A/N: I would like to thank Enigmatic-Elysium for the awesome reviews! I hope my story continues to please you! And welcome any new readers!

-Texts from Miles-

I wasn't lying when I said being friends with Miles was going to be interesting.

Throughout the following weeks, whether I was in class or practicing, my phone would always ring with a ridiculous message from Miles.

For example, this one came during winter break:

Short stack, meet me by the jeep. I want to buy a karaoke machine.

Since the break from classes lasted only a week, most students, including Miles and I, decided to remain in our dorms and enjoy the snow there.

Of course, with the big music festival coming up in February, I had zero time to rest, so I locked myself in the music room and applied myself.

The Dean of the Music Department used the festival to scout for talent, and if you impressed him, you had a clear shot of receiving a seat in the Honors Program.

So there I was, doing vocal exercises and warming the ivory keys, when my phone vibrated and I saw that silly message.

I told myself to ignore him, but I ended up walking around Kmart with Mr. Journalist Extraordinaire for two hours to find 'the perfect karaoke machine.'

We ended up finding one for sixty bucks, but Miles managed to convince the salesclerk to dock the price down to twenty with a wink and one of his 'sexy' grins.

He calls it 'sticking it to the man'.

I call it 'illegal".

But Miles really is a good looking guy, even I will freely admit that.

It's his parents fault for being so gorgeous, according to the photo he carries in his wallet.

His mom is a beautiful Italian café owner, and his papa is a handsome librarian from the U.A.E.

I now understand where Miles' extensive vocabulary and love of blueberry muffins comes from.

After we made our purchase, I spent another two hours helping Miles assemble the damn thing, and another three singing the entire Backstreet Boys discography with him.

Needless to say, I didn't get any practice done during winter break.

Text 2: IHop is having a pancake special. Guess where we're going.

This text took place the night of the music festival.

I had just finished my performance which consisted of an original piano piece and one of my favorite Korean love songs.

My audience was half the student body and the Dean himself.

I wasn't nervous.

I was petrified.

The entire time I was on stage, I wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and scream.

But, I went through with my performance, thanks to Miles cheering me on from the back row.

"YOU GOT THIS, SHORT STACK! MELT THEIR FACES WITH YOUR MAD SKILLS!"

Oh, Miles, you are a true E.E. Cummings.

Once I was backstage, my phone rang, and the pancake invitation was bestowed upon me.

Fifteen minutes later, we sat in a corner booth with two plates of pancakes steaming in front of us.

"Eat up, short stack!" Miles beamed, drowning his stack in syrup and blueberries. "My treat."

All I could do was grin widely and nod.

Miles really is a warm person underneath his cynical attitude and 'tough guy' exterior, although no one sticks around long enough to see it.

Simply, it's because Miles doesn't give a damn about what people think and lives by his own principles.

His dream is to be a great journalist who writes about the things no one else will and brings the truth to light, even if he has to go on the frontlines to do it.

I admire his dedication and sense of justice, but that punk is going to lose a finger or two living like that.

Miles has a lot of issues with corrupt dealings and the mistreatment of innocent people, especially when the guilty parties are wealthy or 'preppy, white-collared bastards' as he likes to say.

He once told me, "If my stories can bring those bastards to justice, then I can die happy."

I responded with, "Just be smart about what you do. I don't want to turn on the t.v. eleven years from now and hear you've gone missing or something."

Despite my constant irritation, Miles has become a dear friend of mine, cocky attitude and all.

Although, I fear he's become a negative influence on me.

Whenever I was angry or humiliated in the past, I would hide my true feelings and be a perfect lady, like my mom taught me:

Professor: "Ms. Park! You've messed up the piano scales once again. Class, take notice, this is what a slacker looks like."

Me: "I'm very sorry, Professor! I will try harder. Please give me another chance."

Now, I just tell them off:

Professor: "Ms. Park! You've messed up the piano scales once again. Class, take notice, this is what a slacker looks like."

Me: "Why don't you back up? I understand you didn't get any action from your wife last night, but don't take your frustrations out on me. Take a freaking chill pill."

My punishment was to clean all three music rooms for a month, while Miles laughed his ass off.

Jerk. Take responsibility for what you've done to me.

"Hey," Miles waved a hand in my face, snapping me out of my daydream, "Your pancakes are getting cold, short stack."

"Oh, sorry." I immediately dug in, noticing I actually had a plate of 'short stacks'.

"What's the matter? Brain fried from the stage lights?"

"No, just thinking." I gazed up at Miles, who had blueberry stains on his lips and cheeks. "Say, Miles, can I ask a question?"

"I don't know. Can y-?" "I will fight you, Upshur."

"What is it?"

"I've always wondered why you call me 'short stack'. Is there a particular reason?"

He rolled his eyes and picked at his teeth with his nails.

"What a stupid question. Thought you were about to ask something important."

"Well it's important to me." I glared at him, crossing my arms. "C'mon, fess up."

He smirked and rested his cheek in his palm, looking me dead in the eye.

"It's because you are a short stack. I have to bend my knees to see your face. Also," he pointed to the stack of pancakes in front of me, "your hair is brown and fluffy like those pancakes. Not to mention you are as threatening as one too."

"That's it?" I huffed, "What stupid reasons."

"Well, there is one more reason," Miles leaned forward and gestured for me to do the same.

He cupped a hand around my ear and whispered, "It's because short stacks make me happy, just like you do."

I immediately pulled away and gawked at him, cheeks turning pink.

"..what?"

Miles said nothing and sipped his coffee, avoiding my gaze.

"Are you serious, Miles? It is not like you to say something so….cute."

He shrugged and continued to sip his, now empty, cup.

It was then I realized he was trying to hide his cheeks which were also turning pink.

"Oh my gosh, did you give yourself second-hand embarrassment?!" I squealed, covering my mouth as my body shook with laughter.

"Shut up!" Miles snapped, his cheeks now red. "It was a joke."

"Joke or not, that was the cheesiest thing you've ever said to me! I wish I could've recorded it!"

He just groaned and buried his face in his arms as my laughter filled the empty restaurant.

Oh, Miles, you're such a dork.

Looking back on these texts and the many others Miles has sent me, I find myself smiling which each memory and how our friendship has grown with every passing day.

I just hope it will last beyond our college years.