Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,28
in his cheeks, gone as fast as it appeared. It was strangely suiting, despite adjacency his masculine jaw. Warmth streaked across her skin. She felt herself echo his blush. As they walked, he moved to face the shore, his gaze lingering on small piles of gray.
“See those? People actually stack rocks to catch fish when the tide pulls in and out. It’s been receding for years, but the beach is still full of life. There are beginnings everywhere. The indents are tide-pools. Crabs, periwinkles, mussel shells, limpits, sculpin.” He pointed out each as they surfaced, his voice trailing as the sand disappeared behind them.
Along the edge, the wind picked up, tousling the hair around her face, pulling currents in the loose fabric at her back. Tucking a lock behind her ear as it whipped her eyes, Aly noted that she wasn’t the only one assaulted at the shore. Rather than sharing her feelings of apprehension, Noah smiled into the gust, squinting against the current. He left a hand outstretched, palm curved to bear the front of the air like it extended from a vehicle’s open window. Amused, she allowed herself to fall into his step, shielded by his frame.
Taking a path parting the trees, he jumped the bars of a street’s dead end, offering a hand as she followed. Sprinting through a private yard filled with old tires and forgotten toys, they crossed into the lot of an apartment building. Waterlogged mulch was strewn over the curbs, clinging to her shoes when she passed. Weeds curled through broad cracks in the asphalt. Smashed windows were covered with duct tape and trash bags. Aly doubted the area was maintained, nonetheless populated.
As she put the black top behind her, she wondered if he’d forgotten his way to the tunnels. Noah moved with purpose, eyes locked on each destination. Still, it seemed erratic to her, as though the shortcut was more of a meandering. It became a game – guessing where his next twist in the maze was. Rather than taking the sandy path behind the building’s dumpsters, they moved through the trees. She shadowed as he followed a stream of runoff and scattered boulders, over a rundown train bridge, rounding walls of rock, cutting across unmarked hiking trails.
Every once in a while Noah pointed out a seemingly characterless object and identified it as a personal landmark or a destination for local teens, reciting stories that roused laughter and quirking smiles. His childhood soaked the ground. Every leaf had seen his journey. Noah was home. She found herself hushed, for a moment wishing it were hers, too.
When he fell silent, she imagined herself as a child – scrawny, pale, and precocious, with dark ringlets braided down her back, uncovering his adventures on the tracks, owning the small town friendships like a birthright.
What she had with the kids back home was flimsy, shifting year to year. She had never had the relationship that didn’t dissipate when the pain was too great to share, not outside of the family she was raised with. The odd-couple bonds between Noah and his friends were tangible, strong. Still quiet, Aly focused on his breathing, listening for the howls from the night on the ATVs.
Something made those boys run for the hills.
“So,” he said finally, “how’d you score your dad’s keys?”
“He’s out of town for work.” Her fingers shifted to prod her back pocket for reassurance. She added, “I met the living room for the first time this morning over coffee. Apparently, we have Syfy in common.”
A burst of laughter erupted from his chest. “Who would’ve thought?”
She smiled, pleased with herself. “It’s really that ironic?”
“If you knew my dad and his obsession with your dad and his obsession, then yes.” He joked. “Unless you meant it the sense of cliché.”
She blinked, trying not to be impressed. Recovering, she dramatically swept a hand across her forehead, joking, “So Doctor Freak drives someone else insane too? Phew! I thought I was the only one.”
He smirked. “There is nothing that does not irritate or disappoint my dad, including yours. No offense.”
“Except for you?”
“Especially me.” Noah sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I probably won't live up to expectation. And I certainly won't grow my hair that long. Did you notice? It’s ridiculous."
She laughed through a sad smile, knowing the ache of shortcoming. “If it’s any consolation, I get that. My father acts like I carry the Tvirus. I still have no idea what he does.”
“But hey, it’s definitely not bigfoot right?”
“I