Luke Tuan looked out his bedroom window. His face felt heavy, as if it weren’t accustomed to the troubled scowl stretching over his face. It was late in the morning, and the day didn’t look promising so far. Mark was right. It was going to rain today.

“What’re you gonna do, Luke?” Mark asked quietly from somewhere behind him. He sounded worried.

“I’m going outside,” Luke announced.

“Dad said we have to stay in... you shouldn’t make him mad, Luke.”

“I hate him,” Luke whispered. “I hate them both.”

“And you shouldn’t say things like that,” Mark scolded.

“Why not? They hate me, don’t they?”

Mark didn’t respond to that. “Let’s play a game, Luke. It’s gonna rain soon, anyway.”

“No. I’m going out.”

“How? They’ll see you. You don’t want them to see you. I don’t want them to punish you again, Luke.”

Luke frowned. They would punish him. The ers. And why not? He was the unwanted one. They couldn’t get rid of him, so they liked to make him miserable. They wouldn’t get away with it forever. He swore that. And they’d learn. They’d learn that they couldn’t keep him trapped. Not like a caged animal. Like Mark’s chicken, kept in the two-foot-wide cage in the garage. They trapped it, and stole its eggs.

Luke opened the window, lifting the glass as far as it would go.

“Luke?” Mark asked, sounding uncertain.

In a quick effort, Luke pushed the screen out and watched it land in one of his mother’s flower boxes.

“Luke, please don’t go outside. Jackson’s gonna come over.”

Luke smirked as he lifted himself and dropped one leg out the window. “Sorry, Mark. But Jackson won’t come.”

***

Jackson turned his flashlight onto a stack of crates in the storage shed behind his house. Like all the other junk in there, they were littered with cobwebs and he could see the dusty air floating in front of the light. His mom had asked him to clean it out today while she was in town with Shayla, and now he could see why. She hated spiders, and this place certainly had plenty of those, along with everything else the previous owner had left. The previous witch. He wondered what Mark had meant by that as he went to explore the contents of a crate. A witch who obviously liked her preserves, he discovered, smiling to himself as he lifted out a few dusty bottles of jam. It looked like every crate was filled with stuff like that. His mother would definitely be happy. He made a mental note to bring in a few crates once the kitchen was more organized.

Everything else in the shed seemed worthy of a quick trip to the dump. There was an old bike separated into three different pieces that Jackson had no motivation to do anything with, a few ugly lanterns among other appliances that all had frayed electrical cords. If he had to guess, he’d say that cats had something to do with that. There were two green oars that belonged to a non-existent boat, folded rugs on the ground that had the small space smelling like a litter box, and a bag of cat food that had become waterlogged with every drop of moisture that had fallen through a leak in the ceiling.

Wanting to save the task of cleaning out the shed for later, but knowing that his mom was counting on him, and taking on a sense of responsibility because his family needed the space, he propped the door open, placed his flashlight in the corner, and went to work tossing all the junk into the bed of a Ford pickup truck on the dirt path his mom called a driveway. They’d borrowed it from Mr. Rizzo, and Jackson had spent most of the morning filling it up with boxes and everything else left over from their move. The contents of the shed topped it off, and by the time he was through all that was left were the crates and the oars. He saw no sense in throwing away perfectly good jelly, or boat paddles. After all, his family ate, and they lived on a lake. There was no telling when either would come in handy.

Once his and his sister’s bikes were stored in the shed and the door was closed, Jackson took a few moments to take advantage of the fresh air outside. The sun had faded behind the clouds during the morning, leaving the sky gray and dark where a storm lurked in the distance. The wind blew through his hair to cool his scalp as he looked over the choppy waters. Rain was so close he could smell it, and he wondered if his mom and sister would be back soon. Shayla didn’t have camp over the weekend, so they’d gone grocery shopping together. It was their absence that caused Jackson his sudden anxiety. Maybe they had electricity out here, but their surroundings were, in Jackson’s opinion, about a million years behind civilization. The road off the highway that led to the lake was just as bad as the one he followed to his trail, and according to Mr. Rizzo, it was prone to flooding and other disasters during a bad storm. The fact that he had no way of getting hold of his family didn’t exactly make him feel better, either. He tried to stay optimistic, though, busying himself with the task of closing the windows in the house and placing most of their kitchen pots under every known leak in the house. Christ, this place needed a lot of work. As he moved through the house, he ran into two cats that had found a way in to avoid the storm. Apparently, they didn’t realize that they no longer lived there, but Jackson didn’t bother to chase them out this time. He was too busy pacing by the windows to care that the smallest one had taken to clawing at the furniture. Rain had started to fall in large, slow drops, cold air was seeping through the gap at the bottom of the front door, and a low rumble of thunder echoed somewhere from above as if to say that this was hardly the beginning. And his family still wasn’t home. If they didn’t get back soon, Jackson thought, he’d use bad weather as another example of why they shouldn’t have moved there. Or at the very least, into such a corpse of a house.

