The sidewalk shimmered in the heat, and the air hung heavy over the cracked pavement outside Medford. Oliver Preston didn’t care. He kept walking with his hood up and earbuds in, cutting across town with long strides and no real plan.

A red pickup slowed beside him. The window rolled down and Mr. Reilly, their neighbor from two blocks over, leaned out with a puzzled grin. “Hey, Oliver. You heading somewhere, or just trying to sweat off your brain?”

Oliver yanked out one earbud and shrugged. “Just going down the road for a bit.”

Reilly squinted at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Oliver said, a little too quickly. “Just needed some air.”

Reilly studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, kid. Stay hydrated.” He tapped the side of his truck and pulled away.

Oliver watched the pickup disappear before putting his earbuds back in. Truth was, he hadn’t really thought this through. He’d told his little sister Janet he was just going to the gas station. But once he got moving, he didn’t want to stop. Everything back at his Aunt Karen’s place felt weird—quiet in a way that made it hard to breathe.

She and Uncle Jasper had offered to take them for two weeks while their mom traveled for work. At first, it sounded fun—two weeks in a small town, a break from school, something different. But by day four, Oliver was climbing the walls. The house was too quiet, his uncle barely said anything, and Aunt Karen mostly just moved from one errand to another like she was running her own to-do list in a separate universe.

Janet didn’t seem to mind. She liked helping in the kitchen and exploring the backyard with the neighbor’s cat. But Oliver couldn’t sit still. Especially not after Uncle Jasper had mentioned something about introducing him to a girl down the street.

“You and Eleanor Brighton are about the same age,” he’d said at breakfast. “Might be nice to have someone your age to hang out with.”

Oliver had nodded politely, but inside, he’d winced. He didn’t want to be set up with some stranger like a kid at summer camp. He just wanted people to stop telling him how he should be feeling.

Now he was a mile from the house, sneakers dusty and shirt sticking to his back. He considered turning around, but the open field beyond the trees caught his eye. There was a slope beyond the old apple orchard he’d seen from the backyard—a hill that looked like it might have a decent view. Something about climbing it sounded better than going back just yet.

He ducked through a break in the fence, passed under the low branches of scraggly apple trees, and made his way up. Near the top, a small, weathered shed and a couple of white boxes came into view. Beehives?

As he stepped closer, he heard a voice.

“Hey!” someone called. “Can you give us a hand?”

Startled, Oliver looked up. A man in a faded ballcap stood in the doorway of the shed, waving him over. Beside him was a girl with dark hair pulled back in a messy braid. Her jeans were grass-stained, and her hands were smudged with something dark.

“We’re trying to move a swarm before it gets too hot,” she added. “You look steady enough. Mind helping?”

Oliver blinked. He could have said no. He could have backed away. But something about the easy way they spoke made it feel okay. Normal.

“Uh . . sure. What do I do?”

Minutes later, he was holding a smoker and watching hundreds of bees hum around the wooden frames. The man talked him through it, cracking a few dry jokes along the way. The girl—Polly, as she introduced herself—pointed out the queen bee and asked if he’d ever seen honeycomb up close.

He hadn’t. It was actually kind of cool.

When the job was done, they headed inside the little shed. It smelled like smoke and sugar. Polly brought out sandwiches and cold apple juice. They sat on overturned crates, swatting lazy flies and talking about nothing in particular—school, summer jobs, weird teachers.

“You from around here?” Polly asked.

“Just visiting,” Oliver said. Then after a moment: “Needed a break.”

She nodded like she understood. “Me too.”

The air felt cooler inside. Outside, the heat buzzed across the field. Oliver glanced at his phone. It was almost 4:30.

He stood up and dusted off his jeans. “I should head back before my sister starts thinking I got eaten by a bear or something.”

Polly smiled. “Well, thanks for helping us not get eaten by bees.”

He laughed, and for the first time in a few days, it felt real.

As he walked back through the orchard, he realized something. He hadn’t escaped anything huge. He wasn’t running from disaster. He just needed a little space to breathe. And, somehow, a field, some bees, and a girl in a smoky apron had given him exactly that.

_{“Just Down the Road” by Nina D. Smith. Published by Bright Bunny Books © 2025. Retelling of “The Beeman” from The Windy Hill by Cornelia Meigs, originally published in 1922.}

---

“Just Down the Road” is ideal for students in grades 8–10, offering relatable themes of identity, independence, and emotional growth in a modern, accessible context.