Slightly disturbed, Jack glanced up from the book to watch the soccer kids stroll past his porch, all of them muscular with silky black hair tied in a braid down to their shoulder blades. One of the reservation boys glanced up at him, and Jack got lost in his all too familiar silver eyes.

He watched the one with silver eyes walk by, and was embarrassed when he noticed him glancing back with suspicion, probably from Jack's intense gaze. The res boy pulled his eyebrows together and hurried off with his friends and Jack glared at the book in his lap until the boy's laughter disappeared down the street. When he peeked up he almost expected the silver eyes to be flickering in front of him, but all that shimmered was the mirage in the dark blacktop. The boy was maybe connected to the girl in the detention room, perhaps even her brother. Something about their eyes haunted him...

"Jack." Angie opened the screen door with a quiet squeak and Jack hid Apple's book under his legs on the porch chair. Angie's short blond hair was sticking up oddly with the humidity and the stress of a broken air conditioner shone in her wrinkled frown and her pit stains. "I didn't know you were home. How was the tour?"

Jack shrugged. "Normal, I guess." The school here was like the one back in Chicago, only smaller, and the principal had a good 30 pounds on his old one. He was surprised to see things here were mostly the same as things anywhere. Same TV shows, just worse reception, same gas, just lower prices, same town, just smaller. It was like a snow globe version of his old life.

Angie nodded as if she understood him and gazed at the beat up Ford in the driveway. "Broken again," she explained, "The only mechanic in town is sick, so her son is going to come by soon." Jack could tell that Angie thought the fact of only having one mechanic in town was ridiculous, and he resisted the urge to give her an 'I told you so'. He knew it wasn't long until they were packed up to head to some California city. Angie couldn't handle anything less than a crazy, buzzing, urban area, and it was written all over her dubious face.
***

The girl was named Apple after the scent of her mother's hair. At first Henry was enraged by his dead wife's affair, and even considered giving her to an orphanage. But as soon as Apple opened her unseeing eyes, he noticed his wife's eyes reopening, an exact replica, same almond shape, same shade of hazel. He felt his hatred sink into an irretrievable spot and it was all he could do to let his baby sleep and to close those precious eyes.

The family continued to trapeze, all of them except Apple, who would stare blankly into space as she heard amazing tales of her flying family. All the fans saw it as strange that Henry coddled Apple more than even his own true daughter, Laura, when she bore no true relation to him. Yet, when people saw her, despite her dark skin and hair, they noticed she had an uncanny resemblance to her mother. They just couldn't quite figure out what it was.

By the time she was five, all Apple could dream about was the trapeze. She wanted to know what it was like to be truly part of her family, to soar, to show her father she was worth all his hard work. But how could Henry allow her to be put in danger? Eventually he even gave up the trapeze to stay home with Apple, worried how she managed to get through even the simplest of things with no sight.

Henry's first daughter, Laura, had his blond hair, his blue eyes, his pink cheeks, and she was getting more famous with every flying flip she perfected. She was the kind of person that would not sit still, constantly had to be on her way to bigger and better things, which was exactly what the art of trapeze gave her. However, with Henry constantly in Chicago, there was only so far she could travel to further her fame.
Dear Daddy,

The time has come for me to make a permanent leap in my career and perform in England for the birthday of the royal queens son. Though it has been a few years, Timothy and I require assistance that only you can provide. After this you may live in whatever peace you desire, but I need you now. Reply by letter and I'll come home as soon as I can.
~Laura

"How long have you kept this from me?" asked Apple, staring blankly into her lap. Apple was now 13 and had lived a lonely five years with Henry.

"Two weeks," admitted Henry. She sometimes felt so connected to him, as if she could feel his emotions rather than hear them, and she could taste lost hope and miserable guilt in the air.

"Is it too late?" Apple asked and she felt the answer in his hesitance.

"No," he replied finally, and Apple realized he was asking her for permission.

"Well then," she said with reluctant finality, "You know what you need to do."
***

Jack began to live his August on the porch of their small brick house, watching the clouds and the cars. He'd eat his cereal out there every morning and watch a middle aged man across the street go to work, and he would listen to his FM radio every night when the res boys went down the street to meet up to play soccer in the road. He didn't see the boy with the eyes.

He began to notice things, how the man across the street only owned two suits which he alternated every day. The number of res boys changed every day, but there were only res boys, just a crowd of bronzed skin. Half way through the week an elderly lady stopped walking her dog and every other night an underage girl would hurry down the road with a cigarette in her mouth.

Apple Kippling was unforgotten, but hidden away in Jack's sock drawer. Truthfully, the story haunted him like the silver eyes, and he'd have nightmares about metal iris' that only saw un-penetrated darkness. They would stare right through him, and as harmless as it sounded, it had him waking in sweat at night.

It was eleven in the morning and the heat was merciless. Somehow the citizens of Cedar Grove defied the oppressing warmth every day and would still arrive. Jack watched a boy with insanely curly hair and a guitar on his back, his face flushed red, walk quickly down the street, and he noticed that the kid was barefoot. He didn't seem like a bum, with a clean t-shirt and cargo shorts, and Jack almost laughed as the boy trotted to keep his feet off the scalding cement. He was so caught up in the moment that he didn't notice the silver eyes.

