Of the Trees(16)

“It’d be hot,” Laney argued. “He’s changed a lot over the past few years. As his best friend, you must have noticed.”

Cassie had noticed. As Laney said, as his best friend, it would be hard not to. He was taller than her now, he hadn’t always been. His frame was still lanky, but his build had filled out a bit. It became obvious around sophomore year that he wasn’t letting his mother pick out his clothes anymore. His hair, once cut in a close crop, had grown out. He had gorgeous hair, soft and straight, and it fell so perfectly over his eyes.

His deep, brown eyes.

Cassie caught herself, but not before Laney noticed her thoughts drifting off. She was leaning over, staring her down with a smirk.

“Whatever,” Cassie mumbled. “Shut up.”

She heard the breathy laugh of her friend next to her and then the mattress dipped. She caught an elbow to her ribs as Laney clambered over her.

“What the hell?” Cassie complained, shoving her friend off. Laney ignored her. Her bare feet landed in soft thuds on the carpet, and the window pane creaked as she leaned into it. Cool air blew past her and the smell of autumn—of leaves turning crisp, life leaking from the foliage and draining the green—mingled with her natural scent of lavender. It saturated the air around them.

“Thought I heard something,” Laney said, her body leaning into the fresh air. Cassie turned on her side and watched her. Laney’s hair hung past her shoulders, her outline silver in the moonlight.

“What are you looking for?” Cassie asked, her voice low. Laney didn’t turn. The breeze caught at her hair and, in a small gust, sent it flying back from her face. Cassie could just make out the small grin playing on her lips.

“Me?” Laney whispered back, staring out into the night. “Not a thing.”

Laney came slowly back to bed, crawling under the covers without a word. Cassie looked toward the open window frame; the curtain now hung limp. Something drew her eye. She sat up, her elbows propped behind her for support, staring toward the open window and the black sky behind it. She frowned, her attention diverted as Laney rustled in the covers next to her.

“What’s the matter with you? Lay down,” Laney grunted. Cassie hummed in response, laying back slowly. The soft scent of the laundry detergent Mrs. Blake used wafted from the pillow. Cassie let her eyes slide shut and inhaled deeply, settling down to sleep. The scent of laundry detergent heightened the lingering effects of the perfume Laney had used. Lavender soothed her. The air smelled sharply of pine, the pungent resin flavoring the air and swirling through the room in cooling wafts. There was something more, something sweet mixed with the pine, something fresh and soft. Cassie sat up again and looked toward the window once more. At the corner of the window sill, nearly toppling out the second story window, a small glass perched half full of water. Plunged into the water was the stem of a freshly picked wildflower, the purple petals dark in the moonlight. Cassie felt a frown slip over her features, not remembering seeing that when she came into the room.

“What is up with you? Go to sleep!” Laney hissed, startling her.

“Sorry,” Cassie murmured, laying back. An unsettling suspicion took residence in her chest. “Thought I saw something.”

Laney grunted in response but said no more. It wasn’t until after her friend had lapsed into the rhythmic breathing that comes with sleep that Cassie remembered she hadn’t told her about the Ferris wheel.





The flower had wilted by morning. Cassie woke, the sun bright past Laney’s open window. She startled out of sleep, her eyes immediately drawn to the windowsill. The water was still clear and miniature bubbles clung in rows up the side of the glass. The flower had drooped, the stalk bent in a low arc. The petals, bright purple last night, were faded and limp.

“You staying for breakfast?” Laney asked, her voice muffled from the other side of the bed. Cassie shook her head, knowing Laney understood when she issued a mumbled reply. Laney burrowed further into the bed as Cassie rolled out, bending to pull on her boots.

Laney’s parents were still asleep, so Cassie walked slowly down the stairs and out into the weak morning sunlight. Even at this early hour, Cassie knew her parents would be up, bacon sizzling on the griddle.

The air was crisp, still tinted with the saturated dew that seemed to spring out of the earth each morning. The bottom of the pajama pants she stole from Laney were now damp, her shoes squeaking in the grass as she crossed from Laney’s front yard to her own. The porch light was still on—her father must have forgotten to turn it off last night. Cassie stooped to pick up the plastic-wrapped newspaper that was laying on her front step. They were probably the last people on the face of the earth receiving news this way, Cassie thought. She knocked the paper on the door jamb as she opened the door and a cascade of water droplets flew from the plastic. With the door open, the crisp air of morning swirled in past her to meet with the aroma of frying bacon. She could hear her parents rummaging in the kitchen; someone dropped a spatula and her mother’s soft swear followed. She grinned as she shut the door behind her. Her mother always pretended to scowl whenever Cassie let an errant curse slip out, yet she had the dirtiest mouth in the house.

“Morning,” she greeted, sliding into the kitchen and tossing the newspaper to her father. He thanked her and asked about the carnival in the same breath. Cassie shrugged, reaching for the orange juice that her mother had already put out on the table.