Two weeks into their California road trip, the van had developed its own ecosystem of empty energy drink cans, guitar picks, and the persistent smell of whatever Anthony had attempted to cook on their camping stove the night before.
"I think we've created our own biosphere," Tara observed, carefully cataloging their dwindling supplies. "And not in a good way."
"It's called 'lived-in charm,'" Chelsea protested from where she was attempting to fix the van's temperamental radio.
"Is that what we're calling the mystery stain on the ceiling?"
"That's from when Jon tried to open a shaken-up Coke," Charlie called from the driver's seat, his black hair now long enough to tie back in a small ponytail.
"One time!" Jon protested. "That happened one time!"
The radio suddenly crackled to life, blasting a pop song from the early 2000s at maximum volume. Without missing a beat, Venus began belting out the lyrics with the kind of enthusiasm that completely ignored her actual singing ability.
"I'M NOT A GIRL, NOT YET A WOMAN!" she screamed, dramatically gesturing with her hands.
"Oh god," Anthony groaned, covering his ears. "Make it stop."
But Kate was already joining in, her usually gentle voice raised in equally terrible harmony. "ALL I NEED IS TIME, A MOMENT THAT IS MINE!"
"This is musical terrorism," Jon said, but he was grinning.
Chelsea cranked the volume higher. "While I'm in between!"
Soon all seven of them were singing—if you could call it singing—various pop hits as they drove down Highway 1. Their voices cracked, they forgot lyrics, and Anthony's attempt at beatboxing sounded like a broken garbage disposal, but it was perfect in its awfulness.
"We sound like a pack of dying seagulls," Charlie laughed, trying to hit a high note and failing spectacularly.
"Dying seagulls with dreams," Tara corrected, adding her own off-key contributions to what might have once been a Britney song.
By the time they reached Eureka, their voices were hoarse and their spirits were higher than they'd been since leaving Seattle. The van pulled into the driveway of a small craftsman house with a garden that looked like it had been designed by someone who believed in the healing power of plants.
"Uncle Kenji!" Venus called, practically bouncing out of the van.
The man who emerged from the house was in his forties, with the kind of calm energy that suggested he'd seen a lot of life and had made peace with most of it. His hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and he wore paint-splattered overalls over a faded band t-shirt.
"Venus," he said warmly, embracing his niece. "You look... colorful."
"That's one word for it," she grinned. "Uncle Kenji, these are my friends. The ones I told you about."
Kenji studied the group of teenagers climbing out of the van like clowns from a circus car. "The runaways," he said without judgment. "You all look like you could use a shower and a real meal."
"Is it that obvious?" Kate asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"It's the 'living in a van' aesthetic. Very distinctive. Come on, let's get you settled."
Kenji's house was an artist's paradise—canvases everywhere, the smell of oil paint and incense, and a kitchen that actually had counter space. He set them up in the living room with sleeping bags and pillows, then disappeared to make what he called "recovery ramen."
"Your uncle is amazing," Anthony told Venus as they waited for dinner.
"He's the one who taught me that family is about choice, not just genetics," Venus replied. "When I was twelve and going through my 'I want to move back to Japan and become a manga artist' phase, he was the only one who took me seriously."
"Did you ever want to be a manga artist?" Tara asked.
"For about six months. Then I discovered fashion and decided I'd rather be a living work of art than create static ones."
After dinner—which was indeed recovery-level good—they found themselves sprawled around Kenji's living room, feeling more relaxed than they had in weeks.
"So," Charlie said suddenly, pulling a box of hair dye from his backpack. "Who wants to help me do something potentially stupid?"
"Always," Jon said immediately. "What kind of stupid?"
Charlie held up the box. "Sage green. I've been wanting to try it, but I can't reach the back of my head properly."
"I'll do it," Charlie offered, perhaps a bit too quickly.
"You sure? Last time you helped with hair, you gave Chelsea that tragic mullet."
"That was an accident! And it grew out!"
"It took six months," Chelsea protested.
"Fine, I'll supervise," Chelsea said. "But Jon does the actual dyeing."
They set up an impromptu hair salon in Kenji's bathroom, Venus contributing professional-level hair clips and Kate providing a steady stream of encouragement. Jon worked with surprising concentration, carefully sectioning Charlie's hair and applying the dye with the kind of focus usually reserved for important exams.
"Hold still," Jon murmured, his fingers gentle against Charlie's scalp.
"I am holding still."
"You're fidgeting."
"I'm nervous. What if it looks terrible?"
"Then you'll look terrible with great bone structure," Jon said seriously. "Very fashionable."
Charlie caught Jon's eye in the mirror and felt that familiar flutter in his chest. Four months of whatever this was between them, and he still wasn't sure what to call it. More than friendship, but they'd never actually defined it. Just comfortable silences and meaningful looks and the kind of casual intimacy that made everyone else roll their eyes.
"There," Jon said finally, stepping back to admire his work. "Now we wait thirty minutes and hope for the best."
While they waited, Kenji appeared with a guitar and somehow convinced them to continue their earlier assault on musical classics. This time, Anthony discovered he had a surprisingly decent voice when he wasn't trying to beatbox, and Kate's harmonies actually improved everyone else's singing.
"You know," Kenji said after they'd massacred what might have been a Beatles song, "there's an open mic night at the coffee shop downtown tomorrow. You should perform."
"Absolutely not," Jon said immediately.
"We're terrible," Tara agreed.
"Terribly entertaining," Kenji corrected. "There's a difference."
"We'll think about it," Venus said diplomatically.
When they finally rinsed out Charlie's hair, the result was better than anyone had dared hope. The sage green complemented his pale skin and dark eyes, making him look ethereal and slightly otherworldly.
"Damn," Chelsea whistled. "You look like a fairy prince."
"A goth fairy prince," Anthony corrected.
"The best kind," Kate added.
Jon was staring with the kind of expression that made Charlie's cheeks flush pink. "It's perfect," Jon said softly. "You look..."
"Like someone who makes interesting life choices?" Charlie suggested.
"Like someone I want to kiss," Jon said, then immediately turned red. "I mean—"
"Yeah?" Charlie asked, stepping closer.
"Yeah."
This time, when they kissed, there was no audience of stoned teenagers to interrupt them. Just the two of them in Kenji's bathroom, surrounded by hair dye stains and the smell of developer, figuring out that some of the best moments happen in the most ordinary places.
"Finally," Venus called from outside the door. "We were wondering when you two would get your act together."
"We can hear you!" Charlie called back, but he was grinning.
"Good! Now come show off that hair properly!"
That night, as they settled into their sleeping bags in Kenji's living room, Charlie found himself next to Jon again, close enough to see how the sage green caught the light from the street lamp outside.
"I'm glad we're terrible singers," Charlie said quietly.
"Why?"
"Because if we were good, we might actually perform tomorrow, and then everyone would know we're frauds."
Jon laughed. "I think our secret's already out."
Around them, their chosen family was falling asleep to the sound of northern California rain on the roof and the distant sound of the ocean. For the first time in months, they all felt truly safe—not just physically, but emotionally. Like they could stop running and start building something real.
"Charlie?" Jon whispered.
"Yeah?"
"I think I love you."
Charlie's breath caught. It was the first time either of them had used that word, and it hung in the air between them like a promise.
"I think I love you too," Charlie whispered back.
In the morning, they would decide whether to embarrass themselves at the open mic night. They would help Kenji with his garden and learn about sustainable living from someone who actually knew what he was doing. They would figure out their next destination and whether their van could make it up the coast without breaking down.
But tonight, they were just seven teenagers who had found each other and somehow, against all odds, made it work.