Miles stood in front of his closet, frowning at the limited options. He'd never cared much about clothes—most days it was just jeans and a hoodie—but tonight felt different. Not formal, but also not just another school day.
"Wear the black one," Zoe said from his doorway, making him jump.
"Don't you knock?" Miles turned to find his sister leaning against the doorframe, eating an apple.
"Door was open." She pointed to his navy hoodie. "Not that one. The black one with the little logo. It makes you look less like a middle schooler."
"I didn't ask for your opinion."
"But you need it." Zoe took another bite of her apple. "Mom says you can go, by the way. Just be home by eleven."
Miles grabbed the black hoodie Zoe had suggested, hating that she was probably right. He'd never admit it though.
"Is your girlfriend going to be there?" Zoe asked with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
"She's not my girlfriend."
"So she is going to be there."
Miles threw a balled-up sock in her direction, which she easily dodged while laughing.
"Tell Mom I'm leaving in twenty minutes," he said, pushing the door closed as Zoe continued cackling in the hallway.
His phone buzzed on his bed.
you on your way yet? Trey had texted.
almost. andre still picking us up?
yeah. be there in 15
Miles changed quickly, sprayed on a little more deodorant than usual, and checked his hair in the mirror. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed a small bottle of cologne his mom had given him last Christmas—still mostly full—and gave himself a quick spray.
Another text came through, this time from Kayla: heading over with amara soon. see u there?
yeah on my way
Miles stared at the message, wondering if he should add something else. An emoji? Too much. He hit send and shoved the phone in his pocket.
"Your music taste is trash, bro," Trey complained from the backseat of Andre's Honda Civic, reaching forward to change the Bluetooth connection.
Andre swatted his hand away. "My car, my music. That's the rule."
"Your car is gonna make us deaf with this old-head stuff," Trey groaned. "Miles, back me up. This is like funeral music."
Miles, sitting in the passenger seat, shrugged. "I don't mind it."
"See?" Andre said triumphantly. "Miles has taste."
"Miles is just being nice because you're driving," Trey countered. "Nobody our age actually listens to Kendrick voluntarily."
"I do," Miles said with a shrug.
"Shows what you know," Andre said, turning up the volume slightly as they turned onto Devin's street. "Some of us appreciate actual lyrics."
The neighborhood was nicer than Miles had expected—newer homes with manicured lawns and two-car garages. Devin's house was toward the end of the street, a large two-story with warm lights glowing from several windows.
"Didn't know Dev was loaded," Miles commented as Andre parked along the curb.
"His dad's some kind of engineer," Trey said. "Mom's a doctor. They're never home, which is why we're always at his place."
The explanation made sense. As they approached the house, Miles could hear music and voices coming from inside. Not enough to be a real party, but definitely more than just a few people hanging out.
Devin answered the door before they could knock, grinning widely. "The fast guys are here!" he announced to whoever was inside. "Now it's a party."
The living room had been rearranged to create more open space, with couches pushed back against the walls. About fifteen people were already there, mostly guys from the track team and a few girls Miles didn't recognize. The TV was playing some kind of racing game with two people intensely battling it out on the controllers.
"Drinks in the kitchen," Devin said, pointing. "Food too. Parents are at some conference in Boston until Sunday, so just don't break anything expensive-looking."
"Your house is sick," Trey said appreciatively, already heading toward the kitchen.
Miles followed Andre through the living room, nodding at the teammates he recognized. Mike Chen, the hurdler who'd asked about block starts, raised his cup in greeting. Malik and Carlos were the ones playing the racing game, trash-talking each other with increasing volume as they approached the finish line.
The kitchen was even more impressive than the living room—all granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. A spread of pizza, wings, and snacks covered the island, with coolers of sodas and sports drinks on the floor beside it.
"No booze," Andre explained quietly, noticing Miles glancing at the drink options. "Dev's parents would kill him, plus Coach does random testing."
"Wasn't looking for any," Miles said truthfully.
Trey was already loading a plate with wings. "This is what I'm talking about. Dev always has the good stuff."
