Chapter 1: Secrets

Rays of sunlight stretch down through the clear sky and brush my face with their warmth, and I can feel my cheeks turning red under the heat. A cool, gentle breeze balances it and tickles the leaves, causing them to stir and whisper a song that harmonizes with the rush of the cold stream that laps over my feet. My hands burrow into the soft new grass, the fresh scent of it mingling with the warm, earthy smell of the damp mud of the bank.

I hear footsteps pad across the soft earth and slosh into the stream in front of me.

“You’re late,” I say, eyes closed. My face grows suddenly cool as his shadow swallows up the rays and tips the delicate balance.

“And you’ve never been?”

I look up to see hazel eyes gazing into mine, and I give them a warm smile. “You haven’t,” I reply, earning me a smile in return. His hand trails down, grazing the top of the water before plunging it below the surface. His smile widens as I watch it.

“Oh, don’t you dare.” My eyes widen as they meet his, but he simply laughs and draws his hand out. Then starts flicking. I flinch against the spray.

“You are the most pitiful creature I know,” he says with a shake of his head.

“You know I don’t like my clothes wet,” I retort, crossing my arms.

“That didn’t even get your clothes wet,” he laughs.

“Did too.”

“If that constitutes as wet, then what is this?” At once his hand hits the water and I gasp as the droplets pelt my blue t-shirt leaving dark stains in the cloth.

“Oh, no you didn’t.” Before he can reply I splash into the water and kick. A large, satisfying wave cascades him, dousing him head to toe.

His eyes, wide, look from me to his drenched clothes. “Hey, I didn’t get you that wet!” I lash again, and, as the water settles, his eyes shine with a coppery fire of revenge. He lunges forward and embraces me, his soaked clothes wetting my own, and I squirm vainly to escape his grasp, but he starts falling backward, taking me with him, and I can only gasp as we both go crashing into the water.

“Now this, I believe, constitutes as wet,” he says with a devious smile. I splash him in the face petulantly, before we both laugh, letting ourselves sprawl out, carried by the water. His brown, shaggy hair now clings to his forehead, the tips brushing the tops of his eyes, his clothes spreading with the stream. My own hair billows out about my shoulders. The water’s surface smoothes, and even the sun begins to settle on the horizon.

“We should head back,” he says, watching the blooming colors of the sunset.

“Yeah. Momma’s probably got dinner waiting. And we should dry off before evening sets in.” We pull out of the stream. My clothes tug heavily with the weight of the water, pulling back towards the light, cool haven we descended from. The wind laps my skin, sucking the warmth from it, and I begin to shiver.

“Did you not bring your jacket?” He plucks his own up along with his guitar from the base of a tree, slinging it over his shoulder.

“I didn’t think I’d need it.” I shoot him a look of false dismay. “I hadn’t intended to get wet.”

His eyes grow puppy-dog wide, glinting green in the evening’s light, a half apologetic smile crossing his lips, riddled with mischief. “Here.” He slips the jacket over my head, the cloth setting on my shoulders, too big, nearly to my knees, and rubs my arms, back, head. “Toasty?”

“Enough.” I smile at him from under the hood. “You sure you’re not cold?”

“Cold? With how fair the weather’s been? Never.” I elbow him in the side, and we make our way to the dirt road.

A rush of heat welcomes us as I open the door, easing the cold from my bare legs. The scent of chicken and garlic hanging in the air, making my mouth water. There’s a clang from the kitchen followed by light cursing, then bright blue eyes  round the corner and set on us, followed by an amused smile.

“A little early to be playing in the water just yet, isn’t it?” Her voice chimes with a hint of chastisement.

“It wasn’t my idea to get wet.” I jut my head in his direction. “We have him to thank for this.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started it. All I did was flick you.”

“You know I don’t like my clothes getting wet.”

“They weren’t wet.”

“Alright you two,” Momma cuts in. “I’ll go get some towels. Nick, you’re staying for dinner, right?”

“It’d be my pleasure,” Nick says with a bow. She smiles and disappears into her room, returning with a stack of towels that she hands to him.

“Hurry up, supper will be ready soon.” She disappears again into the kitchen, and Nick takes one of the towels, slings it over his shoulder, and throws the other over my head and rubs. I shake it out of my face and scowl at him.

“Fluffy.”

“Your hair’s not fluffy.” He keeps rubbing. “And anyways, I thought you didn’t want to be wet.”

“Is too fluffy.” He smiles and keeps rubbing.

“There. Now why don’t you go get a brush so we can make it not fluffy?” I scowl at him, but tread upstairs to my room anyways, change into dry clothes, and grab my brush. I pause at the guest room on my way back and search through the dresser for something for him to wear. The room may as well be his, with how often he has stayed over before. It’s been his whenever his mother had to leave for some reason or another, weeks at a time even, and sometimes just because. I’m not really sure whether he just likes it here, or doesn’t like it at his own home much. I’ve hardly been to his house, despite how long we’ve known each other, and he doesn’t really talk about it much. But I’m glad for it, for he’s been like a part of the family, spending holidays together, helping each other with schoolwork. We’ve considered giving him Daddy’s old clothes. They fit him now, and they do no good sitting in the guest room dresser. It’s not like he wears them anymore…

I trot downstairs with the clothes and brush and hand them to him, and he starts running the bristles through my tangled mess.

