Chapter 2
TWO
WE WERE JUST ELEVEN YEARS OLD
The bus pulls away in a cloud of dust and diesel, and I leave my sister and brother behind as I sprint for the front door and push it open. The smell of freshly baked cookies greets me, and I grin as I drop my backpack by the door, kick off my shoes, and run into the kitchen.
Mom’s already at the fridge, pulling out the milk. She glances over her shoulder and smiles when she sees me.
“Chocolate chip,” she says as she starts filling three glasses.
A plate of cookies waits in the middle of the kitchen island, and I immediately reach for one. I take a big bite of the warm, chocolatey, gooey goodness, and grab another one before I’ve even swallowed.
Mom chuckles, then her gaze shifts behind me as the front door opens and Jade and Keigan come in.
“How was school?” she asks, watching as they take seats beside me at the island.
“Good,” Jade says, grabbing a cookie and tearing it in half. “I have a math test tomorrow.”
I perk up and turn towards her, but she cuts me off with an eye roll. “Nerd.” Then she smiles. “It’s nothing exciting. Just fractions and decimals and stuff.”
But I’m still excited. Jade’s three years older than me and in high school now, which means she gets to learn all the cool things I don’t know yet.
I like watching her study and do homework, just to catch glimpses of what’s coming next.
I like reading the equations she scribbles across looseleaf, her colour-coded notes, and just taking in the quiet confidence she always seems to have.
“You ready for it?” Mom leans forward, propping her elbows on the counter as she lifts a cookie of her own off the plate.
“I’ll study a bit tonight,” Jade says with a nod. “But yeah.”
Mom shifts her gaze to Keigan, who’s dunking a cookie into his milk so aggressively that half of it spills onto the counter. He pauses when he notices all of us staring.
“What?” he says with a mouth full of cookie.
Mom huffs a quiet laugh. “How was school?”
“The best,” Keigan says with wide eyes. “We played dodgeball in Phys. Ed.” Then he returns to dunking his cookie.
I chuckle and take a drink of my milk, the coolness of it a perfect contrast to the warm chocolate still melting in my mouth. If there’s one thing we can all count on, it’s my little brother thinking Phys. Ed. is the best thing to ever exist.
Mom’s eyes land on me next. “And you?”
I nod and set my glass down. “Mine was good…” I say, then hesitate for a moment. “But Silas got suspended.”
Jade and Mom both let out a soft sigh.
“Is he ok?” Mom asks gently.
I shrug one shoulder. “I didn’t get to talk to him.
He was sent to the office after recess. Emerson kept changing the rules during soccer, and Silas hit him.
Then, in class, we were doing creative writing, and Mr. MacKenzie wanted him to try it on his own, but Silas needed help.
He got mad and threw a chair. The principal came and got him, then sent him home.
Mr. MacKenzie told me he’s suspended for three days. ”
Mom exhales through her nose and stares down at the half-eaten cookie in her hand. “I wish they’d just help him,” she mutters sadly.
I do too.
She lifts her eyes again to meet mine, and I can see the sadness in them. “He’s lucky to have you, Levi.”
Before I can say anything, her gaze shifts past me, out the window. I turn to follow it and see Silas flying down the dirt road on his bike, pedalling hard towards the beach.
I shove the last bite of cookie in my mouth and slide off the stool.
“Wait.”
I turn back towards Mom as she reaches for a ziplock bag, tucks a few cookies inside, and holds it out to me. I take it and slide it into my hoodie pocket.
“Be home before dark,” she calls after me as I head for the door and shove my sneakers on.
“I will!” I call back, already halfway down the front steps.
I grab my bike from the driveway and pedal hard down the dirt road, past the alder and birch trees that line the ditch like a tall, quiet guardrail.
Beyond them, open fields stretch wide with endless rows of green potato plants that are ready to harvest. The road narrows where the gravel turns soft and gives way to red sand, pulling me to a stop as the tires start to sink.