"Yo." Jack turned to see the speaker and leapt off his porch chair when he saw the eyes. The res kid was carrying a rusty tool box in his big hand and a black Chevy hat cast a shadow over his creepy eyes, making them seem to shine even more. His hair was let out of it's braid and it sat on his shoulders, accenting their bulk.

"You!" cried Jack, taking a step forward. He immediately regretted it and came to only conclusion that he had Porch Madness.

"Yeah," said Eyes, seeming a bit confused, "Me. I'm here to fix your car?" He swung the toolbox in the direction of the beaten Ford.

"You?" repeated Jack.

"Me," he repeated, sounding annoyed. He seemed about eighteen and Jack noticed a small tattoo his wrist, but couldn't tell what it was. "I'm Oliver." Jack was surprised by the simplicity of the name, wrongly so, he knew, and he hoped he maintained his expression before Oliver noticed. But really, what did he expect, Floating Feather?

"Yeah, sorry," Jack managed to spit out. Oliver nodded with a look on his face that let Jack knew the first person he'd "properly" met in Cedar Grove thought he was crazy. To make matters worse, just as Oliver turned to work on the car, Jack blurted "What's your tattoo of?" before he could stop himself.

He saw Oliver sigh, as though he really just wanted to get his work done and leave, but he thrust out his wrist, so Jack could just make out a cleanly bitten apple.

Jack didn't know whether it was the jolt of Oliver's tattoo or the sweltering boredom that seemed to layer the air Cedar Grove, but the red book was back in his lap. Angie was inside stirring a disastrous dinner that would no doubt turn into take out and the rest of town was too busy to notice the battle going on beneath Jack's eyes. Part of him knew it was stupid to divulge in these paranoid little thoughts that would play in the back of his mind, but he also knew that these coincidences all had something to do with Apple Kippling. It was some odd emotion that had caused him to slip the book under his shirt and down to his kingdom (the porch). As nonsensical as it sounded, Jack just had a feeling he had to read on.
***

Anxiety was a feeling that Apple had come to terms with on more than one occasion, every time she heard her sister beg Henry to come away, whenever she heard the booze and smelled the silence, with every woman's voice giggling 'Oh, Henry' that she knew she would only hear once. For once, though, her hands twisted in her lap for a reason other than her father.

Though she, of course, couldn't realize it, Apple had turned into a beautiful young woman, with jet black hair, skin the color of cinnamon, and of course, her mother's eyes. But her looks were of little use to her, seeing as the only human eyes that ever got to bask in them were the ones of her family. The estate that Henry owned was vast, and didn't require Apple to leave, and her father couldn't bare to let her be threatened by the menacing world. In fact, he sculpted her world so conveniently that she depended on him almost absolutely. Of course, she could feel her way around the house and down to the pond on the many acres behind it, but he would tutor her, cook for her, and tend to her when she was sick. No matter what it was, Henry kept her trapped under his sorrowful wing.

And now he was gone. In a way, Apple's whole world, the very earth she stood on, had been whisked away and taken to London to leap 60 feet in the air. And it's replacement was late.

Chloe, the live in maid, lazed around with Apple like she did whenever Henry wasn't in the room. When he would walk in, she'd immediately jump up and start with numerous 'Yes sir's' and start cleaning things that weren't dirty to begin with, which Apple found humorous and charming. But now she sat back so close to Apple that she could feel her tired breathing. She was very Jamaican, so much so that even her breath seemed to come out in an accent.

Apple stood with a sigh, and started to tidy the already spotless room, taking her anticipation and using it to move a vase of flowers from table to table, waiting for a feeling that she got the right one. She could feel Chloe watching her, and she appreciated that she didn't hurry to help her like Henry often did, making her feel uncomfortable and useless. Instead, she only sighed "Take your time, you might break it," which, of course, came out more like "Take yu time an mine it bruk."

A casual knock came at the door, one too layed back for one who was late, but Apple sighed in relief anyway and set the vase down without getting a feel for the table at all. She sat down on the sofa facing the door, crossed her legs, and uncrossed them twice over before she realized Chloe was still beside her.

"Chloe, get the door!" she nearly screeched in panic as she heard a second hesitant knock.

"I'm going, I'm going," Chloe replied, and Apple smiled as she pictured her waving her hand lazily, her brown eyes etched in dreams of places better than Chicago. She held the smile in place and folded her hands over her knees as she waited to greet her new Henry.
***

Jack looked up a small fraction from the pages in the notebook, which he'd noticed all had some kind of fruit candy smudge on them, and saw a pair of slippers in the shape of elephants faces. He couldn't help but wince with every step the owner took, and saw he in fact knew the girl that was prancing on elephants up his walk way.

"You're the smoking girl," said Jack with recognition. She smiled so dimples popped onto her cheeks, looking misplaced, but not bad, in the company of her dark eye makeup and eyebrow piercing.

"Well, aren't you a gentleman," she said, and her voice sounded like one of a tiny girl, also strange for her dangerous look, "Thank you."

Too late, Jack realized the double meaning of his greeting, and mentally cursed his impulse speaking. "I meant I know you," he corrected quickly, "You come by my house to smoke." The girl nodded, and shook out her blond hair, (obviously from a box), so it fell neatly around her shoulders. To go with the slippers were a pair of ninja turtle boxers, nearly hidden by a long black t-shirt with neon green retro shades tucked neatly in the pocket.