The small town he could deal with. The culture shock he could tolerate. But he couldn’t understand why his mom had to choose a house that was so secluded. Actually, he could understand, he just didn’t agree with all her reasoning. It was on the lake. It was better than a double-wide trailer. Well, as far as Jackson was concerned, if they wanted to see a lake, they could have driven to it from town, and he’d bet that most of the available trailers didn’t have leaky roofs. This house was supposed to be their fresh start, according to his mom. Clearly, the woman was out of her mind. Jackson wondered how long it would take her to figure it out.

He turned away from the window, and in the moment it took him to blink, the skies seemed to crack open and the static-like sound of a downpour erupted outside, causing him to look again. The water was falling so hard and so fast that it rocketed off the surface of the front porch, and puddles appeared beneath and around Mr. Rizzo’s pickup truck. The raindrops splashing off the lake created a soft mist that made it difficult to make out the surface, and the first sounds of dripping rang through the house as the pots collected the water. Jackson forced himself away from the window long enough to relocate a few, but he was back again soon enough, hoping to hear the cranky old engine of his mom’s run-down Subaru over the sound of the storm. He didn’t like this. Not at all.

He went to the closet closest to the front door, and was momentarily distressed when there was nothing in front of him, until he realized that all of their coats were still packed away in a box on the closet floor. He dumped the entire contents, and picked out a blue raincoat that was a little too aqua to be a masculine color. His mother’s. She at picking out real estate, but apparently, she was the only one sensible enough to own a raincoat.

Jackson shrugged on the waterproof garment and moved out the front door, onto the front porch and into the rain, as if his presence outside would will his family home sooner. He began to walk around the house to look up the road that doubled as their driveway. He felt stupid for not going with them now. After all his complaining over being stuck in the middle of nowhere, he’d blown off a chance to go into town with his family for an extra thirty minutes of sleep. He could have skipped the chores to take a look around something closer to civilization, and he could have been around if his mom ran into trouble on the way back. He hoped that they were still in town, somewhere dry, or at least close to pulling up the drive. Not knowing was driving him crazy.

He began to pace back and forth as the humidity began to build beneath his coat. His clothes stuck to him uncomfortably and his pants became soggy around his ankles where the rain penetrated them. And it kept coming. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen this kind of storm, where the water fell like a never-ending beat, no harder or softer from one moment to the next. More thunder cracked above, this time echoing through the valley. Jackson looked up. No lightning yet, but the sky was getting dark. A lot darker than a sky should look at noon, Jackson thought.

He thought about going back inside. That was the sensible thing to do. Maybe he could occupy himself by hooking up the DVD player, or finish unpacking his room. His mom and Shayla were fine, and as soon as they got home, he’d feel ridiculous for worrying. But, Jackson couldn’t help worrying. They were all he had left.

Another eruption of thunder sent a chill up his spine. Still no lightning, but he forced himself back towards the front of the house, anyway, but paused as he looked out over the lake. The other side was nothing more than a bleary image now, obstructed by fog, but he could see light, faintly shining through a distant window. He stared at it for several moments, wondering if the people inside the house it came from were more comfortable than he was.

Above him, the sky suddenly lit up, the momentary brightness that Jackson associated with fireworks. Streaks of bright white streaked across the sky and moved within the clouds. It was time to go back inside. He turned and ran towards his front door as if someone was behind him, unable to explain the sudden increase in his blood pressure. He reached the front porch, his right foot landing on the first step. And then, the attack came.

