Something of a Kind

chapter 5 | ALYSON

Before Aly could climb in, Noah fumbled to gather stacks of notebooks and CDs from the seat. He had twisted beneath the seatbelt, the hem of his shirt rising above his navel, in a rushed attempt to stack the collection in the back.

His body was angled towards her as he lingered in thought, a ready opening for an offhand comment. She had smiled at his easy manner, his half-sided smirk feeling more silly than mocking, as though she was always in on the joke. He briefly mentioned his friends and that he bought the vehicle off a family friend. They didn’t speak much, but the silence was comfortable. A quick ride to the trails was relaxed, a far cry from the rigid isolation as her father’s passenger.

She observed the clouded mist roll across the horizon. The weather shifted quickly, as though the atmosphere was rolling with the winds. Moments ago the sun was bright and shining, a piercing light between the trees and around a corner. The skies opened. A heavy fog shifted in, clouds clasping like puzzle pieces, the misting rain an impenetrable dome.

Aly slipped into the hoodie folded over her arm. Tucking cold fingers into her elbows, she crossed her ankles, as though to cover the porcelain skin exposed by her Chucks. Observing her discomfort, Noah traded the air conditioning for a defrost setting.

As the windows cleared and the rain stopped, the towed ATV trailer shuttered in the rearview mirror. Her gaze followed the stretch of road disappearing behind them until they slowed into an arriving turn. As Noah blew past the state park ticket booth without hesitation, she raised her eyebrows.

With a reassuring smile he said simply, “Off-season’s free.”

The engine whirred to a stop as they backed across shaded parking spots and hugged a faded curb. She held her breath, as though it would quicken in the sudden silence.

Noah was a constant presence at her side. It was a struggle not to focus on the closeness. He had a tangible energy, his smallest motion an outburst. She held her eyes on the dashboard, her gaze eventually flitting to the side-view mirror and its belated warning.

Objects are closer than they appear.

Her eyebrows flew upward. Noah had briefly mentioned Lucas Young and Owen Hunt. She had expected curious personalities when he offered descriptions, one lanky, the other stout. Surnames were spoken as though they were slang rather than titles and ties. His friends were both native teens, fellow to-be seniors, and he murmured warnings of their infamous quirks. It was clear the afterthought was a raging understatement.

One was tall but solid. Wrinkly bright red, athletic-styled shorts and a baggy sweatshirt rolled to his elbows added to his width, amplifying the mass of muscled calves and thick forearms. The other was significantly smaller. His oversized white tee shirt was covered in umber fingerprints and dirt. Both curly haired, the similar cut seemed to lean to opposite sides, managing to appear wildly different on each of them. They were naturally tanned darker than Noah, like chestnuts. Still, they carried his posture, upright but relaxed, and shared familiar lopsided grins.

The shorter boy had the hem of his shirt lifted to his sternum, his stomach forced forward as he ran circles around the other, lost in hysterics.

She suppressed the instinct to fear and question substance abuse. Raising a hand to her lips, she covered a giggle. After deciding she seemed relatively unaffected,Noah’s expression of concern passed, giving way to a burst of laughter. He twisted the keys from the ignition, killing the base pounding through the speakers.

Unbuckling, their knuckles brushed. She blushed beneath his gaze. Pressing down to release a click, she cracked the door, swung her legs over the pavement, and slid from her seat. He parted from his own and they closed the cab with a mutual clap.

Aly took comfort in his effortless movements, watching as he retracted chains and climbed around the quads.

“Hey Locklear!”

“Who might this be?”

Aly took a deep breath, attempting to relax the heat from her cheeks. She bit her lip, glancing through her hair.

Noah twisted to face them, leaning against the hand grips. “This is Owen Hunt. That’s Luke Young. This is Alyson Glass.” He pointed out the taller boy, followed by the other, before motioning towards her.

Her smile and loose wave were met with a one-armed hug and a high-five that somehow transformed into a recoiling explosion from Luke. Owen offered a gloved palm and a wink, his fingers locking with hers rather than shaking her hand, a gentle fist knocking her knuckles before she was able to pull away.

