I pull at his hand, running my thumb over his knuckles. His fingers slip through mine.

“You’re completely different from my parents,” he says, almost like an afterthought. “They’re—God, they’re so intense. Dad didn’t want me on the basketball team. I guess that’s another reason why I picked lacrosse.”

“What?” I raise a brow. “Why?”

“They didn’t want me to fulfill the stereotype,” he says, rolling his eyes. “They’re big on that. Not becoming a stereotype. I have to be better than that.”

“Wow,” I say, voice soft. Pops might’ve been irritated if I joined basketball, but that’s because he can’t stand sports. I don’t think he cares what I do, as long as I’m happy. “That’s rough.”

He laughs. A hand hovers near a spiral of my hair. I lean forward, letting him play with it. It’s starting to grow out again.

“I understand,” he says. “Sometimes it’s a lot. I don’t think racist people care if I play lacrosse or basketball, but Mom and Dad disagree.”

“I get it. They want you to be the best. You know? More than a stereotype,” I say, staring at our hands. “You already are, though. They don’t have to worry.”

“Careful,” he says. His voice is soft, like he’s afraid to speak. “It sounds like you like me again.”

“I didn’t exactly stop.”

He stares at me for an extra beat. I should say something funny, but my mind is suspiciously blank.

“Hold on,” Miles says. He startles me by plopping down on the locker room floor, rolling up his jeans. “I wanna show you something.”

“What are you doing?” My eyes dart from his hands to his face, but he doesn’t meet my eye. If he wanted to strip down in front of me, I’m sure there would be easier ways to do it. “Miles…”

Now I see it: a huge scar, so lightly colored that it looks out of place. The scar isn’t in a cool shape, or even fully healed, like the one Harry Potter has on his forehead. It looks like it might collapse into itself if I touch the skin. It looks like it should still hurt. I wince.

“The doctors had to slice through to fix the bone,” he says, patting a little above the scar. “I thought it would look better once the cast came off.”

“Yeah, well…at least you still have your face.”

Fuck. Why don’t I think about the shit that comes out of my mouth? I glance up in horror.

“Wow.” Miles just smiles at me, shaking his head. “What a heartfelt reaction.”

“It’s not such a big deal.” I shrug, moving closer to him. “If it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me. Everyone has a scar. You know what I mean?”