Richie Lynn’s first week at his new school had been an exhausting one. He thought back, trying to make a note of everything that had happened. For starters, he wasn't sure if he really liked it here in Lewton, but he could see the positivity in his mother’s face, and that made it all right for him. Richie was an extroverted kid who liked to please those around him, especially his mum, because it made him feel proud. His mother would crinkle her nose when she smiled at him, like when he achieved a great result at his old school, Arlington Primary. He still smiled when he remembered Mr Garison writing on his report card, “If I could only have a class full of Richies, teaching would be easy.” But his smile had quickly faded when his mother asked Mr Garison for extra work over the school holidays.

Richie Lynn was a smart kid with a strange fascination for horticulture. He still remembered how he got into it. It was his tenth birthday, and his mother never wanted him to have a pet because she couldn’t imagine cleaning up all the hair around the house. Richie had tried to convince her that some types of dogs didn’t shed much hair, but since he was at school all day, his mother would say he was too young to have the responsibility of looking after a little life. Instead, she bought him a spider plant. Although the disappointment in his eyes was obvious, he tried to hide it behind a fake smile and thanked his mother for such an awesome gift. His mother’s face lit up, unaware of Richie’s forced expression. In her mind, the not-so-real seed was planted, and for future gifts, she bought him real seeds to add to his ever-expanding greenery in his bedroom.

His collection grew slowly, then expanded into all shapes and sizes. He had a pothos that hung from the top shelf of his bookshelf, almost looking as if it had grown out of the children’s comic book collection that Richie kept there. Its green leaves would stretch out to catch the rays of light that peeked through his corner window. He also had a fiddle leaf fig, which stood upright from its purple pot, almost waving at you when you entered Richie’s room. Its translucent, pillow-like leaves would gently flow on a warm day, almost dancing. A peace lily sat closest to his bed, because it was his mother’s favourite. She would sit beside him for just a little longer, admiring the lily’s white blooms, giving him an extra cuddle goodnight. Richie even began to enjoy watering the living jungle in his tiny room. He read up on how to care for and maintain his green friends. His room filled with all kinds of plants, from hedgehog aloe to mini money trees and even a Swiss cheese plant, making his already small room feel even tinier. It wasn’t until his latest birthday that his mother surprised him with his very own greenhouse.

The greenhouse was exciting, and Richie loved sitting inside, admiring his own little getaway. It wasn’t massive, but it was still a decent size for a twelve-year-old boy. Its dark green aluminium alloy bars stretched an arm's length higher than himself. When Richie sat facing the end of the greenhouse, back to the zippered plastic entry door, it felt like he was surrounded by a forest. He would lose track of time, gazing up at the transparent green plastic roof and the big windows you could roll up on a warm summer day. There was a little button you could click to secure the windows in place, letting the plants soak in all the sunlight. It was his escape, and he was glad it had survived the move to Lewton, with all his plants making the journey, apart from a few fallen leaves that would easily grow back.

Although Richie was an extrovert, he didn’t like the idea of having to make new friends—not that he had many back in Arlington. He just didn’t like the awkwardness of small talk. It confused him, and even though his mother said, “Every friendship starts with a hello,” Richie didn’t like the conversations that came after. He dreaded the moment when someone would ask, “What do your parents do?” Richie hated that conversation. He found it hard to explain that his father had died when he was little, and that his mother could probably change the oil in a car just as well as their dad could. It wasn’t so much that Richie hated explaining what had happened, but rather the feeling that came with it—the feeling of longing for a father’s presence in his life, like he was missing out on something that everyone else seemed to have.

Richie hadn’t told his mother, but he had started talking to his father in the greenhouse. He would water the plants and have casual conversations, as if his father, Dylan Lynn, were sitting there with him. He would tell his father about his hopes and dreams, what had happened at school, and even the little lies he told his mother—nothing serious, just the sort of lies a twelve-year-old would tell to avoid trouble, like saying he brushed his teeth every day. Today, Richie was chatting about his first week at school, explaining how the kids in Lewton seemed a bit different.

“It’s just that... they all seem a little older to me here, Dad,” Richie began as he fiddled with the closest plant. His thumb and index finger traced the veins in its leaf. “I think it’s because I only did six months in kindy or something, but they’re all turning thirteen this year, and I only just turned twelve a few months ago,” he said softly. Richie always spoke softly when talking to his father, because he remembered his mother telling him, “If you want people to listen to you, speak from your heart and choose your words wisely.”

He paused, almost hoping for a response.

