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Cinderbrush Hills is what one would call a “liminal space.” It’s very small and very stagnant. There are no seasons, there is no passage of time. There’s the same menu at the same diner with the same fading waitress who emotionlessly hands you the same plate with the crack running through it you had last week. That’s the kind of town Cinderbrush Hills is. It’s the kind of place that when anything happens, it’s a big deal.
A new kid, for example, is newsworthy. Even Jamie doesn’t bother to feign disinterest. They inspect the fresh blood along with the rest of the class.
Effortless is the word Jamie would use to describe the kid who shuffles up to hand a slip of paper to Mr. Kempler. Not effortless like Corey, whose fashion sense is very carefully “I woke up like this,” or like Sasha whose appearance leads one to believe that it is physically impossible for a single hair to fall out of place. Effortless as in zero effort. Literally. Worn jeans, rumpled band shirt, and an oversized jacket that were probably found on a bedroom floor that morning. It’s that easy androgyne Jamie would secretly kill to have instead of having to get up at the ass crack of dawn to apply eyeshadow and carefully layer clothes. They have a clear face and messy hair that when one looks at first they see a cute girl next door, but upon second look might see that dopey, big-eyed best friend of all the male protagonists in 90s teen sitcoms. They stammer out an introduction as “Aff”. It’s cute, a bit of an awkward lost-puppy feel.
Jamie starts to go back to more important matters, but something about Aff pulls at their memory. They look familiar. Why is that? Are they someone Jamie’s met in other cities? During their summer in Phoenix, maybe?
Jamie puzzles over this while Kempler starts roll call. In their line of work, forgetting things is trouble. If they can’t keep their head, they’re in for it.
“Abigail Flowers,” Kempler calls.
Flowers.
Jamie’s head snaps up, their eyes widening. At the same time, a book flies to the front of the room at a frightening speed.
“It’s Aff!” Aff growls, before catching themselves, backpedaling faster than anyone Jamie has ever seen. The stammering lost puppy is back, spitting out something about seeing a bird in the room.
Heart hammering in their chest, Jamie glances around. Did anyone see them react to Aff’s roll call? That was a hell of a reaction, coming from Jamie.
“I saw it, too,” Jamie blurts. If people don’t buy into the bird thing, then they can at least just assume Jamie’s high. They’ve made the mistake of dosing too high or trying a new concoction and coming to class with a bit of a trip on before. Then it’s not strange. It’s just business. Just part of the usual game.
Life goes on. Jamie takes a moment to just breathe.
That’s why the face looked familiar. That’s where Jamie had seen Aff before. They’d been co-victims on the day Jamie’s life had been ruined.
It had been three years ago. Jamie had still been identifying as a boy, dressed in suit and tie for a court date he hadn’t been looking forward to, but was glad was finally occurring. The divorce itself was no surprise. Jamie had spent countless nights since he was very small laying awake and listening to his parents scream at each other on an increasingly regular basis. But they had kept the straw that finally broke the camel’s back firmly under wraps. Jamie didn’t really care. He was just ready for it to be over. Two Christmases and no more late night shouting? Yes, please.
Aff had been dressed different then, too. They’d been presenting as female, though the hair was still the same short, messy bob. They’d been wearing a slightly mussed dark blue dress, and had been thoroughly engrossed in a video game. They’d looked up when they’d seen Jamie.
“Oh my god, I didn’t know there would be other kids here. What are you in for?” They said. Good god, how had Jamie not recognized them right away in the classroom? Thinking back, it was the same puppy eyes.
“Parents splitting. Can’t agree on a damn thing, as usual,” Jamie said, disinterested.
“Ugh, same. Is your case like, after ours or something? I didn’t think they did them at the same time,” Aff said.
“No idea,” Jamie replied.
“James, come on,” Jamie’s mom said, putting her hand on his shoulder. She looked down at Aff with the most cold, disgusted look Jamie had ever seen, her hand tightening on his shoulder.
