CHAPTER 1

AND IT'S ONE MORE DAY UP IN THE CANYONS

Let me back up a little, because a proper story is supposed to start at the beginning. Of course, that's a problem in itself, since life doesn't always give us clear-cut beginnings and endings. Unless the story starts at birth, but that makes for a very long story with a lot of padding. Let's start around twelve hours earlier, on the morning of my first day back to school. That may not be the precise beginning, but with a little bit of backstory added, it'll do.

During my junior year of high school, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. He died a little over a year later, in March of my senior year. His illness was tough on the family, both emotionally and financially; Dad made enough to allow Mom the luxury of being a stay-at-home mom, so when he got sick our only income was Dad's disability. Mom got part-time work to try and make ends meet, but her husband was dying. She was constantly running off to the hospital to see him, and when she wasn't there she was a nervous and emotional wreck. Her employer was sympathetic, but with a business to run, he had to let her go. Day after day, the bills piled up, the savings depleted, and all the while Dad was wasting away. Mom shielded me from the worst of it, so I didn't know just how bad things were until the repo men knocked on our door three days after the funeral. We lost the house, both cars, the savings account, pretty much everything but our clothes.

Fortunately, my Aunt Diane lived just across town, and thanks to a bad marriage and a good lawyer she had a house with a spare bedroom. She took us in and helped us get back on our feet, emotionally at least. A month after the funeral, I had adjusted to the new normal and was ready to do something more then mope around feeling sad all day.

I got up in the morning, determined to make this an ordinary day at school. Despite the change of scenery, the routine of grooming, dressing, and loading up my backpack was comfortingly mundane. A reminder that just because things have changed, doesn't mean they aren't still the same. The backpack was heavier than usual- the school had been sending catch-up packets every week I was out- but the extra weight on my shoulder was somehow reassuring. Like I had something to strive for. I hooked the wallet chain to my black pants and threw my dark gray cotton hoodie on over a t-shirt. I checked myself in the mirror, wondering if the ensemble was a bit too dark given the circumstances. But no, it was me. The way I always dressed. Same old me. Good.

Mom wasn't doing so well. Downstairs in the living room I found her still asleep on the couch, curled up fetally and wrapped in her frayed pink bathrobe. It was like that every morning. At least Diane had the foresight to empty the liquor cabinet before we moved in. I nudged Mom, trying to rouse her. Then I shook her, told her what time it was. She whined and rolled over, shoving her face into the cushions. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was the teenager, she was supposed to be the one insisting that I get my butt out of bed.

Diane called from the kitchen. "Come on, Aaron, leave her alone."

I shoved Mom again, but she only swung an arm halfheartedly in my direction. I sighed. "Fine, stay there."

In the kitchen, I found Diane dressed for work, munching on toast and packing her briefcase while watching the news on her tablet. The life of a single career woman- always multitasking. On the counter sat my standard school lunch- sandwich, pack of cookies, and a bottle of iced tea. The sandwich was wrapped in wax paper. I sighed, stuffing food and drink into the front pocket of my backpack. "Thanks for lunch, Diane."

"Your welcome. Make yourself some breakfast."

I shook my head. "I'm running late already. Do me a favor, make sure she at least takes a shower before you go to work."

"I'll try."

"Do better than try!," I snapped. "She needs to be up and about, not sleeping all day!"

To her credit, Diane didn't take offense at being scolded by a teenager dealing with some heavy stuff. Or at least she didn't show it. "Aaron, you heard the counselor. She needs to grieve at her own pace."

"Yeah, I also heard the counselor saying that if she doesn't get active somehow, she's never going to start feeling better."

"I know, Aaron, but you can't force people to be who you want them to be. Or to deal with things before they're ready."

"I know, it's just..." Just what, I thought? Just that I wanted my old Mom back? My old family? Just that I wanted to be the kid instead of having to parent my own mother? Just that I didn't want to be afraid of coming home to find her in the bathtub, swimming in red, with a handwritten note on the sink?

Just that I wished Dad was still here?

I sighed again, more heavily. You can want anything, even deserve some of it, but that doesn't mean you get it.

"Look, I'm sorry," I said. "I gotta get going. Thanks again for lunch, and please just make sure she gets as far as dressing herself today, okay?"

