Good. That was progress. Aaron could deal with that. Not quite an apology but close enough.
“Yeah… Yeah, of course. I mean, I have shitty signal out here, but I promise when I drive down into town, I will always call you.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
The conversation gave away to the low hum of Nirvana playing through his speakers. Aaron smiled sadly, reached over to turn it up.
“Can you hear this?”
Arco was quiet, listening for a long moment.
“All Apologies,” he finally murmured. “I’m surprised.”
“I guess I miss you. Or something,” Aaron allowed. He felt the lyrics deep in his chest, chiseling away at the weight he’d been carrying since their fight.
Arco hummed along with the lyrics like he would have if he’d been sitting right next to Aaron. The familiar, low tenor sounded like home. When the song ended, he sighed.
“Yeah...I miss you too.”
The rest of the evening went by in a blur. Aaron called his mom and eased her worries about why he hadn’t answered her calls and then felt lighter than he had before. Arco’s promise to keep June a secret while Aaron was here with him was a small comfort he didn’t deserve but appreciated nonetheless. Contentedness rose in his chest like the moon in the sky—brighter now as the hours of the night passed.
He stopped for gas at a 7-Eleven and peeked inside the convenience store before making his way back up the mountain. He wasn’t sure they would have what he was looking for but figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.
That maple tree in the yard had plagued Aaron’s thoughts with little reason all day long. He thought about the soft leaves and the smell of sap and how much he wanted to bottle it up and carry it with him. The thriving little ecosystem in constant motion. It was inspirational…or something. Maybe he was just sentimental. Regardless, Aaron wasn’t leaving this summer without something to remember it by. Even if it was just a single photo on a disposable camera.
He found the camera in the back of the store, flipped the green and yellow packaging around in his hands for a moment and then proceeded to the counter.
Thirty flashes would be plenty.
The walk home on an empty stomach did nothing to ease June’s tipsiness. When he trod back up the gravel driveway into the carport and found Aaron’s car missing, his whole body sagged with defeat. What a shitty evening. How dare Aaron leave him here to wallow. How dare he.
June, grumpy and hot from a day in the sun, went through the motions of showering. He put on fresh boxer briefs, stumbled to the kitchen pantry, grimaced at the lack of ready-made food, and decided he was better off just going to bed.
Tomorrow, he would tell Aaron about Angie. He promised himself he would. He would even take him to meet her. Then when Charlie showed up to make gaga eyes at his best friend, he wouldn’t feel like a shitty third wheel.
Tomorrow would be better.
5
I’ll be there for you
June had notoriously been the first one to rise each morning since Aaron had shown up at the cabin. Usually bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and raring to cook breakfast, he’d get up and get on with his life. He liked the quiet break of the sun over the pines and the wild turkeys that wandered through the front yard pecking at dewy grass. He liked the fresh and alive feeling of a new day.
Today, however, was not so fresh and he certainly didn't feel alive. He felt a little like death had rubbed elbows with him. The light peeking through the blinds in the bedroom made his eyes ache. The emptiness of his stomach made him queasy. His brain felt like it touched the back of his skull.
“Ffffffuck,” he rolled, nearly squashing his cat. The fluffy grey creature leaped away with a disgruntled mew.
June wasn’t hungover—he knew what that felt like and this wasn’t quite it. However, he would bet his entire VCR case full of money he was dehydrated. His lips were chapped, and his throat was sore. Last night’s walk home had followed him into a picture show of restless dreams. He remembered bits and pieces of them; most of which had involved him trying to avoid people he knew.
As June righted himself in bed, a wave of unease tickled his nerves. A familiar, unpleasant sensation; like his body already knew what was coming. His stomach churned, causing sweat to break over his skin. He rubbed his eyes and focused on breathing, then cursed when it didn't help.
This was not a hangover.
