The Maple Effect Read online

  It was quiet, and June moved in a way that was reminiscent of how his mother moved in this very kitchen. She’d always done this same task on mornings when they would go down to the lake. Waking up before him and his siblings and packing them sandwiches and fruit like it was the secret to a good day. He sighed, taking a handful of napkins and a package of pistachios from the pantry to add to his bag. Then finding some water bottles and—most importantly—the sunscreen he should have thought to put on yesterday.

  Would Aaron be impressed with his organizational skills? Or would he think it was silly and meticulous of him? June wasn’t typically so involved with details unless he was cooking or painting, but picnics had to count for something right? Besides, it was Aaron’s first time down to the lake and June wasn't about to ruin it by letting the kid get dehydrated or sunburnt to hell.

  With Aaron’s peachy complexion, he would have to watch how much time he spent in the sun and—

  June shook his head, trying to dislodge the parental thoughts from his brain before he sprouted grey hairs. Aaron was nineteen years old; he could take care of himself, and June should know better than to try and smother the guy. Since when did he care so much anyway? Since he had someone else—a stranger—in this cabin with him? Or since his mother wasn't here and suddenly, unexpectedly, the role regarding safety needed to be filled?

  June frowned. It wasn’t his place. June better filled the role of shit-head-brother or teenage-delinquent. He had no business trying to accomplish the adult things his mother normally did while he was on vacation.

  And this was his last vacation.

  He looked at the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and the fruit in little Ziplock baggies and leaned against the counter in mild disapproval. What would his mother think if she could see him now? Would she be surprised? Would she laugh? Would she remind him his sister, July, didn't like the crust on her bread?

  He was deep enough in thought not to notice Aaron had stumbled out of the guest bedroom and into the bathroom before the sound of the toilet seat made him jump. There was the squeak of the sink and the splash of water and then a moment of silence before Aaron managed to join June in the kitchen. A pale blue toothbrush stuck out of his mouth and sleep still glossed over in his eyes. His honey-blond hair was in absolute disarray. He was shirtless.

  “You look like hell,” June said—and that was much, much less like his mother.

  “That back room gets stuffy.” Aaron scrubbed lazily at the right side of his teeth, tilting his head back to avoid the white froth from dripping down his chin. He turned back around as he talked, stepped toward the bathroom door, and leaned inside. He spit and came back out, scrubbing the left side this time. “I can’t sleep when it’s too hot.”

  June knew from past experiences that the tiny guest bedroom didn't have a vent in it, just a single pane window with a tattered screen that had once been kicked out by his sister trying to escape a moth. He didn't envy Aaron.

  “It probably would be better if you left the bedroom door open at night,” he explained. “Or slept out here in the living room.”

  Aaron’s expression changed from sleepiness to poutiness when he vanished into the bathroom to finish up and came back out again. “Why should I have to sleep on the couch?” He ran his hands through his insane hair. “My parents own the place.”

  June’s eyes narrowed. “I got here first.”

  There was little to no anger in Aaron’s eyes when he rolled them and stretched—long and languid like a cat. June crossed his arms, amused and a little disappointed this guy was so passive. He considered offering a challenge for the master bedroom—like arm wrestling or something—but Aaron would probably turn him down.

  “Why are you up so early anyway?”

  June glanced at the radio hanging under the cupboards. It was just barely past seven. A totally inappropriate time for a teenager to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He shuffled his feet against the linoleum.

  “If we want to get a good spot at the lake, we need to leave early.” Great, now he sounded like his father. Totally uncool.

  Aaron’s interest piqued nonetheless. “Oh! Okay.”

  June ignored the embarrassment painting his neck red and turned away then, focused on his tasks, and definitely not on the fact that Aaron’s smile shone like the morning sun. Quiet, careful, and warm enough to lift the fog.

