Chapter 1
The New Town Blues
Jack had lost count of how many cities he'd lived in. Every
time he got used to one place, his father's job whisked them away to another. A
different town, a different school, different faces—same loneliness. Fifteen
years old and already an expert at starting over, though he hated it more each
time.
Their latest house sat on a quiet street lined with sleepy
trees and empty sidewalks. It was bigger than the last, with a backyard that
Jack's mom called "a painter's dream." She was an artist, always seeing the
beauty in things others overlooked. Jack saw the house differently—silent
hallways, blank walls, and windows that framed a world he didn't belong to.
His father was rarely home, always off managing one branch
or another. His mom, sweet and distracted, spent most of her time preparing for
exhibitions. And Liam, his older brother... Well, Liam had mastered the art of
ignoring him. Despite taking the same bus to school and college—their campuses
were practically neighbors—Liam kept a safe distance, like Jack was just
another forgettable face in the crowd.
Jack tried not to care. But when Liam laughed with his
college friends at the bus stop, all confident and bright, and Jack stood in
silence clutching his sketchbook like a shield, it stung.
The first day of school was no different than the others.
The moment he entered the classroom, eyes turned. Some curious. Some cruel. He
didn't speak much—there wasn't a point. His teachers didn't bother learning his
name properly, and the kids decided within minutes that he was "weird."
Lunchtime was the worst. Alone on the farthest bench in the
courtyard, Jack picked at his food, wishing he could fade into the brick wall
behind him. The bullies found him quickly. They always did.
"Hey, you the new loser?" one of them asked with a smirk.
Jack didn't answer. He never did.
"You mute or something?"
Still silence.
"Look at this freak and his sketchbook. What are you
drawing, fairyland?"
They grabbed the book from his hands. Pages flipped,
revealing intricate drawings—twisted trees, haunted skies, delicate figures
cloaked in stardust. His private world, exposed.
One boy held it up. "What the hell is this? Art class
princess?"
Jack lunged for the book, his voice finally cracking out.
"Give it back!"
Laughter. Someone shoved him. His back hit the bench. He
didn't cry—he never did. He just picked up his sketchbook, brushed off the
dirt, and walked away.
That night, Jack sat at his desk, staring at the glowing
blue tree outside the window. It stood tall and strange in the moonlight,
blossoms shimmering like something from one of his drawings. His mom had
planted it when they moved in, saying it brought "peace to the soul."
Peace. Jack had forgotten what that felt like.
Downstairs, his parents talked in tired voices about bills
and work. Adrian laughed over the phone with someone Jack would never meet.
Alone in his room, Jack opened his sketchbook and drew a new tree—taller than
all the rest, its branches winding into the stars. He drew a boy beneath it,
small and still, staring up as if waiting for something… or someone.
He didn't know that night that the tree was listening.
And that soon, someone would answer.