“They just seem a bit more focused, you know... on girls,” Richie continued. “Greg Linderknox said I was queer because I don’t like girls that way.” Richie paused briefly. “I’m not queer, am I, Dad? I mean, I like girls, and I think Mum is pretty, but I just prefer playing dodgeball over... tonsil hockey.”

Richie blushed a little as he picked up the watering can and gave some of the plants a drink.

“I think I’ll grow into it. It’s just...” His voice trailed off, hiding his worry. “... It’s just that all the boys here seem really focused on it—well, except for Drew Hiddleston, who’s more focused on what’s in his lunchbox.” He giggled aloud. “He kept pulling things out of his tin lunchbox like it was a magic hat. He mustn’t have eaten all day before then.”

In fact, Drew Hiddleston had a nickname at school that Richie wasn’t yet aware of—Drew “Guts” Hiddleston, the boy who could gobble up a burger in under 10 seconds.

“I think I’m a bit young for all that stuff, Dad.” Richie’s giggle faded, and he became more serious again. “I’m looking after Mum.”

He changed the subject, as his father’s silence made the previous topic awkward.

“She misses you.” Richie swallowed hard, loosening his throat. “She doesn’t say it, but I hear her cry sometimes at night.” He gazed at the bird’s nest fern in the corner, as though it were meeting his eyes. “She tells me I’m looking more like you every day, but... I don’t see it yet.”

Richie abruptly stopped talking when he heard the back door’s fly screen slowly creak open and shut, followed by the soft sound of sandals on the gravel path.

“Who are you talking to, sweety?” Wendy Lynn asked before she had even approached the entranceway to the greenhouse. Richie turned around and straightened his chair so he could see his mother as she stepped into view of the greenhouse doorway. I’m talking to my dead father, he thought, but knew that wouldn't be the most appropriate response.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“No one, just the plants.” He smiled at his mother. Wendy looked around the greenhouse and was happy she had managed to set it up easily enough to capture the most sun—no easy task without the instructions.

“Well, dinner is almost ready, honey. We're having spaghetti, your favourite.” Richie loved his mother's spaghetti from as far back as he could remember. When he was younger, she would wrap their small dining table in a clear plastic cover and dump the spaghetti in the middle of the table, where they would proceed to eat it directly off the table. Something about the tactile feeling of using his hands rather than a fork was one of Richie's fondest memories. Messghetti, as they aptly named it, became a staple at the Lynn residence, especially on nights when Wendy wanted to bond more with her son.

Knowing that spaghetti was on the menu and not messghetti meant that his mother had probably spent the day cleaning and didn’t want to make another mess, Richie thought. He also knew that she probably wanted to talk about his week and how he was finding the move.

“Sounds amazing, Mum. I’m starving.” He smiled as he started to put the watering can back in its spot on the shelf, preparing to shut the greenhouse up for the night.

“I’ll be in, in a moment. I just need to clip down the windows,” Richie declared as he began his routine task of making the greenhouse secure—not that it looked like the weather would turn, but out of habit. His mother smiled and walked back inside, her wedge sandals once again crunching on the rocks as she walked back towards the rear door of their home.

Richie loved routine and would often complete his tasks religiously. The greenhouse was one such routine. He had to unravel any open windows and clip them back down, double-checking the buttons to make sure they were done up tight. He would then put all his tools on the second shelf and secure the door with the zipper entrance by clasping the slider and making a big arch with his arm to fasten all the plastic teeth. He loved hearing the sound of the door zipping shut. It reminded him of camping, something Richie would have loved to do but never really had the chance to, since his mother didn’t like the outdoors. You couldn’t really count that time when she set up a tent in their living room.

Richie stood back and admired the greenhouse one final time before he was about to turn and walk up the path. A shadow attracted his attention. He looked up and over towards it. Richie's backyard wasn’t massive, and it was tucked away inside a green wooden fence, but the surrounding trees were quite large, providing an attractive view from beyond the fence. Richie’s gaze narrowed on the large maple tree, which, if he placed his coordinates correctly, would be located directly across the street. Its winding branches leant and bent upwards, angling towards the sky, but it wasn’t the branches that Richie’s eyes were searching for. It was the large black mass shadow—far too big for a bird.

Richie raised his right hand over his brown eyes to shield the sun and hopefully get a better look at what was up there, hidden amongst the branches. The glare shifted his focus, and he could make it out much more clearly now. It was a black shadow in the shape of a man. Richie’s eyes adjusted to balance the glow of the sun, and the longer he stood looking up at it, the clearer the shadow became. It wasn’t a man; it was a boy, probably around his age judging by his size. The figure came into view after a moment.

