Juniper Berry (2 page)

“Mom, you can stop. You can retire,” she told her.

Whatever glow was briefly in her mother's eyes immediately set. She pulled her arm back and sat straight up, peering down at her daughter. “How can you say such a thing? I'm leaving my mark on the world. Oh, you just don't get it. You never will.” The words sprayed from her mouth like shrapnel, cutting Juniper deep. Mrs. Berry got up and put the phone to her ear for another listen—she was yet to place it down—then hit redial. She walked from the room without so much as a glance back at Juniper.

With Mrs. Berry whipping through the house spitting venom at workers and computer, phone and dog, Juniper ran down the long art-filled hall in search of her father. But it wasn't much of a search. She knew where he was, where he always was.

It was her favorite room of the house, just as it was her father's. She remembered the first time she stepped foot into the bilevel study occupying a large corner of the eastern wing. It was newly built, and she entered through a high-arching and heavy door on a damp yet warm morning. Covering the towering walls were thousands of books, many leather-bound, sitting on mahogany shelves, complete with a rolling ladder to reach the upper tier. They were alphabetized by author and divided and organized into categories like a public library or bookstore would do. An intricately detailed area rug—which Juniper immediately knew she would love to spread out across when streaks of sun came angling in through the massive window overhead—covered most of the herringbone-patterned floor. Matching the themes of the room were a plush leather sofa and armchair as well as an unbelievably comfortable rocking chair and cushioned ottoman in one corner, a classically ornate fireplace, expensive modern and abstract artwork, and, in the center of the room, an oversize desk craftily designed with various drawers and compartments. There was a globe that Juniper couldn't help but spin (where would her first book tour or movie premiere take her?), a shelf of acting awards, rare and signed books encased in glass—which she could not see the point of—and a collection of antique typewriters. Indeed this room had it all.

But for Juniper, the very best thing about the study was the smell. She reveled in the delightful scent wafting through the stuffy air. It was what first drew her into the room. She followed her nose down the hall, and it wasn't long before she realized it was the pages of the books that so tickled her fancy and sense of smell. She grabbed a book from off the shelves, opened the spine—hoping to hear a crack—and inhaled deeply. Then she grabbed another and another. She decided that whichever book smelled best that day, and every day after, she'd read—typically the older the better. Her father didn't mind back then, actually. He was overjoyed when he found her perusing his books that morning.

“Read as many as you want,” he said, pulling her close. He liked to look in her eyes when he talked. He descended to a crouch, lovingly moving the hair out of her face. “Too much is never enough. You want to be a writer? In a way, it's similar to acting. You have to know your character's every thought. Your worlds have to collide. I have books on every career and lifestyle you can imagine. Every hobby, religion, trade. It's all here. It helps me understand everything from how my characters grew up to what type of drink they preferred and how they held it. It can do the same for you.”

“That's how you became famous? That's the secret?”

Mr. Berry stood up and turned around, rubbing the back of his neck. He gave a sideways glance out the window. “That's right.” His voice cracked and he quickly cleared it. “That's what I was taught and that's what I'm teaching you. Read every chance you can. Of course, there was a time when I couldn't even get a two-line part in a commercial. Both me and your mother. But look at us now. Things worked out, right?”

In a sense
, Juniper thought. Her parents had received their big breaks, their dreams suddenly shifting to reality. They were so very happy, and Juniper was caught up in the thrill of it. But it was then that things slowly began to change. Juniper was still very young as her parents slowly regressed, becoming more and more reclusive the more famous they became, each year more so than the previous one. Eventually, her relationship with them was like the expanding universe; there seemed to be millions of miles between them, miles that could never be crossed, a gap that continued to grow.

And now Juniper's father kept more and more to himself, shut away in this very room reading and writing in a thick and battered journal stuffed with clippings and illustrated throughout. There might as well have been a
KEEP OUT
sign on the door.

Still, on this day, like every other day, she hoped to find the father she once knew. And, if she didn't, perhaps a book or two to secretly bring to her room.

Downstairs now, at the end of the long wing, she threw open the door of his study and, sure enough, there was Mr. Berry. He was pacing the room briskly. Back and forth, back and forth, his long strides never breaking. His hands were balled into fists and his head swung stiffly from side to side. As Juniper watched, his pace quickened, as did his breathing. Every now and then he smacked his fists together hard enough that the crunching sound echoed through the room. His lips were moving, but there was no sound—perhaps he was talking to himself. Juniper thought he looked like a madman.

