Lukas Lester Durham stared out of his mom's car window, silently cursing the entire state of Maine. Moving out of the heart of Atlanta, leaving all his friends behind, was ruining his life. He knew nothing about Maine, and grudgingly stared at the overabundance of evergreens that they were driving past, certain that he was going to hate everything about his new residence. His mother's descriptions of her older sister, Isabella Ilsa Amory, turned his stomach. Lukas didn't want a kindly spinster aunt; he wanted to go back to Georgia.
              "We're almost there," his mother said, pulling off the highway and weaving through a series of hilly residential roads that made the whole neighborhood look antiquated. "Lukas, be nice to your Aunt Isabella. It's not her fault that I had a stroke, and we're lucky that she's willing to take us in."
              Lukas folded his arms and scowled. He shot a nasty glare at his mother. They looked much alike; the same dark brown hair and hazel eyes, although her tresses and lashes were much longer. Her adult face appeared thinner, but he was just a boy, and would hopefully grow taller soon. However, although he'd never been the biggest boy in his class, he had an athletic build, like his father, while his mother was tall and thin. The biggest difference between him and his mother was that his eyes always appeared slightly darker, probably because he didn't wear makeup, and he had a wide chin, while hers was narrower, almost pointy.
              "Lukas, I know that you're a good boy, and you're angry about moving," his mother said. "Until your father gets his contract settled, we're going to have to live here."
              Lukas said nothing. His mother had only had a small stroke, yet she was struggling to recover. He'd done all that he could to help, making their breakfasts, cleaning the house, clearing the table every night, and folding all the clothes and towels so that she could rest. His father was Lukas Durham, the famous professional baseball catcher, often on the road. He'd just been traded by the Twins, where he'd never had more than a single-season contract, to the Seattle Mariners, although he'd started with six years as an Atlanta Brave. If this team worked out, then they'd be moving across the country again, yet his father likely wouldn't know if they'd extend his contract until the end of the season, in September, unless the Mariners went into the playoffs, which could extend his Maine internment until October.
              Lukas grimaced; he held no hope that Washington State would be any better than Maine. Away from Georgia, he had no friends.
              "Here it is!" his mother announced, checking the map on her phone. "Oh, no! Where's the moving van?"
              His mother parked in front of a house that was mostly hidden behind what looked like an oversized flowerpot. Rosy pink blossoms almost hid the white picket fence that they were woven into. Behind them rose giant sunflowers, evenly spaced, and behind those loomed tall, flowering bushes.
              Lukas glared, despising every bud. Seatbelts unlocked, they emerged from the car to see a spray of water suddenly arc over the bushes.
              "Nancy ...?" called a creaky, high-pitched voice.
              "Isabella ...!" his mother smiled widely.
              The hissing sound of rushing water ceased. A woman appeared at the gate, red hair tinged with gray, shorter and slightly heavier than his mother, wearing a long green skirt and a white blouse, and dripping with heavy silver jewelry. Her clear face showed a striking resemblance to his mother, or would have, except that his aunt was wearing a wide, glittery swath of dark purple eye shadow, and had startlingly red lips.
              The sisters hugged tightly.
              "What's it been, seven years?" His aunt asked her sister. "And who's this young man? Lukas Junior?"
              "Lukas will be starting eighth grade next year," his mother said. "Lukas, say hello."
              "A ... pleasure to meet you," Lukas forced the polite words out of his mouth.
              "Welcome, Lukas!" his aunt rushed forward and hugged him. "You don't remember me, do you? Last time that I saw you was right before your father got his big break with the Braves."
              Lukas endured the warm, crushing hug, although it was overly long and made him feel uncomfortable.
              "Where's the moving truck?" his mother asked.
              "On its way," Aunt Isabella said. "They just texted, oh, it must've been half an hour ago. Oh, look! Here it comes!"
              Lukas escaped his aunt's hug as a boxy, dull white, noisy moving van cantered slowly around the distant corner, brushing the leaves of tree branches overhanging the street from both sides. Everyone on the block, outside their houses, paused to look at it, and a few faces pressed against the insides of nearby windows.
              "I'll move my car," his mother said, and she hurried around toward the driver's seat.
