“Who is he?”

“Do you like him?”

“Sure. I mean...”

Laughter interrupted Mark Tuan’s response, and he frowned across one of the two full-sized beds that occupied the room at his amused brother, who was still looking through the pile of newly developed photographs between them, specifically the one Mark had just been admiring.

“I guess he’s cute,” Mark finished, deciding it was best not to lie. Luke always knew when he was lying.

“You think he’s hot,” Luke said, matter-of-factly, and then nodded towards the picture. “Here. Take it. I took it for you.”

Mark smiled, lifting the photograph. The guy in it didn’t look much older than himself. His hair was wavy, maybe just a tad too long, but it gave him character. It was the color of sand; not really blond, but not so brown, either. He was sitting atop a bicycle with his shirt tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, and the shot exposed broad shoulders and a smooth back that tapered down to a narrow waist. He was smiling at something, and when he smiled, everything around him looked bright. But Mark suspected that that was only an illusion, created by the photographer.

“It’s a good picture, Luke. Thanks.”

Luke always took great pictures. He was a natural at it. Their father had introduced them both to photography at a young age. They were home-schooled, for the most part isolated from kids their own age, and their parents thought that a hobby would be good for them. Luke had just taken to it better than Mark. When Mark took pictures, they always developed out of focus. Off center. No amount of practice seemed capable of correcting the flaws.

“His name’s Jackson,” Luke said.

“Jackson?” Mark repeated. “Like the musician?”

Luke laughed. “Yeah, sure. Like the musician. He don’t look like him, though, huh?”

“No. He doesn’t,” Mark agreed.

“He moved into the old cow’s place last week.”

Mark frowned. He knew the house that Luke was talking about. It was across the lake from them. The last tenant who lived there had drowned just last year. Miss Gail Lewis had been a witch. She was always taking in stray cats and screaming at the crows that landed on her roof. An obese old woman with wild red hair, she’d been an intimidating creature to face, especially when she took to throwing stones at Mark and Luke when she caught them picking blackberries near her property. The last time, she’d managed to hit Mark square in the forehead. It had left a small scar. Mark had feared her as much as Luke had hated her. Neither of them missed her, but Mark was the only one who felt sympathetic over her death.

The accident occurred during a bad summer storm. The crazy old woman had been out fishing in the little rowboat she usually kept in her storage shed. It was a mystery why she’d brought it out in the first place, considering the thing was already falling apart. Her foot had fallen right through the splintering wood and she’d been trapped there when the boat tipped. Mark hadn’t been comfortable passing her house ever since. He felt like when he did, something was watching them. Luke thought that it was probably just the cats, since most of them had never left. Mark thought that Luke was probably right. He usually was. But still, Mark didn’t like that the handsome guy in the photograph lived there now.

“You should try talking to him,” Luke suggested. “He ain’t got a lot of friends yet.”

Mark quickly shook his head. “No. No. I can’t do that, Luke.” He blushed at the very idea. The guy in the picture was one of those beautiful, unapproachable people. Frightening. “He wouldn’t like me.”

Mark saw Luke frown at that. But, neither Mark nor Luke could help that it was true. Mark didn’t have any friends. Just Luke. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. It was just, the people in town seemed almost afraid of him. Then, he couldn’t really blame them, if he really did the things that people said he did. He knew that sometimes he had blackouts. They didn’t usually last very long, but sometimes, he’d wake up doing something he didn’t remember starting. More than once he’d ordered pizza twice in a row, leaving his family with an abundant amount of leftovers; and the reason why they weren’t in a public school was because on Mark’s first day he was sent home after the teacher claimed he was talking to himself and frightening the other students. It wasn’t the last time he’d been accused of that; only when people said it happened, it wasn’t really a blackout. He simply couldn’t remember doing it.

Mark didn’t like to be reminded of his personal oddities, and as he stared at his brother, he found himself doing something that he often tried to avoid.

Longing. There was no point in being jealous, but sometimes Mark couldn’t help wondering how things would be if he could be more like Luke. Luke’s brain worked right. He was normal. Mark wasn’t stupid. He was even smarter at some things than Luke. But, Mark was different. He wasn’t like everyone else. He had the scar to remind him of it, too. The long, puckered stretch of skin could be felt on his scalp every time he ran his fingers through his dark hair. Some of it was from the surgery, the rest, from the fall.

Mark didn’t remember the accident. His parents said it happened when he was three. They’d been visiting his grandmother, and he’d survived a fall out of a third-story window. He hadn’t been the same since. Not like Luke.

He still looked a lot like Luke, though, from the same hazel eyes to the same crooked smile and tall build. But, since they were identical, that was to be expected. There were a few differences, caused by Mark’s accident. After the surgery his nose had turned out a little shorter and broader, and his jaw a little squarer. He wished he still looked like Luke. The face he should have had. But, he doubted that any stranger on the street could tell them apart. He wondered if that was why Luke didn’t have any friends, either. It made him sad for his brother. Luke was normal.

“He’s stupid if he don’t like you,” Luke finally said. “You should talk to him. Tomorrow. I know where he’s gonna be.”

Mark pouted, but didn’t argue. Luke always got what he wanted.