Miles grabbed a soda and some pizza, content to observe for a moment. The environment was different than school or practice—everyone was looser, louder, letting off steam after a week of training. Even Andre seemed more relaxed, chatting animatedly with Carlos's girlfriend about some Netflix show they'd both watched.
"So what's the deal with you and that Central girl?" Devin appeared beside Miles, grabbing his own drink. "Trey says you two are a thing now."
"We're not a thing," Miles said automatically. "Just friends."
"Right," Devin nodded with obvious disbelief. "Friends who text constantly and get smoothies together."
Miles felt his face warm slightly. "How does everyone know so much about what I'm doing?"
"Small team, bro," Devin laughed. "Plus Trey has a big mouth."
As if summoned by his name, Trey appeared with a plate stacked improbably high with food. "You talking about me?"
"Just telling Miles there are no secrets on this team," Devin said.
"Oh, yeah." Trey grinned, mouth already full of pizza. "By the way, the Central girls just pulled up. I saw them from the window."
Miles tried to look unbothered, but his heart rate picked up slightly. He casually glanced toward the front door just as the bell rang.
Devin went to answer it, returning moments later with Kayla, Amara, and a third girl Miles didn't recognize. Kayla caught his eye immediately and smiled, sending him a small wave as she said something to Amara.
"Smooth," Andre murmured beside him. "Just standing here staring like a statue."
"Shut up," Miles muttered, finally raising his hand to return Kayla's wave.
"Go talk to her," Andre nudged him. "Don't be weird."
"I'm not being weird."
"You're holding that piece of pizza like it's evidence in a murder trial and you haven't blinked in thirty seconds."
Miles looked down to find he was indeed gripping his pizza slice with unnecessary intensity. He forced himself to take a bite and chew normally as Kayla made her way over.
"Hey," she said, looking genuinely happy to see him. She wore jeans and a green sweater that made her eyes look even brighter.
"Hey," Miles responded, suddenly not sure what to do with his free hand. "Glad you made it."
"Almost didn't. Amara changed her outfit like four times."
"I heard that!" Amara called from where she was greeting Trey. "And it was twice, liar!"
Kayla rolled her eyes. "Anyway, this place is nice." She gestured around the kitchen. "Track kids live better than basketball players, apparently."
"Just Devin," Miles clarified. "The rest of us are normal."
"Speak for yourself," Trey interjected, already introducing himself to Kayla's friend. "I'm extraordinary."
The group migrated back to the living room, where someone had switched the TV to a music stream. Miles found himself settling into a comfortable rhythm of conversation, Kayla beside him on one of the couches as different people cycled through their circle.
"So what's this I hear about you being the next big thing in New York track?" The question came from Kayla's friend—Hannah, Miles had learned—with genuine curiosity.
Miles shrugged, uncomfortable with the framing. "Just had some good races."
"He's being modest," Trey jumped in from across the coffee table. "Dude broke freshman records his first meet. Coach says he could make Nationals if he keeps it up."
"For real?" Hannah looked impressed. "That's crazy."
"It's really not a big deal," Miles insisted.
"It kind of is," Kayla said, bumping his shoulder lightly with hers. "Own it."
The casual contact sent a small jolt through Miles, but he played it cool. "We'll see at States, I guess."
The conversation shifted to predictions for the state meet, with several teammates chiming in about their events. Miles was grateful for the focus moving away from him specifically, content to listen more than talk.
"We playing games or what?" Carlos called out from across the room, holding up a deck of cards. "Poker, anybody?"
Various suggestions erupted from different corners of the room—card games, video games, something called "paranoia" that Amara was advocating for.
They eventually settled on a team-based trivia game using their phones, dividing into groups of three or four. Miles found himself on a team with Kayla and Andre, facing off against Trey, Amara, and Hannah in the first round.
"We're gonna destroy you," Trey declared, already pulling up the game on his phone. "I'm undefeated at this."
"He's really not," Andre assured Miles and Kayla. "He lost five straight rounds last time."
"That was because Carlos was on my team and he doesn't know anything," Trey protested.
"Let's just play," Kayla said, grabbing Miles's phone since he was in the middle. "I'll handle the answers."