“Mom, ow,” Jamie said pointedly, bewildered. Why was she glaring at this random girl like that? To Aff’s credit, they shrugged at Jamie.
“Come on,” his mother hissed. He allowed her to direct him into the courtroom and onto an uncomfortable bench. A few moments later, Jamie saw Aff come in with a man with the same clear, dopey face. Aff waved at a furious looking woman who waved back at her, with a stern glare at the man.
Aff found Jamie and waved harder. Jamie smiled in spite of himself, raising a hand in acknowledgment.
As the rest of the various people found their seats, the hearing got underway.
The first words spoken by the judge were the beginning of the end for Jamie.
“Though this is unprecedented, the first portion of our two cases are aligned and will be handled together. After this portion is concluded, the remainder of each hearing will be handled in turn.”
Jamie’s mother’s attorney called a private investigator to the stand. As the private investigator described the meeting he had with Jamie’s mother and who Jamie can only assume is Aff’s mother, Jamie’s heart began to sink. When the photos of Jamie’s father in the throes of passion with Aff’s father began to appear, Jamie wanted to throw up. It was all he could do not to get up and walk out of the room. He didn’t want to know this. He didn’t want to see this.
Wanting to see anything but the photos on the screen, Jamie turned to look at Aff. They were looking up at their own father, heartbreak and confusion apparent on their face. To his credit, their father had his head buried in his hands, his ears burning bright red.
Aff turned to look at Jamie, eyes filled with tears. Jamie just nodded. We’re in this together, he thought in their general direction. We have nothing to do with this. We’re just victims here, you and me. Through the rest of the testimony, Jamie and Aff exchanged glances.
Later, Jamie remembered sitting quietly on a bench while Aff’s family’s hearing concluded. A sudden crash and screaming broke him from his melancholy thoughts. After several more crashes, the doors burst open. Aff, hair wildly on end, turned and looked into the courtroom.
“Fuck you! I don’t give a fuck what he did! He’s a better parent than my mother will ever be! If you send me with her, I’ll run away every time. Fuck you!” they screamed, before turning to take off down the hall. A bailiff quickly caught up and made a grab at them, but Aff kicked wildly until they escaped his grip and kept running.
Jamie’s mother gripped his wrist tightly, as if she was afraid Jamie would run, too.
Jamie thought about that moment often. Maybe if he would have run, they both would have had an easier go of things.
After all, Cinderbrush Hills was a small town. A scandal in a small town like that is delicious. And a scandal like that spread like wildfire. Somehow, the whole town seemed to know what had been learned in that courtroom. Cindrebrush Hills was abuzz with the gossip. Wherever the Flowers were from, it wasn’t there. Jamie and Aff been together in the courtroom, but Jamie was alone on Monday. Alone in a way he’d never been alone before. Jamie had never been top-of-the-world, Sasha-level popular, but he’d been popular enough. He ran track and sat with a lot of the other jock types at lunch. He had never been at a loss for friendship before.
It was whispers at first.
“Yeah, that’s what I heard. It’s his dad who got caught fucking another guy.”
“Can you believe it? A married man, with another married man.”
“Oh, he lost his job and everything, did you hear? Left town as soon as the hearing was over.”
That’s where it started. It didn’t take long, of course, for that story to grow stale.
“Yeah, it’s his dad. You think he’s a fag too?”
The word appeared on his locker in various mediums and on crumpled notes thrown onto his desk or into his bag.
Within a week, the whispers weren’t just whispers. They were shouted insults and jokes. They were shoves in the lunch line, a sucker punch in the bathroom. They were beatings in the locker room, accompanied by some accusation of Jamie watching some boy change.
Jamie had never been a boy’s boy, as Cameron’s dad so delicately put it. While words like “genderfluid” and “nonbinary” weren’t in his repertoire, and “they” wasn’t a pronoun he’d learned to navigate, Jamie had always been more interested in lighter, flowy garments. He’d been more likely to play dress up in his mom’s heels and jewelry than his father’s boots. There had always been speculations if he’d be what his grandmother whispered as “one of those gay boys,” but he had yet to explore those unknown waters.
