Today was the kind of day that drew people to Southern California—all sunshine and dry heat. Not a cloud in the sky. Endless dapples of light poured down over the canopy onto them— breeze chasing them with the promise of evening barbeques and delinquent make-out-sessions under the stars. June reveled in it. The familiar sounds and feelings welcomed him. He felt every bump and crack in the old highway with sentiment; white lines laced with memories.
June remembered the summer his friend Angie first learned to drive. It had been a similarly hot day like today, and she had been so excited when her mother gave her permission to take the car. They had almost crashed into the dumpster behind the parking lot, Angie yelling and fumbling with the stick shift. He remembered the shrill laughter of older teens from down on the dock who had pointed and howled at their expense. He smiled.
It was possible that June’s family might show up today and try to force him back to North Carolina with them. They might even show up to the cabin while he was out with Aaron. They’d find his discarded luggage all over the master bedroom and scowl before packing it back into his small suitcase. They’d wait for him to return.
June pictured his father’s angry, disappointed face and grinned a little wider.
It wasn't that he liked the idea of pissing his parents off (for the most part). But really, on a day like today, he couldn’t find it in him to be sorry for what he’d done. He was here. He was home. He’d promised himself he’d come here for one last Summer and he was not about to break it. June looked at the boy next to him. Maybe Aaron would be an ally against his parents when the time came.
Oblivious to June staring, the boy was halfway through singing the chorus to Blink-182's All the Small things when he broke away from it and turned the stereo volume down. June raised an eyebrow, surprised—ready to make some kind of snarky comment about him being a show-off. But instead, he found himself drawn to how bright green Aaron’s eyes were, even beyond the lenses of his sunglasses.
“How do you feel about Madonna?”
“What?”
“Madonna, you know, Queen of Pop?”
Was he serious? June tilted his head down and let the aviators on his face fall. This was absolutely not happening to him. Aaron Valentine was a goddamn prep and liked 80s pop music. June grinned wild and maybe a little wicked too. This was going to be too fun. And awful. But mostly fun.
“She’s overrated!” June yelled over the wind gusting in his face. He smacked the edge of the convertible and shook his head “Just like all 80s music. How do you feel about literally anything else?”
Aaron only smiled, pointed down toward the large CD case that had been pressed up against June’s leg this whole time. “You tell me!” There was something proud and borderline amused in his tone.
June spent the next twenty-five minutes, flipping through albums and criticizing every aspect of Aaron’s musical taste. He had to admit; it was eclectic-—ranging from the newest hits all the way back to 50s swing. Nothing was in any kind of order. Nothing looked like it hadn’t been listened to either. He had way too much Nirvana and not enough other kinds of alternative. Some CDs looked well taken care of, and others looked burned on a home computer; complete with messy Sharpie scrawled across the top. June questioned him on everything that wasn’t labeled, liking the way Aaron would laugh or blush and refuse to tell him what was on it because of “privacy” or whatever.
June ended up holding two different artists in his hands—P!nk and Avril Lavigne-—and then decided on the latter with reasonable volume. This seemed like a happy middle-ground. June wasn’t into pop, but he could deal with this. He still wanted to hear Aaron talk though, strangely enough, so he asked about his favorites and what kind of concerts he’d been to in the past.
It turns out, Aaron could talk about music for hours. Hell, maybe even days if June would let him. He explained everything with a kind of patience June didn’t know existed in the world—something he’d never be able to master in his lifetime.
Aaron was careful but liked to drive fast. He was polite and flashed wholehearted smiles when he was happy. He was also comfortable with lulls of silence; slipping easily back into whatever private room his thoughts occupied. He seemed young in his curiosity and old in his sincerity. Simple. Warm...
June hadn’t realized they’d entered the town until Aaron pulled into a gas station parking lot and cut the engine. Avril Lavigne stopped singing and was replaced with the sounds of summer around them. Teenagers buying slushies and a mom ushering her giggling, messy child into a car seat. The smells of the forest were distant now, covered by the sweeter smell of fuel. There was a collection of other cars parked at the pumps, most of them with windows rolled down and sunkissed passengers inside.
“I just need to get gas,” Aaron said, running a hand through his insane hair because the wind had not been kind to him. He looked a little extra disheveled now, his loose button-up shirt from yesterday hung open over the same white T-shirt. Casual. Beachy.
“Okay,” June allowed, propping his sunglasses up on his head and waiting. He hummed, content, and looked out toward the main street—trucks and cars alike flashed by. Some of them towed boats and no-doubt were headed toward the lake.
A moment passed by unmoving. Summer chaos surrounded them. It was long enough for June to realize Aaron still sat next to him.
“Are you...getting gas?” June may or may not be known for his lack of patience.
“Yeah, but I’m waiting for the—” Aaron stopped, glanced around them. June tilted his head to the side, confused.
“What?”
“Nothing!” He laughed then, hurried to unbuckle himself and flung the convertible door open. His face turned pink, eyes averted and embarrassed smile, turning up his mouth. “It’s just—I forgot you have to pump your gas here.”
June stared at him like he had spoken another language.
“Do you…not pump gas where you come from?” Where was Aaron from?