Seems fitting. At least they’re fully clothed, now.

“Better hold on real’ tight, girly,” Luke suggested, wiggling his brow.

“Don’t let Noah go and kill you, now,” Owen hollered, sprinting backwards before turning to complete a run.

“I assure you,” Noah grinned, a glimmer of light bouncing off his eyes, “I will not get you killed.”

“I believe you,” Aly smiled, hugging herself, arms tucked at her sides. Hesitantly, she asked, “They knew I was coming, right?”

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, moving to unlatch the other side. “They’re just being jerks because they like you. And because they’re jerks.”

“I see.”

She wondered what business she had here. In Kingsley, she had always been close with her cousins, Francesca and Giovanni. With Fresca age sixteen and Gi seventeen, they made Aly the eldest by four months. They had never been too distant in age, and it seemed in the time they lived together the trio had fused. But since her mother’s death, her other friends disappeared one by one, wedges and distance that began during the original diagnosis taking total control after the loss.

They either didn’t understand her grief or couldn’t bear it, and in her selfinflicted isolation she let them go. She hadn’t wanted the burden of reassuring them and she hadn’t wanted to be consoled. Now it seemed allies, whether or not they became confidants, could be a salvation in Ashland.

If she couldn’t make Alaska work by the end of the summer, there were ways of retreating to Kingsley, starting with the sole abandonment of dreams for a new start. It was clear her father wasn’t going to assist in any adjustments, but Noah was already making strides.

This could be a really good thing.

Jumping from the mini-trailer, he landed in a stand on the pavement before her, pushing a mass of plastic into her hands before disappearing to start the ignition. Easing the helmet over her head, she gratefully accepted the hand he offered as she mounted the seat. Her arms slid around his waist as the ATV lurched forward.

The roar of Luke and Owen were quickly added at her back. Wind whipped her face as heat pooled at the back of her head. His laughter evaporated the stress as they jerked to each side turning corners or bounced with the rocky terrain.

The soft fabric of his hoodie was as inviting as the smell of cologne, or the way his body heat combatted the fierce wind. It grounded her to the bike as she watched the trees fly by. The experience was more rugged than observations from the passenger seat of a car. Even jolting against an uneven ground with her calves nearly burning against the engine, the trip was easier than a fiveminute drive with Greg.

As they stopped, the rush still pounded in her veins causing her face to flush. Her heart pounded from the embrace of arms tangled around Noah. Climbing down with a buoyant lift to her step, she ran a hand over her head to smooth the helmet’s dishevelment. The gentle breeze was a stark contrast to the propulsion of the quads. Despite the shield of the bright yellow helmet, her exposed cheeks tingled in the absence of wind.

“Man, Hunt told you not to try and kill her!” Luke said, ripping the helmet from his head like a BandAid. “If I were you, Miss Alyson Glass, I’d get another ride on the way back.”

“You’re not supposed to show off if she’s on the back, Locklear,” Owen teased, offering a wide smile encased by turquoise- banded braces. “Wipe outs can be nasty.”

“I bet,” she agreed, observing as they parked the ATVS next to a

lean-to.

“There’s a series of camp sites a little ways up the trail. They’re not going to be rented for another week, so it’s a first come, first serve type of thing.” Owen pulled the cords of a navy draw-string pack over his arms.

“I can’t imagine there are too many people up there now,” Noah said, staring at a steel gray cloud bank. It clung to the distant tree line, just above the visible slivers of the late-afternoon horizon.

“Man, just look for a fire pit.” Luke pulled a box of matches from his pocket, waving it like a splayed deck of cards.

Noah grabbed it from his hands as though Luke was about to set himself on fire. Common amusement dismissed his protests.

“It was only that one time. Come on, man.” Luke spread his hands in frustration, his expression both unoffended and annoyed at the mistrust. He seemed more bothered that it was mutually agreed on than the actual notion.

“Three times, Young. Three times. Two of which had the warden involved. No way,” Owen chastised.