She stood there in the doorway for minutes without being noticed.
He must be in character
, she thought. It was all she could do to keep from crying. She had said this to herself many times lately. She hoped she wasn't wrong.

“Dad?”

He didn't answer. He just walked straight to the window and peered out into the yard. His fingers scratched at the glass.

“Dad?”

Still nothing.

“Dad!” she yelled, and her father jumped. He turned around with distant, detached eyes.

“Juniper, what are you doing in here? What did I tell you? This is my space. My private space.”

Wincing, Juniper took a step back, her hand reaching for the door. “I wanted to see what you were doing. I thought I could read lines with you or something. We haven't done that in a while. I wrote something new.”

Although most of her plays were no longer performed, she still wrote new works daily. She wrote short stories, too, mostly about the animals she observed through her binoculars, personifying each creature into a friend she wished she had, some fantasies about the stars above or the lands at the far end of her enhanced vision, underwater worlds with large pockets of air to live and breathe in where she could talk to fish and visit mermaids.

Mr. Berry snorted. “Do you think this is a game I'm playing? I don't have time for this.” He spoke faster than she ever heard him, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

“I . . . I . . .”

“Don't you have something to do, some kind of lens to look through?” Mr. Berry reared back and punched the wall. “Can't you just leave me alone?”

He dismissed her with a wave of his throbbing hand and continued with his pacing; all Juniper could do was run from the room, her heart stinging.

Mother and Father have not been right lately
.

Chapter 2

J
UNIPER COULD REMEMBER
a time when her parents would never have allowed her to play in the rain. But these weren't those times, and these didn't seem to be those parents. It was as if she had new parents each year, one pair continuously traded in for the next. And so, the next day, out she went, into the rain.

Luckily, the grounds surrounding the mansion were endlessly fascinating. Almost every day, Juniper studied the creatures running in and out of the forest— raccoons, squirrels, rabbits, deer, mice, foxes, chipmunks, skunks. She observed the skies and the birds that filled it, as she, too, often wished to. In a notebook, and with the aid of a bird-watcher's guide, she marked down each of her winged discoveries: willow flycatcher, black phoebe, western kingbird, Hutton's vireo, black-billed magpie, tree swallow, oak titmouse, western bluebird, California thrasher, yellow warbler, lark sparrow, red-winged blackbird, among others. But her favorite of all was a certain raven, the blackest of all birds, as if dipped in tar, with a thick and curved midnight beak and a wide array of shredded musical communication, a bird that she could usually find on a certain branch of a certain tree in a certain corner of the yard just past where her family's property line ended, several dozen feet into the large stretch of forest.

The nearest neighbors were miles away on either side, and, for Juniper, this allowed for much exploring of the grounds. However, it also made it very difficult for her to make friends. There was simply nobody around. She was quite lonely, indeed.

Juniper knew Kitty heard the crinkling latex as she slipped on her red rain boots and coat. She came bounding in from the hallway at full speed. Man's best friend, even in the rain.
At least I have you
, she thought.

Kitty was by her side in no time, tail wagging jubilantly. Juniper was responsible for bestowing such an unusual name upon her. The moment Mr. Berry set the Jack Russell terrier down, Juniper squealed in delight and waved her hands, saying, “Kitty!” For indeed Kitty looked like a kitten. She was similar in size and her ears curiously pointed straight up at attention—for some reason they never flapped back down as they should. Her slinky body arched and her steps were very careful in her approach to her new owner. And while her eyes were wide and bold, her snout wasn't nearly as long as it should have been. Almost every aspect of the dog stood in contradiction. It took quite some time before Juniper was convinced Kitty was actually a dog.

“Are you ready?” Juniper asked Kitty, with her hand on the doorknob. “Don't make it so easy for me this time.” The moment she threw open the back door, out ran Kitty. In a matter of seconds, the dog vanished within the woods.

The game was called Here, Kitty Kitty and they played it often. Juniper would give Kitty a head start—several minutes or so—then, using her assortment of spyglasses, she tracked her down. With each new challenge, Juniper had gotten better and better, faster and faster. She would pull out her monocular to spy for a disturbance in the brush, use a magnifying glass to check for tracks in the dirt, observe the skies for fleeing birds with her binoculars. Kitty was found in no time. Usually.

