Calla

I don't see Maddox until early the next morning, and it's not until after I've finished my usual morning routine and changed into my gear that he saunters over to the trailer with his dirt bike. As soon as I see him, I want to ask why he didn't just ride over, but when he looks up at me beneath the visor of his hat, I understand why.

Instantly, I feel sick to my stomach. He's tried to cover them up with makeup but he's failed miserably at blending it with his skin. There's a definitive line along his cheek and a slight patch of discolouration where he's applied the makeup. I draw my bottom lip between my teeth, our gazes connecting.

Ashamed, Maddox sighs and turns his attention to his bike; he leans the bike away from himself and pushes the kickstand down into the dirt. "I thought he was going to be gone," he mumbles. "And when he got home, I tried to avoid him."

Deciding that the trail up to Terrace Mountain can wait, I grab Maddox's hand and tug him towards the trailer. "Come with me," I say.

He stumbles as he follows me, his steel-toed boots knocking against the rocks that line the pathway. When we're at the metal stairs to the trailer, we both stop to remove our boots. It takes a couple of minutes due to the complicated straps, but as soon as we're done, I grab his hand, noting how calloused his palm his and how warm his skin is, and guide him into the trailer. I close the door behind us and tell him to sit on the couch while I go and grab my makeup bag. If Maddox isn't going to do anything to combat his father, then someone needs to show him how to properly apply makeup so people don't question him.

When I step back into the seating area, he's got his elbows resting on his knees, his face in his hands. My heart lurches for him. I wish there was a way I could prevent this from happening to him. Removing a couple of makeup remover wipes, I hand them to Maddox. "Wipe your face for me. I would do it, but I don't know how sensitive the bruises are."

Maddox complies, gently scrubbing his face while I get my makeup in order. It's kind of gross to share my makeup brushes with him, but I'm past the point of caring at the moment. After what he went through last night, he needs some aid. If he doesn't want Vance or anyone else to question what happens to him, then I'm going to help him.

I kneel down in front of Maddox and reach for my primer and the brush I always use to apply it. "This," I say, tipping his chin up. His eyes are filled with sadness, with regret. I can't imagine the toll this has taken on him – especially when he meant no harm. "Is a moisturizing primer. It creates an extra layer between your skin and helps the makeup last longer." I search his face, noting how prominent the bruises are and how there's a pattern of what I would guess to be knuckles against his cheekbone. I gesture to the brush. "May I?"

He sighs, giving me a curt nod.

I squeeze some of the primer onto the brush. I'm hesitant to touch his face – I don't want to hurt him – but I take a deep breath and stroke the smooth brush against his face. He flinches when the bristles touches his skin. "Sorry," I whisper.

"It's okay," he replies hoarsely. "It's just cold." He pauses. "How much is that primer?"

"Forty-five dollars," I reply, a sheepish smile on my face. "It's from Sephora."

Maddox grabs my wrist before I can apply the primer to his forehead. "Calla. You shouldn't be wasting your makeup on me."

"I'm not wasting it. I'm helping you. I know you hate it when people help you, but if you don't want people asking about what happened to your face, then let me help you. You're shit at putting on makeup."

Maddox chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "I know. Let's see your magic, Calla."

When the primer has been evenly applied, I turn to the foundation. I was worried that my foundation was going to be too light for his tanned skin, but it works fairly well. I grab a fresh makeup sponge and slightly dampen it with some tap water before dabbing a few drops of foundation over the main points of his face with my finger, emphasizing the amount applied where the severe bruising is.

"Hold this for a second," I say, giving Maddox the sponge.

He cups it in the palm of his hands while I dab those spots in, but only slightly. When I'm finished with that, I dab the rest with the sponge and make sure it's blended out toward his hairline and jaw to diffuse the colour.

"Why don't you use the brush or your fingers to rub it in?" he asks.

"Because fingers and brush bristles tend to leave little streaks and lines, making it look unnatural." I tip his chin towards the light filtering in from the window, dabbing the side of his nose where I missed a spot. I then cap the foundation and set it and the sponge back in my makeup bag. Next, I grab my concealer and the setting powder, applying a small layer to the bruised area. "There," I say when I'm finished. "All done."

Maddox turns in his seat and glances at the small mirror adjacent to the couch, admiring my work. He gently runs his hand over the faint bruise on his cheek. I tried my best to completely cover it up, but I couldn't – makeup can only do so much. That being said, it now looks like a bruise that's almost healed. "Wow," he says, turning back to me. "It's amazing. You can't even tell."

I can't help but chuckle. Is the male mind really that primitive that makeup can fascinate it? "It's no big deal," I smile. I set the last of my makeup back in the bag and zip it up. "I'll be right back – give you some more time to gaze in adoration at your reflection."

Maddox snorts softly as I step away, entering the bathroom and closing the door behind me while I put away my makeup bag and also give him some space. As funny as his amazement is, this whole situation is shitty. And I need this moment to regain my composure as well. After getting to know Maddox, it pains me to see him like this. How can such a good person be treated like shit? What did he ever do to deserve this?

