They’d always been close; a lot more like brothers than cousins if he was honest. But having Arco so far away from him at this point in his life was hammering a wedge between them, and Aaron knew that was hardly fair. It was mostly his fault for being so dependent on the older boy, so he had no business being offended by his absence. Not to mention, Arco hadn’t just left their home in Portland for no good reason. No, Arco was pursuing his dream of being a marine biologist. He was here with a prestigious internship he’d worked damn hard to get into.
Aaron tried to explain the chaos of his mind, although the words didn't come out well. He didn't want to admit he was actually a big baby who couldn't stand not having any other friends and hated superficial people hating him, but the truth had been written all over his face. Arco was disappointed.
So maybe…maybe Aaron had decided to change his life more than twice. Maybe it was once in the bathroom stall at the radio station, once in his car, and maybe again, almost fourteen hours later sitting in an old diner with his cousin getting lectured about his fears and insecurities.
Arco hadn’t meant to hurt Aaron, but when the younger boy mentioned running away to find himself, Arco had grown instantly defensive. He wanted his younger cousin to be as strong and brave as he was but also wanted him to be safe. Arco had said, with a scowl set deep between his eyes, that if Aaron ran away, he wouldn't be able to talk to him very easily anymore, and what if he needed something? What if Aaron had no one else to turn to?
Aaron, although rarely aggressive, had slammed his hands down on the table and yelled something along the lines of “You never answer your damn phone anyway!” and then stormed out. Once again going…somewhere. He wasn't sure where this time.
He vowed to change his life for the third time—or maybe it was the fourth or fifth or twelfth time by now—sagged against his steering wheel while angry tears made his head hurt.
There was a place Aaron had heard about a time or two but had never actually been before. A cabin somewhere in Central California away from the coast and tucked into the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It was a place with ancient pine trees, freshwater lakes, and mountain runoff. Weeds growing in every crack of pavement and—based on the stories he’d heard—a whole lot of salvation to be found.
His mother and father owned the small cabin in the woods and took a yearly ski trip every January to get away from the havoc of their busy lives. Both of their jobs required them to travel a lot, so it always served as a sort of rekindling for the pair. A place where they could come together and forget about all things business and enjoy life again. Aaron had always envied that, and although the invitation had never been extended to him, he didn't think his mother and father would be opposed to him going to the cabin for the sake of getting away on his own.
So he called them; made needless small talk with his mother while she sat in a tiny hotel coffee shop before a meeting in Edmonton. She was happy to hear his voice, but worried about him driving all the way by himself (he may or may not have left out a large chunk of the story. The fact that he was not in Portland at the moment, and Bass Lake, California was only three more hours south). Aaron figured, she was a busy woman and didn't need to stress about him anyway. He left out the part about the radio station scandal too, tried to sound aloof and bored and like he just wanted a breath of fresh air.
After going around in circles for a few minutes with her, she finally gave in and told him there was a key hidden in a planter under the cabin windowsill. She also mentioned something about the family who typically vacationed there in the summer—how they weren't coming this year, and so he might as well get some use out of it. She told him he might have to do a bit of manual labor; tighten a faucet or run the stagnant water out of the pipes for a little while. Maybe even trim the maple tree in the front yard if it was starting to poke and scratch at the deck of the house.
Aaron agreed, told her he probably would only be gone for a week or so, and then hung up the phone and sighed. Salvation. Maybe it wasn’t the best option for someone like him—a rustic cabin in the woods where he would be all alone—but that was part of the whole “changing your life” thing, right? He would deal with the consequences of childish things like fear and loneliness later. Right now, he had to handle the predicament he’d put himself in.
No clothes, no toothbrush, no source of entertainment. Just himself and an empty bottle of Coke sitting in his front seat. It was also getting disturbingly late—although he was still wired from his argument with Arco and probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if he tried. He considered pulling over at a truck stop. But that would require feeling comfortable in the front seat of his car, possibly waking up with a sore back, and then still having to drive the next day anyway.
So he just went. Things like clothing could wait until tomorrow, and he’d stop to grab some snacks and water to take with him for the meantime. He played Matchbox 20 from his car stereo. Some Alicia Keys, some Nickelback (only like two songs though), and then tried to listen to Nirvana but decided that was probably bad for his health.
Thoughts of his argument with Arco followed him. Mile after mile of highway, snaking across California and putting distance between him and his cousin. Nirvana was Arco’s favorite band, and every song had some correlation to their childhood. Aaron figured, with a sigh and a dull ache in his heart, this stupid fight of theirs wouldn't last forever. Nineteen years of being best friends couldn't come to a halt this quickly, especially when Aaron knew rationally that Arco just wanted what’s best for him.
He’d always looked out for Aaron… When he was four years old and got his toy stolen in the park, Arco was there to scare the younger child into giving it back. When Aaron was ten and got picked last for dodgeball because he was shorter than most of the other boys, Arco would always be on his team and have his back. When the two of them joined a street hockey club in seventh grade, and the angriest kid in the school decided to take his pubescent frustrations out on Aaron, Arco was there to shove him into the pavement hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
When Aaron asked a girl to a high school dance, and she stood him up last minute, Arco was there to let him breakdown in the backseat of his shitty mustard colored Volvo, where they’d listened to Kurt Cobain sing until everything was okay again.
