read the same history paragraph like five times and still couldn't tell you what it said."
"That's what I'm here for," Kayla said, gesturing toward the entrance. "Moral support and occasional reminders to actually look at our books instead of our phones."
They entered the library together, the quiet hush of the space enveloping them immediately. The first floor held the main circulation desk, adult fiction sections, and some small study tables. The young adult and reference sections, along with the larger study areas, were upstairs.
"Second floor?" Kayla whispered, pointing to the stairs.
Miles nodded, and they headed up. The second floor was busier than the first, with most of the tables occupied by other students clearly in the same midterm preparation mode. They found a small table in the corner, relatively isolated from the others, and began unpacking their bags.
"What are you working on?" Kayla asked as they settled in.
"History paper on the Civil Rights Movement," Miles said, opening his laptop. "Due Wednesday."
"Rough. I've got calculus problems and an English lit analysis." She pulled out a notebook covered in doodles and a well-worn copy of "The Great Gatsby." "Mr. Peterson is obsessed with the green light symbolism. Like, we get it."
Miles chuckled. "Better than Coach Dormer's history tests. He expects us to remember every date like we're walking encyclopedias."
"Wait, your coach is also your history teacher?" Kayla looked up, intrigued. "That must be weird."
"It's... interesting," Miles said diplomatically. "He's actually not bad at either job. Just intense."
"Sounds like Coach Torres. I swear she lives at the track."
They fell into a comfortable rhythm after that, each focusing on their own work but occasionally looking up to share a comment or ask a question. Miles found it easier to concentrate than he'd expected. Something about Kayla's presence was both distracting and motivating—he was aware of her across the table, but it made him want to focus rather than slack off.
After about an hour, Miles noticed Kayla struggling with a math problem, her forehead creased in frustration.
"Need help?" he offered. "I'm decent at math."
She looked up, surprised. "You take calculus?"
"Yeah," Miles shrugged. "I'm in honors math. Skip a grade."
Kayla's eyebrows rose slightly. "Huh. Fast and smart. Leave some talents for the rest of us."
Miles felt himself flush slightly at the compliment. "I just like numbers. They make sense, you know? Unlike English where everything's a metaphor for something else."
"Says the guy writing about symbolism in civil rights literature," she teased, turning her notebook toward him. "But yes, please help me with this integration problem before I lose my mind."
Miles moved his chair around to her side of the table and leaned in to look at her work. The proximity brought a faint scent of something like vanilla and coconut—her shampoo, maybe? He forced himself to focus on the calculus problem.
"You're on the right track," he said, pointing to her work. "But you need another u-substitution here."
Kayla groaned. "I hate u-substitution. It never makes sense when to use it."
"Think of it like running the 400," Miles suggested. "You can't just sprint the whole way. You need strategy, different approaches for different parts of the race."
She looked at him skeptically. "Did you just turn calculus into a track metaphor?"
"Maybe?" He grinned. "Did it help?"
"Weirdly, yes," she admitted, taking her pencil back and working through the problem with his approach. When she got the answer, she turned to him with a triumphant smile that made his heart do a small flip. "We should study together more often."
"Definitely," Miles agreed, perhaps a bit too quickly. He moved back to his side of the table, trying to refocus on his own work.
They continued studying in comfortable silence, occasionally sharing observations or asking questions. Miles was halfway through his outline when a shadow fell across their table.
"Miles? No way!"
He looked up to see two guys from school—basketball players he recognized but didn't know well.
"Thought that was you," the taller one said. "Didn't expect to find the track star hiding in the library on a weekend."
Miles shifted uncomfortably, aware of Kayla watching the interaction. "Just working on a paper."
"Right, right," the guy said, his eyes shifting to Kayla with obvious interest. "And who's this?"
"Kayla," she answered for herself, her tone polite but cool. "From Central."
"Central, huh?" The second guy raised his eyebrows. "Fraternizing with the enemy, Carter?"
"We're studying," Miles said flatly.