Trembling, he forced himself to move to the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He flicked the lights on, stared at his green-tinted complexion in the mirror, and then settled down before the toilet. He waited, head in his arms until one more wave of nausea spun the walls around him. His last thought before he stuck his face into the bowl, was that he hoped nothing would come out his nose.
He was sick with little effort. White knuckles clutching the porcelain rim. He hoped his loud retching didn't reach Aaron through the thin walls.
Not a hangover.
He kept his eyes shut for a long time, focusing on his breathing until the floor tiles stilled, and his head felt less foggy. The sweat on his forehead had worsened, but now he felt cold with dread. The taste of iron on his tongue putrid and sharp.
He wished he was hungover, but the blood in the toilet told otherwise.
It took another hour for June to work up the energy to make his way out of the bedroom. He hadn’t gotten sick again, but if he didn't eat something soon, it would only get worse. Another shower and a soft T-shirt comforted him enough to put on a brave face and confront the other teen living here. He wanted to tell Aaron about Angie—but taking care of himself had to come first. Food and then conversation. Maybe another nap between the two.
Aaron was flipping through fuzzy TV channels on the couch when June approached. His dark blond hair was in its usual birds’ nest, but his face was soft with content. He seemed brighter this morning than any of the other mornings June had watched him stumble out of the guest room. He looked nothing like June currently felt.
“Good morning,” June croaked. The remaining taste of toothpaste stuck in the back of his throat. He cleared it. “I’m not used to you being up before me.”
Aaron looked from the back of the couch, green eyes like the color of springy grass today. June forced a sarcastic smile at his surprised expression.
“You feel okay?” he asked. “You look like hell.”
“I may or may not have spent too much time in the sun yesterday.” That wasn’t the cause of June feeling like shit, but it definitely wasn’t a lie either. “Did you eat breakfast?” Casual change of the subject.
“I had toast.”
“That’s not breakfast,” June muttered. He opened the door of the fridge and found the last two eggs, the last mouthful of milk, and about a handful of mushrooms that would go bad if he didn't use them soon. The first shopping trip he and Aaron had taken together seemed like years away at this point. They would have to go again soon.
Aaron muted the TV and peered at him from across the room. A dusting of pink rose on his cheeks. “I suck at cooking.”
June scoffed. “Never took a cooking 101 in high school?” He rinsed the mushrooms and pulled a small bowl out of the cabinet to crack his eggs into. Cooking had always been a part of June’s life. His father very rarely bought pre-made food, and his mother liked to support local farmer markets for the freshest things they could get. No meal in his household was ever quick or easy. No one ever left scraps on their plate.
“Nah…” Aaron looked toward the lazy ceiling fan with mute interest. “I was too busy taking music courses.”
Of course, he was the musical type. Aaron was a prep. He had musical theatre written all over him in big, bold letters. June cracked the eggs and set them aside to find a pan in the cabinet. He imagined Aaron in sparkly pants with glitter on his eyelids and blush on his cheeks. He laughed out loud.
“What?” Aaron rose from his place on the couch and headed toward him. “What’s wrong with music?”
<
br /> He didn't sound all that bothered, despite it being a serious question. June was surprised he even asked, considering the forty-five minutes of critique June had already given his music collection in the car.
“Musical theatre?” June inquired. “Or maybe just choir?”
“What?” Aaron exclaimed loudly, leaning himself against the counter. He took up space that was going to be used for cutting mushrooms, but that was fine. June sort of liked the taller presence. Couldn’t bring himself to look Aaron in the eyes and had to focus on his task, but that was okay.
“You think I was in theatre? Do I strike you as a theatre kid?”
June bit his tongue. Be polite. Be polite. Be polite. Aaron was so much sweeter and kinder than him. Don’t ruin him with your sass.
“You…strike me as a prep?” June allowed. “I mean, you listen to way too much Madonna…and no one even listens to Madonna anymore…except for maybe preppy musical people.”
“I wasn’t even a prep in high school, let alone now!”