His heart leapt to his throat when he felt the pressure on his shoulder. It was like being lifted into the air, his feet flying above his body, and then there was pain as his back came into contact with the ground, even with his tailbone. The hood fell back from his head and sloshing mud splashed over him, the rain sloppily washing it away a moment later, and somewhere in his confusion, two confused, hazel eyes came into focus over his own.

“Are you okay, Jackson?”

“Mark?” Jackson asked incredulously. Staring upwards, regaining his bearings, Jackson found that Mark was indeed leaning over him, garbed in jeans and a sweatshirt, both soaked through. Water dripped from his dark hair, down his face and off his eyelashes and nose, but he didn’t behave as someone who noticed. Or cared.

“Sorry I scared you, Jackson.”

Jackson reluctantly took the hand that was offered to him. Mark’s hand. And as the other boy helped him to his feet, he pieced together what had just happened. Mark, who’d managed to sneak up on him, grabbed his shoulder, and Jackson had simply slipped on the first stair. He supposed that it was good to know he wasn’t facing a hungry bear with an appetite for teenagers.

“What are you doing here?” Jackson demanded as he rubbed at his neck. It seemed a lot less embarrassing than rubbing at his sore bottom would be.

“You didn’t come over,” Mark replied.

It didn’t sound like Mark was making an accusation, but Jackson still found himself taking the defensive.

“Well, I’ve been kinda busy around here.”

“Oh.”

Mark frowned, looking like a lost, wet puppy, and Jackson sighed.

“Look, how’d you get here?”

Mark pointed down the shoreline. “My boat was over there.”

“You can’t go back in this. Come on, let’s go inside so I can change.” Jackson gave Mark’s shoulder a pat as he passed him and moved up the stairs, becoming irritated when he found that his fall had caused a limp in his step. He was definitely bruised. He just hoped that it wouldn’t look as bad as it currently felt. “You can stay here until it stops raining,” Jackson continued as he reached the front door, but before walking through it, he paused, realizing that he was alone in his interest to get inside.

Mark was still standing in the rain, looking at the house with a certain amount of trepidation.

“Mark? What’re you doing?” Jackson asked. The only response he received was a negative shake of the head. Jackson sighed. “Mark, please don’t make me limp back down those stairs. I promise you, there’s no witch in here.”

Mark frowned. “She wasn’t a real witch, Jackson,” he said, in a tone that suggested he was attempting to explain something to a small child. “But, she didn’t like me. Wouldn’t want me in her house.”

“Well, it’s not her house anymore, is it?” Jackson replied. “I live here, so please just come inside. It’s better than standing out in the rain, okay?”

Mark seemed to consider it for a few seconds--a few seconds longer than Jackson cared to wait. He decided to go inside without waiting for a response, and sure enough, Mark was soon moving up the stairs to catch up. Jackson held the door for him, and watched the other boy hesitate before stepping into the house, taking it all in slowly, from floor to roof. Jackson momentarily placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but decided not to comment further on Mark’s fears.

“Sorry about the mess,” Jackson said of the clutter filling the living room. “We haven’t found enough room for all our stuff.”

“You need a bigger house,” Mark agreed, and despite his frustration over being covered in mud, and the pain he was feeling, Jackson laughed.

“Come on in,” Jackson insisted, closing the door. “I’ll find you something dry, then I’m gonna hit the shower.”

Mark moved further into the living room, inching his way between a dresser and a coffee table, but stopped and noticeably tensed when one of the cats appeared in front of his feet.

“Don’t worry about them,” Jackson insisted. “They’re everywhere. Can’t seem to get rid of them. I’ll be right back.”

After a quick trip to his room, Jackson returned with a t-shirt and some running shorts. He found Mark near the sofa. The kid had had enough sense not to sit down while he was dripping wet, but he’d had no trouble finding the one family photo that Jackson would have liked to see burned. Taken two Christmases ago, he’d had a bad haircut and been forced to wear a hideous orange sweater with a polar bear print on it, courtesy of his grandmother. He was pretty sure that if it had been anyone else looking it over, he would have snatched it out of their hands. But with Mark, he just watched.