Luke turned to Noah for back-up. He shook his head. “I think I’ve enabled one too many of your pyromaniac experiences.” He smacked the package against his palm like it reiterated the point.

“Hence the confiscation,” Owen added. “Young, you are a danger to yourself and others – besides, Noah has a guest. She almost died once today, you don’t need to set her ablaze.”

She glanced at Noah, looking for reassurance that the notion was a continued joke. Seeming to read her thoughts, he gave an understanding nod, rolling his warm eyes at their banter.

“What happened to forgive and forget, bro’? You’re killing me.” Luke continued, looking defeated.

“Better than you killing us,” Noah added. “I swear, you’re going to destroy the last frontier.”

Parting fingers over her lips like a curse slipped out, Aly laughed at the alarm on Noah’s face. She allowed him to loosely take her wrist, leading her down the rugged trail. Owen took the lead. A worn gas station map was unfolded in his hands as he pointed out numbers in red bubbles. Luke followed, lazily continuing to argue his futile case, refusing surrender.

They barely walked half a mile before stopping at a barren clearing. Logs sagging with age made a triangular seating area around a circle of blackened rocks, a few yards from the tree line. A cast-iron park grill was rooted in the center.

“I’ll get the kindling then,” Luke announced, darting into the trees. He seemed fixed on a particular spot, his gawky lope predatory, as if the wood could escape.

A yelp slipped from her lips as Owen slung an arm around her waist. He tossed her over his shoulder, bolting up another trail and back again. Nearly buckling under his own laughter at her protest, his arms slacked.

She pulled away in escape, dropping into the space at Noah's side. He grinned, tucking a final match into the tinder, stuffed beneath an array of sticks. As he gently prodded, the modest collection lit up.

The last time she had seen fire was during witness cremation. Though seeming both aloof and grave, Greg was curious. Aly needed the finality, to know her mother was no more. The process, of course, was traumatic to attend. Smoldering doubts in Vanessa’s absence left her wondering if her mother lingered within the broken flesh, waiting to awake for healing that would never come.

A balding man in an oatmeal suit popped a cardboard top over her box, offering a grimacing pat as she rolled into a fiery machine, like a cheap assembly line. For three hours, she watched an angry red scorch the glass with a cold stare, arms and legs crossed, perched on the edge of a stained waiting chair. No dust to dust, only ashes.

Aly had shredded herself at the wake, a patchy red face, hiccupping tears. Greg hadn’t purchased a funeral and Lauren refused to push. They had unassuming farewells days before. Coworkers set up the open-doors of a small denomination. She took a seat in a plastic lawn chair beside Vanessa’s photograph, stilted with an oversized, gilded frame. The outlet-mall church managed dying flowers, an inflatable baptistery, and a unisex bathroom. Her mother’s taste was rich, but her life was modest. It suited the times.

Vanessa was terminal. They gave an almost accurate six months. Greg flew in from Alaska, but left the week before she passed. There was an exciting lead, too ambiguous to share, and doctors claimed she was momentarily stable. He never did say what kept him.

Visiting hours missed Aly by three minutes, but they whispered gut-wrenching goodbyes the night she went comatose, forty-eight hours prior. The five year fight ended at 6:52 AM. The morning was unremarkable, pre-sunrise, of an abnormally snowless New York December. It was silent while it rang, a quiet end her mother would’ve been unimpressed with.

Aly belonged to Lauren, according to Vanessa’s will, but her father had never been present enough to require relinquished rights or revoked custody. An online validation overlooked the misstep, and after two visits to state court a judge handed her father her chains. Aly had no fight, and no one ever argued. Her aunt never fought, always glancing away with guilt when Aly’s pained eyes pleaded silently.

A father wasn’t part of her plan, not in a near or distant future. She would live with Lauren and Vincent until she was eighteen, and finish high school in Kingsley. When she met the age minimum, her mother’s life insurance would get her started at reasonable art school. The plan was what they talked about. Vanessa’s last direction became Aly’s rigid outline. Greg was the only one to question it.