"I'm Jack," he said, and in an attempt to be funny, "You on your way to the slumber party?" To his surprise she tilted her head back and let out a squeaky little laugh that made her seem as though she were a Kelly doll rather than a vixen.

"No, I'm Kate," she replied, "Just thought I'd say hey. I see you here alot, so." She peered at Apple's book, which he'd failed to hide in his first moment of surprise with the elephants. "What's that?"

"Nothing," muttered Jack, trying to shove it into non existence behind his legs.

Kate smiled. "Is it a journal? Do you keep a diary?" Her laugh squeaked and he could finally appreciate that perhaps it was the laugh of a diabolical girl rather than sweet Kelly Doll. "I won't tell a soul if it hurts your masculinity."

"Ha ha," Jack said lamely, getting a tad annoyed. "No. Just don't worry about it, okay?" He regretted his tone as soon as he heard it, frustrated and cruel, and started to apologize, but Kate didn't seem to be a bit bothered.

"I'm going to get it out of you eventually," she threatened, stretching out on one of the porch chairs as if they were old friends. "You could have saved us both alot of trouble back there." Her insanely wide smile made Jack cautious about her threat, wondering if she was joking or not.

"I like your slippers," he said finally, examining the blue elephants, and realized that their grin matched Kate's pretty perfectly. Jack had a momentary vision of him being cornered by Kate and a couple of deranged elephants and smiled to himself.

"Wanna know something funny?" she asked, continuing without an answer, "I step down harder whenever I wear these. I don't even know why." She stood up and planted her hands on her hips while Jack processed her possible animal abuse. "Bye bye."

"Bye," he muttered, lifting his hand. It was kind of nice to at least know one person in Cedar Grove, he supposed, even if she was a little crazy and had an odd grudge against elephants.

Jack had to talk to Angie about that freekin house. Promises to get the inside repainted had disapeared way back in June, and frankly, the place was dismal. Worst of all was his room. It was a decent size, with fair access to the bathroom, and nice light filtering in through the window, but he would have rather lived in a cardboard box. On the walls were crabs, probably every kind of crab there was out there, and each one had big, cartoonish, and just plain freaky eyes. Next to every evil crustacean was it's specific name, in both English and Latin. Sometime's Jack would wake up at night and every single one of them would be looking at him as though they had just busted out of a straight jacket. And Angie simply refused to paint the house until her salary was better. When Jack brought up the point that the whole reason he had to deal with the crazy sea food on his wall was so she was getting a better salary, he was shot down with the ol' "We all have to make sacrifices, Jack". Whenever she threw his name in at the end of a sentance next to sacrifice, he knew she meant business. So he was stuck with the crabs.

"Ma," Jack whined one night after yet another guilt trip with the same old line, "I can't deal with it. Just let me buy some paint, please." Angie wasn't a great cook, but if there was one thing she knew, it was tomatos, and Jack was glad to see she was opening cans of sauce for dinner, and hoped her failed chef experiments were over.

"You can't do that whole room by yourself," she sighed, "and I can't afford to hire professionals."

"All you do is rub a brush on a wall!" protested Jack, "Why couldn't I handle that?"

Angie gave him a deadly look and he began to back out and set the table when she murmered, "Hmm, wait. Idea. What if I hired Oliver to help?" Jack dropped the knives at the mention of his name and quickly began to disagree. "Oh, come on," Angie continued, "He could use some extra money and you guys might even do some guy bonding." She dipped her finger into the sauce and placed in her mouth before continuing, "But speaking of new friends, I got a call for you today."

Names of all his old Chicago pals ran through his head and excitement grew as he realized maybe he wasn't totally forgotten. "Who?"

Angie tilted her head. "I have no idea," she admitted, "But they left a number." She gestured to the calander showing a picturesque scene of the Grand Canyon where the phone number was written in red sharpie.

Confused, Jack dialed the number into the heavy olive phone in the living room, not looking to the awkward moment when he would have to ask who it was, though he was calling. Unfortunately, he didn't have to wait long, and in only half a ring an unforgetable voice rang out, "Hello!?"

"Kate?" Jack asked in surprise.

"Oh, Jack!" She cried, and it sounded as though she were eating the reciever, "I have such a funny story, I think you have creature in your basement!"

He saw Angie give him a funny look, and he imagined the look of absolute befuddlement on his face. "We don't have a basement," he said slowly. Kate was silent for half a second, though the chewing continued.

"I have a monster under my bed," she whispered, as though it were some huge confession. "It pushes on my mattress in the middle of the night."

"I'm sorry?" Jack had reassesed Kate from a bit quirky to totally insane.

"You want to know what I do about it?" Without waiting for an answer she sped off, "I research designer hats."

"You research- why?"

"A monster under the bed could never understand designer hats, he lives under a bed, see," she explained, "It makes me feel superior, but also a little bad for him, you know. It's gotta be tough to live under a bed, especially mine." She paused, having given Jack his cue.

He sighed. "Do I even want to know what you mean by that?"

"I have a trundle bed," she explained.

"I'm confused," he replied, thinking what an understatment that was. "How does he fit with another bed under there?"

"Oh trust me," muttured Kate darkly, "He manages." There was a click and then just silence. Jack set down the phone and shook his head, wondering how his one friend was a total head case.