"I will. Have a nice day at school."

I nodded and left. Outside I hefted my backpack on my shoulder, shook my head to clear it of frustrations, and set down the sidewalk path to school.

Back in junior high, I picked up the idea- probably from a sappy old movie or something- that you have to bury the past. The past is set in stone, and nothing can change it. You have to look to the present and the future, where you can maybe make some kind of difference. Since Dad died, I'd been trying to live by that philosophy. But it's easy when you're young- with so much future ahead, who needs the past? Mom had devoted years to her family, only to lose her husband and fail her son within days of one another. Now halfway through her life, she had to start over almost from scratch. Who was I to tell her "Buck up, Debbie"?

A ratty old car pulled up beside me as I walked. I didn't notice until I heard the horn and an unexpected but familiar voice saying "Hey, Aaron!"

I stopped in my tracks and turned to the car. "Kevin?"

Sure enough, it was Kevin in the driver's seat. "Hey, man, what's going on? What're you doing here?"

"I live here now. My Aunt's house, two houses up."

"Seriously? Dude, I live the next block over! You heading to school? Hop in, I'll give you a ride!"

"Thanks!"

Kevin was a thin guy two years older than me. He had curly hair, perpetual stubble, and what the girls called "boyishly good looks". We were essentially brothers in all but name. Growing up as two only children in the same cul-de-sac, we bonded early, and that bond had stayed. We had played together as kids, and looked out for each other as we grew older. We kept in touch after he had left for college, and when he came back the next year. I was one of the first to know he was gay, back when he didn't know what that meant for him. He was the only one of my friends to show up at Dad's funeral.

I crawled into the front passenger seat and stowed my backpack by my feet. "Nice ride," I said, lying straight through my teeth. Kevin had probably gotten the car for $1,000 from a friend of a friend of a friend. I doubted it had ever been much more than functional, and the discolored dashboard, sagging ceiling, and duct-taped tear in the backseat did it no favors. At least he hadn't piled junk in the backseat.

Kevin snickered. "Effin' liar." He took a bite of a breakfast sandwich and I noticed a paper bag sitting on the center console.

"Hey," I asked, "you got an extra one of those? I missed breakfast."

"Sorry, man, this is it. But you can have the hash browns if you want."

"Thanks." Hash browns weren't my first choice- I hate potatoes, unless they're fried into chips- but I'm convinced there aren't any actual potatoes in fast food. Potatoes are too food-like for fast food.

Kevin pulled the car out and started us down the road as I munched. After a moment, he spoke again, softly. "So how are things at home? I mean, your living situation…?"

I sighed. "Well, Aunt Diane doesn't make as much as Dad, but she's able to put Mom and I up at least until I get to college. I've already been accepted, and my student loans will cover tuition, housing, and food, so no worries there as long as I graduate on time. I've talked to the school, and they'll help me find a job on campus. That'll offer some leeway, budget-wise. Once Mom finds herself a job, she'll be able to start paying off the debts. But..." I trailed off.

"But, she's still depressed?" Kevin offered.

"Yeah. And there's nothing I can do about it."

"Well, try not to worry too much. I know it's hard to believe it now, but I've always known your mom as a strong woman who gets things done. Sooner or later, she'll be out of this funk."

I grunted noncommittally and took another bite of potato-inspired nugget. "So what's been going on at school?" I asked with my mouth half-full.

Kevin shrugged. "The usual. High school is high school, and high school..."

"-is drama." we finished in unison. Kevin had more or less adopted that as his catch phrase.

"Place hasn't burned down yet, then," I asked.

"With me running the kitchen? I don't think so."

"Except you don't run the kitchen, you're just a food prepper."

"I man the cash register during lunch, so for all you students know, yes I do run the kitchen."

A pause while we both munched.

"What are they saying about me?" I asked. From his post in the cafeteria, Kevin was in a prime position to monitor the school's grapevine.

"Well, they know your dad died and your house went up for sale. Beyond that it's the usual- lunchroom rumors of limited credibility. The more plausible ones say you moved away and aren't coming back. Others say you and your mom are living out of a car and panhandling for cash. Or that your dad faked his death and you're all in witness protection. Or that all three of you turned into werewolves and ran off to live in the woods. Might wanna lean into that last one, werewolves are sexy."