  There was something different about the way June looked sitting in the passenger seat of Aaron’s topless Toyota; wind and energy pulling all around him. The aviators sitting on his face tilted upwards as he breathed in and tilted down as he exhaled. His CD choice blared from the dash, fueling something inside of him. It was intense. And when Aaron drove over the top of the hill looking down at the lake, June seemed to swallow that intensity and implode. He was smiling before, but he grinned now. He was flying. He pulled his sunglasses down off his face to see the world in full color and Aaron only just managed to realize how blue June’s eyes really were. Deep, dark and frightening. So opposite compared to the shimmery, pale green and sunshine-muted browns reflected in the lake.

  Aaron’s tire slipped ever so slightly off the old asphalt road, spitting pine needles and dirt behind them before he corrected. June laughed, and Aaron refused to look at him for as long as he physically could.

  All of Aaron’s prior experience swimming in lakes told him to expect the water to be frigid and the sun a mild lukewarm heat from a distance. Nothing compared to the warm, lapping muddy bank and the scorching rays burning down on his pale shoulders. He’d almost gone too long without putting sunscreen on and could feel the burn ready to rise from his neck if he gave it a chance. California continued to be more potent and riper than anything he’d ever experienced. Even while dipping his head back into the water, closing his eyes and letting the outside world subside into a gurgle, he felt like it could swallow him.

  Not so long ago, Aaron believed his life was exciting and full and overall good. He didn't question things like the sun or swimming or summer in general. He lived every day in a state of constant motion. Get up, go to work, go home, shower, rinse, and repeat with the occasional trip to the grocery store or bank. It was so simple. He called his mom once in a while, he fought with his shitty home computer, he went for a drive, he hung out with his cousin. He did. And he did. And did. This and that and somehow none of it—none of it—held any substance in comparison to this moment.

  Aaron pictured the look on his boss’s face when he’d told him not to come back until further notice.

  He felt the water around him.

  Aaron remembered the sting of his ex’s words burning tears into his eyes.

  His toes traced lazy shapes in the mud below him.

  How had Aaron been so blind for so long? How had he not seen the repetitious hellhole he had dug himself into? How had he put so much stock in his mediocre life?

  Aaron surfaced slowly, breathing easy for the first time in a long time. He let his worries, fears, and frustrations sink beneath his feet. Let them get caught in the reeds and clay at the bottom of the lake. He opened his eyes, and it was brighter. The kind of California-saturated he didn't know existed before he came here.

  And then June took it upon himself to hurl a handful of mud at Aaron’s head, shattering his reverence with a sharp splat. Aaron flinched, shaking what he could out of his ear before turning to the boy doubled over laughing from the shallows. His face was the same radiant, unexpected picture of emotion Aaron couldn’t get used to. If he weren’t in fact, a nineteen-year-old with boyish tendencies, he would have stood there longer with mud splattered on the side of his head just to stare at June. To soak him in like the sun.

  Aaron was a cherry popsicle melting under his rays.

  That said, no one throws a handful of mud without good reason.

  “Oh, it’s ON.” Aaron grinned, wicked and sudden, hurling himself below the surface to grab two handfuls of mud. June followed suit.

  This meant war.

  U
nderwater, Aaron shook the awe from his brain and focused on gathering as much mud as he could manage. When he broke the surface, he retaliated, striking June over the collarbone and then again as he turned away. June’s ink black hair dripped mud before he could dunk back below the water. Aaron took advantage of the moment, diving as swiftly as he could. He found a large portion of a tree trunk to help propel him forward, and before June could surface, he snagged him around the waist.

  June didn't look like he weighed much, what with his lean muscle. But the sudden weight was more than Aaron anticipated. His feet slipped below him, sinking into a particularly thick patch of clay. June wriggled violently, slapped Aaron in the face with a gritty handful. They tussled until finally, Aaron hooked him around his shoulders. He found his feet and lurched upward, launching June as high as he could. June shrieked; his heels flew over his head and plopped down into the water hard.