“Don’t you want to change first?”

“You don’t like your hair fluffy.” He continues brushing.

“That doesn’t mean you have to do it cold and soaked.”

“This is, after all, my doing, my dear, so it be only right that I pay the price for your sake.”

“You are trying to make me feel guilty. It will not work,” I say, indignant. He just laughs lightly, and keeps brushing. He smoothes out every tangle, gently working out the twists and turns until it comes out neat and straight, only a slight curl returning as the brush releases the strands. He keeps going, long after the tangles are out, and I hesitate to stop him, the bristles on my scalp sending shivers of pleasure down my spine, until it finally occurs to me.

“You go get dressed now. You’re still standing there dripping cold.” I nudge him towards the stairs. He gives me a queer smile before bounding up, which I follow with a shake of my head. The boy’s crazy. I float into the kitchen where the scent is irresistible, and I spot the source of the scent that tops it off, the plucked little plant sitting victim on the cupboard. I drift over and bury my face in the mint leaves, taking in their fresh aroma. The ingredient that makes it perfect.

“Get your face out of that! It goes in the food, you know,” Momma scolds, and I peek guiltily at her from behind the foliage.

“The food goes in my face anyways,” I defend, fingering the best looking leaves.

“Yes, but not only your face. Come on. Dinner’s ready anyways.” She pulls the steaming pan of chicken and rice out of the oven, and I pluck a few leaves before seating myself. I set them aside for after dinner, but can’t help popping one into my mouth, chewing slowly as I watch the steam rise, letting the cool sting of its flavor stimulate my mouth so that the chicken in the pan doesn’t end up in there just yet. He sure is taking a long time.

Momma eyes the leaves as she pairs the pan with a bowl of sauerkraut and shakes her head. “And that’s why I never have any to cook. Where’s Nick? Wasn’t he just going to change?”

“You called?” He strolls to the table, towel over head, picking a pinch of rice from the pan before popping it in his mouth and seating himself by me, ignoring my scowl as he gives Momma an appreciative grin.

“Aha, so that’s where she learns it from. I knew it wasn’t me. Plate. Both of you.” She places the plates before us and initiates the reign of terror with the placement of the serving spoon.

“It’s a good thing I only have the two of ya, or I’d be in trouble. The manuels never said teens ate so much.” Nick gags, coughing a few times, nearly losing his mouthful, before swallowing hard.

“Breathe, Nick. Breathe.” I pat his back a few times, him looking at me with coppery eyes.

“Mel?”

“Yes?”

“You can’t breathe rice. I just tried. Doesn’t turn out well.” He gives me a good, solid pat on the back, and continues his meal, Momma snickering at the whole scene.

“So. What spectacular feats do you two have plotted out for this summer?”

“Well, that could have been a topic of discussion for today if someone hadn’t been late to the meeting place today. What were you doing anyways?” I ask, casting him an inquiring look.

“Just finishing up a couple things I needed to do.” His focus remains on his plate of rice.

“What kind of things?” He gives me a queer look, pausing a moment, then looking to Momma.

“Y’know, I was doing some research on energy, and I heard that there was a summer camp for aspiring young scientists. All summer, meet some of the big name scientists, get a chance to look at their most recent work. Learn all about quantum mechanics, fundamental forces and that. See if it’s truly the field you want.” My stomach jumps at the news, and I catch his eye, glinting blue, smiling at my excitement.

“We should definitely do it! How much? Momma, wouldn’t that be cool?” I look from her to Nick, pictures flooding my mind of what the facilities may look like, trying a jab at where their research may be heading.

“It’s a free camp. You just need to fill out an application and be accepted. Their only taking top fifty entries though. There’s an essay involved though, so you’ve definitely got it. Parents are allowed to join too.”

“Good golly, Nick. You’re a master. Where do you find these things?” Momma asks with a shake of her head.

“You know, just snooping around.” I catch a sideways look from him, and notice something off.

“Alright, what’s the catch?” He’s taken aback by the question, but laughs, placing a hand on my head.

“Nothing gets by you, does it? It’s a girls only camp. Part of the movement to get more girls into STEM fields. So it’d only be you.”

“I’m not going then.” At first, he and my mother both just stare at me, bewildered.

“That was fast. Mel, do you even realize what you’re saying?” His grip becomes a bit firmer, his eyes intent, almost fierce.

“Melody! I wouldn’t have expected you to turn that kind of opportunity down.” Momma looks at me too, like I’d just said I’d refused an internship rather than just an exhibit by some big names.

“Hey, don’t look at me like I just lost my head. I’ve got a reason, you know.”

