The White Renegade (Viral Airwaves) (2 page)

“Well, he used to say I was demonspawn. I think he’d have deserved that courtball.”

“Seraph!”

Leanna always protested when he said anything violent.

He grimaced at her, not about to apologize. She wasn’t at the receiving end of his insults, after all, or part of their little war. When he’d turned ten, Seraphin had started calling the man ‘Old Wart,’ and he still did for every new ‘demonspawn’ that came out of Walt’s mouth. Besides, the teenager had laughed a little at his answer, and that was encouragement enough for Seraphin. He smiled at the teenager up on the roof.

“He’ll die soon enough on his own,” he said. “You could come live here and replace him. What’s your name?”

“Alex.” She threw the courtball down at Seraphin, who caught it in the net at the end of his stick. “Sadly, I’ve got my own folk to take care of, down south. I don’t think I’ll be settling here for the winter.”

Seraphin tried to contain the sharp stab of disappointment in his stomach. He already liked Alex, and having someone who was so obviously
different
around seemed like it’d be fun. For once he wouldn’t be the only one to stand out. With a sigh, he handed his courtball stick and the ball to his sister.

“Why don’t you go store them?”

“What? No.” She crossed her arms, blowing away a strand of brown hair before staring with a defiant look. “Just because you find her cute doesn’t mean I’ll—”

“Them.” Alex frowned a little as she—they—interrupted Leanna. “I’m not a ‘her’.”

His sister looked about to protest, so Seraphin slapped his hand over her mouth and pushed her toward the house. He could feel all the heat in his cheeks and was glad this pronoun business was obscuring Leanna’s declaration about his finding Alex cute. “You heard
them
,” he said. “Off you go.”

She glared at him, but there was a hint of shame behind her anger. Neither of them had missed the slight hurt in Alex’s tone when they’d corrected her. With a final huff, Leanna spun on her heels and stalked away. Seraphin tried not to laugh at the exaggerated outrage. Leanna liked to put on a show when she believed life was being unfair to her, which seemed to be whenever she was asked to do something. Then again, at least she did whatever tasks were put before her. When he’d been twelve, Seraphin had developed a surprising proficiency at going unnoticed or hiding in the woods at the exact moment he would be needed. Now he mostly used those skills to avoid those with less-than-polite opinions about his albinism.

The two teenagers watched her in silence, but Alex decided to pick up their conversation before Leanna had even disappeared down the road.

“So … white boy thinks I’m cute, huh?”

Seraphin’s heart jumped all the way into his throat, and at first, all that escaped was a strangled “What? No!” He spun on his heels, probably redder than even Alex’s ridiculous jacket. Seraphin tried not to seem too stiff, despite the sudden tension in his back and shoulders. He spread his arms, cracked a smile he hoped resembled something charming, and leaned back a little. “I don’t think cute really cuts it.”

His answer was rewarded by a large grin. Alex laughed—a deep and choppy sound that was at the same time weird and adorable—then gestured for Seraphin to come.

“If you want to climb up, I can show you what I’m doing.”

Seraphin had never bothered to learn about the solar panels on their roof. They’d always been there for him, a reliable source of electricity for the community, and when the older folks spoke of oil and natural gas as a power source, it always left him wondering if they’d all had their little barrels and cans in the backyard. He knew there’d been a large-scale power grid, had even seen the giant metal towers outside the village, but it was hard to wrap his mind around the idea their electricity had come from so far away.

Seraphin found Alex’s ladder and hurried up with enthusiasm, however: his interest in all things electrical rekindled by a very specific motivation. It wouldn’t do for his newfound friend, so obviously confident in their ability, to think him ignorant. He withheld his questions about their pronouns for the same reason, burying his curiosity under his desire to impress.

Seraphin settled next to Alex, and they smiled at him, as though they were sharing some sort of secret, then began their explanation on the different parts of the solar panel. Alex must have known Seraphin didn’t care that much, because after a while they dropped the pretext and made small talk about other topics. The conversation lasted hours, and Seraphin’s skin began to hurt and itch. He knew he should go home, or cover it before it burned more thoroughly, but he didn’t want to leave. Alex noticed him scratching his arms and frowned.

“Are you okay?”