Silas’s bike lies on its side near the edge of the dunes, so I drop mine beside it and walk towards him. He’s in the middle of the beach, knees drawn up to his chest as his arms rest loosely across them, and his gaze is fixed on the incoming tide as the water laps along the shore.
I lower myself onto the sand beside him and look out at the water as well.
“Mom is sad,” he says quietly.
I nod and reach into my hoodie pocket, pulling out the ziplock bag. I pass him a cookie, and he takes it without looking away from the water.
“Was your dad home?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Silas mutters, and takes a bite. “I wish he was.”
I nod again as a seagull cries in the distance, and we both watch the next wave slide forward to wash over the old tide line before it slips back into itself, leaving a darkened trail of wet sand that glistens under the sun.
Silas’s mom loves him. I know she does. She makes his lunches, helps him with homework when she can, and stands up for him when the school calls.
But she gets overwhelmed fast, and she cries a lot.
My mom says it’s because she wants to do everything right but doesn’t always know how; that they’ve struggled with him ever since he was adopted at two years old, and she feels a lot of guilt for not always doing the right thing.
Especially because his dad gets it. He doesn’t get mad when Silas shuts down or panics or lashes out, and he knows when to talk, when to wait, when to push, and when to give Silas space.
My parents explained to me that Silas’s brain had a hard start, and that some parts of learning how to be safe, calm, and understood didn’t happen when they were supposed to. And his dad isn’t scared of that.
Neither am I.
“He’ll be around more soon,” I say, shifting my eyes up to the sky, where the sun seems to hang lower every day, like it’s tired from the summer and is ready to hand things over to the fall.
Silas doesn’t answer. He just sighs and finishes the last bite of his cookie.
I know he’s missing his dad more lately, since school started.
We’re now in middle school, and the new building, new routines, new teachers, and new expectations are a lot.
He doesn’t handle change well, and none of this feels familiar yet.
But his family owns a large potato farm, and harvest season is in full swing until the end of October.
His dad’s been gone before sunrise and home long after dark, so he doesn’t see much of him these days.
It’s only the end of September, but it already feels like it’s been this way for months.
I sink my fingers into the red sand beside me.
The top layer is warm from the sun, but just below the surface, it’s cool and damp.
The breeze carries a bite as it brushes over my skin, the last heat of summer barely hanging on.
Seagulls call in the sky above the point, circling the rocks near the old lighthouse as waves lap against the beach in a rhythm that slows everything else down.
“Come on,” I say, pushing to my feet and holding out my hand.
Silas looks up at me with that familiar look of defeat lingering behind his eyes.
I hate that look. I hate what puts it there.
But he takes my hand, and I pull him up.
I smile at him as his hazel eyes peer into mine, and he waits for me to say the words. The breeze ruffles his dark blond hair across his forehead, and when it covers his eyes, I twist away and take off running.
“Race ya!” I call over my shoulder.
I catch the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth just before I hear him shout, “You cheated!”
I laugh as my feet sink deep into the soft red sand and I push harder. The sand makes each step feel heavier than the last, but I keep going, aiming for the lighthouse at the end of the beach.
Silas gains on me anyway, since he’s always been faster. He passes me just before the path turns to stone, and he reaches the door to the lighthouse first, flinging it open without stopping. I catch it before it swings shut and chase him in.
His footsteps echo through the old lighthouse as he heads up the spiral staircase. I grab the railing and take the steps two at a time, my lungs burning as I climb, and my breath loud in my ears.
When I reach the top, he’s waiting for me with a big smile on his face as his chest rises and falls with short, sharp breaths.
“Even with a head start, you can’t win,” he teases.
I push him back from the stairwell and roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
Silas chuckles, and I can’t help but smile at the sound.
This place has always been ours. When everything feels too hard, we come here. Up above the world, where no one expects anything from us. Where we can watch the world and just take a break.
