by Hawke, Jessa
“I just…it’s my parents. I don’t want to listen to them. They’re so loud. So I come here,” he tells her lamely.
She considers him for a moment, the sad dirty blond hair, so unsure of itself it can’t even decide on a true color, the way he looks so sad in his bright and clean plaid shirt and cargo shorts, like he cannot even imagine how he got into them in the first place. She thinks about what it would be like if it was her on the ground with someone standing over her, and so sits down on the ground with him.
“They’re fighting, huh?” she asks. “I know about that. My parents fight all the time. It’s the worst.”
“No, they’re not fighting,” he tells her, unable to look at her, even though he likes her green eyes. “They’re…doing something else, and I don’t want to hear it,” he trails off, a bloom he can’t control staining his cheeks.
Christina feels that feeling in her chest again, that tightness that’s associated with shame, her body, and all the strange things she’s begun to experience around men in general. She knows what this boy is talking about, and it makes her angry that grownups have once again behaved in the way that has made children want to run and hide. In a gesture that is way beyond her tender years, she takes her hand to Nate’s face and turns it towards her. It’s surreal to him, what she is doing, because he’s only seen this kind of thing in movies; when their eyes meet, he knows that she is as surprised by her action as she is, but if she is being bold, then he must go along with it.
“Fuck them,” Christina tells him, relishing the filthy sound of the forbidden word in the innocence of that clearing in the middle of nature. “Do you hear me? They don’t get to make all the rules. We can invent our own stories. When did you get here?”
“Two days ago.”
“So you don’t know anything yet. Come on, get up.” They both stand, but it is only Christina who dusts off her shorts. “I’m going to show you around and we are going to play together. Okay?”
Do not be fooled. As she says this, her heart is pounding. She has never trusted anyone before, and even though she is a child, she can feel that this is a pivotal moment. She’s seen the movies, and her young little heart lives by the Golden Rule. If she does right by this boy, then he will be her friend forever and nothing can change that. She doesn’t have the world figured out yet, but this is one thing she knows holds true. What she doesn’t know is whether or not Nate will play the game the way she wants to; she can only play it if it’s by her rules. Will he be content to follow?
Nate looks up at her—the few inches of height she has on him will soon be gone, although neither of them will notice it for a few years yet—and for the first time since they met, he smiles. From the way his blue eyes light up, Christina feels her whole steely resolve melt. She knows it when she sees it—he will go with her anywhere.
“Okay,” says Nate, and does not resist when she grabs his hand and leads him out of the willow trees.
* * *
One year later, Christina is incredibly excited. She’s hoping that Nate will not notice the new bra she’s had to wear ever since she got her period. After the way last summer went, she wants nothing to change.
After the incident underneath the tree, Christina took Nate under her wing. For the rest of that summer, they explored every inch of Sylvester’s together. She told him about pretending to be a soldier in her head, and he told her about how his dad tagged along whenever his mom went out with her Russian girlfriends just so he could hear them talk. She snuck out to visit his bungalow at night and they sat on the veranda together; Christina told him about her dreams of tea and having a big house and he told her about the time he walked in on his mom and dad doing it.
Every morning, she would wake up and go to the swings, and the best part about it was that in a few moments, Nate would join her. It was the best feeling in the world; she never had to ask. It was like he was reading her mind and he agreed with her on everything. He was warm and fuzzy and sweet, and the best part about it was that whenever she challenged him to do something, he would do it.
Thinking about this, Christina knows he simply cannot wait to see him again. Her mom and his mom got on the phone together and said they were renting the same bungalows as last summer a week before they drove upstate. There’s this anticipation in her as the car pulls up to the faded sign that reads SYLVESTERS, COME AND JOIN US that makes her absolutely certain that the minute she runs in there, Nate will be waiting for her by the swings. Surely he knows exactly when she is coming and is as excited as she is.
Except there’s nobody by the swings. Their wood is bloated and looks as sad as she feels. Where is he?
