jeans and sneakers. I stopped in the bathroom to brush my teeth and tie my hair into a ponytail.
As I walked away from the house through the cool grass, I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp morning air. The sun hadn’t yet emerged from behind the east mountains, and the horizon was a jagged silhouette against a pale violet sky. I hopped over the wooden fence and walked through the orchard until his house came into view.
I saw him sitting in a white wicker chair on his porch, hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, one ankle resting on his knee. His hair was disheveled like he had just rolled out of bed, and my heart trilled at the sight of him. “Hey,” I called out.
He turned to me and stood, his expression surprised. “Hey. I thought your dad was picking me up here, or I would have just come to your house.”
“He got called into work, so we’ll have to go another time.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Well, you and I could still go. I could drive.”
He didn’t need to persuade me, but I hesitated, not wanting to sound too eager. “Okay.” I shrugged. “I just need to go back and get my fishing gear.”
“On second thought,” he said, taking a step toward me, “why don’t we just hike to the lake up here?” He pointed to the narrow canyon on the east side of his land. “I haven’t been up there since I was a kid.”
“It’s a lot smaller, and it’s not stocked. If you want to catch something, we should probably just go to Rampart.”
He shrugged. “I’m more in the mood for hiking than fishing.”
“All right—let me just go get some water and something for breakfast.”
He unzipped his backpack, pulled out a granola bar, and handed it to me. “I have plenty of other snacks and water in here.”
“Okay, then.” I smiled. “Let’s go.”
He shouldered his backpack and we walked around his house and toward the mountain. At the edge of the orchard, he plucked a couple ripe apples and dropped them into the pockets of his hoodie.
“How did you convince your dad to let you out of cleaning up the orchard today?” I asked, seeing all the apples on the ground.
“I did some bartering. He said I could go fishing if you help me shovel apples later today.”
“What?”
He grinned. “Don’t worry, Aria. My dad’s a sensible guy. As long as I have the orchard cleaned up before it snows, he’ll be fine.”
“Let’s go, then, and I’ll help you later,” I said with a smile.
The sun broke over the mountains as we walked through the open field of long, golden grass. The seeded amber tips glowed in the morning light, bowing and swaying gently, and I held out my arms to feel their feathery texture under my fingertips. We quietly made our way through the grove of aspens and followed the stream into the canyon. A soft breeze blew through the trees as we hiked alongside the babbling stream, filling the air with the scent of pine.
“So,” he said as we hiked along the narrow trail, “can you explain now?”
“Explain what?”
“Why can’t your dad know we were in the parlor?”
My heart plummeted. How could I have forgotten that I owed him an explanation? I didn’t have a ready answer, because the answer was so complicated. I couldn’t tell him the whole truth, because he might tell his parents, and it would only make things worse to have the Division of Child Welfare show up at my door. Besides, I wanted Thomas’s respect, not his pity. “It’s just a rule he has,” I finally said. “He doesn’t like music in the house.”
“Why not?”
“Um,” I hesitated, trying to figure out how to explain. “Because it hurts him.” When I didn’t say more, he eyed me with a trace of skepticism like he knew there was more to it than that.
“He used to love to hear my mom play,” I offered. “He would sit in the parlor for hours while she practiced, his eyes closed, like a sailor bewitched by a siren. I think her music is what he loved
As I walked away from the house through the cool grass, I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp morning air. The sun hadn’t yet emerged from behind the east mountains, and the horizon was a jagged silhouette against a pale violet sky. I hopped over the wooden fence and walked through the orchard until his house came into view.
I saw him sitting in a white wicker chair on his porch, hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, one ankle resting on his knee. His hair was disheveled like he had just rolled out of bed, and my heart trilled at the sight of him. “Hey,” I called out.
He turned to me and stood, his expression surprised. “Hey. I thought your dad was picking me up here, or I would have just come to your house.”
“He got called into work, so we’ll have to go another time.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Well, you and I could still go. I could drive.”
He didn’t need to persuade me, but I hesitated, not wanting to sound too eager. “Okay.” I shrugged. “I just need to go back and get my fishing gear.”
“On second thought,” he said, taking a step toward me, “why don’t we just hike to the lake up here?” He pointed to the narrow canyon on the east side of his land. “I haven’t been up there since I was a kid.”
“It’s a lot smaller, and it’s not stocked. If you want to catch something, we should probably just go to Rampart.”
He shrugged. “I’m more in the mood for hiking than fishing.”
“All right—let me just go get some water and something for breakfast.”
He unzipped his backpack, pulled out a granola bar, and handed it to me. “I have plenty of other snacks and water in here.”
“Okay, then.” I smiled. “Let’s go.”
He shouldered his backpack and we walked around his house and toward the mountain. At the edge of the orchard, he plucked a couple ripe apples and dropped them into the pockets of his hoodie.
“How did you convince your dad to let you out of cleaning up the orchard today?” I asked, seeing all the apples on the ground.
“I did some bartering. He said I could go fishing if you help me shovel apples later today.”
“What?”
He grinned. “Don’t worry, Aria. My dad’s a sensible guy. As long as I have the orchard cleaned up before it snows, he’ll be fine.”
“Let’s go, then, and I’ll help you later,” I said with a smile.
The sun broke over the mountains as we walked through the open field of long, golden grass. The seeded amber tips glowed in the morning light, bowing and swaying gently, and I held out my arms to feel their feathery texture under my fingertips. We quietly made our way through the grove of aspens and followed the stream into the canyon. A soft breeze blew through the trees as we hiked alongside the babbling stream, filling the air with the scent of pine.
“So,” he said as we hiked along the narrow trail, “can you explain now?”
“Explain what?”
“Why can’t your dad know we were in the parlor?”
My heart plummeted. How could I have forgotten that I owed him an explanation? I didn’t have a ready answer, because the answer was so complicated. I couldn’t tell him the whole truth, because he might tell his parents, and it would only make things worse to have the Division of Child Welfare show up at my door. Besides, I wanted Thomas’s respect, not his pity. “It’s just a rule he has,” I finally said. “He doesn’t like music in the house.”
“Why not?”
“Um,” I hesitated, trying to figure out how to explain. “Because it hurts him.” When I didn’t say more, he eyed me with a trace of skepticism like he knew there was more to it than that.
“He used to love to hear my mom play,” I offered. “He would sit in the parlor for hours while she practiced, his eyes closed, like a sailor bewitched by a siren. I think her music is what he loved
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