"You look like you're learning algebra," mentioned Angie, "Why the expression? Who was it?"

"I think wrong number," he murmered, not wanting to admit that he had been called by a girl, even an insane one, because his mom would have a total field day with that, and he wasn't up for that kind of humiliation.

"So, Oliver?" she asked, trying to make the conversation sound light.

"Whatever you want," conceded Jack, trying not to face the fact he'd just agreed to spend a whole day with Apple Boy himself.
***

Though a little disapointed, Apple's excitement refused to die. Her new Henry, who had sleepily introduced himself as Jackson before immedietly resting, had traveled all the way from Europe, and had the most charming accent.

"What does he look like?" Apple begged Chloe for details, but she was brushed off with an "Aye, like a man, what else?!"

"His voice sounds wonderful."

"He's a puss inna bag, see." Chloe warned her.

Apple waited anxiously for evening to come so she could finally meet Jackson over dinner. Chloe was instructed to make fish and potatos, and she knew it was going to be a meal of excitement. Finally, after years, she had a guest, and not a thing could be out of place.

When dinner came, Apple waited for many minutes for Jackson to arrive, but though Chloe had announced to him that supper had been cooked, he didn't come down the stairs, and told her he had had a long day of travel and just wanted to rest. Though Apple felt as though she'd swallowed a sledge hammer, she never even made a whimper. Instead, she found herself simply staring at the wall, in desprate need of someone to compose a letter for her. Apple was terrible at the brail deal, and though her hands could take her through a maze, they couldn't make out dots on a page. They just all felt the same. Usually, Henry would write for her, but now Henry was gone, and Jackson hadn't even showed up for dinner. And she had no way of getting her dad back.

There were a few hasty echoes of footsteps into the living room where Apple sat staring at the fireplace, and she was so upset about the failed evening that she didn't realize they weren't the heavy, cautious steps of Chloe.

"Excuse me," said a deep, almost lazy voice, and Apple immedietly jumped when she realized that the crocodile drawl belonged to Jackson. Composing herself, she folded her hands and gave him a nervous smile. "Did I startle you? I tried to make an obvious approach..." He trailed off and the silence drowned him in a sea of uncomfortable anxiety.

"No, no," Apple jumped in quickly, hardly offended by his careless remark, "I just thought that you were asleep."

She heard him pull a chair closer and assumed he was seated. "I've had a rather long trip." Though his words were simple, it seemed like he chose them most assiduously, almost as though it were an effort. But not like a physical work effort. More as though someone who was putting the utmost concentration into a painting, painstakingly choosing each syllable as though it were a color. She was immedietly charmed by his voice. "I apologize for not attending supper."

Apple had learned from Henry to never say 'It's okay' to an apology, as it made it seem like you gave them permission to repeat their mistake. So she nodded and replied, "Thank you," giving him a more genuine grin, "Apology accepted."

Jackson chuckled, and for a few moments they were content to imagine a crackling fire on the stony fireplace, the scent of ash just apperant in the air.

"I thought I might read to you at night, if you would appreciate it," he offered, "I can't imagine my life without literature."

"I would appreciate it," she nodded, twisting her hands in her lap, knowing he must think she was illiterate and dull, "Thank you. But now I need to sleep."

She began to stand and heard the creak of Jackson's chair that told her he was following suit.

"Do you need assistance?" he asked, andApple paused, considering his offer.

"Yes, please." He gently took her elbow and guided her through the room, Apple following his steady pace.

"I can take her from here," came Chloe's voice, quiet and grave. Jackson couldn't totally understand what she had said, but Apple guessed that her dark eyes would have given him a hint. Henry had told her there was voodoo in Chloe's eyes. Her firm grip appeared on her elbow and she guided Apple up the stairs, though she knew Apple had walked alone up the same stairs every day since she was five.
***

"Jack, I have some bad news," Angie sighed, as she hurried around the kitchen too early on Monday morning, "Oliver can't come today, but he said he'd call and reschedual, so make sure you answer the phone." Relief flooded through Jack. He couldn't stand being in the same room with those eyes for that long. Sure, the crabs would have to remain a while longer, but it seemed a small price to pay.

"I'm out," cried Angie, and he heard the screen door crash shut, announcing he had the house to all to himself. Content with his Apple Jacks and bad monday morning TV, Jack began to relax.

"Jack!" Snapped out of his relaxation, he whirled around, dumping cereal and milk all down pajama clad front, to see Kate, her hair in Pocahantas braids, wearing pink denim overall shorts, a black ripped t-shirt, and black knee high boots with a low heel. She looked a bit like a tall kindergartener, all except for the cigarette hanging out of her mouth, which was bright red with lipstick. Jack wondered how he'd never noticed her wacky outfits from across the street, and supposed he'd just been taken by surprise by the emphasima inducing tube that she always had.

"What are you doing here?" Jack mumbled, pulling the milk covered t-shirt off his skin, only to have it cling right back on. "You can't smoke in here." She shrugged and smashed the end of her cigarette on the bottom of her boot and put it in the front pocket of her overalls.

"Thought I'd drop by to read your diary,"she said with a shrug, "About that call..."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, about that."

"I'm not crazy, I swear," She said, crossing her heart with her index finger. "But anyway, you're mom said I could come in. She's really pretty, like, model pretty."