I snickered. "I don't think so."

"What, you don't want to be sexy?"

"Right now I've got to worry about not flunking finals because I missed an entire month of classes."

"I know, but come on, man, it's senior year! Senior year is your reward for making it through SATs and college applications and nonsense. Sooner than you think, it'll be graduation, and the real world will come calling. You've got to grab what remains of your youth by the balls!"

I turned away from him and looked out the window instead. "I don't have time, Kev."

He scoffed. "Whatever, Ronnie. But keep your eyes open, because love doesn't always ask you to make time. Sometimes it just grabs you by the hand and drags you along whether you like it or not. Trust me, love can and will surprise you. Like Greg surprised me."

"Would this be when he kissed you at a party when you thought nobody knew you were gay, or when he freaked out, smashed your dorm room up with a guitar, and got you both kicked out of the university?"

Kevin waved his hand dismissively. "Okay, so he wasn't right for me in the long term. The point is, you gotta be ready. How's that old commercial go? 'Life comes at you fast.'"

"Kevin, I know what you mean, but in the past month I've had a years' supply of drama and I don't need more."

He shrugged. "Well, love is drama, that's true. But it can also be a refuge from the drama."

I shook my head and shoved another hash brown in my mouth. "Whatever."

Kevin wasn't the first to tell me I should find a girlfriend, but my past experience had been discouraging. The most successful relationship I'd ever had was with a girl back in sophomore year. We met at a Halloween party. She was dressed as a cat, and I in a lame floppy-eared dog suit, so we pretty much had to get together. We dated through winter break and actually managed to get into bed together, one evening when her parents were out. But nothing happened. Well, something happened. She asked me to tell her why I loved her.

I don't remember what I said. Something offhand and vaguely raunchy that made her giggle and move in for a kiss, which was probably what she wanted me to say. But the question hung in my head. All the time we were kissing and rubbing each other's half-naked bodies, I was trying to think of the answer. The real answer. But I had nothing. She was attractive and friendly, but beyond that, why did I like spending time with her? We didn't like the same music, or movies, or fashion. We didn't share any hobbies. We didn't have long, intimate conversations about anything in particular. I had a list of facts about her that I had memorized- favorite food, favorite pop star, life goals, etc.- but none of it jumped out at me and said "yes, that." The more I thought about it, the more interested I was in being anywhere other than that bed. Eventually, we wound up just lying next to one another, tops off but pants on, looking into each other's eyes and seeing nothing but a vague, indefinable doubt. She couldn't answer the question either.

We broke up. We never actually said it- there was no huge argument or tearful pouring out of souls. We just found an excuse to get out of bed and dressed. Then I said I should be home before it got too late, kissed her goodnight, promised to call later, and never did. She never called me either. We knew it was no good. When I got home that night, I couldn't sleep, because the question kept nagging me. Finally, I had to conclude that the only reason we were together was because we were supposed to be. Because that's what teenagers do- they meet someone who makes their heart beat fast, date for a while to be sure they're not a douche, share gifts and special occasions and little jokes until "it's serious", then start looking for an opportunity to have sex. And after they do have sex… what? They're grown-ups? They're ready to spend their lives together? They have cherished memories of their youth? They have stories to brag about to their close friends so that they can be part of the not-virgin club? They don't have to get quiet and try not to look too ashamed or pathetic when some not-virgin starts braying about his own adventures south of the beltway? It all seemed so ridiculous. So meaningless. So much drama just to gain acceptance from people who you couldn't care less about.

After the breakup, I dated a few girls and got shot down by a few more, but nothing came of it. I didn't really mind. Truth be told, I had largely lost interest in the dating game. And once Dad got sick, I just had bigger fish to fry.

Kevin pulled into the school parking lot. Out the window, my fellow students milled about, chatting and putting it off getting to first period. Most of them hung around in groups with their friends. Some kept to themselves. A very few walked hand-in-hand, or were sneaking kisses off behind some cover. I wondered how long it would take the lovebirds to get burned by the game the same way I was. I wondered if they'd keep coming back to it after. I wondered if maybe they already had. Maybe I was the sane one for giving up. Or maybe Kevin was right and I was the other way around.