Aaron took a moment to unscrew his gas cap and swiped a card at the machine before answering. “No, actually. In Oregon, it’s illegal to pump your own gas. There are attendants who do it for you.”
June snorted. Surprised. “I didn't know you were from Oregon.” Though, that might explain Aaron’s pale complexion.
“Well, I don’t know where you’re from…so?”
June let his sunglasses fall back down on his nose, hiding his eyes from Aaron and anyone else who might be listening. He tried not to grimace, but this was a question he was hoping he’d get to avoid a little bit longer. He hadn’t even told Angie he was here yet, let alone why. He wasn’t ready for the conversation that would follow Aaron’s question.
“Does it matter?” He tilted his face toward the other boy, trying to seem aloof.
“I uh…I guess not.”
“Good, now why the hell isn’t anyone allowed to pump their own gas in Oregon?”
Aaron huffed, leaned against the driver’s door and faced the pump. He probably didn’t know June well enough to realize he’d avoided the question, or he might not care enough to push it.
“I don’t know,” Aaron said, voice warm like a breeze. He stared out at the northern mountain range now—perhaps thinking that if he tried hard enough, he’d be able to see Oregon from here. “That’s just how it’s always been.”
“Strange,” June said. “Very strange.” And he left it at that.
Aaron decided this was weird.
Weird but kind of fun anyway. He wasn’t sure how much fun June was having—or if June was sincere about the things he’d said or asked—but it was going well. The weight of Portland lifted off his shoulders when June spoke. Detached from his radio station job, his cousin, and everyday responsibilities, he felt like California had picked him up, dusted him off, and given him June Crow; an escort out of his recent misery.
June was blinding like the sun, hot and rising all around him. Filling him to the brim with light and energy. He was confident, opinionated, a
nd aloof. Today, he smelled like cucumber-melon body spray (and also acted like he didn't give a shit what you thought about cucumber-melon body spray). He wore sunglasses—aviators—and a dark blue tank top with a patterned-pocket on his right breast.
He was the persona of summer. Hell, even his name confirmed that.
They spent over an hour filtering through the largest superstore in town; Aaron found as many generic and plain looking shirts he could through the limited selection. June disappeared and reappeared again to deposit his items into the same cart. June worked fast, bought a few more food items—things he said were too expensive to buy from the local market up by the lake—and a mediocre collection of art supplies. Aaron hadn't expected that, but didn't bother to question it either.
Once June finished gathering the items he needed for himself, he poked around the things Aaron was buying. Made faces of amusement and or distaste depending on how functional they seemed. Underwear—very functional mind you—seemed to amuse June most. He’d picked up the pack of black boxers and waggled his eyebrows at Aaron before dropping them back into the cart.
“You have to buy swim trunks,” June said plainly, and then disappeared again for some length of time. It allowed Aaron to gather his embarrassment and process just what was happening here.
This morning, before he ventured out of that dusty guest bedroom, Aaron had believed June wanted nothing to do with him. He would have tried hard to steer clear of his path and his toes. He would have considered the hotel room again, and he’d still be thinking about going back to Portland. He definitely would not have taken the teenager shopping with him for personal things like underwear and deodorant.
However, after the cordial breakfast this morning, the drive down the mountain with summer all around them and his CD case open over June’s lap as he thumbed through the sleeves, it all felt very surreal. Like Aaron had come here with more intent than to run away from his problems…like maybe he really was on vacation.
If June made a point to tell Aaron he should buy swim trunks, then June must not mind Aaron staying in the cabin a little longer.
Aaron smiled while standing in an aisle of multicolored flip-flops, hands resting on the bar of the shopping cart and relief chiseling away stress that had built upon his shoulders.
He felt happier than he had in a very long time.
3
Ride Wit Me
The few days following June and Aaron’s trip down to town passed in a sluggish, hot haze, and June found himself building up the courage to see Angie sooner rather than later. He was reluctant at first. How would he approach her after what he’d done? He wasn't sure how to explain that he had run away from home to be here, and part of him felt like she might be disappointed in him for it.
Regardless, a huge part of coming to Bass Lake was getting the chance to say goodbye to his long-distance childhood friend. Maybe he worried about how she would take the news. Maybe he was a little bit afraid that once he found her, time would truly start moving forward again. The sooner he found Angie; the sooner summer would really begin. The sooner summer began, the sooner it would be over.
June knew his time was limited, and it made him fear the inevitable.
There was also a whole new factor as to why he was hesitant to visit the lake. How in the world was he going to explain Aaron Valentine to his best friend? Would she think it was a funny coincidence? Would she think he was crazy for sharing the cabin with him? Would she tell his parents? His parents were already going to have his head for running away in the first place. There was no telling what they would do if they found out he was with a stranger.
At the very least, Aaron was his age. Just another dumb teenager who didn't know a whole lot about anything. That made him seem more harmless, right?
Needless to say, June fought the stress in his stomach while walking down to the lake for the first time this year. It was hot, sun beating down on his ink-black hair and tanning his skin. He breathed it in, kicked an acorn along the asphalt and was sure to step into the brush when a car came up behind him (narrow roads and all). The gentle flapping sound of his sandals followed him quietly, steady as his heartbeat.