Those last few spring months, Jamie almost swore to never try. Not if living outside the norm meant you got the shit kicked out of you and you lost all your friends. No one wanted to be friends with the kid whose dad fucked another man. No one wanted to be friends with the kid who gave up scrubbing slurs off his locker, or had to be late to every gym class so he could change alone. Being different was lonely and painful and awful.
Jamie survived the last few months of middle school alone. He learned that there are no friends in troubled waters. He learned how to survive, if barely. When it was bad, he thought about the girl from the courthouse. Sometimes he imagined her getting away and going on some crazy adventure. Sometimes he imagined he’d gotten up and run with her. That they’d escaped together and found a better life somewhere far away. The image of her fighting free of the bailiff and tearing furiously down the hallway at the courthouse stuck with him. It’s how his heart felt—angry and screaming its way out of his chest. Dying to escape and run forever.
When his mother told him he’d be spending the summer in the city with his aunt, he was relieved. Anything to get him out of this shithole town for a while.
“I know Aunt Mel is a little strange, but you can put up with her incense and yoga for a summer, right?” His mother’s voice was tired and worn, though she tried hard to put a cheerful spin to her words. What she wasn’t saying was that she needed time alone to sell their house and move their things into a smaller one and to just fucking process the hell her life had become, and that it would be much harder to do that with Jamie around.
“Yeah, sure,” Jamie said.
That summer was weird. Aunt Mel brought him to yoga and her meditation courses. She brought him to her herbalism classes where he learned about the healing properties of various plants, and also how to bake pot brownies. She brought him to the small shop full of crystals and strange instruments and books and bought him his first deck of tarot cards. She let him go wherever he wanted at his leisure. He found the underground goth scene that played loud music that resonated with him, with smokey eyed dancers who gave him his first (and second and third) lesson in psychedelics. He found the small, dim bar where the drag queens performed and then came out to talk to him afterward. There, he learned all about genderfluidity and how to deal with people who hated you and how to apply lipstick---and not smear it.
When he returned to Cinderbrush Hills with a new wardrobe (Aunt Mel was delighted with his exploration and supported him in every way she could) and a new attitude, his mother accepted it as “coping.” If she said anything to Aunt Mel on the side, Jamie never heard about it. He was ready.
Freshman year was a whole new Jamie. A Jamie who still accepted “he”, but would appreciate a “they” now and again. A Jamie who wore flawless eyeliner and black lipstick and whose nails flashed in the sunlight as they adjusted their red lensed glasses.
Some dumbass tried to fall into the same routine from last year.
“Well, well, did you finally accept that you’re just a queer?”
Jamie stopped dead, turning and lowering their glasses with a practiced eyebrow raise that would make his drag queen tutors proud.
“I have. Problem?” they ask coolly.
It only took a few encounters for people to get the idea. This was not the same broken little boy from last year.
This Jamie was not one to be fucked with. There would be no more fucking around. There would be no more social ladders, no more Jamie trying to be liked. It was no good for people to like you. People are fickle. Their likes change all the time. It was so much better for people to need you. Jamie didn’t have friends anymore. Jamie had associates. Fuck the social ladder. Jamie was building their own damn treehouse.
The next few years were spent in careful song and dance. Establishing distance. Establishing lines of credit with people. Learning the alleys in Cinderbrush Hills where old Jamie wouldn’t have gone, but Jamie now would go to trade secrets for candy, and back again. Going toe to toe with Sasha and establishing themselves as an invaluable resource. Slowly but surely, Jamie built an empire from nothing. His own private island.
Things still got rough sometimes. How the hell would they not? And every so often, when things were bad, Jamie would think about that girl from the courtroom and imagine where she was.
