Chapter 15
PIPER
Miles’s eyes track from our joined hands to Ethan’s face. His jaw ticks.
“Didn’t realize you two were... together,” Miles says, and there’s definitely a question buried in there.
“Right.” Miles’s gaze shifts to Ethan, assessing. “Didn’t know you were into the jock type, Pipes.” He grins like we’re sharing an inside joke. “No offense, bro. We go way back.”
Ethan’s hand tightens around mine, but his smile is pure performance. “None taken, man. I’m proud of being athletic.” He straightens slightly, flexes just enough to make his point.
Harper’s eyes go wide. “Oh, wow. Do you still play?”
“Nah, injured out. But I kept the muscles.” He winks at her.
My jaw goes slack.
Is this happening? Are they seriously doing this right now? Miles’s ears turn pink and he puffs out his chest a little, like that’ll make him taller. It doesn’t.
“I’ve been hitting the gym too,” Miles says. “It’s good to stay in shape, you know.”
I have literally never seen Miles in a gym. Ever. The closest he’s gotten to exercise is aggressive typing.
“Totally,” Ethan agrees, voice dripping with fake enthusiasm. “Hey, what do you bench?”
“Oh, you know...” Miles waves vaguely. “I don’t really track numbers.”
“Smart. I’m up to 250, but who’s counting?” Ethan grins. “Piper spots me sometimes. She’s stronger than she looks.”
I’ve never spotted anyone in my life. I don’t even know what that means. But the way Miles’s face tightens makes me want to play along.
“Yeah, I’m very... supportive,” I manage.
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 stage an 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 be wild.”
“Alex Ford...” Miles processes this. “Environmental science Alex? Your old roommate?”
I nod.
Miles and Alex never really got on. He said he tried with her a few times, but her “environmental nonsense” was too hard for him to be around.
“Small world,” Ethan says. Then, like he’s just had a thought. “Hey, you guys should come.”
What??!
“Oh, we wouldn’t want to intrude—” Harper starts.
“No intrusion. Right, Pip?” Ethan squeezes my hand. “The more the merrier. Unless you’re too busy with, like, studying or robotics club.”
It’s a challenge, wrapped in casual invitation. Miles hears it too—his spine straightens the way it used to during hackathon competitions.
“We could probably swing by,” he says slowly. “If you’re sure it’s cool.”
“Totally cool. Twelve Hawthorn, eight o’clock.” Ethan’s grin is all teeth. “Costume required, though. Can’t just show up in your Banana Republic.”
“I can handle a costume. Remember that LED matrix vest I built, Pipes?”
Here we go. “Yeah, it was—”
“Took first place at the Comp Sci Halloween party. Fully programmable, reactive to sound.” He looks at Ethan. “Pipes helped with some of the backend, but the design vision was mine.”
My stomach twists. The whole thing was my idea and I spent three straight days fixing his costume while he played with LED placement.
But sure, his vision.
“Cool,” Ethan says, somehow making it sound like an insult. “Very... technical. No actual creativity required.”
“Creativity?” Miles laughs. “I’m surprised you’re an expert on that—no offense.”
“None taken. Us jocks are too stupid to be offended.” Ethan’s voice is light, but I can feel the tension in his hand. “That’s why I need Piper to explain all the big words to me. Like ‘pretentious.’ Or ‘overcompensating.’”
They’re literally circling each other now, like territorial cats. Harper and I exchange a look—the universal female expression of ‘men are exhausting.’
“We should really go.” Harper tries again.
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to keep you,” Ethan agrees. “Lots of boring clothes to buy.”
“See you Saturday,” Miles says, and it sounds like a declaration of war. “Can’t wait to see what costumes you come up with.”
“Oh, we’ll be memorable.” Ethan pulls me closer. “Pip’s got some incredible ideas. Super creative.”
“We’ll see you there,” I say firmly, tugging Ethan away. “Bye, Harper. Miles.”
The moment they’re out of earshot, I whirl on Ethan. “What was that?”
“What was what?” He’s examining bubble wrap with suspicious intensity.
“The pissing contest! The invitation! The... flexing!”
“He started it.”
“You literally flexed your pecs at Harper!”
“I was stretching.” He grins. “Besides, did you see his face? Totally worth it. I think she is into me.”
“This wasn’t the plan.” I groan. “The plan was to avoid him, not challenge him to some kind of weird costume duel. You just invited Miles to the party. The party where we’re supposed to be avoiding him.”
“He was being a condescending asshole.”
“So you invited him to hang out?”
Ethan finally looks at me, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, okay? Something about him just... the way he talked about your work. Like he did you some favor by being your friend. It pissed me off.”
The knot in my stomach tightens. “Maybe he did. I’m not exactly artistic. That’s just how Miles talks,” I mumble.
“Bullshit. No, that’s how assholes talk.” Ethan sets down the bubble wrap, turns to face me fully. “Piper, I’ve seen your work. It’s not just functional—it’s elegant. The way you solve problems is creative. Just because it’s not super visual doesn’t mean it’s not art.”
My throat feels suspiciously tight. All those years of Miles’s ‘constructive criticism,’ of feeling like the technical grunt to his creative genius...
My throat feels tight. “Why do you care?”
“Because—” He stops, pops a few bubbles on the wrap he’s holding. “Because you’re my fake girlfriend, and fake boyfriends defend their fake girlfriends’ honor. It’s in the handbook.”
“There’s a handbook?”
“Absolutely. Chapter three covers costume competition warfare.”
Despite everything, I smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously committed to destroying your ex in a costume battle.”
“He’s not my ex.”
“Whatever he is, he’s going down.” Ethan holds up a roll of aluminum foil
“He made me throw away my favorite hoodie,” I say suddenly.
Ethan blinks at the non sequitur. “What?”
“The pizza stain one. He spilled coffee on it ‘accidentally.’ Said he was doing me a favor.” I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve. “I’m starting to think he just didn’t like that I was comfortable.”
“Because comfortable Piper didn’t need his approval?”
I look up, startled by how accurately he’s pinned it.
“Maybe,” I admit.
“Well, for what it’s worth?” Ethan gives me a lopsided grin. “I think comfortable Piper sounds pretty great. Pizza stains and all. Though, that is kinda gross. You could’ve just washed it.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest. “Thanks.”
“Now come on, let’s make you something awesome.”
We go back to shopping, but I can’t shake the weird feeling in my chest. The way Miles talked about our old projects—was that how he always saw me? As someone who needed fixing?
“Hey,” I say quietly, “do you really think my work is creative?”
Ethan looks at me like I’ve asked if water is wet. “Pip, you’re self-building an entire dating app algorithm based on compatibility matrices you invented. That’s not just creative, it’s genius.”
“It’s just code.”
“The Sistine Chapel is just paint.”
I duck my head, weirdly emotional. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. Now come on—we need to find you a costume that’ll make Miles realize exactly what he missed out on.”
“I thought you said I didn’t need a costume for that.”
“You don’t. But watching him realize it while you’re looking like a goddess? That’s just bonus points.”
As he helps me gather supplies, I try to sort through the tangled mess of feelings in my chest. The way Ethan jumped to defend me. The way he sees creativity where Miles saw deficiency. The way he makes me feel like I’m enough, exactly as I am.
This was supposed to be simple. Fake dating to save face.
But this is no longer simple.
Especially not the warm feeling in my chest when Ethan says, “We’re going to destroy them,” like my battles are automatically his too.