She didn’t plan for Alaska. She certainly didn’t expect to be perched on a log in a state park of the last frontier, sitting around a fire and thinking of death. With the soreness of playfully rough arms throbbing at her waist, the wind blew smoke into the faces of strange instantfriends. Her lungs burned with laughter she didn’t deserve. She hadn’t prepared for Noah, either.

His reflexive shiver sent her spiraling down to earth. She jumped, and he apologized quietly, studying her alarm.

He’s looks at me like a person reads a book.

“No, really, it’s okay,” she assured, unsure what to do with her fluttering hands. Finally, she tucked them behind her knees and nibbled her lip, waiting for a break in the silence.

“You’re so jumpy, girl.” Smirking, Owen’s hands were crossed, gripping a hairy knee. His long legs were bent up to comfortably sit in a low place, his heels digging back and forth in the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust in drier patches.

“Oh, don’t mind Noah. He just thinks he’s better than everybody else” Luke ribbed, his attention finally pulled away from the flames. The way he chewed his cheek and stared, occasionally chucking handfuls of grass was troubling.

“I do not,” Noah groaned. Betwe en his tone and the instinctive drop of his head into his hands, it wasn’t difficult to tell it was a reoccurring taunt.

“-because Gabriel took him out of town for burgers on his birthday and he came back with a tattoo.”

Failing to resist the urge to scan his exposed skin, her gaze stopped on black ink curled around his wrist. She watched as a tense hand anxiously covered it, like protective custody. He moved again, crossing his arms, looking away. His reaction was too intense. Aly knew better than to ask. She forced herself to look away, focusing on his eyes as she smiled.

Straightening her back, she swiveled her legs forward, turning towards his friends. Raising her brow, she added in mock disbelief, “The archangel?”

“Tony Gabriel,” Owen corrected. “All around bad influence.”

“Real nasty drunk, that one. Thinks he's going make Noah the next Hannah Montana.”

“That I’d like to see,” Aly teased. She nudged Noah's tensed elbow, hoping he’d loosen up.

“Real, real nasty drunk. Drove him all the way to Anchorage,” Luke repeated, gouging her response. She politely ignored Owen's stare, and dismissed the comment.

“Happy belated birthday,” she answered simply, bursting a concrete silence.

“So, you move to the middle of nowhere, and instead of vampires, you get Noah Locklear.” Luke’s words brimmed with hints of a motive. He sounded like a deranged teacher excited over the cruelty of a pop quiz.

Owen tossed him a bag. She watched as Luke split the plastic, loudly crunching on the snack.

“How are you coping, Alyson?” Owen joked. She elevated her hands in surrender, a testimony to innocence.

“I don't know anything about that. You're talking to the Tamagachi generation.”

“My God,” Luke gasped, his mouth full, head leaning back to shake a fistful of trail mix across his tongue. He leapt from the log, his outstretched arm pointing dramatically. “This girl. This girl is amazing. Seriously, marry me?”

“Paws off, Young. Aly here’s respectable.” “Hey now, I'm just saying. If Noah won’t-”

“Knock it off,” Noah sighed.

“I might,” Luke snickered.

“Young, don’t be sick,” Owen chastised. Amusement cracked the faux-serious tones in his voice.

Luke wiggled his eyebrows, dimples peaking as he pretended to zip his lips shut. With a flick of his wrist, an imaginary key was sent blindly flying into the shadows of a tightly knit tree canopy.

As she released a smile, Noah’s posture relaxed.

Their giggles were throaty but boyish, piercing the night's muteness. Aly gave in, Noah eventually joining, the mirth virally contagious.

Owen crossed his arms, covering his eyes weeping with laughter. He leaned backwards, rocking with a guffaw. Veins ripped across the muscles of his forearms as he tried steadying himself. Failing to catch the fall, he toppled into scattered pine needles.

Luke crossed his arms over his chest, falling backwards, crying out, “I regret nothing!”

Aly blinked away images of her mother, cold and blue, as the lid closed her into the darkness.