“Have you ever owned a polo shirt?”
“Wha—”
“Never mind.” Humor bubbled up in June’s chest, emerging in soft chuckles. He took a risk and glanced at his new friend—to make sure he wasn’t actually offended—and found his appalled expression too much to bear. He grinned.
“So, if you weren't in theatre, then what kind of music classes did you take?” June pulled a dull knife from the old wooden drawer and found the stick of butter sitting on the counter. Aaron hovered around him as he worked to start the ancient stove and began cutting the mushrooms.
“I’ve been playing guitar since I was a kid, so I took it all through high school. Also, music theory and music history.” He ticked them off on his fingers as he went. “And I tried to take a year of Jazz Band, but I didn’t like the rest of the class, so I dropped out after a semester and took Beginners Art instead.”
There was something calming about Aaron’s voice. It wasn’t as quiet or reserved as it had been when they were still wary of each other. He spoke now like they were real friends. Which, he figured they were.
“I suck at Art too. Unlike you, right?”
June pushed the handful of chopped mushrooms into the hot pan, satisfied with the sizzle. What a strange thing for Aaron to mention—he’d never seen any of his art.
“How would you know I’m any good at art? Also, pass me the salt.”
Aaron grunted and found the shaker sitting between a napkin holder and a cup he must have used last night. Their fingers brushed when he handed it over.
“I noticed you bought nice art supplies when we went shopping, so I assume you must be good at it.”
June scoffed. The handful of supplies WalMart had in stock was NOT good supplies. It was mediocre and sad. Nothing compared to some of the nice things he would have brought, had his packing not been so erratic.
“Well, you’re not wrong,” he allowed, pushing mushrooms back and forth in the pan. It was starting to smell savory and made his stomach growl. “I like sketching and painting.”
“So, you were the emo art kid.” Aaron watched him pour the eggs into the butter and mushrooms carefully. “Who spent a lot of time brooding in silence and doodling single eyes in their notes?”
June couldn’t help himself. He laughed, face turned down to hide the sudden blush. He should let Aaron wake up before him more often—he was much more chipper this way. Even if he was being a shithead.
June went along with it. “You forgot the part about me memorizing Edgar Allan Poe and bringing my pet black widow to school.”
Aaron cackled louder than June had expected at that; turned away from him to cover his mouth and ran his hand through his messy hair sheepishly. Green eyes bright and his smile infectious, June felt a handful of crickets leap in his stomach. It sucked the breath right from his lungs.
He’d noticed it before when they were at the lake throwing mud at each other, but he’d refused to acknowledge it at the time. Aaron was quite captivating with all his boyish charm and quiet demeanor. He was handsome too, despite his easily burnt peachy skin and inability to grow facial hair.
June didn't have the best track record with guys and relationships, but he did know he wasn’t typically into dirty blondes. Much less dirty blondes with the slight remains of frosted tips on their floppy overgrown locks. Much, much less, preps who even didn’t know they were preps.
When he looked at Aaron, he felt something more like curiosity and less like blatant attraction, but it affected him all the same.
He carefully slid one of the eggs across the pan and watched it turn white. His voice was gentle when he spoke again, changing the subject.
“If you make more toast, I’ll share with you.”
Aaron smiled broadly and moved toward the pantry for whatever bread was left. “Deal.”
Despite the promise he’d made to himself, June completely forgot to tell Aaron about Angie for the remainder of the morning.
Sometime, well into the heat of the day, June lay under the sluggish ceiling fan on the living room couch trying to cool off and failing. Everything that was supposed to be cool was tepid, and the temperature only continued to climb, killing his motivation. He lay there waiting to burn alive, listening to re-runs of F.r.i.e.n.d.s and wondering how much more he could take. Sweat was making his skin sticky and uncomfortable.
