Trailer Park Prince

Part One

To Pretend Springtime in Summer

Chapter ONE

Noan

IT WAS THE LIGHT THAT CAUGHT MY ATTENTION, NOT THE smell of smoke sneaking through the open window, like last time, nor the heat the time before that. The effect was the same: Uncle Tobin, my twin brother Jormon, and I stood in our pajamas, staring out the window at a wooden cross burning in front of our trailer. Attached to it was a straw effigy of a person already catching fire around its legs and midsection, and though the shoddy craftsmanship didn’t offer any fine details, I knew it represented one of us. A Kaydan. An outsider. Yeah, we looked like them in almost every way, but they always managed to remind us we didn’t belong here. It was the third occurrence in as many weeks, and I imagined the folks around town––the human folks––hadn’t seen anything, heard anything, or would even want to discuss the incident. That’s how it always went.

Uncle whispered a few words, and the fire dissipated. He whispered a few more and the charred construction dissolved into nothing, all that remained was a circle of blackened grass where the cross once stood.

It’s starting again, Jormon said.

Did it ever end? I asked. He shrugged.

If they keep this up, there won’t be any trees left by the end of summer, Uncle said. His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat, but I appreciated the effort. A thought flashed to mind that we should burn the whole of Gordonia Park and every other pine tree in Georgia, down to the last splinter. But without any wood to make crosses, the only thing left to set on fire would be us.

I looked at the surrounding mobile homes to see which of our neighbors would rush over to check on us and which ones would be delighted by our misfortune from behind their tacky curtains. All Kaydans. All cowards if you asked me.

Is Nana Lura okay? I asked.

They threw a brick through her window last time and she slept through that, Jormon said. "I’m sure she’s fine. Besides, she’s supposed to be the one making sure we are okay."

Go check on her. Just in case, Uncle said.

In case of what? She died in her sleep?

In case she’s awake and waiting for one of you to check on her, Uncle said in a sterner tone.

Noan, go check on her, Jormon said.

You’re the oldest. You go, I told him, at which point he mocked me with childish imitation. I wouldn’t have gotten so annoyed if he were bad at it, but his imitations were extremely accurate. Always close enough to be unmistakably me but distorted enough so that everyone found it hilarious. 

How about you both go? Uncle said. On your way, cut out all the bickering. Princes don’t bicker, not even spoiled ones like yourselves. When you’re done, grab your shoes and come with me outside. You’re both seventeen now. It’s time I teach you how to dissipate fire.

We peeked in on Nana Lura, still in bed with the covers pulled over her. No sooner had we opened the door, she raised a hand in the air and waved us off.

Minutes later, Jormon, Uncle, and I trod in silence beneath the waning crescent moon until the gravel trail gave way to freshly mowed grass just at the edge of the woods. Even this far from the trailer, hints of the recent cross burning were carried in the soft breeze.

Jormon, more comfortable with his body than I had ever been, removed his ratty shirt and fashioned it around his head like a bandana, tucking his dark hair beneath the dingy folds of fabric. His lean body glistened in the moonlight as sweat formed over the peaks and dents of his muscled, brown torso and illuminated his sheriaan—the copper-colored lines that spiraled from our hands toward our shoulders. They were the solitary feature that differentiated Kaydans from humans. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his head one way and then the other, then bent over to stretch his hamstrings as if he was gearing up to run away from the task to come. 

Ten years later and this is where we are, I thought.

It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. None of it. Like most escape parties, ours was supposed to be small: my parents, Uncle Tobin, Nana Lura, Jormon, and me, Noan Ladoan. The Red Cloaks had tracked us to the last safe spot my parents knew and, after months of hiding, nowhere on our planet was safe. Our arrival was to be clandestine: one portal connecting our home planet Kayda to Earth, small enough for the six of us to squeeze through, and open briefly enough not to arouse curiosities on either end. Earth was supposed to be a haven, light-years from Kayda, a place where being born a twin was not punishable by death, where our parents could be just our parents and not our abettors, and where we could exist in a world far from the long reach of the Red Cloaks. But, like most great plans, it didn’t work out. Instead of a sneaky side-door exit, we got a sky-splitting, mega-sized rift. It turned our 'under-the-radar' move into a full-blown spectacle, with thousands of Kaydans spilling through. Earth was supposed to be this great hideout, but it didn't exactly roll out the welcome mat in the way we'd hoped.