“Just ‘cause I won’t be there? That’s no reason to. It’s not like you’d never see me again.”

“Hear me out, would you?” His grip lightens and he waits expectantly, almost impatiently. “First off, if the camp is just to help determine whether I want to go into the field, then the camp’s purpose is wasted on me. I’ve already decided that this is my field of study. Nothing’s going to deter me from it. If we’re trying to get more girls into it, then perhaps it’s best that I leave that spot open to someone who needs convincing. I already know all the basics of quantum mechanics, forces, and all that, so it’ll be a repeat of information. We already keep up with the work of the big names, so I’ll either be hearing repeat information, or information that they would just release later that I can look into with you anyways. Besides, you and I could probably learn more on our own, and, not to be offensive, but I didn’t think you necessarily wanted to spend a summer alone with your mother.” His face flushes slightly, his gaze falling, his hand retreating back to his side.

“You’re really a stubborn one, aren’t you?.” He looks back to me, searching my face. “Think about it at least, will you?” I frown at him, but he gives me his puppy dog face, and I can’t deny those eyes.

“Fine, I’ll think about it. Don’t get your hopes up though. And! You better not be trying to get rid of me.” I give him a narrow-eyed look and he smiles, giving a small laugh. Yet somehow, it seems off.

“Alright, come on you two. Let’s get these dishes done, shall we?” Momma rises, taking up plates, and we get up too, with an “Alright” in unison.

“What today?” I take my place at the piano and start fingering the keys.

“How about one we haven’t played in awhile?” He takes up his guitar and brushes his fingers over the strings.

“Okay. Hmm. We haven’t done much upbeat lately. I want something upbeat.”

“Bonnie Highland Laddie?” I grin.

“I’m liking the way you’re thinking. Momma.” I turn to her. “Won’t you play with us?”

“No, I like listening.” She sits back on the couch, placing her hands behind her head.

“Aw, come on. It sounds so much better with the fiddle.” I pout.

“And you play much better than the two of us,” Nick adds.

“Come on.” I fetch her fiddle and place it on her lap, kneel before her, and give her my best puppy dog face. She sighs and picks it up.

“Fine. But I’m picking the song then.”

“Yay!” I squeal and rush back to my bench, then watch her expectantly.

“Miss Moore’s Rant,” she says.

“Oh! It’s been forever since we’ve played that one!” I chime.

“Phew, I dunno that I can play that one all that well. I still hadn’t quite learned it last time we’d played it,” Nick says.

“Aw, come on, you can harmonize a song you’ve never heard before. You’ve gotten a lot better since then. Momma, will you play a few bars to help jog our memory?”

“Okay, but remember, we’re playing together.” She sets her bow and the tune comes out, memory flowing back. I set my fingers and start playing, and guitar tones file in and I’m taken back to long ago, Christmas. I’m ten again, and Momma’s playing this song, and it’s the first time Nick has heard it. And we dance, spinning each other round and round, and Momma keeps saying she needs to teach us a reel. We dance ourselves silly and after we’re all worn, she pulls out the presents, and Nick’s eyes grow so wide. I had wrapped his present myself, and very well, if I do say so myself, even if there were three different wrapping papers used. His face lights up and he carefully pulls the tape off and Momma and I yell at him saying we’re not saving the paper and he just stares and stares and stares at the guitar, and his fingers touch the strings. It’s the first gift he’s gotten since his parents died. And it’s the first time he’s seen a guitar.

The song concludes and I look at the boy sitting with that guitar, hardly separated from it since he’d received it, the wooden handle polished but obviously worn, the base shining from meticulous care, the strings replaced more than once. He’s taken to it well. He looks at me, glowing.

“Takes you back, huh?” I nod. My gaze wanders to the window, the dark of night swallowing the view outside, thoughts flooding through my head that I can’t quite sort out.

“It’s getting late,” I note.

“Yeah. It’s probably about time you head home, Nick. Your mom will begin to worry.” Momma sets down her fiddle, wandering over to the window. “Oh, I think I see a tiny bit of sunlight left.” I wander to the window too, Nick close behind. Her finger points to the west down the road, the treetops swallowing the light tinge of grey, barely noticeable beneath the patch of stars laden over it. “Summer really is almost here, isn’t it?” I stare, watching the stars slowly get swallowed into the darkness along with the last breath of sunlight, leaving the sky black. I do notice one bit of light. The Northern star, just bright enough to break through the clouds, pulsing, winking at me. I’m tempted to go outside, just to get a better look at it.

“Can I just stay here?” His head tips onto my shoulder as his eyes follow my gaze. We all pause a moment by the window, the house as still as the world outside.

“Always,” I say, and he gives me a smile, my head a pat, before walking out into the darkness alone.

“Momma?”

“Hm?”

“Did something seem off about him?”

“No, not really. Why?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just overthinking things.” As his footsteps echo into the night, I can’t help feeling unsettled and suddenly alone.