She doesn’t have to be everywhere. Stop thinking about it.

“You okay?” Noah asked.

She realized her shoulders had hunched. Blinking away a daze, she forced the corners of her lips to curve upwards. She nodded, her gaze locked on the trees.





~

Day faded from the sky, leaving a periwinkle residue where the sun dropped below the horizon. As the sky darkened, a crackling fire was the only light in the forest’s pool of black. Between the heat radiating from Noah’s side and the close lick of flames, the night’s unseasonable chill was hardly a menace.

She flinched as a popping knock drew her attention to the trees. She expected Owen or Luke to come running from the shadows laughing, having disappeared again without notice. Instead, they sat across from her, looking confused and alarmed. Noah’s brow furrowed as he stared at them. She assumed he had the same inclination.

The knocks continued, increasingly louder, like someone was throwing boulders at a tree. A sudden silence was quickly pierced with a whooping screech, like an owl. As the boys traded confused stares, Noah shook his head.

“Can’t be.” “No way. No way, no way!” Owen repeated, his eyes scanning the coniferous silhouettes. His head cocked as he listened harder, like a trained house dog investigating noise.

“Yes, yes!” Luke whispered excitedly, back arching and hand cupped over his ear. A series of foreign howls answered.

Aly shifted with anxiety. “Those are coyotes. It’s getting dark.”

“They’re different though. Listen. Shh,” Luke shushed, face tensing.

“No way,” Owen repeated. “Seriously?”

Aly glanced up, offering a questioning stare.

Noah explained hesitantly, “They think it’s the wood beast.” She frowned, trying to summon the mental image of the monkey-like totem pole. Seeing her concern, he added, “Because they’re idiots.”

“Hey now, don’t hate,” Luke insisted, listening for a second whoop. “It’s the Gigit, man.”

“The what?” Aly asked, pulling her hoodie closer around her. The sound continued, and seemed to summon quiet. It was difficult not to hear, like something big was in pain.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Luke demanded, waving his han ds as though he was directing traffic. “You are Greg Glass’s daughter, and you don’t know what the Gigit is?”

“My father and I are not exactly close.” She sighed, ignoring the hackles along her spine. She spoke clearly and firm, setting straight a record too warped for her own comprehension.

“Noah would know all about parental issues,” Luke added. “A real ballbuster that one.”

“What’s the guy-geet?”

“The Gigit… like Omah-” Owen began.

“Bigfoot,” Noah chimed.

She laughed, cheered on by another round of howling coyotes. “Sasquatch, hmm?” They grinned, pleased with themselves. “I’m not really getting the Greg reference, but that’s priceless.” She applauded, forcing the discomfort of the noise away, out of her head.

“She’s joking, right?” Luke asked, turning to Owen and Noah for an explanation.

“My father’s a biologist.”

“Researcher,” Owen corrected, suspiciously.

“A biologist,” she repeated, adding, “Not exactly an anthropological-phenomena buff. He sent me a pamphlet about the area for Christmas when I was seven, but I think that’s the extent of his cultural interest. I can’t imagine he’s all that into legends. He pleads science like it’s an amendment.”

Noah bit his lip. Owen and Luke blinked, chuckling nervously, unsure how to gage her seriousness.

What am I missing here?

A thunderous crack sent Owen and Luke to their feet, alarmed. Noah tensed, gently placing a concerned hand on the small of her back.

“Like you said, it’s getting late.” Noah’s eyes moved between Aly, his friends, and the forest’s shifty profiles.

“We should leave,” Owen agreed, nodding emphatically with Luke who was silent for the first time since Aly met him.

She observed as Owen dumped water on the fire and stomped out the embers, bending his leg backward to inspect his sneakers for melted rubber. Flicking on flashlights and gathering their bags hurriedly, Owen and Luke scrambled, looking increasingly nervous.

Where Noah’s hand had rested on her back he began to trace small circles. She resisted the urge to let her eyes flutter shut; tingles sparked the skin beneath the clothes he touched.