First, the military came and, within six months, over fifty thousand Kaydans died in battle. We learned the hard way that our supernatural powers hardly compare to that of an M-16 assault rifle. A mustedi, a master in their use of powers, can get shot in the back of the head as easily as anyone else. 

After the war ended, the Riders in His Holy Name formed as the premier hate group founded on the principle that Kaydans were an abomination in God’s eye. They hunted us like dogs for two years and the government had but one thing to say about it. Murder only applies to people, and Kaydans aren’t people.

Now, there was this crap. Being an out and proud Rider fell out of popularity years ago, but being a midnight bigot never went out of style. Apparently, neither did burning crosses. If there was anything to loath about spending weekends and summers with Uncle in Lyons, Georgia, it was this. Not our staying in Gray Flats trailer park, but the hatred we couldn’t seem to escape, even in our own home.

Uncle whispered something and a soft green glow sheened along the intertwining loops of his sheriaan, just above his left wrist. The light danced and jigged along the beautiful patterns until it moved from his wrist and poured into his open palm, and when it died out, a leatherbound book rested in its place. The book fell open to just the right page, and Uncle read aloud a passage about fire and energy transference. I shook away all thoughts of the past and focused on the lesson. He conjured a cross of his own and set it on fire. He looked at Jormon and me. I whispered a few words, and the fire dissipated. I whispered a few more and the charred construction dissolved into nothing, and all that remained was a circle of blackened grass.

A soft knock on my bedroom door woke me up. It was still dark outside. I’d only been asleep for an hour, maybe. My heartbeat quickened at the thought that something else had happened. Was it another cross? Did something happen to one of the neighbors?

The knocking grew louder, and when I didn’t respond, the caller entered without an invitation. 

It was Jormon. Dad’s here, he whispered. He’s arguing with Uncle Tobin about something.

About what? Jormon gave a look that told me my guess was as good as any. If Father had come all the way down from his perch in Washington, D.C., it was serious. Maybe serious enough for him to snatch us back to the nation’s capital. As much as I hated enduring the stares and whispers of the trailer park locals, I hated living under my father’s keen eye even more. I wouldn’t go back, not so soon. It was barely July. My stomach sank, and I hoped this was about something else. 

We left my room, tiptoeing down the hall like escaping convicts, and made for the parlor. The door was open, and a voice shot toward us as loud as a cannon. We froze in place. We’d get more information skulking outside the doorway than walking in on the conversation. 

This will only make things worse, Uncle yelled at my father, King Rosh. I agree with you, we cannot stagnate, not in these times. However, this form of progress comes too soon. Integration with humans? Are you serious? People are going to get killed. They weren’t talking about taking us back to D.C., but Jormon was right. What they were discussing sounded serious.

We inched closer to the parlor.

We’ve been here for what? Ten years, now? This hardly comes too soon, my father boomed back at him. Integration is the only way. As long as they see us as separate, they’ll never see us as equal.

Why involve the twins in this? Uncle said. Most days, I barely want to be out there with humans, and you want to put the boys in the thick of it? Your own sons, Rosh. Be serious.

I am being serious. You stay down here in Gray Flats with the rest of our people. You don’t see what I see in D.C. There’s talk.

About what?

War.

Uncle scoffed. Oh, please. No idiot would want that again.

You must not know idiots. Let me tell you, the candidate running for the American presidency is a piece of work, and if he gets his way, I give us a year before we’re back at war.