The game quickly became competitive, with teams shouting and arguing over answers. Miles found himself laughing more freely than he had in a long time, especially when Kayla's confident "Trust me, it's definitely Madagascar!" turned out to be spectacularly wrong.
"You said you were good at geography!" Miles teased as their team fell behind.
"I am!" Kayla defended herself. "That question was unfair. Who knows the third largest island in the world?"
"Borneo," Andre supplied, raising an eyebrow. "Which I told you, but you were too busy being confident."
"Whatever," Kayla huffed, but she was smiling. "We'll get the next one."
Miles found himself enjoying the back-and-forth, the easy way Kayla leaned against his shoulder to see the phone better, the casual trash talk between everyone. It felt normal in a way few things had since he'd started high school.
After three rounds and a crushing defeat at trivia, they switched to a dance game on Devin's console that had everyone laughing at Malik's surprisingly impressive moves and Trey's absolute lack of rhythm.
"Miles, you're up!" Devin called, holding out the controller after finishing his turn.
"No way," Miles shook his head. "Not happening."
"Come on, everyone has to go once," Kayla urged. "I'll do it if you do."
"You go first then," Miles challenged.
"Fine." She stood up, taking the controller from Devin. "But if I do this, you have to too. Deal?"
Miles hesitated, then nodded. "Deal."
Kayla selected a song Miles didn't recognize and proceeded to follow the dance moves with impressive coordination, laughing the whole time but actually hitting most of the beats. The group cheered her on, Amara recording parts on her phone despite Kayla's protests.
When she finished, she immediately turned to Miles, slightly out of breath. "Your turn, track star."
"I don't dance," Miles said weakly.
"Neither do I, that's the point," Kayla countered, holding out the controller. "A deal's a deal."
Pushed by the collective peer pressure of the room, Miles reluctantly stood up and took the controller. He selected the easiest-looking song and braced himself for embarrassment.
What followed was three minutes of Miles proving conclusively that speed on the track did not translate to rhythm on the dance floor. His movements were stiff and awkward, but something about Kayla's encouraging laughter and Trey's dramatic commentary made it impossible to stay self-conscious. By the end, Miles was laughing at himself too, especially when his final score came in even lower than Trey's.
"I warned you," he said as he collapsed back onto the couch next to Kayla.
"That was..." She struggled to find the right word. "Special."
"Historically bad," Andre corrected.
"A crime against movement," Trey added.
"Like watching someone try to put out a fire with their feet," Devin contributed.
Miles groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Y'all are never going to let me forget this, are you?"
"Never," Andre confirmed solemnly. "We now have proof that Miles Carter is actually human and bad at something."
The night continued with more games and conversation, everyone rotating through different groups. Miles found himself relaxing more as the hours passed, the initial nervousness about seeing Kayla outside of their smoothie date fading completely.
Around ten, they ended up in the kitchen again for a second round of food. Miles was helping himself to more pizza when he overheard a conversation from the other side of the island.
"—definitely inherited his dad's speed," an unfamiliar voice was saying. "Marcus Carter was insane back in the day."
Miles froze, pizza halfway to his mouth.
"Yo, keep it down," came Andre's hushed voice. "Not cool."
"What? I'm just saying, his dad was a legend. It's a compliment."
Miles set his plate down, suddenly not hungry. He'd managed to go nearly the entire night without anyone bringing up his father, lulled into a false sense of security by good company and fun distractions.
He felt a presence beside him and turned to find Kayla.
"You okay?" she asked quietly, clearly having overheard as well.
Miles nodded stiffly. "Yeah. Fine."
"Want to get some air?"
The suggestion was exactly what he needed. Miles nodded again, and they slipped out through the sliding glass door into Devin's backyard.
The night was cool but not cold, the backyard illuminated by soft landscape lighting. A stone patio led to a carefully maintained lawn with a fire pit that wasn't currently lit.
"Rich people backyards are different," Kayla remarked, clearly trying to shift the mood.
Miles managed a small smile. "Right? My backyard is like, three square feet of grass and my mom's dead garden attempts."
They sat on a bench near the unlit fire pit, the music from inside now a muffled beat.
"So," Kayla said after a moment, "that was awkward in there."
