Jane

I crashed through the front door, knocking down pictures as it hit the wall loudly. There was nobody in the living room, so I ran right through to the sliding glass doors at the back. I could see my tree outside when I fell backwards with a pain in my face.

"Ow," I muttered. "Jeez!" I rubbed my forehead and opened the door. My dad was vinegar-ing the lawn for the fall, and the air smelled like mustard. Mom was standing under my tree. She turned to me and smiled.

"Door's closed," she said obviously. Her smile grew, and she fought back a laugh.

"Yeah, well," I said, looking around. "Surprise?"

She looked up, signalling that the "surprise" was in the tree. I looked into the leaves, but I couldn't see past the second layer.

"I think it flew away," Dad said, circling the tree with the watering can. "Let's bet it falls on its ass," he called louder.

There was a ghostly laugh from in the tree. A branch shook, scattering leaves on the three of us. Some of them were still green, but most of them were starting to yellow. I picked up a leaf and looked at it thoughtfully.

"Autumn always smells better than spring," I said. I noticed a big pile of leaves on the other side of the tree. "Who's up there?"

Mom shrugged and Dad jumped on a rogue dandelion. He dug it up carefully and ripped it apart, dropping it in the compost bin.

"I have found it funny," the faint voice said in the tree, "that there are no children named Spring."

Confused – as usual, Dad always said jokingly – I stared at the tree. Suddenly, there was a big poof and the leaves on the other side flew. I ran over and waited for someone to emerge.

He stuck his head out of the pile. I jumped back, seeing that he looked almost exactly like me. The bright green eyes were on Mom's side – they were unusually bright on him, like he was plotting to take over the world. There were leaves and a twig in his messy brown hair, and he grinned.

"Alex?" I said, puzzled.

He nodded and rolled out of the leaves skilfully. He stood up and shook the leaves away, totally ignoring the leaves in his hair. I sighed and quickly pulled them out. We were almost the same height last time I saw him – which was ten years ago – but now he was a few inches taller than me. He was tall and scrawny – a classic family trait – and he was dressed like an American would assume a Canadian would dress in mid-summer: jeans and a sweater. I made a mental note to steal the sweater, because it looked light and warm. And grey.

"I'm going to assume you're Jane Asher," he said, hugging me tightly. "Did you get Paul yet?"

"Shut up," I laughed. "How do you know I still love Paul McCartney? That was ten years ago."

He laughed and sat in the pile of leaves. "You still haven't changed your name, and you still have that custom Beatles vs. Wings shirt."

"How do you know?" I asked, crossing my arms.

"You're wearing it."

Surprised, I looked at what I was wearing. The shirt was tacked up in my wall for the longest time, but now that it fit me, I wore it way too often. It wouldn't be new if I was wearing it today. Lo and behold, the green Apple logo was big and bright against the black right sleeve of the shirt, and the cover of Abbey Road stuck out big and bright. Just to make sure, I strained to see my back, and the picture for Band on the Run.

"Oh," I said, looking at Alex. He smirked, and I sat down in the leaves beside him. "Mom, why did you let me wear this today?"

She peeked from the other side of the tree, still smiling. "You would subject to it anyway. People have been bugging you for years."

I gave her the look that meant what? and shook my head. "Ridonculous. But I guess you're right. So, how long are you here?" I asked Alex. "Please tell me you're not moving in."

"Okay, I won't." He sat there silently, apparently thinking of something.

I laughed, and Dad came out from around the house, done with the vinegar for this year. He dropped the can in the box by the garden and walked over to the tree. "There's this place," he said, "between here and there. I like to call it Vancouver. It's a very wonderful place, I'm sure you've heard of it. See there are these people who live there. They are widely known as the Lemon family."

"We're not lemons," Mom scolded him. "We're Lennons. It is a known name that exists here and there, now and then. How do you think I feel, every time someone points out that my name is Cynthia? And you had to put that weight on Jane's shoulders, just to make a joke."

"It was a good joke," Alex said. "I like my name. There was no Alex Lennon back then."

I shrugged, deciding to change the subject before Dad made another epic joke. Instead of joking, he went inside to make supper. "So, I was at a friend's house," I said. "She's in my Art and Music classes, and I had lunch with her, her cousin, and his girlfriend. They're great."

Mom nodded and joined me and Alex in the leaf pile. "Who are they?" she asked.

"Renesmee Cullen, Edward Masen, and Bella Dwyer. And I was at Ness's place, and I tripped and knocked myself out – again – and then I woke up and called. I want a purple Beetle."

"Sure you don't want a Silver Beatle?" Alex muttered, and I pushed him off the pile. He laughed, and Mom and I started throwing leaves at him.

Ah, the good old days, I thought, sitting on his legs so he couldn't get up. "So, you never did tell me why you're here."

"Oh, yeah," he said, trying to sit up but failing. "We're moving down here – I was supposed to go to school today, but we only got back like an hour ago."

I leaned against the tree and wondered where they were going to live. Probably in the house down the street. Great! It was nice and quiet for a while, and then I heard a nice honk of a car horn in front of the house.