Which is why we should go back, Uncle shouted, and I knew what he meant. Go back to Kayda. Go back to our home planet. Go back to where we belong. It was a sentiment a lot of folks shared, but most of them were humans. I’d never heard Uncle talk like that before.

No!  I made that clear a long time ago.

"You never explained why. You asked me to protect the miftah, and I did. You asked me to leave your side and stay here with our people, and I did. I didn’t need to know why back then, but I need to know now."

Because I am your king, and I say we stay, my father shouted.

I’d never heard them argue like this. I turned to Jormon. His eyes raised as open as mine, and he bit at the side of his lip. "What’s a miftah?" he mouthed.

It’s the thing that created the portal that brought us here, I said just as quietly.

Ice sloshed against a glass. Of course, Father was drinking. Bourbon, I bet.

Let them go to the Academy. Jormon will set a great example there, and it’s what Noan always wanted.

Ice sloshed again as Father took another sip. It’s what you always wanted for him.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Another sip. I’m his father, not you.

Then you should act like it.

Silence. My heart leaped into my throat, and I had to swallow it down. I couldn’t breathe. If my father and uncle fought, we would never be able to visit Uncle again. Father would punish him by keeping us away, which would be more of a punishment for me than for anyone. Jormon enjoyed living in Father’s shadow. Father was different with him. Jormon was the Crown Prince who could do no wrong. When Father saw me, it was as if he was staring at every regret he ever had.

I had to stop this before it went any further. I started down the hall, and Jormon’s strong arm flew across my chest. He shook his head, warning me not to interfere.

That didn’t come out as I intended, Uncle said. I only meant that you should listen to them more. Take a break from being their king and just be their dad. Noan needs this. Jormon does, too.

Jormon will do as I say, Father said, elevating his voice slightly.

It won’t make him happy.

Who cares about happiness?

That could’ve easily been the family motto. Even after feeling protected, we were never allowed to feel happy. Under Father, it was all duty. Study this government or get to know that group of people, all done in the name of being representatives of Kaydans on Earth. Under Uncle, it was all education. Study this sahdr or read this ancient text. We were probably better for their teachings, but it didn’t make us happy.

Father continued. A few months ago, I saw Jormon chatting it up with the neighbor boy, some human kid about his age. Dev was his name. Or maybe Dave. A pause stretched out as long as train smoke. I didn’t like what I saw, and if you think that’s me being a king and not a father, so be it.

That took an unexpected turn. As I wondered which neighbor boy Father could be talking about and how long he’s been keeping this observation to himself, a firm hand landed on my shoulder. I turned and was face-to-face with Nana Lura.

This conversation was not meant for you, she said, and a sudden force wrapped around me and squeezed. I looked over at Jormon just as the force hoisted us from the ground, spinning us until we were shoulder to shoulder, our elbows knocking sharply against each other. Propelled by her power, we stumbled toward the room where my father and uncle awaited. I tried to free my arms, but it was useless.

Nana Lura, is that you? We’re in here, Uncle called. We were shoved through the door, suspended a foot above the floor. 

Busted.

Nana Lura released us from her telekinetic hold, and we landed softly on our feet. I rubbed my shoulders where her grasp was strongest, then my elbow, which hurt just as bad.

Our faces were flushed with embarrassment from being caught eavesdropping, but we acted with as much dignity as we could.

 "May Heemrah guide you far, my king," Jormon greeted in Maerinish, moving his palm from his chest toward our father, sending forward brilliant specks the color of midnight blue as he extended his energy to our father. I did the same, sending specks in nocturnal purple hues.

"May Zereq shine you home, my princes," he returned, sending specks of jade and ash from his chest that intertwined with our particles before fading into nothing. Through the connection, I felt his anger and irritation, and I know he sensed my apprehension.

Nana Lura entered the room but gave no obeisance to my father or uncle. They were nosing about in the hall. I don’t know for how long. Nana Lura was my mother’s caregiver when she was a little girl and had been ours, too. She spoke too loudly on account of her failing hearing, and Father, who never liked her, dismissed her with a curt wave of the hand. She walked away as quietly as she had when she snuck up on us.

