Harper looks between them. “So, what brings you guys here?”
“Just shopping,” I say quickly, before they can compare bicep circumferences or whatever’s next in the masculine performance Olympics.
“We’re terrible at thrifting,” Miles laughs, putting his arm around Harper possessively. “But Harper’s got an eye for it. She made me this incredible jacket?—”
“From scratch,” Harper adds proudly. “I love taking old pieces and transforming them.”
“That’s actually really cool,” I say, meaning it. Of course, she’s creative and beautiful and nice. Of course.
“Pipes was never much for fashion,” Miles tells her, like I’m not standing right there. “Remember when you wore that same hoodie for like, a month straight sophomore year?”
Heat floods my face. “It was comfortable?—”
“The one with the pizza stain?” He laughs. “I had to stagean intervention. Oh! And does your Mom still try to get you to go shopping with Jackson's girlfriends?”
I remember that hoodie. It was my favorite—soft and broken in and perfect for late-night coding. Miles had “accidentally” spilled an entire coffee on it, forcing me to throw it away. I’d thought it was sweet that he cared about how I looked.
Now, standing here watching him perform the role of a concerned friend, something cold settles in my stomach. How many times did he reshape me while I thought he was taking care of me?
“I liked that hoodie. And yes, she does,” I say quietly.
“Trust me, you’re better off without it.” Miles doesn’t even hear the edge in my voice. He never did hear me, not really.
Ethan steps closer, his warmth bleeding through my thin sweater. “I don’t know, I think Piper’s style is pretty great. Very... authentic.”
“Sure, if you like the ‘rolled out of the computer lab’ look,” Miles jokes.
“I do, actually.” Ethan’s voice has gone dangerously pleasant. “Better than the ‘my mom dresses me’ vibe some people rock.”
Miles’s smile freezes. “Excuse me?”
“No offense, bro.” Ethan mirrors his earlier tone perfectly. “Just seems like you care a lot about appearances for a guy wearing... what is that, Banana Republic?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Miles’s entire wardrobe is Banana Republic. He thinks it makes him look “professional.”
“It’s The Gap,” Miles says stiffly.
“My bad. Hard to tell the difference between all those boring brands.” Ethan examines a particularly heinous Hawaiian shirt with intense focus. “Hey, this would look great on you. Really bring out your... personality.”
Harper tugs at Miles's arm. "Miles…"
“In a minute.” Miles is locked in some kind of weird staring contest with Ethan.
Harper's smile tightens. She pulls harder, her eyes flicking between Miles and me with an expression I can't quite read. “Let's go now, Miles.”
“Sorry, sweetie, one minute. I’m just catching up with my friend.” He shoots her a razor-sharp grin.
She backs down. I want to give her a hug.
“So, what do you guys have planned this weekend? Another date?”
“Actually, we’re going to a party,” I hear myself say. “Saturday night. The one I mentioned before.”
“Oh yeah?” His interest sharpens.
“Just a thing,” I say vaguely.
“Alex Ford’s thing,” Ethan supplies helpfully. I want to kick him. “Anything-but-clothes theme. Should bewild.”