June passed familiar homes and gravel driveways winding up the hills on his way. He stopped to pet an old German Shepherd with a grey muzzle he’d known since he was a kid, and promised her he’d bring her a treat on the walk back just like he always did. She’d let him hold her head in his hands, tail slowly brushing back and forth like she was happy to see an old friend. It made June weak with happiness.
He climbed to the top of a small overhang that stared down at the lake parking lot and docks before stopping. In hindsight, June wanted to believe he just had to catch his breath because of the heat, but the reality of where he was and why he was here really sunk in upon seeing that lake. He sat in the springy section of grass under a pine tree and ran his hands through his sticky, thick hair. Part of him wanted to groan. Part of him wanted to cry with delight.
It was dark green and twinkling in the sun. Lazy waves licked at the muddy shores and tumbled into small cliffsides where delinquent teens liked to jump from at night. There were a few, ancient pines sticking out of the water; smooth bark submerged and branches twisted upward into the sun. June could barely make out the shapes of children climbing between them, jumping off into the arms of their parents. Speed boats and jet skis were coming to and from the docks for more fuel. People thoughtlessly burning the skin off their feet when they didn't put their sandals back on before walking on the boiling metal. June watched them run and thought about how many times he’d done the same thing.
The parking lot was crowded as it usually was at this time of year. Trucks and open-sided Jeeps took up the gravel lot, colorful with water-floats or boogie boards strapped to their tops. People grabbed beach towels, put on sunscreen, yelled, smiled, laughed as they raced to the small pink building with the wooden porch that welcomed them.
June stared, feeling emotional and overwhelmed and happy all at the same time. Angie’s family had owned that pink ice cream shop for decades now. He’d met Angie there when they were just toddlers, and his parents struck up a conversation about the establishment and how nice it was. Angie’s mother had taken a liking to June. They’d exchanged numbers and stayed in touch over the years until June was old enough to understand what it meant to have a best friend.
He and Angie had spent as many moments together growing up as they could. Many summer nights he and his twin sisters would sit in Angie’s bedroom playing games or listening to her tape collection while talking about all the gross (or cute) boys in her school. June remembered being forced to take Teen-Magazine quizzes and Angie’s mother yelling at them in Spanish to go to bed or be quiet. He remembered the first time Angie had to take a summer school class—how he’d waited in the pink ice cream shop sipping on whatever milkshake her mother had made him that day.
June allowed himself to sit there and stare much longer than he would like to admit, but eventually couldn't be bothered to put it off. It was just Angie. She would be happy.
The walk down the hill to the parking lot took June all of about five minutes, and the closer he got to the shop, the more nervous he felt. The smell of sunscreen and fresh waffle-cones met him halfway, and he chewed his bottom lip. Angie would probably be working. She’d worked in the shop with her mother every summer since she was fourteen.
The small sound of the bell chiming when he opened the door made his heart leap into his throat. Everything from the color of the tile floor, to the selection of candies at the counter, looked as he’d remembered it. Every small, round table near the windows of the shop was occupied, and a sort of perfect chaos was happening behind the counter. June watched. Looked carefully around a large crowd of about seven middle-schoolers. They all talked over one another, pointing into the glass case at the different flavors.
June caught sight of someone behind the counter he’d never seen before—probably just a summer staff member�
�and then shortly after caught sight of his best friend.
Angie grinned like mad at something one of the kids had said; the small gap between her front teeth fully visible as she dipped her arm into a bucket and came back with strawberry. She worked quickly, darting back and forth and shuffling around the other worker who looked rather impressed. June swallowed, taking her in like he’d taken in the lake. She was warm. Tanned to a perfect copper-brown and dappled with sun freckles. Her long, wild curly hair pulled into a bun on her head with pieces falling out around her face. She wore jean shorts with rips in them and a sunshine yellow crop-top with cherries printed on it. The pink strings from her swimsuit top were tied around her neck.
June made a small mental note that Angie looked a lot older this year than she had last year. Her previously round face looked more slender now. Her eyes dusted with faint traces of well-applied makeup. Her lips shiny with gloss.
The crowd cleared slowly, filtering out of the door behind June to leave the space between him and the counter vacant. Angie wiped her brow in one smooth motion and then looked up expectantly at him.
“I can help you ove—” her eyes widened, mouth agape and shock stringing her features together. June could see the wheels in her head turn. A half a second went by, and then she let out a loud, shrill noise that made her co-worker flinch before she proceeded to launch herself over the counter.
“JUNE!!!” she flung her entire body into his arms then, squeezing him like she’d just found out he was alive when she had thought he was dead. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”
June laughed, arms wrapped tightly enough around her so he could pick her up and swing her around. She pulled back to plant a dramatic, lip-gloss wet kiss to his cheek and then continued squeezing. When he set her down, she rocked him back and forth on the tile floor, giddy with something familiar—maybe relief.
All of June’s insecurities floated away in her presence; drowned in the smell of chocolate syrup and whatever berry shampoo she used. He let her go reluctantly.
The Maple Effect Page 4
