The Maple Effect

by Madeleine Cull

  Tequila burns almost as badly coming up as it does going down.

  There wasn’t much to be said when it came to boys fighting. Sure, you could shake your head at them, blame it on their gender or their role in society. The whole Boys Will Be Boys mentality. But what it really boiled down to was pressure.

  There was so much pressure put on kids nowadays to grow up and magically be the person they’re meant to be. Friends pushed and pulled you into cliques. Dividing you up into little pieces that didn’t quite fit into the box no matter which way you tried to organize them. Parents, correcting and drawing conclusions from your every move. Sometimes even going as far as to scandalize you. Destroying the only tiny scrap of self-respect you had. And school. Fuck. School was the biggest source of pressure. School was a marathon you ran blindly. Expected to jump through endless hoops and come up with the perfect plan to succeed in life. Four bullshit years of trying to figure things out. The expectation of discovering who you are so vital and so important when, in reality, you couldn’t even go to the bathroom without raising your hand first.

  The pressure was everywhere. And sometimes (more commonly in boys) it boiled over into violence.

  June had been too drunk to realize it the previous night, but the fight by the lake could have been avoided had he removed Angie from between them, to begin with. But the pressure brought on by the newest addition to his stress collection—Aaron Valentine—had been weighing on him.

  He’d wanted Aaron to show up so bad. To make up for the unsolicited feelings he had sparked in June's chest. He wanted Aaron to give him some explanation for his blatant lie. Or better yet, the truth.

  June couldn't remember Angie driving him back to her house in the middle of the night, but he was glad she had because when he woke up battered and bruised, obviously having lost the fight, he desperately needed a friend at his side. He lay in her bed, head on her stomach, and an arm slung over her waist while she ran her nails through his hair.

  When he started shivering, she pulled the old, pale yellow quilt up around him and sighed. Figured he was awake enough to have a conversation by now.

  “Charlie got picked up by the sheriff,” she whispered.

  June couldn’t remember anything, especially not police sirens, so he waited for her to continue.

  “I guess his brother went home and got into another fight with their dad. When the police came, they took him to jail but…”

  June closed his eyes and felt her fingers pause just above his ear. He was sore right around there, but she didn't touch him hard enough to draw any pain. It was a welcome feeling compared to the sharp throb in the back of his skull, which may or may not be more because of the hangover than the fight.

  “Charlie was here, and his dad was furious.” Angie’s voice cracked like she was going to cry. A fairly common event that never got easier for the people watching. Angie cried during movies, at weddings, when she was embarrassed or laughed too hard. She’d cried after every fight June had ever gotten in. This time was no different.

  June shifted to look up at her. Saw the pressure behind her eyes threaten to spill over.

  “He yelled at Mom a-and—”

  June sometimes wished it was easier for him to cry. Even though he was a boy and boys weren’t supposed to cry, he sort of craved that simple release. It was a lot less explosive than fighting.

  “I-I’m worried about him, J-June.” Angie lifted her free hand and covered a sob that broke from her throat. When she squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears dripped down her cheeks and landed in his hair.

  June slowly pulled himself upward, grunting at the pain and ignoring it as best he could while Angie hiccupped and wept. He took her in his arms, pushed her face into his neck, and held her there tightly until she could gather herself, which might take a while.

  He watched the sun rise behind the slats in her blinds, bathing the yellow and purple walls with muted orange light. It had to be early still. The rest of the house beyond her bedroom door was silent and still, not even the smell of coffee through the vents to greet the morning.

  June thought about last night (the parts he could remember) and wondered just how differently things could have been had Aaron been there. For one, he definitely would not have gotten so drunk. And maybe then he would have made better decisions. He might have avoided the fight altogether. Aaron might have stopped him.

  Angie squeezed his hand and tried to take deep breaths.

  But then again… He remembered the moment she had been shoved down simply for standing in the way of Charlie and his brother. God forbid trying to spread a little peace between them. When she hit the ground, June lost it, and if he were completely honest with himself, he probably would have lost it with or without alcohol. He would fight tooth and nail for Angie any day.

  “I’m worried about y-you too.” She sniffed into his wet shoulder.

  June’s stomach churned, his brain halted and shaken. He fumbled to find the right words because he knew what she’d meant by that. It had nothing to do with last night.

  Sometime back in the early spring, before his father had decided not to renew their contract with the Valentine’s vacation home, June had had a conversation with Angie he would never forget. He’d sat on the porch, cordless home phone in his hand and pressed tightly to his left ear. It was raining and he’d just been given the worst news of his life for the second time.

  “I-I just can’t believe that this…thi—” Angie’s voice was weak from crying. He could imagine the black and purple makeup stains on her pillow.

  “It’s… It’s gonna be okay, Ang.” June was intense and quiet. His entire body buzzed with anxiety, making him feel sick. This was a phone call he’d been putting off for several days now.

  “I-It’s not!” she yelled, suddenly, startling him. “It’s not okay, June! You’re not okay!”