"Sure, studying," the first guy smirked. "Good to see you branching out, man. You coming to Tyler's thing next weekend?"
"Probably not," Miles replied. "States is coming up."
"Always with the track," the guy shook his head. "Alright, we'll leave you two to... study." He winked obviously before the pair walked away, laughing between themselves.
Miles turned back to Kayla, feeling embarrassed. "Sorry about that."
"Why?" She seemed genuinely confused. "Not your fault."
"They were being weird."
"That's just guys being guys," she shrugged. "Happens to me and Amara all the time. Two people can't just exist in the same space without everyone assuming things."
"True," Miles agreed, relieved that she wasn't bothered. "Still annoying though."
"Very," she nodded, then glanced at her phone. "Hey, I need caffeine. Want to take a break? There's a coffee shop next door."
Miles checked the time. They'd been studying for almost two hours. "Yeah, good idea."
They packed up their things, leaving their bags at the table to hold their spot, and headed downstairs. The coffee shop connected directly to the library through a small hallway, allowing them to stay inside.
"What do you want?" Miles asked as they approached the counter. "My treat."
"You don't have to do that," Kayla protested.
"I know. I want to."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Caramel latte, then. Thanks."
Miles ordered her latte and a black coffee for himself. As they waited for their drinks, he noticed her looking at him curiously.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said, then seemed to reconsider. "Just wouldn't have pegged you for black coffee. Seems intense."
"My mom drinks it that way," Miles explained. "I just got used to it."
Their drinks arrived, and they found a small table by the window. Outside, people hustled past on the sidewalk, some enjoying the mild day, others clearly on missions of their own.
"So," Kayla said after taking a sip of her latte, "how'd you end up in track anyway? You never actually told me."
The question caught Miles slightly off guard. It wasn't something he talked about much, especially with new people. But something about Kayla's direct gaze made him want to be honest.
"Coach kind of recruited me," he said, deciding on a simplified version. "The soccer coach recommended me. Coach Dormer wouldn't take no for an answer."
"You didn't want to join?" She looked surprised.
Miles hesitated. "Not really, at first. My dad was a sprinter. I didn't want the comparison."
Understanding dawned in her eyes. "That's why you got weird when that guy mentioned your dad at Devin's."
"Yeah," Miles admitted, turning his coffee cup in his hands. "Everyone wants to talk about how I'm following in his footsteps or whatever, but I'm not. He left when I was eight. I'm doing this for me."
He hadn't meant to say so much, but once he started, the words just came out. Kayla didn't immediately respond, just nodded thoughtfully.
"That makes sense," she said finally. "Must be annoying to have people always bringing him up."
"It is," Miles agreed, relieved that she hadn't pushed for more details or offered empty sympathy. "Anyway, what about you? How'd you get into track?"
Kayla smiled, accepting the change in subject. "Soccer injury, actually. Tore my ACL freshman year. During recovery, my physical therapist suggested track as rehabilitation once I was cleared. Turned out I was better at running in straight lines than chasing a ball."
"That's rough about the injury," Miles said.
"It was at the time," she shrugged. "But I probably wouldn't have found track otherwise, so it worked out. Plus, I don't have to deal with team drama as much. In sprint events, it's just you and the clock."
"Exactly," Miles nodded, feeling a connection in her understanding of what he loved about track. "No one to blame but yourself, and no one else gets the credit either."
"Though relay is fun," Kayla added. "Best of both worlds—team energy but still mostly individual performance."
"True," Miles agreed. "Plus, it's the only time Andre willingly high-fives anyone."
Kayla laughed, and the sound did something warm to Miles's chest. "Your team seems cool. Even Trey, in his own way."
"They're alright," Miles said, but he was smiling. "Better than I expected, honestly. What about your team?"
"Mostly good," she said. "Amara's been my best friend since middle school, so that helps. Some drama with the distance squad—they think they work harder than the sprinters."
"Classic," Miles chuckled. "Same at Westridge."