"Yeah, thanks," he said, occupied now by the cereal stuck to his sweats, "I'm going to go change, be right back."

"Sure," she nodded, "I'll just read the magnets on your fridge." She pointed to one that said something cliche about needing coffee to function and grinned. Jack nodded slowly, and hurried upstairs so he could change before she ran out of magnets. He would have liked a shower, but he didn't think the kitchen could last more than ten minutes in Kate's control.

He threw on some jeans and a shirt, and thought, what the hell, before snatching up Apple Kippling's book off his dresser and running downstairs, expecting nothing short of disaster.

Kate had read all the magnets and was now slouched on the couch, her cigarette lit and back in her mouth. Jack sighed and sat down next to her.

"You can't smoke in here," he repeated.

"But I am," she replied, giving him a cocky half smile.

"But you shouldn't," he corrected, "You may not. Mom's rules." She gave him a wide smile and repeated her stub n' store.

"The book," she said, gesturing to the notebook he cradled in his arms like a child.

"I haven't finished it," Jack told her, "Reading it, I mean. It's not mine, I just found it." Kate immedietly leaned forward, her curiosity piqued.

"So, who's is it?"

Jack shrugged. "Good question. I found it in the detention room of Cedar Grove High." She smiled fondly, and he found himself not surprised that she'd landed herself a detention or two.

"So?" Kate aked expectantly.

"So?" Jack repeated.

"Well, can't I read it?" She laughed. He instictively held the book closer to his chest at the thought of Kate reading the secrets of Apple, turning every crinkled page, reading through the lolipop smudges, googling the definitions of the bigger words. He felt almost exposed at the thought of her being engulfed by the Apple story.

"I'm not done yet," he said protectively. She raised her eyebrows.

"Jesus, Jack, how long can it be?" He flipped through the pages with his thumb.

"Right to the end, I guess." Jack shut the book. "How about you can read as far as I have?"

"I'm not going to dumb myself down because you can't read!" Kate protested.

"Then you don't get to read it at all," he replied stubbornly. She sighed and crossed her arms, and really looked like a kindergartener, even with her blood red lips and look of disgust that only a teenage girl could master.

"You're a tyrant," she said finally. She waited for him to defend himself, but when he only stared at her, a challenge glinting in his eyes, she threw up her arms in defeat. "Fine!" She held out her hand for the book, which he reluctantly handed to her.

"I'm watching you," he warned as he turned on the telivision, and Kate stuck her tongue out before reading quickly through the definitions at the beginning. Every time she turned the page, Jack would "casually" lean over to make sure she didn't out-read him, which got him a few angry glares, but he felt like Apple was his, and he didn't want Kate to finish it before him.

When Jack saw that she had read to the page that had taken him days to reach in just fifteen short minutes, he narrowed his eyes and watched her iris' speed back and forth down the page. As soon as her hand twitched to move he snatched the book up, startling her.

"Jerk," she muttered, folding her arms, but she couldn't contain her eagerness to discuss. "I need to know who Apple Kippling is."

"I know," agreed Jack, "I feel like she...or he for that matter...knows all about my life. The connections with me and the book are insane."

Kate squinted. "I don't follow."

"Ok, listen," he explained, "when I found the book there was this chick with the creepiest eyes you've ever seen. And this kid who fixed my mom's car has the same eyes and a tattoo of-get this- an apple! And I moved from Chicago, Apple's from Chicago! And the whole thing's just creepy."

"Jackson..." Kate whispered to herself, "Jack. Jackson. Yeah, I can see some of the similarities. Creepy," she concluded, her voice distracted, "But entirely coincidental. What bothers me is you were too stupid to track down the chick from the detention room! She might be our Apple!"

"Well, excuse me," Jack said, surprised at her accusations, and even more so at the way she said 'our Apple', "But if you're going to be in this deal, you can't tell anyone, deal?"

"Naturally," she rolled her eyes, "But we need to get in touch with that girl..."

"We need Oliver."

"You know the crabs actually aren't that bad," Kate said touching her favorite one, Ocypode Quadrata, the Ghost Crab, "They're actually really cool. Can I name this one?"

"It has a name," murmered Jack, laying on his bed wondering how he had ended up in a room full of exotic crabs with Cedar Grove's craziest resident, all bound together by the mystery of Apple. "It's name is Ocypode Quadrata."

"You know what I meant," she snapped, gazing at the picture, "How about Keith?"

"Don't get too attatched," he warned her, "Oliver's going to paint over them. It's for a good cause," he added when he saw her disappointed expression.

"Which one's you're favorite?" she asked, her cheschire smile appearing.

"I don't have a favorite. I don't like the crabs."

"Just pick one."

"No!"

"C'mon"

"Ugh." Jack gazed at his walls, trying to decide between the dreaded crustaceans. "The coconut crab is kind of cool."

"Don't you mean Birgus Latro?" mocked Kate, "You only like it because it's big. It's some masculinity thing, isn't it?"

