Rules Of The Game: Book 1

31; Siri, Give Me Synonyms For "Bipolar"

𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟿𝚝𝚑, 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢
Miles POV

Everything in the world looks a little brighter today.

Ever since the great time that Parker and I had this past weekend, it's like someone has slipped tinted sunglasses over my eyes, and I'm suddenly realizing how beautiful and colorful the world is.

I hum to myself as I slam my locker door shut and spin around on my heel, putting an extra shimmy in my step. Tucking the history book under my arm, I merge into the crowded main hallway and slip between my peers.

The chatter is deafening as friend groups quickly catch up on the latest gossip from over the weekend in the three minutes before the next bell can ring, couples argue over evening plans, and kids yell to capture their friends' attention at the other end of the hall.

None of the commotion phases me. I'm on auto-pilot as my newest friends pass by and offer their knuckles for a quick bump. I don't feel the shoulder slaps, and I hardly hear the greetings called at me.

Little do they all know that I'm gone in my own little world. Or rather, Parker's world.

I feel like a million bucks with the knowledge that we're not some exclusive little fling. His family and I are on a first-name basis. He knows all of my biggest secrets yet still hasn't run away, and he practically begged me for a little "us" time.

Seriously, I am living the dream.

A small smile tugs on my lips as I turn the corner and make eye contact with a few guys from his football team and a few cheerleaders who join us all at lunch every day. The boys tilt their chins up at me from the other side of the hall, and I return the nod.

They would all lose their shit if they knew I spent my weekend between their All-Stars' legs.

Chewing on my cheek, I push down my growing smile as I cross the hallway traffic and push open the door to history class with my shoulder.

The moment the door closes behind me, all the noise in the hallway is silenced as if there are not hundreds of people out there.

A few kids huddled around their desks pause their conversations to look over at me as I walk in. However, once they realize I'm no one important, they turn back to their conversations. Rose is the only one to look up from her phone and wave her fingers at me.

I grin and return the gesture, even as my eyes slide over a few more rows.

Parker beat me in today, and my heart swells seeing him sitting there. His sandals are perched up on my chair, and those red basketball shorts look awfully good on him this morning. A black hoodie hides away all of that toned muscle that I love to admire so much. The hood is pulled over his head, and messy, dark swathes of his hair stick out from under the hem. His hand is tucked under his chin, his eyes low and attached to his phone. I'm prepared to wave at him, too, except he never bothers to look up.

My gut plummets. It's the same feeling a person might get when they know they're about to get rear-ended in the car.

Something's wrong.

"Miles! How was your weekend?"

I blink myself out of the feeling of dread and turn to look over at Greyson. At least someone in this room cares for me. Too bad that it's the wrong part of the right family.