And while I don’t need to escape the way he does, I need him. And here, with the wind coming through the cracked window and all of Prince Edward Island stretched out below us, the only thing we need to do is to be exactly who we are.
Silas grabs the binoculars we keep on the shelf and steps towards the glass, lifting them to his eyes as he scans the wide stretch of the Northumberland Strait. The ocean curves around us on both sides, and we both peer out at the lobster boats dotting the water.
“Four… five…” he mutters, sweeping from left to centre as his brow furrows in focus.
He hands me the binoculars next, and I turn to the right.
“One… two… three.” I lower them and squint toward the far edge of the water, but there’s nothing else. “Only three on this side.”
Silas takes them back, his forehead still scrunched as he thinks. “So… only eight,” he says, glancing up at me. I nod, and he shrugs. “They must have come back earlier today.”
“Guess so.” I step over to the bin we keep up here and pull out one of the comic books we’ve stashed in it, then sit down with my back against the wall of the lighthouse. “Do you think Redwave should be able to fly?”
Silas grabs his sketchbook and sits next to me, tilting his head in thought.
“Yeah…” he says slowly, flipping to the latest page.
A tall figure stares out at us, with windswept hair and clenched fists, as waves crash on a rocky shore behind him.
Red energy ripples along his arms like water, and his eyes glow red with fierce determination.
We started creating him this summer, when we’d read every comic we owned twice and wanted one that actually made sense for us.
We wanted a superhero who didn’t win because he was the strongest, or the fastest, or the smartest. We wanted one who knew how it felt when the world didn’t fit quite right.
Silas picks up his pencil and starts drawing a cape across Redwave’s shoulders. “He can fly away from stuff that bugs him.”
I watch the way his brow dips in concentration, and his tongue pokes out at the corner of his mouth as he shades the fabric with quick, confident strokes.
He’s really good at drawing. He gets all the shadows and can make it look like things are in motion.
He can even draw hands. I don’t think he knows how rare that is.
I lean my head back against the wall. “I think he should also have, like… stick-it power,” I say.
Silas’s pencil stills, and he turns his head to look at me.
“So he can have the power to get through anything that sucks. For when he can’t fly away,” I say, then I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “Because… he won’t be able to fly away from everything.”
He stares down at the page for a moment. He’s quiet for so long, I don’t think he’s going to respond. But he does.
“Do you think you’ll ever fly away?” he asks quietly.
I nudge his arm with mine so he looks up at me. “Not if you’re here with me.”
The corner of his mouth twitches with a small smile.
“I think stick-it power is our greatest power,” I say. “No matter what.”
Silas nods, and his smile breaks free. Then he turns back to his drawing and continues to work on the cape.
We stay in the lighthouse, reading and drawing comics until the sky darkens, and a chill seeps through the cracks in the windows.
We pack everything back into the bin and make our way down the stairs and onto the cool sand.
We cross the beach slowly as the last bit of warmth lingers in the air, and the breeze rustles the leaves on the trees just past the dunes.
The sky deepens from gold to orange to indigo as the sun slowly sinks below the horizon, and we silently ride our bikes along the dirt road towards home.
When we reach the edge of my yard, we both stop and look up the road. Silas’s dad is just pulling the tractor out of the field, the headlights sweeping over the rows as he turns towards the farmyard.
I glance at Silas. His eyes catch the last of the fading light, wide and bright even in the dusk. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel what’s rising inside him.
“He’ll understand,” I say. “He always does.”
Silas exhales and tightens his grip on his handlebars.
“Lighthouse again tomorrow when I get home from school?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah.”
I nod too. “Remember… stick-it power.” I smile at him. “It’s you and me, Si.”
A soft smile forms on his lips as well. “You and me, Vi.”
I watch as he pedals down the road towards his house at the far end of the farm, and the tractor eases to a stop just as Silas disappears into his driveway.
It’s always been us.
And I know it always will be.