The Boy Next Door

Waves crashed in the distance, creating an annoying cacophony of sound that traveled a surprising distance inland, likely helped along thanks to the lack of vehicular sounds. Seagulls screamed their lungs out like dying winged rats filled with the plague. Salt stuck to everything, invisible, but there, coating the surface of everything metal every chance it got. Implausibly, it floated on the air, blown about in the moisture of the wind. The sun beat down relentlessly, unimpeded by even a scrap of cloud. Humidity bogged everything down like a thin gel.

Jordan stood in the driveway of his new home scowling at the empty road. Who would ever voluntarily want to live in such a backwater, dead-end town like this? There was nothing here! Not even a decent mall or any large stores or anything! It was just some podunk place were everyone smiled a bunch like someone had slipped something in their water. And maybe they had.

"Jordan! Quite goofing off and help me unload this trailer! I gotta return it before they try to charge me for an extra day!"

Jordan's scowl deepened as he turned back toward the house where his old man stood at the end of the U-Haul his arms filled with boxes. He stomped up the drive, his heavy leather boots making solid thumping sounds the whole way up. "Here's a better idea, we put everything back and hightail it back Detroit? This place drags."

Jordan's father, Micheal, matched his scowl. "You volunteered to come, if you remember. You could have stayed in Detroit, gotten a job, and gotten your own place to stay, but you agreed to move with me."

"I didn't think you'd be taking us to some kind of Mayberry wannabe on the shore!" Jordan shot back. "You sold this as a big deal! The biggest deal around here is the pie-eating contest."

"It is a big deal for someone starting a new branch of a TV repair company. Maybe if you'd stop leeching off your old man and made something of yourself, you wouldn't have to live through such disappointment," Micheal snorted. "Get your stuff out of the trailer or I'm returning the trailer with it in it."

Jordan muttered a few curses but did as he was told. He grabbed boxes at random and haphazardly tossed them into whatever room was marked on the box. Once he had all of his things piled in the room that was designated to be his, he went into the garage where his pride and joy still stood: a black 1952 Harley Davidson in pristine condition. It gleamed even in the low light. He approached it and ran a hand over it gently. Then he growled in frustration. he could already feel the salt on it!

Meanwhile, a rusty brown dog with a black muzzle, floppy ears, and a long, thick tail wandered into the neighbor's yard, sniffing around curiously. It didn't seem to think much of what it was smelling, snorting loudly every few sniffs, but that didn't stop him from exploring the flower beds in depth.

The dog in Juniper's father's front flowers watched Juniper enter her house apparently without even noticing him. He flopped over and gave himself a good roll before getting up and shaking himself off. He trotted back over to the new house where Jordan gave him a quick brush off, not even wondering where he might have gotten all the dirt. The dog let his tongue loll out and went inside, looking for his water bowl. There was no water bowl yet since his tow people were walking back and forth through the house. He heaved a sigh and wandered through the house to explore the new space.

Jordan helped his father carry the last of the boxes into the house, sorting his boxes out of the stack. There weren't many to bring in. They didn't have a lot of stuff for two guys and a dog. Nearly a quarter of the boxes ended up in the garage. A couple went to the kitchen, a couple to the living room, and the rest were split between father and son.

The front door stood open when Juniper and her father approached, and the dog was the first to notice them. He trotted toward them with an alerting bark, his short fur bristling as he eyed up these two interlopers.

"Hey, knock it off!" Jordan's father warned. He came from trying to figure out the kitchen boxes and paused when he spotted the two on the porch. "Uh, hi," he greeted them cautiously. He was a fairly typical looking man, a bit heavy-set and with a receeding hairline, and with a suspicious expression, but he was not abjectly unfriendly.

"Michael," he said, accepting the handshake and then the cookies. "Thanks for the... cookies?" He looked at them as if he'd never received cookies before in his life and had no idea what a person was supposed to do with a surprise platter of cookies. He stood awkwardly, uncertain if he was supposed to invite them inside or not, but there wasn't really anywhere for them to sit, so they'd be standing awkwardly in the entryway instead of the front porch.

The dog gave a little gruff, breaking the awkward silence and jolting Michael out of his frozen state. "I have a son about your age," he told Juniper. He turned and yelled, "Jordan! Jordan! JORDAN!!"

"WHAT?"

"We got company!"

"So what?"

"So get your *** in here! NOW!"

"FINE!"

Jordan came out sulkily, dressed in scuffed, stained, and torn black pants and shirt with a black leather jacket. He looked at the pair, his dark red hair falling over his left eye. "Hey. What's up?" he greeted them unenthusiastically. The dog trotted over to him and nuzzled his hand happily.

"Okay," Jordan said as he rubbed his dog's ears. He frowned at the pair, confused. Why had they bothered to come here? Just to say hi? Who did that? It was so weird.

"Thank you for the cookies," Michael said, trying not to sound confused. He remembered people doing this, but no one had ever brought him cookies before, especially not after moving. "I guess we'll see you around. Being neighbors."

Jordan grunted and turned his back on the door to walk to his room. Weirdos. He snapped his fingers for the dog to follow, which it did happily. Inside time! With his person! In a new place with new smells! As long as he had his person, the dog couldn't care less where they were.

"They seem nice," Michael said as he closed the door.

"Bunch of weirdos if you ask me," Jordan grumbled. He turned and headed for his room, patting his leg to call his dog. "Who shows up with a bunch of cookies and says hi to random strangers?"

"Small-town folk, that's who," Michael said. Still, he sniffed the cookies and examined them suspiciously. They looked alright and smelled alright, but there were all sorts of things that could get slipped into something. He set the plate aside to debate later on the wisdom of eating random, homemade cookies.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm going to my room," Jordan huffed. He disappeared inside with his dog and slammed the door.

Michael rolled his eyes. He thought the boy would be over this stage by now.

All was quiet in their house for the rest of the evening. Then, well after dark, Jordan got his motorcycle out of the garage and made sure it was clean and ready to go. The motor roared to life, and he took off down the road and into town. After dark was the best time to try to find the action if there was any to be had.