A further investigation into Nate’s disappearance leads Christina to his parent’s bungalow where his father tells her offhand that Nate is probably out in the woods somewhere, playing. A moment of brief anger passes through her as she registers his nonchalance, but she runs out into the greenery anyway. First she stops by the willow, which is empty, but magical because of last summer. Then, she passes through the gazebo’d pool table and is attracted to further up the hill by the sound of raucous male voices.
She follows the sounds up to the basketball courts where she finally sees Nate, a look of wild merriment and exertion on his face that is wholly unfamiliar to her. She calls out to him, but is stopped short by the appearance of another boy on the court. He is tall and lanky, even though he is their age, and the sweat in his light blond hair sticks it together in a way that makes it look as though he has done it on purpose with gel. He’s wearing a tattered little wife beater and jeans, and Christina finds her eyes lingering on his arms, where the slight pull of pre-adolescent muscle is already making a statement. He dribbles the ball once, twice, shoots, and score, pumping those arms in the air and the smile on his face makes her feel filthy, especially when she spies the dimple in his cheek.
Christina is rooted to the spot, unable to move. Later, in the depth of her hidden room in that summer’s bungalow, she will bless everything that is holy that she is standing just off to the side of the trees where they cannot see her. For now, however, all that she is experiencing is a piercing feeling of betrayal. Nate is her friend; who is this interloper? Christina finally unglues herself from the spot and runs away to the bungalow. She cannot compete with another boy, and judging from the way the two boys crowed together, this new person will not be on board with her particular style. He does not seem like he has any heart, any tenderness.
She is sitting on her camp-style bed and stewing in these thoughts when Nate bursts into the room.
“Privet!” he calls to her, excited. “Your mom told me you came hours ago, why didn’t you find me?”
What does she do? Does she pretend she didn’t see him? Does she allow it to lead to a place of certain awkwardness where he feels like he cannot play with her anymore, like he has to choose? But she does not get a chance to say anything, because Nate is talking again.
“I met this new kid, Alex, and he’s pretty cool, you’ll like him. Come on, I told him about you and he said you sounded cool, too. He said his dad knows how to set up a bonfire and we’re both invited.” Nate babbles on and on, and Christina is somewhat appeased by the fact that they don’t seem to want to exclude her, after all. Still, lunch is a torrid affair as she wages the battle within herself—does she stay or does she go?
The bonfire is exclusively a boy’s club, but she feels right at home, as she always does. Alex is nice enough, but there’s just something that makes her uncomfortable about him. Maybe it’s that glint in his eyes, the easy way that he helps his dad build the fire, or his resourcefulness with the matches. Maybe it’s the way he builds Nate up without needing to tear him down. Or maybe it’s the way he talks to her, a way that makes her feel as if she’s the only person in the entire clearing who matters in that moment.
Because that kind of thing is dangerous. Of all the things that eleven year olds talk to each other about, sex is the one thing that they don’t usually bri
ng up, unless it’s to tease each other about their changing bodies. But at Nate’s prompting, Alex tells her all about his girlfriend, who is fourteen and with whom he makes out. He talks about it in a way that makes Christina wonder to herself what it would be like if she were alone with Alex. Something inside her cues her in to the fact that he would not make fun of the way that she now needs to wear a bra or the musky smell between her legs. But then she hates herself for that feeling, so she pushes it aside and concentrates on trying to hate him instead.
It’s a quietly seething feeling that persists that whole first week. Nate can tell she’s upset, but he doesn’t know how to smooth it over, because the way he feels about Alex is the same way that Christina does, except he doesn’t have a name for it yet, it’s too soon to tell. Right now, all that he knows is that there is something about Alex that is magnetic as all hell; maybe it’s that he charges into streams, ponds, and dirt, and does not worry about getting his clothes wet or filthy. Maybe it’s that grownups and little kids both seem to like him without him having to try particularly hard, and that’s never been something Nate feels like he could master. He knows it’s something you’re born with. And there’s nothing he can do about the moody little look on Christina’s face.