However it was, I had bigger things to wonder about right now. As Kevin parked the car, I heard the late bell ring out across the blacktop. "Well, anyway," I said, "right now my concern is not being late for my first day back. Thanks for the ride, Kev."

"No problem, man," he replied. "And hey, take it easy. Don't let the drama get to you."

Like that ever works, I thought.

Kevin was right about at least one thing- high school is high school. Every day, the same walks through the same halls to the same classes passing the same people along the way. Same gym class games, same staticky PA announcements, same books, same lockers, same awful cafeteria slop and meaningless conversations around the same tables with the same people. Sometimes the tedium got to you, but the routine could also be comforting. Just like with packing your books in the morning.

It was only the classes themselves that gave me trouble. I'd gone through as much of the make-up packets as I could, but I was still way behind. The teachers were understanding- they refrained from calling on me, and told me I could get extra help after school if I needed it. My fellow students also gave me space; I wasn't sure if that was understanding, awkwardness, or apathy. The latter would be understandable. After all, we had a little over two months left before graduation, and then a few weeks of summer, and then college came and we'd all scatter to the winds. Not much point in investing in relationships now. Bury the past.

In any event, the lack of interaction left me able to focus on the work. But that didn't make the furious note-scribbling any less stressful. Nor the equally furious annotations of things to look up or review later. After one period of Science and one of Math, I was almost ready to quit. Luckily fourth period was English, which was easy since we'd only just started on the latest unit. But before that was French- the subject where GPAs go to die.

In high school, practical students take Spanish. Ambitious ones take Latin. Tough guys and pasta-lovers take Italian. Pretentious or horny students take French. Most don't actually care, and just take whatever fits into their schedule. Nobody gets anything out of it except a renewed appreciation of English and a disgust of vocabulary lists.

I slid into my seat with resignation. Since Math was close by, I was always early. The student to my left had second period free, so she was always here when I walked in, hoodie over her head, face down, looking through her notes. As per my usual routine, I turned to speak to her. "Morning, Eve."

She turned with a look of surprise, pulling her hood back to make sure her eyes weren't deceived. "Aaron! You're back!"

"I seem to be, yeah. How's it going?"

"Same as usual. Nice to see you again!"

"Thanks, you too." There was something new about her. It had been so long, I noticed it a second before I realized it was new: Her hair, formerly blonde, was now a dark ocean blue, the old color just peeking out at the tips. "I like your hair," I said.

She smiled, turning bashfully away. "Thanks. I wanted to do something new with it. I'm glad someone likes it."

"Well, it definitely suits you." A pause. "So what'd I miss?"

"In class? Ugh, everything. Miss Bisette is nice and all, but she's a real slave driver. Everyone's behind."

I checked the cork board to the side of the room, where the latest quiz grades were posted. Eve's name was at the top, and she still only had an 80. "Everyone except you, apparently."

She shrugged. More and more students were drifting in, and I pulled out my textbooks to ready myself for forty minutes struggling through the language of love, diplomacy, and boring arthouse cinema.

Eve and I had known each other since the beginning of this school year. She had moved into town over the summer, and on the first day of school, I found myself sitting in Senior French next to a slim blonde girl that nobody had ever seen before. She hid from everyone's gaze behind a hood with cat-ear pockets. Just her being there was unusual. When you think about it, 12 years of school are spent in the company of the same people. You know only a handful personally, but you're together with your entire class. Even if you never say a word to them, you watch them grow up alongside you, from kids in cartoon shirts and Velcro sneakers to men and women making fashion choices they will be very embarrassed about five or ten years later. You even learn about their major life events- if not from them personally, than through friends of friends, or the ever-reliable lunchtime rumor mill. If you pay close attention through the whole 12 years, you could easily put together a classmate's life story without ever even knowing their name.

So when somebody shows up whom nobody has even seen or known, people take notice. Here, without warning, is a stranger. An anomaly. A complete unknown. And you have two options. One is to exercise caution. Keep your distance. Pay attention, but don't make eye contact. For all you know, they could be a psycho who kills small animals for fun. You don't know what you're dealing with.

The other option, which I took, is to introduce yourself and actually find out what you're dealing with. I don't really remember why I did it. Maybe curiosity, maybe just simple courtesy. Maybe because we were both in class early, and talking to her was better than having to sit in silence trying not to think about Dad. In any event, I said hi and, after some coaxing, managed to get her talking.