This, however, was the first time they ever played in the pouring rain. For Juniper, this posed numerous problems. All the leaves and bushes and trees were already shaking and swaying, any tracks Kitty made were quickly concealed in the downpour, and the sky was empty. Still, she refused to give in and call out. She refused to whistle or clap her hands, sending Kitty running right to her. No, she'd find her if it took all day. Juniper Berry was no quitter. Besides, there wasn't much else to do.

She ventured through the woods deeper than she'd ever been, boots sinking in mud, rain pelting her umbrella, the cool air penetrating her coat. And still there were no signs of Kitty. She wasn't sure how much time passed, but she guessed that she had been searching for close to an hour. Close enough—it was actually fifty-two minutes.

On the fifty-third minute, she came upon an odd clearing. There was a pile of wood sitting directly in the center and debris strewn all about. If it had been there before, Juniper had never noticed it. At the same time, though, she heard Kitty barking in the distance. If her sense of direction was accurate—and it was—the barks were coming from the direction of her house.

Although her curiosity was strong—
who had been here and what were they doing?
—further exploration of the clearing would have to wait.

Juniper ran through the woods and back toward the house, her thoughts scattering through her head like remnants of a supernova.
She never barks like that,
Juniper fretted.

The trees whipped at her face, the mud clutched at her boots, part of her umbrella was torn, but still she pushed on. Though she didn't know why, she feared something dreadful might have happened to her parents.

Nearly halfway through the woods, her home on the near horizon still barred off by thick trunks, she saw something that immediately cleared her head of any previous thoughts. A stranger was in her yard.

Standing in the rain, flinching at each of Kitty's barks, was a boy. His hair, his most apparent feature, was a mess of brown tangles; there was so much, in fact, that his long, thin neck barely seemed able to keep his head from tipping. Considering how skinny he was, Juniper believed that his entire body might just fall over from all the weight sitting above his narrow shoulders. Everything about him, except his hair, was small; his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, his arms, legs, hands, and feet. It looked like he hadn't eaten in some time. He was practically swimming in his green polo shirt and jeans.

The boy did not notice Juniper standing beneath her yellow umbrella, a look of pure wonder on her face. He cautiously made his way to the nearest tree and began sliding his hands up and down the trunk. Then, when he was finished, he moved on to the next, one after the other. He looked to be deep in thought, his eyes heavily scrutinizing each tree—the rhythmic jerks caused by the relentlessly barking Kitty seemingly reflexive.

Finally, Juniper clapped her hands and the boy nearly jumped out of his unlaced sneakers. Hearing the sound, Kitty ran to Juniper's side and fell silent.

“What are you doing out here in the rain?” she asked. “You're going to catch cold.”

His hand was on his heart, as if trying to keep it from beating out of his chest. Clearly he did not expect to encounter another person on such a dreary day; either that or he was terrified of what would happen if he did. “And . . . and . . . what about y-you?” he stammered, his voice weak and whiny.

“I have an umbrella.” She held it up for evidence.

“I see.” The boy seemed rather sad. He shoved his hands in his pockets and let the rain drip down his face. His lips were purple and his teeth were clattering. But at least now any previous fears regarding Juniper appeared to have vanished.

Juniper's apprehension was diminishing as well. The boy obviously didn't pose any threat, not to her or anybody. She decided to follow her instinct.

“Would you like to share?” she asked, raising the umbrella.

The boy hesitated, then nodded. Juniper ran to him and held the umbrella over both their heads. Up close, she noticed he had a sweet smell about him and that his eyes captured a pattern she had never before seen, the brown and gold of his iris constantly swirling. He gave a soft smile and she liked the way one corner of his mouth ran up the side of his face while the other remained level. His fingers tapped madly against his legs, keeping time with his clicking teeth. He squirmed ceaselessly, and with every bat of Juniper's eyes he seemed to flinch. Juniper found this quite amusing and blinked as quickly as she could. He was a messy mass of neuroses. She could never have imagined a boy like this, especially when thinking up a friend for herself. Looking at him, she couldn't help but be thrilled.