Never in their wildest daydreams did Jamie imagine Aff coming here. It was like a weird trip, seeing this person who was unknowingly a core part of Jamie’s coping strategy just waltz into his carefully built life as if it’s nothing. But here they are, sharing weird meaningful glances with Cameron, flirting with Mary, casting hopefully looks at Sasha like they do this shit every day.
Jamie should have known it would go downhill from there.
It’s a little sad, Jamie thinks, watching Sasha swoop down on Aff like a bird of prey with a fresh kill. Everything here is hard and sharp and convoluted. There is a delicate house of carefully balanced cards building up Sasha’s social empire, Jamie’s black market business, and their shared network of spies. It’s been three years of manipulation, verbal fencing, and some various favors to build this ecosystem. And Aff just stumbles into the middle of it with that wide-eyed grin, oblivious to the games being played around them.
Is it nostalgia that’s making Jamie feel kind of shitty about playing the game? Is it because there’s been this idea of this unknown girl in the courthouse, sharing the sad battle of post-scandal Jamie when they had no one on their side? Or is it because this poor child really has no idea what’s going on. As Jamie banters with Sasha, they both watch Aff for a response. There’s no curiosity, no jealousy. They truly look just happy to be a part of things.
Somehow, this child has not been crushed. Jamie would never admit it, but he loves them a little bit for it. Jamie had gotten through so many broken nights by pretending Aff got out of it unbroken. And they seem to have done exactly that.
The chaos that follows, Jamie only feels slightly responsible for. They’re holding so many threads, they have their fingers in so many pies. This cute, innocent, unspoiled human being does not deserve to be given their first drugs in a wild, delicate rave situation while being used as a tug-of-war rope between Sasha and Cameron and fuck, even Jamie.
It’s a struggle to explain. Between the drugs and the music and Aff’s candor, Jamie trips over their words, fighting to explain everything without giving away how furious it made them to see Sasha sucking Aff’s pure soul out via kiss.
“I can’t have this right now, you just need to stay away,” they say lamely. Fuck, it almost sounds like begging. This is no place for you. I want to keep you safe, Jamie will never, ever say.
Jamie should have known they were in trouble when those big brown eyes meet theirs. They should have seen it coming.
“Yeah no, you’re right. I trust you. Thank you for setting me straight. Do you want to make out?” Aff asks breathlessly, the words tumbling out one right after another.
Not even five minutes ago, they’d had Sasha’s forked tongue down their throat, and now they’re asking Jamie?
And for that matter…they’re asking?
No one asks Jamie if they want to make out. Not like that. Sometimes it’s a bargaining chip. Sometimes it’s payment for goods or services rendered. An offering. But there’s always a motive. Always something wanted from Jamie. No one ever just wants Jamie.
Jamie’s hesitance while they try to shut down their own melting heart gives Aff the opening to close the gap between them. Jamie tries to protest (against Aff or themselves, they aren’t quite sure) for a few more moments while his stupid body is responding and giving in. Aff pulls away, brown eyes warm like melted chocolate. They smile, putting a hand on the side of Jamie’s face and caressing it.
“You’re the butterfly,” Aff whispers, “And I’m the president.”
When they go back in, Jamie doesn’t resist. You’re the butterfly. Fuck if it doesn’t feel good. When Sasha kisses them, it’s about control. It’s about her making sure that Jamie remembers who helped them find the right people and get the right dirt. Her kisses are sharp, punctuated in the way she pulls Jamie by the harness or shirt or holds their hands over their head against the wall as a reminder of who’s in charge. When Cameron kisses them, it’s full of searching and needing. Cameron’s looking for something he can’t find, trying to fill a hole Jamie will never be able to fill. Looking for a comfort Jamie can’t provide. It’s sweet, and Cameron is a hell of a good kisser, but both of them are left unfulfilled and aching for something neither one can name.