They talked track for a while longer, comparing coaches and workouts, sharing stories about particularly brutal practices or funny team moments. It was easy, Miles realized, talking to Kayla like this. She understood the world he was living in because she was living in a version of it too.
When they finished their drinks, they headed back to their study table. The library had gotten busier, and someone had taken the table next to theirs, but their bags remained untouched.
"Back to the grind," Kayla sighed, opening her textbook again. "Thanks for the coffee. And the calculus help."
"Anytime," Miles replied, meaning it more than he expected to.
They worked for another hour before Kayla stretched and checked her phone. "I should probably head home soon. My mom's expecting me for dinner."
Miles nodded, feeling a twinge of disappointment. "Same. My mom's making lasagna."
"Jealous," Kayla said, packing up her books. "We're having leftovers."
They gathered their things and headed downstairs. Outside, the afternoon had faded into early evening, the sky taking on the orange-purple hue of approaching sunset.
"Which way are you headed?" Miles asked.
"East Village Apartments," she said, pointing east. "About fifteen minutes."
"I'm that way too," Miles said, though his house was actually in a slightly different direction. "Mind if I walk with you?"
"Not at all," she smiled, seeming genuinely pleased with the suggestion.
They set off together, their pace unhurried. The conversation flowed easily as they walked, moving from school to music to shows they'd been watching. Miles found himself filing away little details—her favorite band (currently Glass Animals), her hate for cilantro ("It tastes like soap!"), her dream to visit Japan someday.
"Your turn," she said as they waited for a light to change. "Dream place to visit?"
Miles considered it. "Maybe Brazil. The Olympic track there looked amazing."
"Always back to track," she teased, bumping his shoulder lightly with hers. "But yeah, that would be cool."
The casual contact sent a small current through him. As they continued walking, their hands occasionally brushed against each other. Miles found himself hyper-aware of these moments, wondering if she noticed them too.
They were about a block from her apartment complex when Kayla suddenly stopped. "Oh, I almost forgot. Did you decide about states? Are we doing ice cream if we both medal?"
"Definitely," Miles nodded. "Though after watching you at Devin's, I'm not sure I should agree to any more challenges with you."
"The dance game?" She laughed. "That wasn't even a competition. You were historically bad."
"Thanks for the reminder," Miles rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
"Anytime," she grinned. "That's what I'm here for."
They reached the entrance to her apartment complex, and Kayla stopped, turning to face him. "This is me."
"Cool," Miles said, suddenly feeling awkward again. "So, um, thanks for today. It was...productive."
"Very," she agreed, her eyes holding his for a moment. "We should do it again sometime."
"Definitely."
There was a brief pause, a moment where Miles wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next. Kayla seemed to hesitate too, before taking a small step back.
"Text me when you get home?" she asked.
"Yeah, for sure," Miles nodded, relieved to have a clear next step.
"Good luck with your paper," she said, backing toward the entrance. "See you at states if not before."
"See you," Miles replied, watching as she disappeared through the doors.
He stood there for a moment longer than necessary before turning to head home, realizing he now had to backtrack several blocks. Somehow, he didn't mind at all.
The walk home felt shorter than it should have, his mind replaying moments from the afternoon—helping her with calculus, her laugh in the coffee shop, the way the setting sun had caught in her hair as they walked.
It was only when he was almost home that he realized he hadn't thought about his father, or the pressure of states, or anything else stressful in hours. Just being around Kayla seemed to reset something in him, like a deep breath after being underwater too long.
His phone buzzed with a message.
just realized you probably went out of your way to walk me home. smooth but unnecessary
Miles smiled and typed back: no idea what you're talking about. i always take the scenic route
sure. next time i'll walk you home to make it fair
deal
As Miles reached his front door, he paused to take in the darkening sky, the first stars just becoming visible. Two weeks until states. Two weeks until they'd both find out if their training would pay off on the big stage.
But for now, he had history homework to finish, a lasagna dinner to eat, and a persistent smile he couldn't seem to shake.