  “Alright, alright, listen to me.” Panic and pressure made him shake. He hated it when she cried. And he’d already seen his mother and sisters cry. He was tired of people crying.

  She sniveled on the other end of the phone, waiting. Brokenhearted.

  “Listen. I’m gonna see you this summer,” June said slowly. “I’m gonna swim with you at the lake, and I’m gonna help you in the shop. I’m gonna be there…okay?”

  He couldn’t see her nod, but he knew she was.

  “And we are NOT going to talk about this. Not even once. Promise me, Angie. Promise me you’re not going to bring this up while I’m there.”

  She let out another weak sob but agreed. “O-Okay.”

  “Okay.” June softened, wishing more than anything he was there with her now. That he could hug her and make her realize everything was going to be fine. His chest ached with intense longing. The first of many, many mournful days he would spend longing to see her.

  “It’s gonna be my last summer...so we better make it count.”

  “S-Sorry…” She peeked up at him, eyes red and exhausted. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered and pulled her tighter to him, trying to swallow the guilt and shame for expecting her to keep that promise. He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I was so stupid last night.”

  She took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes. A poor attempt to gather control, but a necessary one nonetheless. He rubbed a hand up and down her arm for a few more moments, until the tears slowed to a stop.

  Angie wasn’t mad at him for standing up for her, just for not listening to her when she tried to reason with Charlie’s older brother. He was glad when she finally accepted his apology for being a drunk idiot and patted his knee. She gave herself a shake, peeled herself off of him and pushed both her hands through her tangled hair.

  “You look and smell like shit.”

  June nodded in defeat, moaning softly and sinking back underneath her covers. If he stuffed his face into her pillow, it wasn’t so bad. All he could smell was her laundry detergent.

  “Will you le
t me shower before driving me home?” he mumbled.

  She snorted. “Who says I’m driving you home?”

  9

  Teenage Dirtbag

  Aaron had left sometime around ten the previous night. With a crash and a slam of the front door and angst racing through his veins. He’d half-run to his car, turned over the engine quickly, and peeled out of the driveway in a mad attempt to get away. Away from the silence of the house without June in it. Away from the smothering darkness of the forest. Away from himself and all the stupid mistakes he’d made in the last eight hours. He couldn’t take sitting alone with his thoughts any longer. The same ugly feeling that had plagued him to leave Portland after the radio scandal encouraged him. He had to go. Go somewhere with more light and more energy. More distractions.

  He had driven the forty-five minutes down the mountain, encased in the privacy of his car where he cussed and scolded himself for being so stupid. He hadn’t stopped until he saw signs for a cheap hotel sitting beside the interstate. It looked safe enough and was illuminated by the nearby lights of a stadium. He’d suddenly craved the protection of four walls to hide in until the day broke.

  So, he’d gotten a room, dragged his sorry ass inside, and called his cousin six times before the guy had finally answered.

  He ended up telling Arco everything. About falling out of the tree and about June rubbing Neosporin on him. About the broken camera, then the new camera and how he’d hugged June over it. He’d told Arco about the ice cream shop and Angie and Charlie and how he finally felt like things were going good again. Better than good actually.

  He had tried to come up with the words to explain how June made him feel but found them tangled in thoughts that didn't make any sense. All he saw was a collection of warm images in his head. The ice cream shop by the docks. The long yellow-green grass rolling down the hill toward the lake. The brilliant maple tree reaching strong limbs toward a clear sky. June’s eyes, a piercing stormy blue. His tanned skin the color of dark copper.

  Aaron explained to Arco with a heavy heart, how he had been a coward and fucked everything up.

  Arco understood far better than anyone else how Aaron felt. He’d been there through every awful experience, every humiliating moment, and every sleepless night, trying his very best to think of anything that might help his younger cousin overcome these fears. He had shared in his failures as if they were his own. Sometimes Aaron even thought Arco blamed himself for Aaron’s fears, considering how long it had taken for him to get help after Aaron vanished into the mineshaft all those years ago.

  It was safe to say Aaron and Arco shared more than just blood over the whole ordeal. However, Arco was so far away right now, and Aaron felt more alone than ever. His cousin's words did little to calm the anxiety weighing on him.

  Aaron had never meant to hurt June; only to protect himself. And the only solution he could come up with now was to tell June the truth. If he wanted to continue with their friendship, he would have to take a chance on the boy. June deserved the reason for him not wanting to go to the bonfire, and Aaron deserved the chance to make it right.

  After a mostly sleepless night, Aaron checked himself out of the room and wandered out into the brighter world wearing the same clothes he had the day before. His hair was getting greasy, and he felt all around sloppy. The small collection of things he’d bought from Walmart when June and he first went shopping was becoming repetitive. Same plain white T-shirts and beige shorts could only go so far. He decided to take advantage of being in town and drove up and down the city streets looking for any department stores he could find.

  The morning was well spent in dressing rooms, stepping in and out of clothes and distracting himself from the problem he had to face up the mountain. Aaron let the new clothes comfort and soothe him, reminding him he could still look like himself even when he felt crappy. He also made a point to stop at the grocery store to buy some essentials, then go through a McDonald’s drive-thru (because sometimes fast food was all you really needed in life).