Seraphin pressed his lips together. Should he tell them? He didn’t like to admit how little it took for him to get horrible sunburns—he wasn’t some fragile flower to fret over. Alex was to spend the summer here, however. They would learn sooner or later.

“It’s the albinism.” His voice was a hesitant whisper. Why did it always have this hint of shame? It wasn’t his fault. “No pigments to counter the sun or something. I burn really fast.”

Alex’s eyes widened a little. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t think of that. Here.”

They shed their light coat in one smooth movement, and offered it to Seraphin. It hung between the two teenagers for a moment, before Seraphin grinned and snatched it. Relief spread through his body as he slipped it on. The sleeves stopped a little short, so Seraphin dug his hands into the pockets, then he shifted around to keep the sun from falling directly on his face.

“Thanks.”

His gaze fell upon the intricate sleeve tattoo running up Alex’s arm, in pale white ink. He stared at the pattern, entranced by the myriad curvy lines crisscrossing one another. They might have looked like thin scars if not for the complex design.

“It’s nice, huh?” Alex asked, raising their arm to let Seraphin see better. “Drew it myself.”

“Wow.”

Seraphin wished something more intelligent had come out of his mouth. It wasn’t fair. Here was Alex—who couldn’t be much older than him, if at all—with a bright smile and weird laugh, incredible knowledge of solar panels and their functions, rock-solid confidence in who they were, and now a talent for art on top of all that? Seraphin couldn’t help but be intimidated. In comparison, he had nothing going for him. He spent most of his days hiding from the sun or the villagers, and he could drive good bargains thanks to his father.

“When did you learn to do that?” he asked.

Alex shrugged. “Truth is, I’ve always doodled patterns like these. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t do all the electricity stuff. But my mom can’t walk anymore, and someone’s got to help pay the bills. There’s a lot of money in the solar business for a technician. All the roofs installed in a hurry when the oil went missing are starting to give out. One day, though, I’ll go back to tattoos. This one’s a reminder of my real dream—when these designs will be my job.”

“Why not bring her here? Your mom, I mean. We’d help her through the winter.”

Iswood might not always be kind to him, but solidarity ran strong among the rest of the villagers. If one of them was down on their luck, the others picked up the slack, covering for food and other essentials. They’d treat Alex’s mom well, and then maybe Seraphin’s new friend wouldn’t have to leave when summer ended.

“Can’t.” Alex sighed, pinched their nose. “Moving her is … complicated. Besides, cold is bad for her health, and the winter is a lot easier down south.”

“Did the Threstle Plague kill her lungs?”

The virus had taken many lives in Iswood, and they’d had it easier than most. Seraphin had heard almost half of Altaer had caught it. Those who’d survived owed their thanks to Galen Clarin’s vaccine, but many still had trouble breathing.

“No, it’s … every movement hurts her. Something is wrong with her muscles. She’d never make it all the way here.”

Seraphin found no counter argument, to his great sadness. “That’s too bad,” he said. “The tattoo is really nice, though.”

Alex’s thanks brought the topic to an end, and after a few seconds of awkward silence, they went back to work on the solar panels. Seraphin studied their actions, repeating the steps Alex had taught him earlier, glad he understood some of it now. Their conversation picked back up again, and as the sun slowly began its way down across the sky, Seraphin found himself thanking his ancestors for bringing Alex to Iswood, even if just for a few months.

*

Seraphin spent the entire summer with Alex. At first they stayed in Iswood, sitting against the disused well in the center of the village, watching who entered the
Wet Lizard
pub and taking bets as to when they’d leave, and in what state. Iswood’s residents were creatures of habit. Men and women finished their tasks at the same hour every day, and converged on the old pub almost right away. In theory, Alex and Seraphin could’ve gone in—teens received watered ale—but they preferred to be alone outside. Old Walt glared at them whenever he walked past. Alex usually waved back with a large grin, as though they weren’t bothered in the least, and then wished the grumpy old man a good drink.

One evening as Old Walt slammed the
Wet Lizard’s
door as an answer, Alex leaned towards Seraphin.

“So why is it called the
‘Wet Lizard’
? Do you guys keep an iguana inside and splash it with alcohol or something?”

Seraphin imagined Old Walt and his father dumping precious ale on a placid iguana, and he burst out laughing. Only an outsider would ask something like that. He patted Alex’s shoulder and shook his head.