  Aaron was triumphant. He laughed. Laughed in the same open way he would around his cousin Arco. He stood waist deep, clutching his stomach with one hand, and smearing the trails of water away from his face. He looked up when he heard June fumbling toward him.

  “Cheap trick!” A sharp fist landed square in his shoulder. “That’s not allowed in mud fights! You clearly don’t know the rules.”

  “As if.” Aaron snorted, giving him another, lighter shove. He flicked his soggy hair away from his forehead and smiled. “You’re bitter that I won.”

  “You used your size to your advantage,” June dismissed, shaking himself like a dog as he waded toward the shore. Aaron caught the drops on his face. “Don’t worry, next time I’ll pull out all the stops. You’ll be finding sand in places you didn't think possible.”

  Aaron beamed. The promise of more mud fights was a good place to start a friendship. They could be—would be real friends. He blinked, glancing up at the sun trailing behind a single fluffy cloud. It did nothing to calm the thick heat of summer, although somehow it did make him feel untouchable. Less alone than ever before. Which really said something considering up until a few days ago Aaron hadn't considered himself lonely at all.

  June toweled himself on the dryer part of the bank, pulling his arms above his head to ruffle his dark mop. He looked content in his movements. Flushed and golden and young. Aaron was about to submerge himself in that feeling again—the one he’d felt while watching June in the passenger seat of his car—but stopped short when something caught his eye.

  Above June's ribs and under the slender curve of his chest, tracing the shape of his right pectoral, was a bright and jagged scar. It looked like lightning. Aaron hadn’t noticed it before, because most of it was covered by June’s arm when at his side.

  “Hey,” Aaron said before he could stop himself.

  June pulled his head from the furious toweling and looked down at him. “Yeah?”

  He paused, wondering if it was too brash of him to ask. Sometimes scars were personal—bad memories and what not. Aaron reached up to scratch the side of his jaw where his scar sat. It was much smaller than June’s.

  Aaron tried to sound nonchalant. “Where uh...did you get the scar?”

  Had the shorter boy’s eyes not widened a fraction, Aaron never would have known he’d caught him off guard with the question. He licked his chapped lips and waited.

  “Oh, ahh.” June shrugged. “Just an accident when I was a kid.” And then he turned away, focused on the food he’d packed this morning.

  Aaron didn't know June all that well, but he knew well enough to see the lie behind his eyes. Of course, there was no pushing him now. Not when they were barely new friends (by mud-fight standards).

  Passive as he typically was, Aaron let it go and slipped back under the surface of the lake. He blew a stream of noisy bubbles up to the surface.

  June would tell him at a later time; when he trusted him more.

  4

  All Apologies

  There was a maple tree in the yard. Huge and thick with soft green leaves resembling stars. It sat loyally next to the back porch, branches angled to the sun and sweet smell of sap floating in the air. There were many small, black and orange beetles sitting within the leaves; easy prey for a selfish blue-jay moving back and forth to a taller pine down the street. Occasionally, a squirrel raced up the smooth bark and stopped along a low branch with an old bird feeder, only to be disappointed by its lack of seeds.

  Aaron wasn’t much of a nature person. He’d spent a large portion of his young life indoors avoiding the dreary Portland weather. His parents left him home alone a lot too, leaving him to find more interesting things within the walls rather than outside of them. He’d discovered his love of music indoors; blossoming from a collection of cassettes his father had said only collected dust. He’d persuaded his parents to buy him a boombox when he was five. Kept it within the small space of his bedroom along with a pair of flimsy headphones and his colorful imagination. He’d hole up there until he was old enough to take the bus to the music store downtown, and then he had come back with his first acoustic guitar. His childhood went on like that mostly. Playing instruments indoors, exploring MTV with wild content.

  With only the exception being that his cousin, Arco would occasionally pull him outside to rollerblade or hike the trail behind their neighborhood, it was safe to say Aaron really didn't get out much.