"Totally," Jack replied sarcastically, gazing at the Birgus Latro. It was kind of cool, with a blue-ish color and bitchin claws. It was just a normal crab, not all spiky like the King Crab or spiralled like the Arrow Crab. It was just a big ol' crab. If Jack was a crab, he knew he'd probably be the Coconut Crab, the normal one just chilling at the bottom of the sea. Or ocean. Wherever Coconut Crabs were. He looked at Kate in her neon overalls and lipstick and decided she'd be a Fiddler Crab, a neon blue one, like the one on his wall. Satisfied with his classifications he tried to think of a name for his crab, but all he could think of was Oliver and impending doom.
***

Apple wished Chloe would snap at her, or yell, or anything besides the silent treatment. She knew she'd disapointed her with the little performance she'd put on the stairs the other night, but it didn't seem like that big of a deal. The emberassment Apple got as Chloe guided her up the stairs in silence that night seemed like punishment enough. But she couldn't dwell on it.

"I thought we could start with 'Through the Looking Glass'," Jackson suggested, "My papa used to read it to me when I was young."

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking," Apple asked, her curiosity provoked by the mention of when he was young. Did that mean he was old?

"I'm twenty two," he admitted.

"Still young," she sighed in relief.

He chuckled. "I suppose so." He began to read, and though Apple tried to concentrate on the tale, she couldn't help but wonder about what other mysteries remained about Jackson.

"What was your papa like?" She interrupted, smiling apologetically. She heard hesitation and maybe a little confusion in the silence that was only broken by the muffled closing of his book.

"Why do you assume he is no longer with us?" asked Jackson carefully.

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, "It just sounded as though-"

"You're right," he said solemnly, "He died just before I came here. He had a wonderful beard, you know. Thick and black, no matter how many grays his hair had. I think I'd like a beard." He chuckled and the mood was lightened.

"Do you have a hint of a beard?" asked Apple eagerly, "A mustache perhaps?"

"Only peach fuzz," he laughed, "Nothing quite as fabulous as my father's. It must be difficult for you, never knowing who you're speaking to."

"I know who you are, Jackson," she replied gently, "I don't need eyes to know who someone is."

"It's ironic," he said, "You have such lovely eyes, and yet they can't see."

"I like to think I can see better than most."

Jackson was silent for a minute, and they almost expected to hear the roar from the non-existant fire that still hadn't appeared in the fireplace.

"The point of this book," he said finally, "Is that maybe life is only a dream. What do you think?"

Apple thought it over. "It would be a shame if none of this," she waved her arm, "was real. It's a sad thought that we'll someday wake up. Bitter-sweet I suppose."

"Bitter-sweet?"

"We have many dreams, many chances if life is a dream."

"What if it's a nightmare?" challenged Jackson.

"Well, then you get the comfort in knowing you'll wake up and everything will be okay."

Another silence settled over the chairs by the fireplace, one full of thought.

"You see more than anyone I know," sighed Jackson, standing to leave and speculate on his own.
***

Kate stopped reading all too soon for Jack. He had never really enoyed reading, but he just connected with this mystery girl, and it seemed to absorb him completely. He was replaying the scene in his head when Kate interrupted.

"It's funny that they read 'Through the Looking Glass'." She said thoughtfully.

"Why?" asked Jack, propping his head up on his elbow, "Have you read it?"

Kate nodded. "But that's not it. Alice has to get to the eighth rank of a chess board, and on the fifth rank the White Queen turns into a sheep and starts shouting a bunch of random stuff."

"So?" he snorted, "Sounds like a weird ass book."

"So," she continued, shooting him a dirty look for his comment on a classic, "One of the random things she shouts about is crabs. It's just weird." She lifted her hand to emphasize the crab activity.

"See!?" cried Jack, jumping up, "What did I tell you about the connections!?"

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, it's just a coincidence!"

He frowned irritably and wondered what possible explanation there could be for the similarities besides coincidence. It just seemed like the writer knew him, had stalked him, even. He twisted his head towards the window, even expecting to see some crazy eyes, jotting notes down about him. But all there was was the hot sky of Cedar Groves, so thick, you could practically touch it. And, naturally, still no rain.

Jack grumbled to himself for a short while. If the craziest person he knew wasn't going to accept the fact that something was going on, then who would? He didn't like that Kate thought he was overreacting and it left a sour taste in his mouth. He needed to get proof, and his only lead was Oliver.

The phone rang, shattering the comfortable silence, and Jack lept up and flew down the stairs, now eager to hear the only voice of confirmation.

"Hello?" he breathed anxiously.

"Hi," came the deep voice of his only clue. Jack smiled. Soon he'd have his proof.
***

Jack had come to the easy conclusion that Oliver and himself were complete opposites. Yin and Yang. Hot and cold. Or in this case, big and scary, and tiny and scared. Oliver's truck could be heard from a mile away, it's unthinkable horsepower nearly tearing up the pavement on the way to Jack's house. While being watched from the upstairs window, he leapt up into the back of his truck and easily lifted a cardboard box of paints and equiptment, and strode to the house as though the weight of the box were one of a kitten.

A few days, or even hours ago, Jack could never picture him shoulder to elbow with such a person, in his very own room, prepared to conquer the crabs. But now Oliver was grinning at the walls, like they were the funniest thing he'd seen all day. Which, they probably were, Jack realized with emberassment.

Suddenly Oliver spun to face him. "You actually want to paint over this?" Jack could not get over how out of place this guy was in his room, with his bulk and excited black eyes.

"You don't think they're creepy?" he asked in surprise.

