Adam-
We find the biggest tree. It stands right in the center of Wildflower Park and is so big that even when we stand on either side and wrap our arms around the trunk, we can’t touch fingers. I assume that it’s an evergreen, because the leaves are still a nice, jade color. Autumn pokes her head around the tree and grins, her fingers stretching, trying to brush against mine.
“Can I ask what the something we’re gonna do is?” she asks. I nod and move over to her. Tracing my fingers over the bark, I reach into my hoodie pocket and pull out a pocket knife.
Suspiciously, Autumn raises an eyebrow. “What is that for?”
I look at her incredulously. “You can’t be serious.”
“What?”
“I’m not going to hurt you!”
“I never said you were!”
I step closer. “You didn’t have to. Your body language said enough.”
“How?” she crosses her arms defiantly. A flicker of something painful flashes through her eyes.
“You turned all stiff, and that,” I point to where her fingers are clenched around the top of her crutch. Slowly, she relaxes her grip and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s just...why? Why would you think I’d do that? Especially to you.”
She shakes her head. I can see ghosts in her eyes, haunting her from the inside out. “It’s not you,” she says finally, turning her gaze to the ground. “Forget about it.”
“Autumn, I can’t just—”
“Please,” she implores. “I don’t want to talk about this. I just...I’m sorry. I know you would never hurt me. I want to do this. Whatever it is.” she points to the knife.
I glance down at the small, potentially dangerous, item clutched in my hand. What does she have to fear? But I decide to do what she’s asked and forget about it. Besides, I wanted to do this anyway.
“What if,” I say, taking her hand and placing it against the tree bark. “What if we could make a piece of this awesome week last forever?”
She cocks her head, confused. But then she nods. “Okay, yeah. That would be amazing. But, Adam, I don’t understand.”
I hold the knife up to the tree bark and chip away a piece. She looks up with smiling eyes. “Is that allowed?”
“No one said it wasn’t.”
“I think it’s one of those understood, big no–no’s.”
I shrug. “I’m new here, remember? I don’t know the rules.”
And I chip away another scrap. Autumn shakes her head, trying to look disapproving, but the rebellious twinkle in her eyes, smiling lips, and cheeks flushed with excitement give her away. I knew she’d love this.
I carve A.C.M. in the wood and then give her the knife and watch her put A.E.H. When she’s finished, she blows on the wood, causing bits of splinters and dust to float away. Then I engrave the date of today underneath.
“Wait,” Autumn says suddenly. “Can I see that?”
I give the knife to here again. She sets to work. I try to see what she’s doing, but it’s a little like playing Pictionary. After a few seconds of me leaning around her, she elbows me lightly in the gut.
“Hey!” I laugh and reach around her, lifting her off the ground. She kicks madly at the tree, trying to free herself.
“Let go!” she protests, but she’s laughing. “I don’t want to cut you!”
“Tell me what you’re carving.”
“No! You get to be patient and wait.”
“I’m no good at patient.” And man, ain’t that the truth. I used to sneak into Mom’s closet where I knew my birthday presents were hidden. There were always in the exact same spot every year. In her shoe bin, tucked under all the pairs of high heels she used to wear. There was a pair to match all of her evening dresses—the ones she’d wear on dates with Dad. The ones she stopped wearing when he went away. Then the shoes were kept in the shoe bin and Mom resorted to plain black or brown flats. On the rare occasion they were worn, it was only when Bailee used to play dress–up. A few times, she got me to play with her. I was always the model or the canvas she would practice on. But we don’t speak of those times. All I will say is this: Magenta is not my color.
Anyways, I would always examine my birthday presents when nobody was around. Thankfully, the Hotel’s “no snooping” policy lacked in the discipline department.
“Done!” Autumn announces, which is good, because my patience is also done. I examine her work and something begins to throb painfully in my chest.
Around our names, she has carved a heart.
Our gazes lock. Hers is hopeful and questioning. A silent wandering thought whispered into my head.
Do you feel like this too?
And more than anything, I want to say yes. Yes, I do. But my respect for the G.A. Council and my family holds me back. I shouldn’t say it. I can’t. It’s just not allowed. I hate rules.