Had he seen this boy before? Richie thought, replaying all the new faces at school until he landed on one that he did remember. It was Finn Unley, the boy he had met briefly in his physical education class at the start of the week. Richie thought quickly back to his encounter with him. Mr. Joy, the P.E. teacher, had told Richie he needed to run around the oval as an introduction to the lesson, but Richie, not being the most athletic of boys, thought he was joking.

“Well, what’s wrong with ya then, Ralph?” Mr. Joy barked, not even getting Richie’s name right. “You see, in my class, you listen to me or my little friend here.” Mr. Joy held up his shiny Acme-branded whistle that lay around his muscular neck. “The only thing that will stop you from partaking in this class is a note from your doctor,” his loud, deep, commanding voice stated.

“I don’t have a note,” Richie began to explain, but Mr. Joy interrupted.

“Bleh, meh, ger, ba ta... I don’t want to hear it, Ralphy boy. You know what I want to hear?” He questioned Richie like a staff sergeant would question a private.

“What’s that, sir?” Richie replied, falling into the military act that he hoped Mr. Joy wanted.

“I want to hear the pitter-patter of your little white sneakers pulling up the grass as you run around my oval,” Mr. Joy commanded.

“I just...” Richie began again, but another voice, much younger, entered the conversation.

“You can put your bag down over there on the side, up against the wall, but for future P.E. classes, you need to leave it in your locker,” the young voice said directly, but kindly, helping Richie take his bag off his back. Mr. Joy looked shocked that someone had come to the boy’s aid during the encounter, and out of everyone in his class, it was his star runner, Finn Unley.

“Finn, do you know this boy?” Mr. Joy waited for a response as he looked Richie up and down with a look of disgust on his face.

“I do not, Mr. Joy,” Finn replied quickly as he pulled the second strap off Richie’s back, trying to keep the encounter short. “But I know that in track and field, a squad is only as fast as their slowest runner.” Mr. Joy listened to his own words being preached back to him as Finn pushed Richie forward onto the track, encouraging him to run.

“Well, that’s right,” Mr. Joy said, concerned. “That’s why we are all doing extra laps today.” He looked up at the oval where the rest of the children were spread out, running, determined by their own athletic ability. He blew into his shiny silver whistle as loud as he could as Richie started to run next to Finn. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

The boys ran next to each other, but Richie didn’t talk to Finn until they were out of earshot of their teacher.

“Thanks for getting me away from him,” Richie huffed, realising the teacher probably looked disgusted at him because he could somehow tell how out of shape he was. Finn, who didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat, replied,

“That’s okay. He used to try that shit on me when I first came here,” he continued, flashing his big bucky teeth at Richie. “I’m Finn.” Richie wanted to reply straight away, but his shortness of breath delayed him.

“I’m Richie.”

Finn turned and ran backwards away from Richie, somehow increasing his speed. “It’s nice to meet you, Richie. I’m sure I’ll see you around. It’s a small town.” With that, Finn gave a little salute to Richie, turned back around, and powered off down the oval.

Richie’s run turned into a jog as he tried to catch his breath, yelling a little louder so Finn could hear his reply. “See you around, Finn.”

Richie thought about the last sentence he had said to Finn that day—“See you around, Finn”—and now Finn stood perched in a tree across from Richie’s house, staring directly at him. Richie instinctively raised his right hand in a sort of wave, but also in a I have spotted you up in the tree looking at me kind of way. He waited to see if Finn would respond, but he didn’t.

Why is he up there? Richie questioned to himself, and why is he just staring into my backyard? No obvious answer jumped to the forefront. But before his mind could explore the possibilities, his train of thought was interrupted by the back door fly screen opening again. Richie turned towards the sound and saw his mother standing by the door.

“Dinner’s ready, my love,” she advised, meaning please drop absolutely everything you are doing because I’m serving up right now. Richie replied, “I’m coming, Mum.” But before he did, Richie turned and took one last look up at the maple tree to try and catch another glimpse of Finn staring back at him.

A shiver ran down Richie’s spine, causing his body to break out in temporary goosebumps. He could see the swaying branch where Finn had stood only moments ago, but he wasn’t there. Richie rubbed his eyes as if they had played a trick on him. Had he even seen Finn up there to begin with?

Shaking it off as if it was some kind of temporary insanity, Richie turned and walked inside to enjoy his favourite dinner with his mother.