"Hell yeah, I do," he replied, squinting at the names of the crabs on the wall. He put his hand against a particurally malicious looking one, and Jack got a good look at his apple tattoo, which sent chills down his back. "But, you know, it's kind of funny."

"Try sleeping near them," murmered Jack, nervously trying to dig open the top of a paint can. Oliver continued to gaze at the walls for moments more until turning to help open cans. The only color he had brought, Jack realized in dismay, was black. "Damn."

"What?" Oliver was holding a brush in his mouth while he tied his black hair into a secure knot.

"Angie's gonna freak if I paint the walls black." Jack's stomach clenched as he realized this meant ages more with his creepy walls. He started to pound the lid back onto the can of paint angrily, and it slipped from his grasp and spilled all over the hardwood floor.

"Whoa," Oliver leapt up onto the bed to keep the paint from seeping into his socks. Black paint had covered half of his floor, like a big black hole. They both watched in disbelief as it sank into the cracks of wood and stained the bottom of his wall and dresser. It spread quickly, as if it were as thin as water, but stank as though it were oil. If Angie was going to freak before, she was going to go into shock now. Jack's mouth dropped, but nothing came out, as there were no words to describe his crappy luck.

"Let's get out of here," he said finally, as the stench of the paint became unbearable, but he couldn't take his eyes of of the angry splatter.

"You're just going to leave it?" asked Oliver, dubiously. Jack shrugged, feeling conquered by Cedar Groves. He kneeled on the floor, accepting defeat, while Oliver stood awkwardly on his bed, and the victorious crabs cackled and leered from above.
***

Jack had never made coffee before, and had never even drank it, which made him feel like an immature child, but somehow he couldn't see Oliver stopping at a Starbucks So he was surprised that he'd accepted his invitation to have a cup. 
"Sorry about your floor, man," Oliver said from the table where he fiddled with a salt shaker. Jack considered his response (for once). Hanging out with Oliver was worlds apart from hanging out with Kate, and he really wasn't prepared for it.
"I-it's fine," he replied, rolling his eyes at how lame it sounded for all the time he took to say it, but relieved he hadn't startled his guest with one of his infamous insane replies. "Not you're fault," he paused and added "dude," trying to sound like he was just one of the guys. But from the sound of Oliver's muffled chuckle at the table, he had obviously failed. 
When he finally found some cheap coffee stored away in the cabinets, Jack frowned at the coffee machine that he had watched Angie operate so many mornings. He would never take that for granted again, he promised himself with a small smile. After a few moments of attempting to comprehend the contraption, he deicided to wing it, throwing in some coffee and water and flicking on the switch. 
"You know," said Jack, trying to make his voice smooth and casual, "You remind me of someone I saw once." He paused, testing Oliver's reaction. 
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he continued, "Some girl in the highschool, she had the same exact eyes."
"Huh," Oliver replied, still twirling the salt shaker. "What's her name?"
"Good question," Jack muttered thoughtfully, "Maybe it was your sister? Or a cousin?"
Oliver's eyebrows wrinkled, and Jack realized he sounded intrusive and backed off. "Probably just a coincidence." He narrowed his eyes as he used the word that had been held over his head like a menace every time he tried to make a point with Kate. Damn coincidences, as far as Jack was concerened, they didn't exist in New Mexico. He squinted at his only lead out of the corner of his eye, but Oliver's expression gave nothing away.
"My cousins live in Arizona," he replied smoothly.
Jack turned to face him head on. "But a sister?" Oliver began to reply but glanced at the coffee pot that was now spitting out an ugly conglomeration of raw coffee and alot of smoke. 
"Dude!" cried Oliver, and Jack couldn't help but wonder why it was weird when he said 'dude', but not Oliver. Shaking his head at himself, he leapt up and yanked the cord out of the wall. The smoke slowed and it stopped shooting out whatever concoction Jack had created. 
"Nice save," Oliver rolled his eyes, "I think I'll go before you set the house on fire. I'll give you a call when I get some new paint." He rushed out of the kitchen as quickly as he could and Jack heard his truck roar down the road, leaving him with a room full of coffee grinds, a ceiling that was now leaking black paint into the sink, and no more answers than he had in the beginning.
***
"I don't like him," sighed Chloe darkly, while she prepared another exotic Jamaican dish. Apple could smell paprika, pimentos seeds, and bonnet peppers, and knew she was in for a treat.
"You don't like anyone, Chloe," she teased, listening to the water peak a boil. "Lobster?" she guessed. 
"Very good," Chloe sounded impressed, "Escovitch Lobster. And he seems sketchy. He's scum."
"What's that?" asked Jackson, his tone making it clear that all he heard was, "'Im a bait. Ooman naa like bait." 
Apple smiled when she heard his voice. "Lobster," she replied before Chloe could say something they would both regret. 
There was a thoughtful pause. "Oh, bait, lobster. I get it, like bait to catch fish, right?" Excitment of "piecing togeher" the launguage rang in his voice and Chloe snorted. 
"Exactly," said Apple, biting the inside of her cheeks to keep from chuckling, "Ready to do some reading?"
"Actually, I have a surprise." She could feel the anxious animation in his tone, but the falter in Chloe's chopping garlic told her to be cautious. 
"A surprise?" she tried to keep her tone nuetral so as not to upset her maid and friend, who happened to have a large knife in her hand, "You didn't have to, Jackson!"
"You really didn't have to," Chloe muttered and Apple was grateful for her lack of desire to speak the language of the "baldheads". 
Apple gasped as she felt his rough hand grab hold of hers and he pulled her out of her chair. He began to lead her around the house, and though she knew her way perfectly, she didn't object. She smelled ash and old winter days and realized they were back near the fireplace where they had had their first conversation. She started for the chairs near the fireplace, and was surprised when Jackson led her in the opposite direction toward a corner in the room, and her hands began to sweat. 
"Okay, now, sit here," came his gentle voice, so smooth it sounded almost lethargic. She felt a cool bench beneath her legs and she slid carefully onto it. A moment later, she felt Jackson slip next to her, his trousers brushing against her skirt. "Listen." Apple felt his arms raise a fraction and thought he was going to put one around her shoulders, but was hardly disapointed when she heard music, a tune that vibrated in her toes. She had heard plenty of Henry's records before, but none of them had been like this; fast, jazzy, and dangerous. She heard herself laugh, and knew that Jackson was smiling. 
"A piano," she exclaimed, her grin widening, "You play it so well!"
"I want to teach you," he said, taking her hand and placing it on the keys, which made a hollow note under her careless touch, "It can be a release."
She took his hand slowly again, and his breathing hitched. "Teach me."
***