The three-hour drive was long, and toward the end of it, Aaron was tired and feeling unashamedly sorry for himself. When he began the twisting climb back into the hills, stopping only at a tiny mini-mart with a broken neon sign in the window, it was well past three a.m. Crickets chirped, and the moon hid behind a wall of pine trees. He bought an overpriced tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush, and an arm-full of whatever junk he thought he could stomach.
The cabin was hard to find; tucked back along a one-way street with cracked pavement and overgrown grass on each side of it. Darkness and lack of streetlights made it look more like a looming shadow than an actual house. And, if it weren’t for the humongous maple tree in the yard, standing broad with heavy limbs in comparison to the surrounding slender pines, he never would have spotted it to begin with.
When he pulled into the driveway, his first thought was that this didn't look like the kind of place his mother would choose to reside in the middle of winter. But he was sure he’d followed her directions correctly.
His second thought was it probably would look better in daylight after he got some much-needed sleep.
Aaron Valentine flicked his headlights off, grabbed his plastic grocery bag and wallet and keys, and hurried up to the front entrance. He used the tiny light from his flip-phone to see the steps and find the planter his mother said the key would be in. He noted, somewhere between pushing aside cold soil and trying to ignore the familiar feeling of fear in his chest, that this planter smelt like mint. Freshly watered. Which was strange. Plants don’t water themselves.
When he finally found the key to the house, he’d all but uprooted the poor mint and dropped his things at his feet. His cellphone chose that moment t
o flick off, signaling it too was tired and defeated from the journey here. Aaron took a second—just a second—to survey the darkness of the surrounding forest, felt a familiar and sinking dread settle in his chest, and then proceeded to launch himself into the old cabin.
Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.
Someone just pulled into the driveway.
June’s heart sank as he kicked the covers away from him and rolled halfway to the ground. He’d been here a grand total of—he glanced at the dusty bedside clock—thirty-four hours and his family had already come to find him? They must really be pissed off. He groaned, stopping to pull on a pair of plaid pajama pants laying across his suitcase still sprawled on the floor, and then continued to the hallway. He maneuvered slowly, not bothering to turn a light on and disrupt the last two minutes of peace he had. He wondered if it was his mother who’d come to get him and if she would cry. If it was his father, he could expect yelling. A lot of yelling.
June paused at the mouth of the hallway, looking across the living room and kitchen space at the front door and waited for his impending doom. Scowl set deep on his face. They wouldn’t give him the chance to argue or plead. They would probably tell him to get his things because they were going. Now.
He put on a front, set his jaw hard, and lowered his gaze, and tried to ignore the knot of guilt curling in his stomach. The doorknob rattled and clicked. The moment dragged on; the sound of fumbling very unlike his father and especially unlike his mother. And maybe, had June been a little sharper around the edges, he would have realized that never once had his family bothered to use the cabin front door—they’d always pulled into the carport and used the side door leading into the kitchen.
Faster than his mind could catch up with him and before June was ready to face his fate, the front door flung open and banged into the countertop. He jumped from his spot against the wall, watching the figure whirl around the front door and stick their arm out, a bit frantic to find a light switch.
His heart sank before when he thought it was his family coming to make him go home, but that was nothing compared to the Titanic dropping in his ribcage now. He swallowed, cotton-mouthed and wide-eyed and fists balled up tight because somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered he could fight—yeah, he’d fought people in high school before. He’d split a guy’s lip. He’d split this guy’s lip too.
And then the light flickered on, exposing both of them to each other in much the same way romance movies exposed love-at-first-sight to an audience. June froze, taking in the peachy skin, messy honey-colored hair, distinct nose, and…overall defeated appearance before uttering something like a snort. He stayed, planted to the floor in shock and fear and growing anger as this man—or teen?—realized the scene before him.
His reaction was similar, albeit louder. He dropped the bag he’d carried onto the beige and white linoleum, sending two water bottles rolling away and a couple of granola bars at his feet. He stiffened immediately, mirroring June’s position, eyes wide and full of fear and a sudden, unexpected hostility that left him breathless. They were like a pair of feral cats, realizing from a short distance someone else was in their territory. Hackles raised, teeth bared, and if they’d had the ability to unsheathe claws and yowl, they definitely would have.
The intruder spoke first.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
And despite himself, June felt like he’d just been slapped in the face. His mouth was too dry to respond; when he swallowed, his voice got squashed somewhere beneath the Titanic.
The boy glanced sideways, and then down once at his discarded items scattered on the floor, mind racing clearly through his green eyes. He licked his lips and seemed to seek an answer. Hesitated, and then spoke clearly with more volume.
“Get. OUT.”
June blinked once and shook his head in a tiny motion. No.