“Come on,” Luke said. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

As if on cue, the bedroom door swung open and a tall man with a receding hairline and a smile that always looked worried stepped in. Mr. Tuan looked briefly around the room, and then at Mark.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said. “About ready for dinner?”

When Mark nodded, Mr. Tuan closed the door. Luke smiled at Mark. “See. What did I tell ya?”

***

Jackson Wang sighed irritably to himself as he wiped himself clean with a tissue and pulled up his pants. Whoever said that ion was a cure for boredom had been full of if you asked him. But then, not even that was much fun when he was forced to resort to using his twelve-year-old sister’s latest issue of Teen Beat for inspiration.

“Jackson? Jackson! Are you back there?”

“Just a sec, Ma!” he called back, rushing to flush the toilet and wash his hands. By the time he opened the bathroom door, his mother was waiting outside of it in the dark hallway with the low ceiling and holding out a white laundry basket mixed full of books and old records.

“Can you take these up to the attic for me?” she asked, shaking a few strands of curly black hair out of her tired eyes. “I’ve got two boxes left and I want to get them unpacked before I take your sister to camp.”

“I could drive Shayla,” Jackson was quick to offer.

“You have another week to go before you get your driving privileges back,” his mother informed him.

Jackson rolled his eyes at that, but took the basket from his mother before following her down the hall and into the kitchen, stepping over empty boxes on the way. The entire house was in disarray. Over the last week, Jackson, his mom, and his sister had been struggling to find places for all of their belongings. It wasn’t a simple task since their new house was half the size of their last one. Making things more difficult, was the bad plumbing, leaky roof and faulty floor boards, not to mention all the other repairs that the house needed. They’d had the windows open since they got there, trying to chase out the scent of cats. But, his mom swore that they’d be happy there. Eventually.

“Let me ask you something,” Jackson said. “Why is it that Shayla gets to go to a camp she doesn’t even want to go just to make friends, and I’m stuck here?”

“You can go to camp with Shayla if you want,” his mom offered. “But I don’t think you’ll fit into one of their t-shirts.”

Jackson groaned. “Mom...”

“You’re not trapped here,” she cut him off. You’ve got your bike. You’re free to use it--after you take that up to the attic.”

“And where am I gonna go on a bike? There’s, like, no one around here.”

“You could always go meet our neighbors.”

“The old guy who keeps inviting himself over for dinner?”

“Mr. Rizzo is a very nice man,” his mom said defensively. “He’s offered to help us out with a lot of repairs around here, so you be nice.”

“Fine. But I’m not going to go hang out with that weirdo.”

“I’m sure there are other people around here your own age.”

“No, they’re all in all the places I’d have to drive to.”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you missed your curfew.”

“I wasn’t that late.”

“Four hours is plenty late. I’m not going to argue with you, Jackson. Now please, take those to the attic, and if you want me to drop you off in town when I take your sister to camp, you’re welcome to come with us.”

“Fine. Crush any potential social life I might have out here in bum-frick’n-nowhere,” Jackson remarked as he carried the basket into the living room and towards the front door.

“Love you, too!” his mom called. And then she screamed.

Jackson dropped the basket, allowing records and books to go flying as he turned and rushed back towards the kitchen, nearly knocking over his short, red-headed sister in the process. He put an arm around her to help her catch her balance.

“Mommy?” Shayla said, looking worriedly into the kitchen, where their mother was holding a hand to her heart and the other to as she peered at an open cabinet beneath the sink.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson asked as he moved past Shayla.

“Sorry,” his mom said, calming herself. “Just a rat. It’s already dead.”

Jackson sighed, and dutifully headed into the kitchen, stopping at the table to pull a few paper towels off a roll. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, urging his mother aside as she lovingly patted his shoulder. He knelt down in front of the cabinet, where he could see the tail of something that most definitely looked like a rat, but as he reached for it with the towels, the shining black eyes in the shadows startled him enough to set him back on his haunches.

“What is it?” his mom demanded as Shayla rushed to grab hold of her hand.

Jackson sighed, smirking at himself. “Just another stupid cat,” he said, and then held a hand out for the hiding animal. “Here kitty, kitty...” just as his hand reached its head, the calico feline hissed and fled the cabinet and disappeared into the house. Shayla screamed, and Jackson hissed in a breath when he was given a scratch up the arm for his troubles.

“Oh, Jackson!” his mom complained when she saw that their unwelcome guest had drawn blood.

Jackson just frowned at her. “Did I mention I hate it here?”

***

Jackson looked out over the murky waters, wondering if it was going to rain soon. The sky had been overcast all day, the effect made even glummer by the tall pines towering over him. They weren’t like the manicured trees that he’d seen in groomed backyards. Everything about this place seemed old and wild. Nature at its best, his mother called it. Jackson just called it ed up. While he had to admit that it was kind of cool having a lake in his backyard, he’d turn in the ticks, feral cats and loud crickets for suburbia any day.

Jackson walked his bike, following the rocky shoreline for a while until his new home disappeared behind the trees and he came to a makeshift bridge that crossed a creek flowing directly into the lake, and then climbed onto his bike to ride down the road that seemed to head uphill forever. It was narrow, hardly wide enough for one car, and while he’d seen tire tracks on it, he’d never seen any actual vehicles using it. It wa