As it turned out, Eve didn't kill small animals for fun. She was an ordinary student, albeit a quiet one. She was initially reticent to speak, possibly because she didn't want to be heard. There was a subtle but perceptible cadence in Eve's voice that sounded off, like she was always just recovering from a sore throat. After you'd known her for awhile, you barely noticed it, but as the new kid, it put a target on her back. High school is full of people looking to build themselves up by tearing someone else down. Eve found her voice soon enough; she needed it to return the quips and barbs that were constantly being sent her way.

For my part, I didn't mind talking to Eve at all. Every day, before French class started, we would spend a few minutes chatting idly about whatever. Over the course of these micro-conversations, I learned that she liked drawing, and sitting out on the bleachers during lunch, and wearing that cat-eared hoodie, and tough but cute fashion accessories- a black choker necklace, a belt with a dog's pawprint on it, a wallet chain. I'd picked up that last little bit of accessorizing from her, which she was flattered by. She often asked about places to go around town- where to shop for clothes, to see a movie, which supermarket had the fresh vegetables, etc.- and I was happy to oblige. I also helped her find her feet in her new school, letting her in on who the assholes and troublemakers were, which teachers to avoid, where to get lunch off-campus when the cafeteria slop didn't cut it, and all the little survival tips they don't teach you in class. Steadily, we built up a rapport.

It wasn't much, but I'd come to treasure these brief minutes chatting and joking around before French class. Seeing Eve smile always made me smile too. With what I was dealing with at home, even the tiniest bit of friendliness was a relief. I had other friends too, at least until I managed to push them away. But with Eve I had no commitments. No need to call later to finish our discussion, or return that whatever-it-was I'd borrowed, or make up excuses for not coming to the movies because I didn't want to say I was visiting Dad in the hospital again. Just a little bit of small talk, no strings attached. That was all we had, and all we ever wanted or needed from each other.

Until that day.

"I'm sorry about your dad," she said.

I winced. People always say that with the best of intentions, but they never realize it's salting a fresh wound. "Thanks."

"You know, if you want to talk..."

"Nah, it's alright. I've been to a counselor. Right now… honestly, I'd just rather not think about it."

"Okay. It's just…" she had been looking at me, but now she turned away, focusing on the books on her desk. "I know what it's like, Aaron. Losing someone. My parents… they both died last year. That's why I moved here."

I raised an eyebrow. "I never knew that."

She laughed, just a bit. "That's because I never told you. I guess… well, I guess I didn't want to talk about it either."

"Yeah, well… right now I've got more current problems to deal with. Like getting my grades back up after a month out of school. And this class is definitely the worst; I don't know how you manage to stay on top of it."

"Studying helps," she said wryly.

"Yeah, but we have to study for every class. Who's supposed to have so much time?"

Eve smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair aside. "Well, I guess I'm just… naturally talented at studying."

"What, like photographic memory or something?"

"No, I just pick up things fast, I suppose. Ever since I was young."

"Really? Must be handy."

"Heh… yeah."

A pause.

"I can curl my tongue," I said.

"Huh?", she asked, turning to me with a quizzical look.

I stuck out my tongue, and curled it up into a u shape with the edges touching. "Thee?" I said.

Eve laughed.

"Yeah, that's really my only talent. Trade you?"

She feigned a thoughtful face. "Mmm… tempting, but no. I'd rather be topping the grade lists."

"Aw, man..."

By now the class was almost full. The clock read about ten seconds until the bell. Miss Bisette was writing today's vocabulary on the chalkboard. I checked my notes to see if I could recognize them.

"Hey, Aaron…," Eve said.

"Hmm?"

"You know the fountain in the park?"

"Yeah."

"Well… I go there in the evening sometimes, when I need to get out of the house. It's quiet and peaceful around sunset. If you ever want to talk, or just hang out, swing by."

The invitation caught me off guard. "Uh… thanks. Thanks, I will sometime."

"And remember to bring that sense of humor of yours." she said, smiling.

I snickered. "I'll try not to forget it at home."

Then the bell rang, and we steeled ourselves for battle with Ms. Bisette's army of Gaulish adjectives.