“You’re really good at carving,” I decide to say.
She looks slightly disappointed. That was not what she was hoping I’d say and we both know it. “Thanks.”
“It’s really pretty,” I add, praying it will be enough.
She perks up a little. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nudge her. I need to get things back on track.
The two of us sit under another tree across from the one we carved our initials into. Studying it, we’re silent.
“This tree needs a name,” I decide.
Autumn laughs. “I’ve heard the names you come up with, so I’m worried.”
“I’m good at naming!”
“Reginald the beta fish.”
“...point taken. But hey, five stars for creativity, right?”
“I’ll say four,” Autumn corrects. “Unless you think of an exceptionally good name.”
“Patrick.”
“Okay, four stars it is. Think simple.”
“Jim.”
“Not that simple.”
“What if we just give it a title,” I suggest. “How do you feel about Our Tree?”
“Our Tree?” she echos softly, like she’s afraid saying it too loud will cause the tree to fall. “I like that.”
I smile and stretch my legs out, letting my left shoe press against hers. I like letting her see that her injury doesn’t bother me. That it’s not a flaw I have to look past to like her. It’s a part of her, whether she wants it to be or not, and while it doesn’t define her, it is a small portion of who she is.
“Adam? Can we come back every break and carve in the date if it’s a good one?”
“Sure. Sounds like a plan.”
I wish I knew how long I’ll be staying in East Creek.
Though I guess that depends on me.
We watch the sun sink over the top of Our Tree surrounded by ones that have shed their leaves for winter. They all have a blazing golden outline that dazzles my vision and causes Autumn to squint and shield her eyes. Confusion washes over me, but then I remember something. Being an angel, I’ve seen thing ten times more radiant than the sun. My eyes aren’t bothered by the brightness of celestial bodies.
“You know,” I say, shifting to look at her. Dead leaves crunch underneath me. “You’re a good singer. You should join choir or the Apple Ridge musical or something.”
She smiles gratefully. “Thank you. But I’d be way too nervous. And I don’t think that kids at school would like seeing me on stage unless I’m playing jester or dunce.”
She doesn’t sounds all poor me, the world hates me! She just sounds honest, stating simple facts.
“So if singing’s not for you, then what do you want?”
She looks slightly startled. “Like...what are my desires?”
I nod and she leans back, snapping leaves and twigs. Her messy hair spreads out like a fan as she stares at the firey sky and thinks about her answer. Finally, she looks at me and I am graced with a sad smile.
“All of my desires...well, it’s like driving at night and looking at the moon. No matter how fast or far you go, it only seems to get farther away.”
I drag my hands through my hair. “But what if someone could capture the moon for you? What would they find?”
“Art,” she says, staring back at Our Tree. “Guitars. Music.”
“Music,” I repeat.
“What about you?” she’s smiling. “What would your stolen moon consist of?”
“Wings,” I say. She doesn’t understand, though.
“Like a bird? To fly? Where would you go?”
“Rhode Island.”
She sits up and eyes me. “That’s the most random place. Ever. Of all the places you could go. You could see the Eiffel Tower in France! Or Alexandria in Egypt! Or the Liberty Bell in Pennsylvania.”
“Maybe I’ll make stops along the way.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know who your geography teacher was back in Canada, but she clearly did an awful job. France is definitely not on the way to Rhode Island.”
A set of ringing, bird chime–like music fills the air. Autumn fishes out her phone from her brown purse and grumbles. “I have to head back. My curfew is in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay,” I say, standing up then offering her a hand.
“So our break’s over now,” she says. “But my weekends are pretty free. And I think we have the same Free Period…”
“We should keep hanging out,” I finish for her.
She ducks her head, fidgeting nervously with her crutch. “If you don’t mind...That is, if you want to…”
And because I’ve never been good at following the rules—I like to make my own—I push aside that small voice that tells me no, you cannot have her. You have a job. You are her Guardian Angel.
I say, “‘Course I want to. I don’t just carve my initials into trees with just any girl.”
Her head jerks up as a questioning smile blooms across her face. Asking if I mean what she thinks I do.
Mine answers back, disregarding all the rules I was supposed to follow.
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