His eyes kept darting away from her and she followed them to the trees at her back. “What were you looking for?”

The boy just shrugged and averted his eyes to the panting Kitty, who joined them beneath the umbrella. Hesitantly, he lowered his hand. He gave Kitty a quick and cautious pat and then immediately pulled his hand away. Kitty, eyes relaxed, seemed to enjoy it and moved closer.

“Well, you can't live around here. There's not another house in sight.”

“I'm back that way.” The boy pointed. “It's the next house. Technically we're next-door neighbors. Even if it does take a half hour to walk here.”

“A neighbor!” Juniper couldn't contain her delight. She whipped out her monocular from her pocket, brought it to her eye, and searched in the direction he signaled. Unfortunately, there was nothing but the thickness of trees. She supposed she'd walk a little deeper into the forest during the winter when the leaves fell to get a better view. “What's your name?” she asked, collapsing the monocular and returning it to her pocket.

“Giles.”

“Giles, I'm Juniper Berry. This is Kitty.”

At that, Giles sneezed, covering his mouth with his hands and wiping them on his backside. Juniper promptly decided that the pleasantry of a handshake would have to be avoided for now.

“What did I tell you? Sick.” She knew his hair was dripping wet, but she wanted an excuse to touch it. Reaching up, ignoring his flinch backward, she patted his head. His hair felt like thick strands of yarn or, Juniper preferred, waterlogged caterpillars. She squeezed one tangle and it leaked water into her hand. “See. You're soaked. How can your parents let you go out like this?”

“They don't care.” Every word he spoke came out in a mumble, and these three were no different.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Don't worry about it. I'm fine.”

“No, you're not. Your clothes are drenched. And why are you only wearing short sleeves?” His arms were littered with goose bumps and his skin was blotchy. She put her arm around him to warm him up.

Giles smiled at her affection, his entire face brightening like the sun on snow. Slowly, the fearful twitches subsided. “I like your hair,” he finally said. “It's like it was colored with strawberries and roses.” This was a close enough description of her thick and wavy hair. Usually her unruly locks bothered her, but suddenly she didn't mind so much.

“Thank you. I like your hair, too.”

“You do? Nobody likes my hair.”

“Well, I do.”

Smiling, Giles reached out a hand to lean against a tree. Unfortunately, the slick mud gave and his feet flew right out from under him. He fell backward to the ground, splattering his clothes with muck and sludge.

“Ow!” Giles said, rubbing his bony elbow. He looked like he was trying not to cry. His lips quivered and he bit down on the lower one, revealing a chipped tooth. He turned his head and looked off in the direction of his home, closing his eyes tight. “That hurt.”

Watching him there on the ground, upset, soaking wet, shivering, sloppy, sickly, Juniper couldn't help but feel terrible. “Hey,” she said, “come on. Get up.” She reached out her hand, and Giles grabbed it. With her hand swallowing his, she yanked him up as if he weighed no more than a pillow. He came flying, knocking right into her and nearly sending her onto the ground had he not grabbed her around the waist. She quickly stepped back and wiped herself clean, and Giles went about massaging his shoulder. “Careful,” he told her, “you nearly pulled it out of its socket.”

“Oh, don't be such a baby.” She laughed. But, after seeing the look on Giles's face, she immediately felt bad. She couldn't believe how vulnerable he was. Everything about him, even his feelings, always seemed about to break. He looked like he wanted to disappear, and that upset Juniper.

“You're just like everybody at school,” he said. “Like everyone everywhere. You looked like you'd be different. But I should've known.”

“No, I'm sorry,” she said. Awkward, they both looked away. Juniper could only imagine what a room full of children would do to such an easy target. She was willing to bet he would like to get as far away from everyone as possible.
That's not fair
, she thought,
there should be a place for everyone
. “Do they call you names?”

“They like to pick on me,” he admitted. His face clouded over with sadness and embarrassment. “Even the girls.”

“I'm sorry, Giles. Really.”

“That's what the teacher makes them say. But they don't mean it. They just do it again the next day, the next time she's not looking.”

“Why don't you stick up for yourself?”

“How? It's not that easy.”

Juniper knew he was right. What was easy for one person was most difficult for another.

“Why don't I ever see you at school?” he asked her.

“Oh, I'm homeschooled.”

Giles nodded. “I wish I was.”