At least the heat hadn’t driven him absolutely insane. June peered out the sliding glass door at Aaron, who currently stood on the old wooden picnic table holding—what was that? —A disposable camera. Didn’t he realize this was 2004 and disposable cameras were no longer a thing? Cell phones had cameras on them, and Aaron HAD a cell phone! Not to mention, digital cameras had been out for years.
Aaron carefully stepped from the bench of the table to the patio railing. June watched the old wood bow between the posts.
He was going to die. Aaron was an idiot; he was going to die, and June was too hot to do anything about it. June stared, whispering curse words under his breath and wondering what in the hell he was trying to get a picture of anyway.
Several moments of Aaron teetering around the balcony passed by, and a bead of sweat gathered below June’s hairline. It was too nerve-racking to watch him. June wasn’t used to someone else besides him being reckless. He and his sisters had climbed that maple tree plenty of times, but they did so with a grace and dexterity this Valentine so obviously lacked.
June turned away to face the cushions on the couch and closed his eyes. His nausea had passed for good after he’d eaten breakfast, but the heaviness of waking up to puking blood remained. He sighed. Of course, this was bound to happen at some point. He wasn’t hopeful enough to have thought his summer would be completely free of his usual demons. He’d been lucky to avoid them this long if he was being honest.
His mother would have a fit if she knew. His father would shake his head in frustration.
Thoughts of his parents and their disappointment made him sleepy. Chasing around fake conversations they might have when he finally returned home wasn’t exactly an uncommon state of mind for June. There would be yelling and tears and the inevitable, disgusting acceptance that he finally came home safe and sound. His mother would hug him, but also pinch the back of his arm really hard like she used to when he was a naughty child. His sisters would wait until late that night after all the lectures, slip a letter under his locked bedroom door explaining why he had personally hurt them when he left, but how they still loved him and hoped he had a fun summer.
In the darkest hours of the morning, June might shed a few tears of his own—not because of his punishments but because the inevitable truth would sink in. His last summer would be over.
June felt numb. No longer hot but rather like he didn't exist there on the couch at all. He focused on his breathing and the sounds of cicadas buzzing outside. Everything ceased to exist for a second.
And then, as if June hadn’t predicted the damn future itself, a loud snap fr
om the balcony followed by a shriek tore panic from his chest. He jerked upright, eyes wide as he rolled off the couch, feet, and hands finding carpet and panic-stricken as he ran to the sliding glass doors.
Aaron was gone.
“Shit.” June flung open the door and stepped onto the shaded portion of the porch. The only trace of the other boy was the scattered mess of green leaves that hadn’t been there before. “Aaron!”
June didn’t bother looking over the edge of the patio for a response. Aaron had fallen a good eight feet or more and was likely unconscious in the bushes below. He hurried around the side of the house, following the narrow porch until he reached a gate and then a set of old stairs that dropped him in the front yard. He took off running barefoot through the lawn and down the hill the cabin was built on.
“Aaron!” he yelled again when he rounded the corner, coming to a stop in front of the massively overgrown rose bushes. They plagued the area underneath the house; their dark leaves climbing the old posts effortlessly. It was far too hot for flowers to stay in bloom at this time of year, but everything still smelled sickly sweet. June was struck with the memory of his younger self running to the edge of the lawn and his mother yelling at him not to get too close to the thorns.
Thorns were the least of June’s problems now though. There was a distinct human-sized hole in the center of the bushes, and a series of grunts sounding from it.
“Aaron, Aaron? Are you dead? Or broken?” June shoved the bushes out of his way as best he could, trying to peer through the gnarled branches. Thorns snagged his forearms and legs.
“Ahhh. Shit.” The bushes trembled and cracked with effort. “I-I’m okay,” Aaron wheezed.
June let out a sigh of relief when he was finally close enough to see Aaron struggling to his knees. He was covered in debris and dirt. His white shirt was torn, and there were a few bloodstains alongside the green smudges from the leaves.
The Maple Effect Page 8