To her, he is an intruder, raining down hell on her perfect summer. It’s not the first time she’s been taught the lesson that the good moments of life a rarely repeated in exactly the same sequence, but it is the first time she’s been taught the lesson through friends. She knows she and Nate will not have that perfect summer she was waiting for all year, although she can’t stop hoping for it. There are many more solitary walks than she was anticipating. At least it gives her some time alone to process the changes in her body and mind, although she doesn’t think of them that way. She is still a huntress, still a soldier.
She is still playing games the day she discovers Alex in the forest, off to the side of the weeping willow tree. She is a fairy, and a human has invaded her habitat, which is strangely just how she feels about Alex himself. She was not expecting to find him there, since he and Nate have been glued to each other’s sides for the past week, but the rustle of lean legs against tree leaves alerts her and she alights, ephemeral, to the nearby clearing. She has had no reason to rid herself of the habit of being feather-light on her feet since it is a habit that lets her sneak out unnoticed when the yelling at home begins and before the slaps do, so he does not hear her at first. He kneels on the ground, scooping something in his hands, talking in low tones, the lull of his voice soothing and gentle. He strokes something with his finger, and when he turns, she spies a damaged baby bird in his hands. His nut-brown eyes are downcast and his lashes are casting shadows across his high cheekbones, and he is naked from the waist up, cradling that bird like it is a child of his own. He is whispering comfort to it, and as he smooths its rumpled feathers, she sees the bird breathe its last in peace.
It all changes in that moment. Christina no longer wants to hide. She sees Alex the way that he is. He is handsome, but does not know or perhaps simply does not care. Yes, he looks like her father, but her father would never do what Alex is doing right now. Her father has never cared for something in this merciful way in his entire life, Christina is sure. She wants not to choose Alex, but her heart does the talking for her. Because he looks dangerous, the kind of danger that she avoids always because familiarity breeds contempt, she has assumed that there is a falseness to his charm. But when she steps out of the branches, they wordlessly join forces to dig the little dead bird a grave. After they pile dirt to cover the body, they scramble up, relishing the dirt on their knees as a signal of what has come to pass, they stand silently in front of the grave. Christina feels a tremor start inside of her, because this moment is both small and enormous simultaneously; there is pity for the bird, the one that never truly got to fly—she knows what this is like, to never really fly—but there is a seeking heart inside of her that is not completed.
And then Alex takes her hand. Innocently, without malice or underlying intentions. He takes her hand because they are blood siblings now, because it is now that she knows his true heart.
* * *
Nate supposes that changes are normal when you get to be a teenager. At least that’s what his dad told him after the night his mom stopped looking him in the eye because he woke up in sticky sheets and she had to wash them. More cultural differences; now that he was a man, he had gained distance from the female sex, related to him or not. He’s not quite sure how to feel about it all.
All he knows is that he’s glad he’s going back to Sylvester’s.
Sure, his parents offered to take him somewhere new now that he was older, but he always has such a great time with Christina and Alex that he can’t imagine going anywhere else. And this year, it’s going to be even better because they’re going to have their own bungalow. It took some finagling by his dad because in Russian, there’s no word for privacy, and his dad was raised with the “strange” idea that teenagers should have some. But in the end, he managed it. Nate thinks it’s because even though Christina’s dad is mean to her mom—he heard him yelling on the phone, and besides, Christina never hid that from anyone—and even though Alex’s parents are largely disinterested in anything that their son does, all the parents are happy that the three kids have found each other. They’ve finally become the trio.
This fifth summer at Sylvester’s is seriously going to rock.