“W-What the FUCK!” he snapped then, uncurling from his position against the front door and stomping across the linoleum toward the shorter teen. At this point, June had wrapped his mind around the fact this didn't seem like the kind of guy that would win in a fist fight.
“Why don’t you fucking explain yourself before I call the cops!” he yelled.
There was a distinct lack of promise to his voice, and June had been known to read people very well. His demeanor shifted as he took in the honey blonde. Took a step back into the hallway slowly, arm extended back to the closest doorknob because on the inside he knew—knew from years of summer vacation here—there was a metal bat propped up in the corner beside an old umbrella.
Before the guy could get within five feet of him, he’d grabbed the thing and swung it up into his hands. June tapped it in his palm, contemplating. He probably wasn’t actually going to hurt him, but the reaction he received was every bit of what he wanted it to be. He bore his fiery blue eyes back at the intruder.
He stopped, mouth hanging open in disbelief.
“My parents rent this cabin every single summer.” June’s voice, quiet and controlled. Deadly. “As far as I’m concerned you have no right to be here.”
Something seemed to click into place then, and from where June stood, he could see the miscommunication flicker through the other teen’s eyes. He shifted, took a step back, and raised his arms in a peaceful, weary gesture. He shook his head a little, licked his lips again and then sighed.
“You’re…part of the Crow family?”
A strange tingle ran up June’s arms at the sound of his family's name. In some ways, this made him feel safe; as if he and this other guy knew each other, so there was nothing to worry about. But in the same bated breath, he felt…kind of disgusted with the idea of strangers knowing who he was.
“Yeah...”
The other boy ran a hand through his fluffy hair nervously, shoulders slumped, and eyes closed.
“My name is Aaron Valentine. My parents own this cabin…and I think there must be some kind of misunderstanding.”
June took a moment, letting the facts sink into place. He looked at the metal bat in his hands, at the grocery bag still on the floor, at the tired teen in front of him, and remembered the name Valentine from when his father signed the contract. This was an unfortunate coincidence sure, but this wasn't a break in. He deflated, let out a huge breath he didn't realize he’d been holding, and then chucked the bat lightly back in the hall closet.
“June Crow,” he said, one hand holding himself up against the wall and the other waving nonchalant half-assed apology. “And…yeah. A misunderstanding.”
Aaron Valentine was…to put it lightly…not exactly the kind of person June ever thought he’d stumble upon in the middle of California. He was peachy, soft skin and green eyes and messy hair—not particularly styled in any way, shape or form. His nose was long, but not too big on his face. His shoulders were broad but not in a scary way. More in a swimmer’s body type of way. He had forearms with a few delicate blue veins running up them, a square jaw and striking triangle shaped scar on it; pointing up toward his right cheek.
He was kind of pretty. June observed in a sleepy silence while Aaron finished collecting his things from off the floor and set them on the old oak table in the center of the kitchen. Aaron apologized. Then June apologized—mostly for trying to bring a bat to a fist fight—and the two of them sat across from each other for a good ten minutes trying to establish (like adults) just what would happen next.
They decided, after going in circles over who’s right it was to be there, that they were both too tired and too naive to care anyway. Aaron suggested it first, “Why don’t we both just…get a good night’s sleep, and then we can discuss it in the morning?” and June had nodded, reached his hand across the table and waited for the other boy to take it.
They shook on it. Simple. Then June got up and marched back toward the hallway.
“The spare bedroom is on the left. Bathroom is on the right.”
He heard Aaron sigh before he vanished into the
last door at the end of the hall and closed himself into the familiar space that had not been interrupted since he’d left it. Quail, although too much of a scaredy-cat to come out and see what all the commotion was about, was wrapped up, content in a ball on the edge of the bed. June patted his head and scratched his chin before clamoring in.
He breathed, listening to the monotonous sounds of someone getting ready for bed outside his room. It was weird, but not entirely unpleasant.
If he had to choose between dealing with his family or dealing with Aaron Valentine… he’d choose the latter.
At least for now, anyway.
Aaron wasn't much of a fighter. Sure, he’d spent a large portion of his high school days avoiding groups of bullies because if he crossed paths with them, they'd insist on violence. But he’d never actually gotten into that many fights. Not with his cousin Arco always a step behind him, bigger and older and scarier; like a deadly shadow waiting to strike.
Arco wasn't here though, and in the approximately five minutes it took for Aaron to figure out who this kid was in his parents’ cabin, he’d all but seen his fate. Maybe even twice.
Because June was a fighter. Aaron wasn't sure how he knew, but when June squared up against him in the hallway, he’d swallowed and thought this was quite possibly the worst decision he’d ever made. Not only was he a piece of shit for getting into an argument with Arco about coming here, but he was going to get his ass kicked by a boy several inches shorter than him. With a bat no less. Every hour of his journey had been filled with mixed emotions and lying to his mom about how he was doing…only to be left here.
Grocery bag collapsed on the linoleum floor, hands shaking because he was scared. Yeah. Scared of strangers and scared of what they could do. He’d tried to be brave and sound like Arco would; only his insecurities had been obvious.
The Maple Effect Page 2