Dad, what’s going on? Jormon asked.

It’s nothing. Your uncle and I were disagreeing.

You were yelling, I dared say.

We were talking about the future, Uncle said.

Father finished the last of his drink, ice and all. No more talking riddles, Tobin. Here’s the truth as plain as I can put it: Integration will happen, and starting this fall, both of you will start school here in Georgia.

It was the closest I’d ever been to getting punched in the gut, and it hurt as much as the real thing. "Father, you can’t be serious. All I want is to go to the Academy. It’s all I ever wanted. You know that." I’d never spoken to my father this way.

Father waved me off as easily as if I were any other Kaydan and not his son. "Calm down, Noan. You’ll still get to study sahdr under you uncle, don’t you worry about your precious dream of becoming a mustedi."

It’s not about that, I said. Well, it’s about…It’s about more than that.

Don’t keep us all in suspense, Prince Noan. Tell us what more it’s about.

It’s about… I wouldn’t dare say the rest. It was about needing to be free. I’d spent every waking moment of my life in shadow, and whether it was the shadows of our shared past or my brother’s shadow, it was all equally dark. I needed to be away from it all. Jormon was never meant to go to the Academy. He had a shadow of his own to follow. Going to the Academy meant being free of him, my twin, the perfect reflection who shows me just how much I’ll never measure up.

We’re waiting, Father said. Everyone stared at me in anticipation.

Never mind, I said.

You see? The poor kid doesn’t know what he wants, Father said, and continued discussing how the transition to adolescent mediocrity would work.

I couldn’t hear him, though. I couldn’t breathe. My heart sank into my stomach, and I didn’t know whether I was going to crap my pants or puke on the floor. In just a few words, the future I’d imagined for myself, the future where I’m no longer the shadow child, was ripped from the realm of possibility and replaced with a new one. It played out in my head as clearly as if I’d already lived it. In this new future, I would forever be tied to my brother, the lovable prince who could do no wrong. I wouldn’t be a great mustedi, capable of protecting my people. I would be my brother’s shadow. I would be my father’s whipping post. I would be my uncle’s thing to pity. My esophagus flexed, and a bitter acidity rose to the back of my throat, filled my mouth, and erupted onto the carpet.

You never loved me. The words were out of me before I knew I said them, thickening the air along with the stench of vomit. How long had I been waiting to say them? My whole life? Since I learned what a shadow child was and that I was one of them? Since internalizing it was all my fault. Everything. Our entire race living like refugees, stuffed into a trailer park no bigger than a football field. Jormon is respected for being the crown prince, and I’m his stupid twin, the one who should never have been born. 

My thoughts spiraled, and my mouth moved. I was saying words, but I couldn’t hear them. Blood rushed to my head and my ears rang, and all around me, the world thudded. I yelled my every thought, but all I took in was the twisting and distorting of the surrounding faces. Father’s lips danced and puckered, flinging spit with every other word. Uncle’s head nodded from side to side as he waved his arms in front of his chest. No, all the motion seemed to say. You’ve gone too far. Jormon positioned himself between my father and me, arms extended to stop my father from getting too close. What was I saying? What could I say to make my father even angrier than I was? 

Chapter TWO

Jormon

IT WAS THE LIGHT THAT WOKE ME UP, NOT THE SOUND OF the birds or the smell of food climbing the stairs and barging through my door. The effect was the same: a somber me, lying in bed thinking of the heavy revelations Dad shared last night and feeling sick about it. I could live with not going to the Academy. What I couldn’t stomach was that Dad, after seeing me speak with Dav Shah one time, suspected I was gay and wanted to change that. How closely had he been watching me?

After Dad left last night, I snuck in three glasses of whiskey, came to my room, and let the evening’s highlights run through my head on a loop until they all blurred into one overwhelming message. No, to the Academy. Yes, to high school. No, to being gay. Yes, to being unhappy for the rest of my life.