              "Slowly!" Aunt Isabella scolded. "You're supposed to be taking it easy!"
              To one side of Aunt Isabella's yard was a wide gate, which swung inward, from which hung two rows of narrow planter's boxes, again with bright flowers sprouting from each.
              Soon the boxy, beeping moving van was backing slowly into her driveway, squeezing between colorful blossoms. Aunt Isabella oversaw their parking, begging them not to crush her 'babies'. Several neighbors came out of well-tended yards to stare at the moving van. Fortunately, it was only a small van. Most of their furniture and belongings had been moved into storage, with only their essentials, beds, wardrobes, dressers, and clothes sent to his aunt's house. Lukas cared only that he'd brought his laptop with him, and that soon he'd see friends again, if only in the popular online games that they played.
              Several of the neighbors, walking out into the street, were kids, and all stared at him. Lukas felt grossly inconspicuous, and went to the car to retrieve his precious laptop.
              A terrible thought flashed through his mind.
              What if his aunt didn't have internet?
              Lukas struggled to remain calm. He grabbed his laptop, then headed to get inside as quickly as he could, if only to be out of sight of these rude, nosy neighbors. Back in Atlanta, they'd lived in a condo near the center of the city. He'd had the same neighbors for at least five years, and like all civilized neighbors, Lukas didn't think that he'd ever spoken to any of them.
              How was he going to live in this miniature backwoods town?
              Six wide wooden steps led upwards, from the tiny spots of grass that weren't overgrown with massive flower blossoms, to an old-fashioned porch, upon which sat more chairs than had filled their dining room. There was even a porch swing, hanging on chains, just wide enough for two.
              Lukas scowled nastily.
              Why would anyone want to sit on this porch and be suffocated by innumerable stinky flowers?
              The front door was unexpectedly wide, with a worn wooden framing, a real glass window, and its doorknob rattled as he turned it.
              This house must be at least a century old!
              Was it even safe to live here?
              What was his mother thinking?
              Opening the door, Lukas almost dropped his laptop. Doilies, lacey-knotted webs of bright white strings, covered the tops of ... everything; shelves, tables, and flower stands, each of which held a filled, colorful vase.
              What was wrong with his aunt? Why did anyone need this many flowers?
              Antiques cluttered the room. The couch had thick cushions with flower prints, and nothing was shiny metal or painted ... except the uneven ceiling. Real wood grains showed on every surface, except the walls, which were covered in a yellowish-cream wallpaper. A rough-stone fireplace, big enough to stand in, was built into one wall, and the only TV that he could see had a twenty-inch screen, and was almost as thick as it was tall. Their TV back home had covered most of one wall, was only a few inches thick, and he'd had cable.
              How was he going to watch his shows on this tiny TV?
              Lukas scanned the room, looking for anything familiar, when his eyes focused upon something unexpected. A small, round table sat in the back corner, and a tiny drape of black curtains hung from the walls behind it, although there appeared to be no windows behind these curtains. Centermost upon the round table was a ball of pure glass, bigger than a softball, set atop an ornate brass stand, surrounded by nine white candles.
              Lukas gasped. He'd never seen a real crystal ball before, except on TV.
              Was Aunt Isabella a witch?
              Aunt Isabella came inside, talking fast about how glad she was to welcome new visitors into her house, followed by a large, muscular man with a bushy mustache, who carried a clipboard. He barely glanced at the dainty living room as she led him to the back, straight toward a staircase that led to the upper floor. They ascended the wooden stairs loudly, her sneakers and his boots making inordinate bangs and creaks. Then Lukas heard them walking upon the floor above his head; the clomps of their footfalls and loud creaks of the wood alarmed him.
              Soon they came clunking back down, and Lukas moved aside to give them more room. Only minutes later, the mustached man came back into the house, carrying a large box, followed by a younger man, carrying his mother's stand-up mirror. Both climbed the noisy stairs, and moments later, they returned. Lukas' mother came inside the front door, looking worried.
              "Lukas, stay out of the way while the men are unloading," she said, and she vanished up the stairs, making an equal racket.