"Can we please talk now?" sighed Kate, quietly closing the book, too worried about the damage Jack had caused to get too excited about Apple and Jackson.

Jack groaned. "I was so close! I tried to get answers, but all I did was ruin my floor, almost set the kitchen on fire, and learned Oliver's got cousins in Arizona." He grimaced at the quiet PLOP of paint dripping from the ceiling to the towels he'd placed on the kitchen table below.

Despite the situation, Kate let out a snort and a grin. "I should have known that you weren't exactly 'prime sleuth' material."

"You're not exactly subtle Ms. CSI," he shot back, referring to her outlandish, (as usual) appearance. Her hair now had strategically placed pink streaks and was curled in an imitation of Shirley Temple, and was half covered by her neon orange hood. The hood had fuzzy cat ears on top, and Kate had cleverly put multicolored safety pins in them. "And I thought the slippers were bad!"

She rolled her eyes at his endless bantering. Normally, he wouldn't have been quite so harsh, but the thought of the future conversation he'd have to have with Angie on the state of the house made him especially crabby.

"Next time I'll do the questioning," sighed Kate, reaching into her pocket to pull out a cigarette. Jack glared at her until she put it back grudgingly, and they sat in an annoyed silence for a few moments, only broken by the cries of the soccer boys down the street.

Suddenly Kate sprang off the couch and began to pull on her purple skater shoes.

"What's wrong?!" asked Jack in alarm, "Is it because I teased you, I didn't mean it. I just-"

"No, Jack!" she cried, silencing him with a stomp of her foot. "The soccer kids!" And before he knew it, Kate had grabbed Jack's hand and began to drag him towards answers.

***

Even from a distance, the res boys were huge, every limb made up of bulk and muscle, leaving Jack more intimidated than he'd liked to admit. Kate, however, marched forward to the hulks, her eyes fixed in determination, practically dragging Jack along.

"They look like they have steroids for breakfast," he hissed, "And besides, do you really think they'll dish the dirt on one of their own kind?"

His ranting finally caught Kate's attention, but not for the reason he'd hoped. "Do you hear how racist you sound right now?" she whispered, slowly shaking her head. Realization of the truth in Kate's accusation spread across Jack's cheeks in a slow blush, and he snapped his mouth shut stubbornly, and began to continue to drag on.

As the two approached the soccer players paused to survey the odd pair. Jack muttered to himself in response to the dark stares, but Kate elbowed him and took the final steps into the crowd of hulking guys. She scanned the crowd and finally let her gaze settle on one of the thinner boys.

"You're Dennis, right?" she asked, the only small sound in the oppressing, cautious silence. The boy that Jack supposed was Dennis pointed to himself in a question and smiled.

"Yeah," he said finally with a wink, and the other boys turned their backs, already bored. "Don't I know you?"

"My mom used to babysit you," she sighed, and Jack couldn't help but notice Dennis' grin slacken and Kate's monotone explanation. He looked at her with wonder, but she ignored him and introduced herself.

"You guys here to play?" he asked, his smile bright again. His general happiness would have seemed contagious had Jack not been so uncomfortable.

"No," he said quickly, trying not to picture himself being kicked across the pavement, "Actually-"

"Actually," spoke up Kate, nudging him with her elbow, "We were wondering if you knew someone named Oliver." Dennis shrugged and continued to smirk.

"Maybe," he said, suspicion in his voice, "Why? He owe you cash?"

Jack wrinkled his eyebrows, turning to give Kate a curious gaze. Before they could control their expressions, Dennis saw he'd said too much.

"Look, their family has about enough trouble right now," he said darkly, and the other boys looked curiously at his defensive stance. Jack turned to leave but Kate stood cautiously.

"No, nothing like that," she whimpered, "I just need to talk to his sister." The other boys immediately turned their heads and stood by Dennis, who's grin had turned to a sneer.

"Good luck," he said, and they turned to their game, closing the conversation with only more questions.