If Jackson was right, then Mark wasn’t noticing the ugly sweater at all. He was simply curious, taking in faces with a wide-eyed expression, like a little kid who’d just opened a new picture book. He held it up, and pointed to faces, one at a time, looking to Jackson for answers.

“My mom,” Jackson obliged. “If you meet her, she doesn’t like to be called ma’am. She thinks it makes her sound old. Her name’s Sophia.... and that’s my sister, Shayla. She’s named after my grandma, but don’t tell her that. She wants a boy’s name.”

Mark grinned over that, and then held the photograph in two hands, studying it again. “Jackson, where’s your dad’s head?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“No I don’t,” Mark replied, sounding confused over the accusation.

“We don’t like to look at my dad’s face,” Jackson explained. That’s why his dad’s head was carefully folded out of the frame. It was like that in most of their pictures. He tossed the clothes he’d brought onto the sofa. “There. Why don’t you put those on? There’s a box of towels on the kitchen table if you need one.... are you going to be okay if I take a quick shower?”

Mark looked down at the clothes as he carefully placed the framed photo on the table where he’d found it. “You won’t be long?” he asked.

“I won’t be long,” Jackson promised, and then did his best to keep it. He only stayed in the shower long enough to feel remotely clean, which proved to be a challenge when he had to stand in a cracked and stained bathtub. His mom had scrubbed and scrubbed until they finally decided that as soon as they could afford it, they’d replace the whole thing.

The mirror was okay. Clear and new. They’d purchased that, since the house didn’t come with one. Jackson just didn’t like what he saw in it when he finished bathing and looked over the damage from his fall. His lower back looked welted and angry red, where he’d taken the brunt of his impact. It looked nearly as painful as it felt. His right shoulder was the same way, and he’d managed to scrape his elbows. He suddenly found himself hoping that someone remembered to refill the ice tray. It wasn’t likely. He was the last one to empty it.

He dressed, including his shoes in his wardrobe, just in case he found a reason to run back out into the rain, and then he went to rejoin Mark. Jackson half expected him to be snooping around through their things while left to his own devices, but instead, Mark appeared to be the perfect houseguest.

Mark was sitting in one of the more awkwardly placed chairs, likely because one of the cats had found its way to the back of the sofa. He’d changed into the clothes Jackson had provided and seemed reasonably comfortable in them, even if they were a little snug on him. The shorts didn’t quite cover the tan line just above his knees, and the shirt seemed just a little tight around his shoulders. He had long, toned muscles, a body as developed as any healthy youth who was exposed to a generous amount of physical activity, and suddenly didn’t seem as scrawny and frail as Jackson had imagined him. In fact, just looking at him reminded Jackson of his age, even while the expressions on Mark’s face remained entirely too innocent.

Jackson chased the cat off the furniture, mostly because he had a feeling it was bothering his guest, and then he offered Mark something to drink. Only, instead of responding to Jackson’s question, Mark asked a question that Jackson hadn’t been expecting at all.

“Are you angry, Jackson?”

“What?”

Mark lowered his eyes, folding his hands in his lap. “I didn’t mean to make you fall, Jackson.”

“It’s alright,” Jackson replied, even as he stiffly rolled himself onto the couch. It was no surprise that Mark didn’t look convinced. “Look, you didn’t make me fall, okay? I... well, I’m sure it was my fault for some reason. I mean, I shouldn’t have been out there for one thing. I just thought... I was waiting for my mom. She and my sister aren’t home yet.”

“Are they late?” Mark asked.

Jackson thought over the question. “Not exactly. They never said when they’d be home. I guess I’m just worried that they won’t make it home in this weather.”

Mark smiled. “Oh, this is nothing’. My parents get home in this stuff all the time. Don’t worry, Jackson.”

Jackson smiled back, only because Mark sounded so sincere that he was inclined to believe him. Then, a thought occurred to him as he looked over his unexpected guest.

“Hey, Mark, your parents are worried about you, are they? I mean, would they be? We don’t have a phone hooked up yet so you can’t exactly call from here, unless you have a radio... there’s one here in the attic. It was there when we moved in.”

“We have one of those,” Mark cut in brightly. “It was my grandpa’s. Luke likes to use it to listen to people.”

“Well, maybe if we figure out how to work the one there, you can