When his mom’s car finally pulls into the gated parking lot, he’s relieved to find that Sylvester’s never changes; every year, it grows in its shabby charm, with peeling paint jobs and rickety porches. The inside of the room he’s going to be sharing with Alex and Christina is bright, airy, and spacious, with three neatly made beds piled high with white pillowcases and uncomfortable mattresses. The wood-paneled windows are partially open, and there are a few flies buzzing around the room. He takes off his shoes and feels the rough-hewn wood floor beneath his feet. He loves it already.
Now, where are the other two, already?
Nate doesn’t need that answered; he feels the pull of the weeping willow as surely as if the tree has come alive and taken him by the hand. He is heavier now, denser in muscle and with dark blond hair coming down to his shoulders, and leaves and twigs crunch under his feet as he approaches the tree. He hears whispered voices coming from it, and it is bittersweet to know how audible they would have all been these five summers past to anyone who had walked by the tree, and they would have never known.
When he pulls back the branches and shouts out, “How’s it goin’, girlies?” he feels a sense of shock pound through him. In the year he has not seen her, Christina has blossomed from an angry-eyed girl into this curvy little goddess who still does not like combs—but it doesn’t matter. Her brown hair cascades down to her waist, and she’s got these perfectly rounded thighs and hips that he can see plainly through her shorts that it almost makes him hard just straight away.
And Alex. God damn it, Alex. Alex is the same as ever, except now the fact that he is stripped of any clothing from the waist up bothers Nate in a whole new way. There are lean abs that have that unmistakable glow of youth about them, and that dimple that’s so classic Alex draws your attention to those lips he’s got, those cruel lips that you want him to plaster to you. Except that Nate doesn’t know quite what to make of that feeling. Surely he shouldn’t want his best guy friend, the one who first told him exactly what goes on between a girl’s legs, to put his lips on him… Nate’s also not sure he likes the way that Alex has his arm just casually draped over Christina’s shoulders.
But he’s got no time to think about all this, because the pair has swallowed him up in a hearty embrace and is dragging him off to the pool.
It’s like that for a week. Being at the pool is torture, because all of them have bloomed out of the children they used to be and are not quite comfortable in their own bodies, let alone the changing ones of their friends. They look away at the pool and tr
y not to comment, and then it’s Nate who lets loose first, grabbing the ties of Christina’s bikini top and laughing hysterically with Alex as she clamps onto the black triangles with both hands, trying to keep herself covered in the water. There are splashes and screams as she exacts her revenge by running into him full speed and cannonballing into the pool, and not for the first time, Alex watches them all wrestle together, gasping with laughter.
But for the first time, it feels like there’s something serious about it.
They can’t shake that feeling off, that feeling that this summer, nothing is quite the same. Of course, it never is. There was, after all, that summer that Nate and Christina fought, or the one where Christina almost didn’t come because her dad cut off their funds. But all of that has felt reparable. Now there’s this tension hanging over the trio that they can’t seem to shake.
It’s Alex who produces the bottles. Since there are no adults in the trio’s bungalow, there’s no one to hide from, and on the floor, they pass the glass-necked bottle around, not caring if they share each other’s saliva. They make jokes, say it’s the only culturally appropriate thing to do, and they’re all so caught up in the illicitness of their actions that it pushes them to go forward, further and further. Nate pulls out a little baggie from somewhere, and Alex produces the lighter. As they pass the burning roach around, Christina’s wet swimsuit melds her T-shirt against her, and the boys find they cannot unglue their eyes from her. She catches them looking and slaps Alex across the chest, and he smacks her back, and before she knows it, he’s got her pinned, and they’re both laughing so hard that they almost cannot breathe.
It’s only after the third hit that Nate begins spinning the bottle, idly at first, but then the whole trio picks up on an unspoken game. First it’s just Alex and Christina, and their pecks on the lips are perfunctory, but undeniably exciting. Everyone is feeling loose and relaxed, and like all of this is just not that big a deal. When the bottle lands between Nate and Alex, Christina laughs aloud, because surely that’s not going to happen.