“Nothing as fantastic, I’m afraid. Local legend has it the first owner was called Lee Izzard, and was drunker than his patrons at any given time of day. Spilled more beer on himself than in the mugs. One day he slipped on a puddle and cracked his skull on the counter, or so the story says. They renamed the pub in his honor.”

“So there’s no lizard,” Alex said. “That’s just his name, mashed up.”

“Afraid so.”

“I’m disappointed. Lizards are cool.”

Seraphin chuckled, then stood up. “I know somewhere a bunch of them hang out. Wanna see?”

Alex jumped to their feet, and that marked their first expedition into the conifer forest surrounding Iswood. Seraphin knew the pinewoods by heart. He’d fled into them countless times before, sometimes to avoid chores, sometimes to avoid insult. He felt more at home between the thick tree trunks, protected from the glaring sun by a sea of tiny needles above his head, and as they moved through the forest, he finally dared a question he’d held back since their first meeting.

“Since I cleared up that one mystery for you, maybe you could do the same for me?”

Alex gave him a confused look. “Sure?”

“You’re not a girl. I get that. Except you never talk like you’re a boy either, and I don’t know what to make of that.”

“I’m not asking you to ‘make’ anything of it, Seraphin.” Alex ran a hand through their hair and tightened their ponytail. “I’m neither. There’s really no way to explain it. It always seemed wrong to be called a girl, but it didn’t feel like I was a boy either. I just …” They paused, shrugged. “I don’t have a gender. I’m me, and when I stopped trying to be something else, that’s when things started to feel right.”

Seraphin let the words sink in. He might need time to get used to the idea, but if it made Alex happy, then it must be a good one. Seraphin certainly hadn’t reached that sort of self-confidence. He cracked a smile at Alex, to reassure them.

“Well, my no-gender friend, I hope you’re ready for some very cool lizards.”

Seraphin first showed Alex the lizard pool, but through the summer they explored all of his favorite spots. They would sit and talk late into the night, sometimes all the way to sunrise, alternating between serious topics and silly stories. They returned to the lizard pool quite often, but as the hot season drew to an end, Seraphin brought Alex to his favorite hideout.

At the top of a small crest about an hour out of town was a lone tree, half-dead and twisted on itself. Its needles had fallen years ago, never to grow back, and its bark had turned a pale, sickly gray. The branches stooped and turned instead of extending straight out, almost as if the tree had tried to retract them from pain. It stood alone, battered by the wind, a little higher than the rest of the forest. On the day they visited, deep clouds painted the sky gray and strong gusts pulled at their clothes. Seraphin put his hand on the tree’s trunk. The rough bark under his fingers always reassured him.

“No one knows what happened to this tree,” Seraphin said. “No one remembers it ever being green. All of Iswood avoids coming here. They think the tree is cursed.”

Alex came up the slope behind him. They didn’t answer right away, instead studying the gray tree with a frown. The forests near their hometown in the south were smaller, and they’d spent a good deal of the summer marveling at the massive pines.

“A bug probably did that to him,” they said. “Nothing fancy like a curse.”

“I know. It seems obvious, but that doesn’t change the town’s opinion.” Seraphin looked at the twisted branches and sketched a smile. Every winter, he wondered if the tree would hold up against the snowstorms. Every summer, he found it clinging to life atop its small crest. “I like to think that what they call a curse is actually a blessing. I mean, look at it. It stands here all alone, half-broken, and yet nothing has managed to knock it down yet.”

Alex touched his forearm and stepped next to him. They were so close, Seraphin could feel their warmth despite the strong winds. He leaned a little towards them, seeking more.

“The tree is you, isn’t it?” they asked.

Seraphin scoffed a little. “I wish. The tree’s rooted deep. It has a hidden strength to keep it standing.” He turned to face Alex, his fingers tracing the
skeptar
at his wrist. “I don’t have anything to rely on.”

“You have me.”

“You leave next week.”

“I’ll be back. Every summer if I can.” Alex met his gaze without flinching. “I talked it out with Old Walt. He grumbled and swore, but there’s too much to do for him to say no. So … you just hold on through winter, white boy, and I’ll be right here with you.”