  Hence his confusion as he lay flat on the old picnic table on the deck, absorbed in the maple tree and its ecosystem. Maybe the heat was starting to get to him? Over the last few days, the temperature had grown to a sweltering hundred degrees or so. With little breeze and poor old vents in the cabin, it was no wonder he was trying to cool down in the shade.

  That didn't explain the sudden fascination with those fluffy green leaves though.

  Aaron hummed to himself, wishing he had a camera so he could take a few pictures to preserve this moment. If only to capture the swarming musk of summer so he could take it back home with him later. He made a mental note and decided the next time he drove into town he would buy one.

  June had been absent since Aaron woke this morning. Vanished with no explanation as to where he might be despite Aaron’s delicate curiosity. There was a cereal bowl rinsed in the sink and a missing pair of sandals, but not much else to indicate where June might have gone. Aaron fumbled with the idea June was avoiding him, but couldn't possibly come up with a reason why. They had been on such good terms lately. Aaron keeping casual company to whatever extravagant plan or idea June came up with for the day. June chattering on like they were old pals rather than unexpected roommates.

  Once Aaron gave up trying to reason with himself, the mild shade and the sounds of cicadas lulled him to sleep. Shallow dreams of swimming and driving his car filled his unconscious. The color green was there; the smell of tree sap and cucumber-melon on bronze skin. Familiar and yet new. Feminine and yet challenging. Aaron dreamed of aviators and picking out a toothbrush in a convenience store.

  All in all, the beginning of the day seemed rather uneventful. He woke with a crick in his neck, June was still gone, and the maple tree seemed to taunt him from beyond the porch railing.

  Being eighteen made a large impact on June’s life despite what some might try to say. Sure, he was still the same low-key delinquent boy beneath the skin that he always had been, but there were now long-term consequences attached to things he did. Unlike when he taught his friends how to play bloody knuckles in grade school and wound up with a week of detention. Or sophomore year sneaking out of class to corner every asshole that laid eyes on his sisters.

  Before eighteen, he had been all five-foot-six, teenage hormones and nothing-to-lose attitude

  Now he was all five-foot-seven, teenage hormones and thoughtful nothing-to-lose attitude. Still delinquent enough to run away from home, but only because he truly believed he deserved one last summer.

  June found himself holding a bottle of shitty (but blessedly cold) vodka behind the ice cream shop with his best friend, Angie. She held two plastic cu
ps of half-melted raspberry sorbet, grinning with all her freckles as the sun set behind them.

  “I love drive-in nights,” she said, setting the cups down on the short cinder block wall beside them. “The lake is always so chill.”

  June hummed in agreement and splashed their sorbet with vodka before he tucked it away into the long, springy grass behind them. Every Thursday night during the summer on the opposite side of the lake, a drive-in movie played. Some old movie meant for locals to enjoy just as much as the tourists. It tended only to draw the young date-night crowd. Angie and June had been once before; packed with pillows and blankets and a paper grocery bag full of stove-top popcorn they had made themselves. It had been fun, mainly because they got to tease all the slightly older dudes trying to woo their dates into giving them head while they borrowed their parents’ cars.

  That had been, of course, before they realized there were better times to be had alone on the typically busy side of the lake. Sun sinking into the mountains behind them, the smell of whatever cheap alcohol they could sneak away from Angie’s mom’s pantry without her noticing. Raspberry sorbet. Sometimes peach. Perfection.

  June breathed in, relishing the sounds of the crickets and frogs and the smell of pine. He raised his cup to Angie and exhaled. “A toast to summer.”

  “Bottoms up, bitch.” She touched her cup to his, and they both tilted their heads back in unison. Angie pulled away with a mild grimace-grin, threading her fingers through her wild curls and giving herself a good shake. “That’s good,” she hooted.

  June came away from his cup a little less staggered. Anything mixed with sorbet was a good concoction in his opinion.

  “So, tell me,” Angie began, leaning back on her palms. “What have you been doing for the last week? I thought you’d be here every day, waiting for me to get off so we could hang out.”