"It's whatever," Miles shrugged. "Happens all the time."
"Still sucks."
"Yeah."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Kayla spoke again. "For what it's worth, from what I've seen, you're way better than anything I've heard about your dad."
Miles looked at her, surprised. "You know about him?"
"I Googled," she admitted. "After counties. Was that weird?"
"Kinda," Miles said, but he was smiling slightly now. "But everyone does."
"He was fast," she acknowledged. "But you're faster at the same age. At least that's what the internet says."
Miles hadn't actually looked up those comparisons himself, afraid of what he might find. "For real?"
"Yeah. Your 300 time would've crushed his high school freshman record." She smiled. "So technically, you're already better than your dad."
The statement hit differently coming from someone who had no stake in making him feel better. Kayla was just stating facts, not trying to heal family wounds she knew nothing about. It felt genuine.
"Anyway," she continued, "that's probably why that guy was talking about it. People love to make comparisons."
"I hate it," Miles said honestly. "Being compared."
"Then don't be comparable," Kayla said simply. "Be so good they have to talk about you on your own terms."
The advice was surprisingly straightforward and somehow exactly what Miles needed to hear.
"Thanks," he said. "For coming out here."
"No problem. It was getting hot in there anyway." She glanced back at the house. "Plus, I needed a break from watching Trey try to flirt with every girl in a ten-mile radius."
Miles laughed. "He think he's smoother than he is."
"Most guys do," Kayla said with a knowing smile.
"Oh yeah? Am I one of those guys?"
The question came out more flirtatious than Miles had intended, but Kayla didn't seem to mind.
"Hmm," she pretended to consider it seriously. "I'd say you think you're less smooth than you actually are. Which is refreshing, honestly."
"So I'm smooth without trying?"
"I didn't say all that," she laughed. "Let's not get carried away."
The door slid open behind them, and Trey's head poked out. "There you are! We're starting another round of games. You two coming back in or...?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"We're coming," Kayla said, standing up. She offered Miles her hand. "Ready?"
Miles took it, feeling the warmth of her fingers against his own. "Ready."
As they walked back toward the house, neither let go right away. It was a small thing, just a few extra seconds of contact, but it felt significant in ways Miles couldn't quite articulate.
Inside, the night continued with more games and laughter, the earlier moment forgotten in the flow of teenage energy. When Andre finally announced it was time to head out around 10:30, Miles found himself surprisingly reluctant to leave.
"Text me tomorrow?" Kayla asked as they said goodbye at the door.
"Yeah, definitely."
Their eyes held for a beat longer than necessary before Trey loudly cleared his throat behind them.
"If you two are done with whatever this is, Andre's waiting," he said, grinning knowingly.
Miles rolled his eyes. "Later, Kayla."
"Later, Miles."
In the car on the way home, Trey immediately launched into a detailed analysis of Miles and Kayla's interactions, which Andre punctuated with occasional grunts of agreement.
"—and then you two disappeared outside for like twenty minutes," Trey was saying. "Don't even try to tell me nothing's happening there."
"It was like five minutes," Miles corrected. "And we were just talking."
"Uh-huh," Trey said skeptically. "Just like you were 'just looking' at her all night."
"Shut up," Miles said, but there was no heat in it. He was too content to be truly annoyed.
"The man's not wrong," Andre chimed in, eyes on the road. "You two definitely have a vibe."
Miles didn't deny it this time, just looked out the window at the passing houses, a small smile playing at his lips.
When Andre dropped him off at home, Miles thanked him for the ride and endured one last round of teasing from Trey before heading inside. The house was quiet, his mom and Zoe presumably already asleep.
In his room, Miles kicked off his shoes and fell backward onto his bed, replaying moments from the night in his mind. His phone buzzed with a text.
thanks for hanging tonight. even if you are the worst dancer in suffolk county
Miles grinned and typed back: excuse me, i'm the worst dancer in ALL of new york state. don't limit my talents
my mistake. very impressive. see you at states to defend your title
on the track or the dance floor?
definitely both
Miles set his phone down, still smiling. For the first time in a long while, his father's ghost hadn't followed him home.