The Runaway: A Stardew Valley Story

Day Dreaming

The beds I slept on in Zuzu City all cost a fortune and felt like miniature clouds. Grandpa's old bed squeaks with every movement and smells faintly of dust, but after two nights on the floor, it feels like heaven. I wake up feeling refreshed and ready to start my first day on the farm.

After a shower and breakfast of leftover soup, I head into a brisk March morning. My first step is to find the hoe and till the earth which becomes easier once I set aside the tools that I recognize as an axe and a pick. The sun is warm on my face by the time I set myself to work breaking up the dirt. My arms grow weak after four swings, but I keep going. The first row is far from a straight line, but there are ten plots for ten seeds of my first crop.

Only forty more to go.

Pierre warned me that I should start small for my first garden, and I can understand why if each plant has to be watered once a day every day unless it rains. This won't be an easy livelihood, but maybe I can become the best farmer in Stardew Valley one day. My kid will never have to be hungry because my fresh vegetables will always line our table. What I sell will furnish our cottage, and I'll even pay Robin to build the biggest nursery she's ever made.

I smile at the thought as I finish the last row which is even more crooked than the first. This is my farm. This is my baby. This is the future that I get to choose for myself. My smile doesn't fade even as I realize that I worked right through lunch, and the sun suggests late afternoon.

"Well, the doctor wouldn't be too happy with me if I skip lunch and dinner," I muse aloud then put away my tools and head for the saloon.

For the only restaurant in town, the Stardrop is just as deserted as the previous two visits. Gus informs me that the special of the day is fried calamari and laughs as my face probably turns green at the thought of tasting squid a second time tomorrow morning. My stomach growls impatiently as I read over the remaining options.

"Pizza, please," I finally decide.

"And a ginger ale?"

"Am I becoming a regular already?"

Gus's eyes sparkle. "A good cook learns to read appetites better than a recipe."

The place is still so empty and the afternoon so pleasant, that I take my box of cheese pizza down to the winding river that marks the southern edge of Pelican. The ginger ale is cold and bubbly. It tickles my nose, and I savor the flavor as I squat to sit down without spilling my dinner into the river. Letting my legs dangle over the bank, my feet barely miss the surface of the water. I break into the warm pizza like a greedy child and sigh around the crust.

Just as I start on my second slice, a rattling noise begins from somewhere behind me. I can feel the tremors in the ground beneath me, and the rumble grows with each passing minute. Turning around, I catch a glimpse of someone on a skateboard barreling down the drive. The guy looks close to my age with blonde hair and headphones instead of a helmet. He sings along to a song I don't recognize and makes motions with his hands as if he were playing an instrument.

"...but if the skylines were on fire, they'd hold nothing to the burn in my chest. For you I'd go down screaming 'Higher!' You are better than all the rest."

The melody is beautiful. His voice is so rich and powerful. I can't look away when he begins to strike the invisible guitar with vigor. He's so lost in the music that he forgets about the skateboard. It tips too far to one side and then the other before launching its rider into a nearby bush.

"Oh my Yabba," I shout and rush towards the stranger. "Are you okay?"

A hiss of pain answers, and the blonde raises himself out of the bush. Scratches from the needle-tipped leaves mark his pale skin, but otherwise, all seems well. I am also not a doctor and purely running off the fact that there is no blood or obvious injury.

"Oh, I'm fine. I've had worse," the boy admits sheepishly. Then, he knits his eyebrows and cocks his head. "Wait, who are you?"

"I'm Junox, the new farmer."

Thin blond eyelashes flutter. "There's a new farmer?"

"Yeah, I just took over my grandpa's farm. It seemed like everyone in town already knew." Did that sound as awkward as it was to say?

"Ah, the good ole grapevine."

"What do grapes have to do with this?"

"You know like town gossip?"

I stare back blankly. Not only do I have no idea what gossip has to do with grapes, but I also have no idea why a person should know that.

"Forget it." He offers a hand. "I'm Sam." Then, he smiles, and I might have smiled back if the sound of his stomach rumbling hadn't interrupted. "Oh, Yabba, I'm so sorry!" Sam covers his stomach with a hand as if to conceal his shameful appetite.

The laughter that bubbles up from my chest is genuine and welcomed. "You don't happen to like pizza do you?"

"It's only my favorite food in the entire world." Now, Sam's smile grows even brighter before something clouds it with a frown. "Awe, but Mom's making fish casserole tonight. She'd be pissed if she found out I had two dinners."

"You would eat both?" I ask incredulously.

"And then maybe a midnight snack?" Sam wonders to himself almost. "I'm a teenage guy. Eating, sleeping, driving our parents crazy, and thinking about girls occasionally. It's what we do." He sounds proud of himself.

There's a long enough pause that I decide Sam is trying to end the conversation. I learned that after a few dinner parties with heads of state. Those stick-ups would never tell you they were finished with the conversation, but you would always know when they no longer wanted to speak to you.

"Well, I hope you enjoy--"

"Oh, what are you doing on Friday?" Sam interjects so loudly and enthusiastically, that I clutch my chest in surprise.

"Ah, nothing? Eating dinner? Sleeping?" What is the correct answer here?

"Great!" he shouts. "You should hang with me and the gang at the saloon. We can't drink yet so we just play pool."

"Why aren't you allowed to drink? And where is a pool in the saloon?"

Sam laughs like I just made a joke. "Right, I guess they call it billiards in the city, but I'm only eighteen. Abigail and Sebastian turn twenty-one this year though, so they can get the goods soon."

Right, I forgot about age limits. No one ever stopped me from drinking when I was with Josh, but maybe that just comes with being ultra-rich and famous. According to the booklet Dr. Harvey gave me, I'm not supposed to have alcohol either way during the pregnancy. I have no clue what Fetal Alcohol Syndrome is, but I now know how to prevent it.

"Oh, right, I thought you were older." I fake a laugh to cover my ignorance.

Sam flushes like I've paid him a compliment. "I just hang around a lot of older people. It's a byproduct of living in a--"

"Sa-am! I'm trying to cook dinner. Will you help your brother with his homework?" someone shouts from a house down the street.

"I'll be right there, Mom!" Sam replies a bit too loudly for my ears which are not down the street. He turns his attention back to me. "Friday, four o'clock, saloon. You in?"

"Y-yes, I am in."

"Awesome!" And I think I decide then, that Sam has the best smile in town. Even over the god-like Elliot. "See you there!" He shouts over a shoulder as he runs off toward the house at the end of the street.

I notice that he left his skateboard in the road, but he's already gone when I try to tell him.

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