Aff, however, is so different. They’re not looking for anything. They’re not bargaining, or controlling. Nothing was agreed upon or asked for ahead of time. Aff is simply kissing Jamie. That’s it. That’s all. And that’s enough. It’s more than enough. If unskilled, the kiss is honest and uncomplicated. Somewhere in Jamie’s mind, the two kids from the courtroom look across the way at each other, knowing they’re falling into the same pit together. But this time, Jamie follows Aff out of the courtroom. They run together, and it’s okay. For the first time in a very long time, for just a moment, everything’s okay. I am the butterfly.
And then it’s over. Aff breaks the kiss long before Jamie’s ready for it. For a moment, their eyes meet. While Jamie is still swallowing their protest, Aff’s eyes widen.
“Hey, what happened to Amanda?” They ask suddenly. Then they’re gone, disappearing as quickly as they’d run down the hall, leaving Jamie alone on the dance floor, breathing heavily, glasses askew.
Fuck.
And that’s how Cameron finds them a few moments later. Jamie sees the quirk of his eyebrow, the knowing half smile on his face. They want to melt into the floor. They want to chase Aff down and pin them to the wall. They want to go home and sleep for the next week. No, Jamie’s not okay, having been obliterated by this little lost puppy.
If the night could have stopped there.
If that moment could have been the only thing to keep Jamie up for the next several nights.
When it’s over, Jamie waits to be forgotten. Cam and Sasha are back together, but with Aff between them, softening their sharp relationship with their sweet smiles and their positive influence. The three of them walk hand in hand, switching out who’s in the middle. It’s adorable to see. Less so with Jamie playing the fourth wheel off to one side. It’s not Jamie’s style. They leave the happy triad alone.
Jamie forces themselves to be okay with it. It’s good for them, after all. It’s probably the healthiest Cam and Sasha have ever been. And they both adore Aff, who is overjoyed to be there, of course. It’s good for them, and Jamie is finally free to get back to their own life. It’s just business and damn, it’ll be good to get rid of some of this business. To go back to selling party favors under the bleachers during fourth period. To trading whispers for goodies. The murder suspicion will be an interesting new flavor to the usual game, but it’ll make things exciting for a while.
Jamie doesn’t have friends. Jamie has associates. That’s the way it goes.
It’s only a day after Jamie subtly stops sitting with Cameron, Sasha, and Aff when Jamie gets a text. They see it’s from Aff and hesitate before opening it. They really hope this isn’t the beginning of one of those earnest “we really miss you, why don’t you hang out with us” conversations. Jamie doesn’t do those kinds of conversations.
It’s an emoji. A butterfly. A butterfly.
Jamie’s lips curl up before he can stop them. No, that’s not the way things are going. Calm down, Jamie. Besides, there’s no way Aff remembers anything about that trip. Jamie stares down at the little butterfly emoji for a few minutes. Out of sheer curiosity, they send back a flag and a man in a suit.
“You remember!” Aff replies immediately. Jamie can almost hear the unbridled joy in their voice.
“Of course I do. You do?” Jamie replies.
God, that sounds stupid. Dammit, it’s already sent. Fuck.
“It was a fucking good kiss. We should do it again sometime.”
Aff makes it very hard to not have a heart. Before Jamie can reply, Aff sends a follow-up.
“If you want to.”
Jamie hesitates. Yes. Please. When? None of those replies feel right. They’re too much, too soon.
“What about Cam and Sasha?”
This is stupid.
“They don’t always want me around. Sometimes I can hang out with you instead.”
Jamie sighs.
“You want to hang out with me?”
Aff’s reply is immediate.
“I do. A lot. I like you.”
You’re the butterfly.
“That time at the courthouse, when you tried to run? I always wished I’d tried to run with you.”
There’s a pause. Jamie can almost hear Aff’s surprised laughter.
“We probably would have made it, then.”
Jamie smiles. Fuck it.
“Hey President. Wyd? Want to do that kissing thing again now?”
“Omw, Butterfly.”