              Wary of the alarmingly creaking ceiling, and determined to escape online, Lukas sat upon the couch and opened his laptop. He scanned for WIFI options, and was shocked to find that several of the nearby networks were unprotected. He chose the network with the strongest signal, named 'Sea Willow', and was instantly online.
              The two men hauled up beds, boxes, shelves, and suitcases, along with lamps and dressers, each trip sounding like a thunderstorm. Lukas stared at the flat, painted ceiling, which had long hairline cracks in it, and hoped that it wouldn't crash down upon him with all the new weight that they were adding to the second floor.
              Aunt Isabella and Lukas' mom flitted back and forth between the truck and the upstairs, talking and fretting, as the men pretended to be listening.
              Finally his mom had to read and e-sign a pad. The roar of the truck's engine resumed, and then its sounds slowly diminished. His mom and Aunt Isabella came back inside, Aunt Isabella commenting on how nice those moving men had been.
              "Lukas, you can go up and see your room now," his mom said. "Then we need to unload the car."
              Lukas carried his laptop upstairs without closing it. Each step creaked as he placed his weight upon it, and he nervously ascended to find a single long hallway leading to a curtained window, divided equally by six doors, two closed. The first door to his right was obviously going to be his mom's room, as her bed and wardrobe were set inside it, her boxes stacked in the middle. To his left was a bathroom, which looked to be as ancient as the rest of the house. The next two doors were closed, and Lukas passed them by. The last room to his left had to be Aunt Isabella's bedroom, as it was crowded, neatly arranged, and full of antiques. Lukas paused; no one was watching, so he stuck his head into Aunt Isabella's bedroom and peeked around. The general impression was as lacy as her living room. Her bedspread was dark purple velvet, and several stuffed animals lay upon her bed. Above her headboard, colorful masks hung upon her wall, staring outwards with silent, shadowy eye-slots. Lukas jumped back into the hallway, out of sight of those eerie masks, and looked into the last room on his right. His bed was in there, no sheets on his mattress, his boxes stacked beside his dresser, and his empty shelves pressed against one wall. Miraculously, one sight brightened his mood; his family's big screen TV was leaning against a wall inside his room.
              A lace-curtained window looked down over the flowery front yard. He spied Aunt Isabella standing in the street before a small crowd of strangers, each of which was in turn shaking hands with his mom.
              Scanning the horizon from his window, Lukas set his laptop down onto his bed. The blue sky stretched widely, with no skyscrapers obstructing the high, white clouds. Leafy branches blocked most of the boxy houses peeking out from between trees, for at least a mile, and nothing seemed to lay beyond them. Then Lukas spotted a tiny gap between one tree and its nearby building, a thin vertical swath showing what hid beyond this strange, old-fashioned neighborhood. Inside that gap, the afternoon sun illuminated something shiny, flat, and blue, to the farthest edge of his sight. Lukas stared disbelieving; his bedroom had a narrow, clipped view of the vast Atlantic Ocean. Lukas closed his laptop.
              His mother had called this a seaside town; he'd never considered how close he'd be to the coast. He'd never seen a beach except beside the Gulf of Mexico, and his curiosity rose. Sadly, he doubted if he'd have time to visit its beaches today. The sun was starting to sink, and he wanted to explore the coast when he'd have plenty of daylight.
              Kids were riding bicycles on roads around the neighborhood. Lukas had ridden a bike a few times, yet he'd never owned one. Biking through big cities was dangerous, and his parents had forbidden him from wandering anywhere alone in downtown Atlanta. However, these kids on bikes were riding quickly, and not one adult seemed to be monitoring them. Lukas had never ventured outside alone. He wondered what it would feel like.
              The sight of other kids troubled him. In Atlanta, he'd heard about kids in small towns, and none of those stories were complimentary. He was a city kid, as were all of the kids that he'd gone to school with. No matter what these small-towners were like, he'd never fit in. Besides, he was almost fifteen years old and didn't even have a phone. All the cool teens had the latest phones, so he was sure to be dissed by the locals.
              Finally, Lukas attacked his boxes, pulled out his best earbuds and mic, plugged in his computer, and logged into his favorite game. Three of his best friends were online, and he joined them, frantically building troops and new defenses in their large and mutually-established empire.
              He wasn't in Georgia anymore, yet he was still part of the game!