Noan wouldn’t want to be alone in his feelings after last night. This I knew. I fixed us two cups of coffee before easing my way into his room, using the time to forget about my own problems and focus on my little twin brother. He was still in bed. Daylight poured through his window and reflected off the white bed sheets.

He sensed he was not alone, and when he rolled over, I saw his eyes were still red.

When did you come in? he asked, his voice raspy.

Just now. Here, I handed him a mug. It’s coffee, so don’t go crazy with it.

He took a sip and clutched the mug to his chest. Thanks. Was I awful last night?

You’ve had better moments. Dad won’t hold any of it against you. That was a lie, but telling the truth would do no good. 

What did I say? Everything after Nana Lura threw us into the lion’s den is a blur.

You said— I wanted to imitate his words exactly, but he wouldn’t find the humor in it. You told Dad you hated him, and you know he hates you, too. You called Uncle Tobin weak and said he should stand up to Dad. Oh, and when Dad said we have to live in Gray Flats to go to school here, you said, and I quote, ‘I hate this fucking place. I hate all of you. You all should have let me die back on Kayda.’ End quote.

Really? His face sank, and he rolled his eyes until they closed. I don’t know why I said that. I actually like it here. It’s better than the alternative, I mean.

Yeah, I thought it was pretty dramatic, too. But hey, you’re playing the angsty high school teen role perfectly. Speaking of which, I’m super confused now. I thought you’d be over the moon—literally—for the chance to live with Uncle Tobin and get away from Dad. Yet, last night, you were being a little b—

Don’t call me that.

I was gonna say ‘bitch.’ You were being a little—

I know what you were gonna say, and I said don’t call me that. Noan glared at me, and I raised my hands in surrender.

"I don't get it. Couldn’t this still be part of your master plan? To earn your way into the Academy, prove you're mustedi material? Okay, so this isn't the straight path you envisioned, but it's still a path. Dad will have to respect you for this, and our people will, too."

He shook his head, his expression a mixture of anger and heartbreak.

Noan, I said. I didn’t know how to be supportive, but I hoped my soft tone was enough to convey my sympathy.

They’re scared of me. They really think if I get powerful enough, I’ll do something to destroy them all. What am I supposed to do with that? He shook his head slowly, as though he was playing my side of the conversation in his head without me. He blames me, you know. Even if Uncle didn’t say it last night, I know in my gut that Father blames me.

We were just kids. No one can blame you for being born.

Noan rolled his eyes at me.

Can I speak a hard truth? I hoped he’d say no or make some annoying comment about last night, but he waved me on. You had to know, even a little, that people can’t stand you. I mean, you feel it, right? We’re twins in a society where twins can’t exist. You’d be naive to think everyone was okay with all of this.

I know. I guess I thought I could change all that by going to the Academy.

You think you have to prove yourself to these people, but you don’t. As long as you know you’re good, that’s all that matters.

It was his turn to be dismissive. Can we leave? I don’t want to be here when Father gets back from his precious press conference. He took another sip of coffee. 

Sure. Let’s go somewhere. I finished up my coffee and placed the mug on Noan’s nightstand. Maybe we can go shopping for furniture to put in your sad ass room. Look at this nightstand. It’s hideous. It wasn’t, really, but I hoped the insult would help shift the gears of this conversation.

I have everything I need, thanks, he said, and he meant it. Noan had never valued possessions. When we first moved into the trailer, before Uncle Tobin transfigured the inside space, there were only two bedrooms. Noan and I shared a room that was barely big enough for a double bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. After the transfiguration, Noan kept the furniture from the original room, even though his new space was over three times the size. He would covet a book all day, as evident by the piles of them stacked against the wall but offer him a bookshelf and he’d look at you like you offered him a fart in a bag.

Okay. Let’s go somewhere else. You choose. But please don’t say the library. I’ve read all the fiction, and I’ve had enough facts for one day.