  In his car he listened to Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus on repeat, singing along and feeling the lyrics deep down in his soul for the first time since it came out in 2000.

  The drive back up the mountain was long and winding, but more familiar than Aaron remembered. The smell of pines a delicate comfort and the sun mild behind big, puffy clouds. The hills blotted with wide patches of warm shade, his car’s top down and the wind blowing his hair back. For the first time since he’d gotten here, he felt himself rejuvenating. Even allowed himself to smile between the insecurities rolling in his stomach.

  Talking with June wasn’t going to be easy, but as he practiced the conversation with himself over and over again, he felt a small trickle of hope that it would end well.

  The doorknob on the front door was cool when Aaron touched it; vastly different than the rest of the times he’d touched it this summer. The normal scorching spray of sunlight had been blocked by thunderclouds appearing in the distance, growing closer and closer with promise. From the other side of the mountain blew a hot wind, lifting the dry foliage. Making them beg for sweet relief. Normally, he would find comfort in the familiar smells and sounds that came with summer rain, but the air felt alive with tension. Lightening pulsing invisible behind the clouds.

  Aaron shifted the collection of shopping bags from arm to arm, fumbling inside nervously, completely unaware of what to expect. As he lifted them to the kitchen table, a deep roll of thunder echoed in the distance, shaking the bundle of nerves built up inside of him, testing his level of preparedness from the drive up.

  He searched the room for signs of life and found a worn pair of flip-flops and a black drawstring bag by the couch. His stomach jumped.

  June was home, but this was the first time he’d not been in the kitchen or living area during the day that Aaron could remember. He took his time kicking off his shoes and stood there for a long moment. It was too quiet. Aaron made his way toward the back bedroom, thinking if he were lucky, he’d find June asleep and could keep his secret a little longer. To remain shielded and safe within his walls.

  Aaron peeked through the crack in the door before gently pressing it open with his fingertips.

  June lay in a heap of pillows on the bed, unmoving with his face tilted toward the ceiling fan. A bag of frozen peas pressed down on the bridge of his nose and misery swelling from his body, coating the air. He looked far worse than Aaron had felt in the last twelve hours combined. Body covered in dark purple bruises, knuckles split open and red. When his head rolled to the side, the frozen peas fell to his shoulder, revealing twin black eyes and a neat slice in his cheek.

  They stared at each other, silent for a long moment. Waiting. Searching for the words to explain themselves. Here Aaron was, dressed in nice new clothes looking fresh like he’d just gotten back from mimosas and brunch. And June, looking like someone just dragged him out of an alley by a tow cable on the back of their pick-up. If it was possible to feel even worse about himself at all…well, Aaron definitely did.

  “Oh…June,” he whispered, pulling the sunglasses from the top of his head and tossing them on the dresser.

  Aaron knew what the aftermath of a fist-fight looked like, and it was never pretty. He’d seen it on himself in the mirror once and on Arco several times (although his cousin had never come out looking quite like June did). Seeing someone he cared about with scrapes and scabs and a fat lip normally made him weak with sympathy, but that wasn’t the case this time. No. In fact, it set his teeth on edge.

  June didn't look like he’d lost a fight. He looked like he wasn’t finished yet.

  His eyes were electric; piercing and building like the storm outside. The emotions there like friction rubbing up against each other. Hurt brushing anger brushing fear and resentment. June was an iceberg cracking under pressure, and Aaron a tiny heat lamp throwing warmth at his core.

  Aaron sat on the edge of the bed, watching the rise and fall of June’s chest as the teen
clutched at the frozen bag. His teeth set together, stubborn and guarded.

  “What happen—”

  “You gonna tell me why you really didn't wanna go, or not?” June demanded. “Because if that’s not why you’re here, then I don’t feel like talking.”

  It should be noted, that when boys crack under pressure, they aren’t typically thinking clearly. Aaron wondered if June blamed him for his wounds—as if Aaron could have done something to stop the fight. Then he wondered if June wished he’d been there to participate in the fight.

  It was dramatic and stupid for one person to be so offended that another person didn't want to go camping with them, with or without a reason, but Aaron was empathetic and guilty. He felt June’s anger snapping at him for little reason other than the fact that he was injured and tired. Growing weaker and more desperate as he rattled the cage for an explanation.

  Aaron had prepared to have this conversation with June, but he hadn’t prepared to have it under these circumstances. Every word he’d spoken to himself in the car dissipated, leaving him tongue-tied and bewildered.

  He took a deep breath.

  “Yeah, I…want to tell you the truth.”

  June’s eyes bore into his, serious and almost hostile. It reminded Aaron of the night they met. Those few long moments thinking nothing more of each other than just an intruder. Hackles raised and backed into a corner. June had been frightening then, and he was even more frightening now.

  Aaron had wanted to start this conversation by reminding June about the time he fell in the mineshaft (the beginning of his problems) but couldn’t gather the courage to draw it out any longer.

  “So, tell me,” the other teen pushed.