They're all questions I'll never be able to figure out the answer to.

Gripping the ledge of the granite counter around the sink, I glance up into the mirror, taking in my sunburnt cheeks and the specks of dirt on my jersey.

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. "Calla?" Maddox says. "I'm going to head outside and wait for Vance. Is it okay if I use your grill? I don't want to go through the trouble of starting a fire to cook eggs and toast." He pauses. "I can cook you some eggs if you want, too. And toast."

You've already scrambled mine. Right in my ovaries.

Instantly, I reprimand myself for thinking such a dirty thought about Maddox. We're friends. We're co-workers. "Uh, yeah," I reply, opening the door. I come face-to-face with Maddox, the bruises on his face hardly visible. It still pains me, though, knowing what's really under that makeup. "That'd be great. I'll cut up some watermelon. You can, um, grab the eggs from the fridge if you want. And the bread off of the counter. It would be a pain to run back over to your campsite."

Maddox lingers in front of me for several seconds, his eyes never straying from mine, before he nods. "Yeah, okay," he replies, exhaling deeply. He adjusts the visor of his hat. "I'll see you outside."

I can't tear my eyes away from him as he opens the trailer door and steps outside. While the hat looks good on him – like smoking hot good – I hate that he decides to wear one every day. He's got such a beautiful face, but I can understand why he tries to hide it. Although we're defined by two different categories, I know what it's like to be cemented into a stereotypical position. Being a woman makes it difficult for men to take me seriously when it comes to running this camp and outdoing them on my dirt bike. Just like being the son of an infamous drug dealer puts the radar on Maddox's back. Why can't people realize that it's impossible for someone to be defined? While there are similarities between all of us, no one is ever the same.

Once the door has closed, I loosen a deep breath and head over to the kitchen. My parents' trailer is huge and the kitchen is no exception. Complete with a U-shaped table and comfortable couch, the kitchen is definitely the largest, most spacious area of our trailer. I swear, if my dad ever wanted to, he could install an island between the eating area and the fridge. Aside from the space, I also love how my mom remodelled it. When they bought this trailer, it was old and dingy. But after some paint and new flooring, the striking white of the cupboards looks crisp against the dark brown walls and floors.

As I'm cutting up the watermelon, the sticky juice coating the knife and my hands, I continue to pick at it, popping every second piece into my mouth. I also think about what brands of makeup I could recommend to Maddox that are a little cheaper but stay true to their purpose. I doubt he's going to want to spend one-hundred-and-fifty dollars on makeup when he's got a very important semester coming up. That being said, though, I find that the more expensive my makeup is, the less I use. Maybe that's the case for Maddox, too. I'll have to ask him.

It doesn't take long for me to cut up the watermelon. Mainly because I only decide to cut half of it and stick the other half back in the fridge, but also because I want to get outside and continue chatting with Maddox. Once he lets down the walls he has built around himself, he's fun to talk to. I understand that the walls probably aren't all the way down, but progress has definitely been made. He's become a lot more open about what's going on at home and what he plans on doing with his life.

I arrange the watermelon in one of my favourite glass bowls – it has a sliced lemon pattern that makes me think of summer – and then step outside, welcoming the deliciously overwhelming scents of campfire smoke, maple bacon, and pine. Somewhere in there, I can smell the summery heat on the white rocks of the parking lot. It's hard to describe, but it almost smells like heated asphalt with a hint of musk and dust. Call me crazy, but I love it. I love everything about this place. And I hope that once I become a conservation officer, my parents will hand the business down to me.

When I lay eyes on Maddox, I notice that the eggs are already cooked and he's now buttering the slightly charred toast. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore its pleads as a crease forms between my eyebrows. Unless I was lost in la-la-land, I don't recall Maddox entering the trailer to come and get the eggs and bread. Or the six slices of maple bacon that are still sizzling in the skillet.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as he dishes up the plates, the butter practically oozing off of the slices of toast, the bacon looking sinful as chocolate. I don't know what it is about men that can cook, but they always manage to turn my insides to mush. Back in high school, after Maddox graduated, I had a huge crush on this one kid in my Home Economics class. He was a total show-off in the kitchen, but damn, could he cook. 

"You grabbed the eggs and bread from your camp," I say, staring at the two steaming plates in his hands.

"Uh, yeah," he replies, clearing his throat. He glances up at me, a timid look on his face. "I did."

I set the bowl of watermelon down on the picnic table, resting my hand on my hip. "Maddox. I said you could take them from my trailer."

All he does is shrug, setting the plates down and pushing one in my direction. If I weren't so hungry, I would continue to argue with him. Instead of doing that, though, I sit down and grab one of the forks, shovelling a forkful of fried egg into my mouth. I follow it with a large bite of toast. It's practically drenched in butter – just the way I like it.