When Noah stood, she was reluctant to move, as though her stillness would convince him to sit again. As the howls started again, she shivered. Accepting his offered hand, Aly followed as the others tore down the trail.

“Bizarre,” she murmured, waiting until Luke and Owen had disappeared around a corner. They ran ahead for the quads like a tsunami was about to lap at their ankles.

They say the waters come slow.

“Welcome to Ashland,” Noah laughed. Th e stress and fear of the situation immediately dissipated. She smiled, her shoulders relaxing as he continued, “So what's your theory?”

“My theory?” She was unsure how to answer. “Is that Luke suffers from Napoleon syndrome.”

“Evil,” he considered, “but justified.”

“You see it?” Aly teased, leaning against his arm. He walked with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. She felt herself mirroring his body language.

It occurred to her the posture wasn’t in her physical vocabulary, and suddenly felt unnatural. Aly eased her fingers out of the pockets of her boot cuts, locking her fists into her elbows, hugging herself.

“I do,” Noah agreed. “They're awful aren't they? Possibly the worst way to convince a pretty girl to stick around.”

She found herself holding her breath again, and slowly exhaled. He smiled to himself, watching her reaction as carefully as she searched his. She let her hair fall across her face, breaking eye contact. Shifting, she forced to shoulders slacken beneath the scrutiny.

I’m being such a freak.

“Not awful,” she corrected. Staring at her wringing fingers, she was unsure how to calm the flutter in her chest. Aly smiled, braving a glance at his eyes.

He squinted across the horizon as they walked, his grin fading in distant thought.

Her gaze traveled the hem along his shoulder, realizing his jacket would have been unseasonable in a Kingsley summer. Even if to escape the plague of black flies, he'd seem peculiar amongst crowds of bare skin and swim shorts. It was unheard of to avoid the lake beaches in June. The water was cherished until tourists invaded midJuly.

A dimple quirked, preceding his growing smile before twisting to an unreadable expression.

Pushing up his sleeve, he scratched at his wrist.

She caught a flash of ink. With her fingers outstretched, she traced the curling image of a snake, while pretending not to notice his shiver.

“Is this what Owen was talking about?” Aly asked, endlessly curious. She hoped that removed from the previous conversation, he wouldn’t be so quick to unnerve. The nagging thought was irresistible.

“Yeah,” he said, tugging on the fabric to expose the tattoo. Twisting his wrist, he scrutinized the work like it was a recent discovery. “In a lot of cultures, the snake represents regeneration and revival. Shedding the skin… It’s supposed to be the end of an existence and the beginning of another, in the middle of your life. It’s not the prettiest thing in the world. I don’t think rebirth is supposed to be, though.”

“It’s beautiful,” Aly whispered. The style was tribal, but not native in an Alaskanindigenous sense. She couldn’t place an origin, only noticing it was more fierce than cartoonish, certainly not grotesque. She didn’t understand what he was thinking. Grinning, she added, “Much more manly than the apron.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Pulling her close, he planted a playful kiss on the head. She bit her lip, unable to disguise her smile.

Okay, try not to die.

He watched her for a moment before becoming lost in thought, his thumb tracing the serpent. After a while, she realized he was considering the afternoon’s events.

“He's a good guy – Tony. He and his wife used to do foster care and stuff before she died. I mean, he drinks, but everyone does. That's Ashland,” Noah said, finally. “He's the most lighthearted drinker in town though, strange… goofy, I guess. Not so depressing and sloppy. When my sister, Sarah, was a toddler, he actually saved her from a rip current. You'd think he'd be a hero or something the way the locals talk. People don't get him, but he's cool.”

“Why don't they like him, then?” Aly mused, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“They're judgmental. What are you going to do?” Releasing a sigh, he bit his lip, shifting his gaze to her again.

Noting that it was rhetorical, Aly stayed silent as he watched her. They shared a snicker when they reached the lean-to, finding the other quads gone. He unlocked a chain from the key-start and ignited the engine.

Taking his hand, Aly was more than happy to join him.