There’s only so many places we’re allowed to go in this town—the library, the diner… that about sums it up.

Which is why integration is going to be so amazing! I said with false cheer. I ripped the sheets off his lap before he could protest. 

We can go to Issek’s. I could use another candle for my nightstand, maybe one that sings as it burns. I could use a song today.

I can sing for you. What do you want to hear? I started a version of When We Were Young, and Noan slid his hand across his throat.

Stop, please. I can still taste the puke in my mouth from last night. I’m not trying to get sick again. He stood to get dressed, and a large hole in the side of his red underwear caught my eye.

I’ll get you a candle and a pack of underwear. Holes in your drawers? Really, Noan? You’re a prince. Do better.

From inside his closet, he flung the worn underwear at me. Helaqi, I thought, and the underwear halted midair inches in front of my face. If these dirty-ass drawers would’ve hit me in the face, Noan, I swear! I flung them back in his direction, not caring if they landed in the laundry basket or not.

He came out of the closet with clothes just as raggedy. I’m ready.

Cool. Now, promise not to be mad at me for not being as upset as you.

 A candle won’t make me forget you didn’t have my back.

I’m sorry. Noan, look at me. I’m really sorry. I mean it. I will never do anything like that again. I’ll always have your back. I promise.

We left the house within the hour. Smells of breakfast drifted in sweet and savory ribbons from a nearby trailer—maple ham and burnt toast. The sun was still on its ascent, and its warm rays cut through the leaves of the surrounding pine trees, glinting wherever they found the morning dew.

As we were leaving Gray Flats, we passed a beat-up delivery van pulling in, driving slowly in search of a trailer. There were probably a hundred in total, each positioned to form an untidy grid, navigable along a network of gravel trails that branched off from a central driveway. It was established as an emergency housing village for Kaydans, but it remained empty until our family moved into one of the units. Now Gray Flats was like Little Kayda, our home away from home, a kingdom far, far away where we could be ourselves. All the tenants were Kaydan. There was something to be said about living among your own. We didn’t get that living in D.C. with Dad, so maybe moving here for the school year wouldn’t be so bad.

The walk into town took less than an hour. It was a direct line from Gray Flats to downtown Lyons, three miles distance traveled by a lone, two-lane road. Both sides were lined with neglected grass that grew past my bare calves, and further away from the road on either side were commercial pine forests.

Lyons had grown over the years, but not by much. Most of the citizens were local, but there was a growing contingent of people from all over the world who moved to the area after what the locals called The Intrusion. Despite the increasing population, little was done to improve the city’s commercial services, at least not in Lyons itself.

Explain to me again why you don’t fly? Noan asked. He brushed at his legs to remove the blackish seeds left behind by the Bahia grass, but his legs were wet with morning dew, and he only smeared the seeds across his shins. We could’ve been to town and back already.

It’s awkward. I never know what to do with my arms, so they just sort of dangle at my side. It was only partly true. In reality, flying gave me terrible motion sickness. Uncle Tobin said it’s because I’m too inefficient with my energy usage, but I never understood what that had to do with anything. Noan rose a few feet above the ground and floated ahead so that I had to trot to keep up.

Did you ever wonder what life was like for me back on Kayda? he asked.

I wasn’t expecting the question. I hesitated just long enough for him to pick up speed. We were kids. Looking back on it now, I see it wasn’t right that you had to be locked away all those years. Between the heat, humidity, and hangover, I was panting trying to keep up. Could you come back down? Or slow down, at least. I wasn’t expecting to get a workout this morning.

Why aren’t you more upset about this whole high school business? Noan said, still not slowing down. Doesn’t this derail your fast track to being Daddy’s Little Helper?

The truth was simple: I didn’t want to be around Dad for a while, not if he was trying to find me a girlfriend. I couldn’t tell Noan that. I didn’t fully trust him not to use it against me to gain Dad’s favor. It’s a bummer, but I’d rather be wherever you are. You know that.

A large, silver bus blew past faster than the speed limit, and