Maddox and I eat in silence, listening to the rustling of pine needles and the distant roar of two-stroke engines. The silence isn't awkward until I start overthinking it. I push a piece of bacon around with my fork as I wonder if I said something to offend him.

"You didn't offend me."

I blink, dropping my fork as I glance up at Maddox. He's trying to stop himself from grinning but he's doing a shit job. "Did I say that out loud?" I ask, my cheeks burning.

"You did," he chuckles. He shakes his head, the look on his face turning solemn. "I'm sorry, Calla. I'm not used to people caring about what I do and shit like that. Bear with me. I'm trying."

The corner of my mouth twitches. "So, what? You're going to grab the eggs next time I tell you you're allowed to?"

"Probably not," he admits. He pauses and takes a bite of the delicious bacon. "But it might change by the end of the summer."

I can't stop myself from laughing. So, Maddox is stubborn. I can't say I'm surprised, though. You'd have to be stubborn to live in the kind of hell he calls his life. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"Exactly," he smiles.

When we're finished with breakfast, we take our paper plates to the bear-proof garbage can behind the trailer, discarding the plates, napkins, and plastic utensils. I try to avoid using as much paper and plastic as I possibly can, but I didn't really have a say in this one. "That was delicious," I say, fastening the lid on tightly. We don't get a lot of bears in the campsite, but that doesn't mean we should let our guard down. It's better to be safe than sorry. "Thank you."

"No big deal," he shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looks a little sheepish right now. "Look, I'm sorry I ruined our plans to fix the trails. I honestly thought my dad was going to be out later."

"Maddox," I say, keeping my voice firm. I take a step closer and rest my hand on his shoulder. I have to reach quite far up to do so, but I don't mind at all. "You don't need to apologize for anything. I can handle people complaining about mislabeled trails. What I can't handle is the way people look at you and how it makes you feel. The trails aren't going anywhere – we can do that tomorrow morning if you want to join me."

"Yeah," he nods. "That sounds good."

In the shade of the trailer and beneath the canopy of tall trees, Maddox and I stare at each other. It's difficult to tell what he's thinking. Hell, it's difficult to tell what I'm thinking – touching him has sent my nerves on a wild goose chase.

"Calla," he whispers, his gaze flicking down to my lips. He raises his hand, grazing his thumb across my jawline. His other hand finds mine and he laces our fingers together.

An excited knot forms in my stomach as his grip tightens around my hand. I don't have a lot of experience with kissing men. There was the kiss I shared with Logan Decker back in grade six, but I don't think that counts, as it was only a result of a dare. Since then, there's been no one. During high school, I was so focused on getting good grades and taking over the family company that I never really had time for a boyfriend.

So, when Maddox's lips touch mine, I'm sent careening through a fit of adrenaline. It feels like I've been struck by lightning. Like I've jumped into cold, black water and can't find the surface. His kiss is a shock to my system.

Maddox's mouth is surprisingly soft, and for a long moment after our lips touch, I'm still. When his eyes close his lashes brush my cheek, I begin to kiss him back, hardly able to comprehend why I'm kissing Maddox Kase – the boy I had a crush on for years. My grip on his shoulders tightens as his hands grip my hips, and he pulls me closer. He tilts his face down to intensify the kiss, but it's clear just how much control he has. Instead of being dominant, he's giving me the opportunity to control the kiss, to guide us where I want to go.

Just when I'm about to allow my hands to explore more than his shoulders, I hear the reverberation of a knock against the trailer door. "Yo! Calla! Maddox! Quit snogging in there and get out here. I have something to show you."

Vance is here.

We jerk away from each other as if lightning has struck the ground between us. He clears his throat, cheeks flushed as he stares at the ground and kicks at some nonexistent rocks. "We better tell him we're here before he breaks down the door," he mutters. I catch a note of breathlessness in his voice.

"Yeah," I agree, adjusting my ponytail with shaky hands.

Maddox presses his lips into a firm line and nods one last time before disappearing around the corner.

"Maddox!" Vance says. "What the hell were you doing back there? Peeking in the window or something?"

"Hilarious," Maddox replies. I can hear the eye-roll in his voice. "I was helping Calla toss out the garbage from breakfast."

"That's a disappointment," Vance teases.

On the other side of the trailer, I hear a muffled oomph.

"The fuck, Maddox? You don't need to punch me."

"Only when you're being an asshole," Maddox retorts.

Despite my spinning head, I still find it within me to smile. The banter between these two is priceless. But that's not what I need to focus on. I'm the camp host. I need to regain my composure and make sure today's session runs smoothly.

Taking a deep breath, I squeeze my hands into fists and then relax them, stretching out my fingers. It's going to be nearly impossible to forget what just happened, but something tells me there's been a subtle shift between the two of us. I say subtle because I'm not exactly sure where this kiss is going to take us from here.

Even so, that kiss was anything but subtle.

I roll my eyes and lightly kick the trash can to make it sound like I was fastening the lid again. Why is life composed of paradoxes and other complicated shit?