The Order of the Poison Oak (4 page)

Let’s just say he had a great body. Broad shoulders, dark nipples, and just a little bit of dark hair on his upper chest and lean lower stomach. And it seems important to mention—and I’m fully aware that this might very well fall into the category of “too much information”—that there was a big bulge in the towel in the exact location of his you-know-what.

“Oh!” I said.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t!” The fact that my pulse was pounding so hard had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he’d appeared so suddenly.

“So,” he said casually. “What do you think?”

“Huh?” I said. I knew what I thought of his body, but that couldn’t possibly be what he was asking me, could it?

“Of camp,” he said. “You like it so far?”

“It’s okay, I guess. I’m having some problems with—”

Web’s hair and upper body were dripping wet, like I’d caught him right after he’d turned off the shower but before he’d had a chance to completely dry off. And it was right in the middle of my sentence that he nonchalantly slipped the towel from his body and started towel-drying his face and hair.

I didn’t want to stare. The problem was, his face was completely covered by that towel, which meant I could look at his lower body with impunity. (Is that a word?) I admit it, the temptation was too great. His stomach was rippled, and the little trail of hair there led down to the deeper shadows below. And—again, I’m completely aware that this might be too much information!—”it” was even bigger than it had looked under the towel.

“What?” he said, completely innocently, from underneath the towel. “Problems with what?”

I turned away at last (even I have
some
ethics). “With my kids!” I said. “They’re kind of bratty. Well, good night!”

He pulled the towel off his head. “You’re going?”

“Yeah!” Moving backward, I bumped into a bathroom stall. Hard. It squeaked. Loudly. “Got to go check on my kids!” I couldn’t believe I’d used the same lame excuse twice in one night.

“Okay,” he said, turning toward the showers again and giving me a glimpse of the eighth Wonder of the World that was his perfectly rounded ass. “Good night.”

“‘Night!” I said as I turned, fleeing out into it.

Chapter Five

For the all-camp activity the following day, we went on a hike. Or rather, we went on ten separate hikes—a different one led by each of the camp’s ten teenage counselors. We were all going in the same direction on the same trail—to the top of nearby Baldy Mountain, where we were supposed to meet for snacks. But that was all we had in common. Some of the counselors (mostly the guys) had turned it into a race, seeing which cabin could get to the top of the hill fastest; other counselors (mostly the girls) had turned it into a nature walk, identifying native plants to their campers and pointing out interesting land features along the way.

And then there was me, who was doing everything he could just to keep his kids moving in a forward direction.

First, we stopped to look at a snake swallowing a slug. Once someone had pointed it out, the kids all had to gather around it for a closer look.

“Okay,” I said. “That’s real interesting, but it’s time to push on, okay?”

We did push on eventually, but not before the slug had completely disappeared into the snake’s mouth.

A few minutes later, we stopped again when Willy spotted animal droppings alongside the trail.

“All right, all right,” I said, noting to myself that even the girl cabins were quickly passing us by. “Let’s keep moving, okay?”

We kept moving, but not because of what I’d said. No, it was because animal droppings are basically pretty boring.

Finally, we came to a flat wooden bridge built over a little pond.

“Cool!” Ian said, ignoring the bridge and heading down to the edge of the pond. This wouldn’t have been a problem if we hadn’t already stopped for the snake, the animal droppings, and everything else under the sun. When it came to the order of the various cabins hiking up the trail, we were now officially last.

“Wait a minute,” I said. ‘Let’s not stop again, okay?”

Ian looked back at me. “We’re on a nature hike, right?” he said.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” I said. “But—”

“And this pond is nature, right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then we can look at it.” The other kids found his logic impeccable. (Is
that
a word?) So they all joined him at the edge of the pond.

“Hey!” Julian said. “Water skippers!”

Only now did I remember what Otto had told me the day before about treating my kids like any other kids. Just because they were burn survivors, I didn’t have to put up with this crap.

“Okay, that’s it!” I said. “It’s time to go! I want everyone back on the trail right now!”

Ian glared at me. “Or what?” he said.

“What?” I said, taken aback.

“What are you going to do if we don’t get back on the trail?”

I had to think about that. Mr. Whittle had given us counselors a couple of different disciplinary options: KP duty, or docking the kids some privilege, like s’mores around the campfire.

“I’ll ...,“ I started to say, but it was too late. I’d hesitated. They say that he who hesitates is lost, and they’re right. I’d hesitated. Ergo, I was lost. (I
know
“ergo” is a word! It means “therefore.”)

Ian turned toward the undergrowth. “I hear a stream,” he said. He was speaking to his cabin mates like I didn’t even exist. “Let’s go check it out.”

“No!” I said. “Don’t go in there!”

But they were following Ian now, not me. I’d already used up all my ammunition—and I’d been firing blanks to begin with. So the kids followed Ian into the woods—even Trevor, who at least had the good grace to glance back at me guiltily before heading off into the woods.

“That’s it!” I called after them. “No s’mores tonight!” In my defense, even as I said this I could hear how stupid it sounded.

Oh, boy, was I bad at this camp counselor thing or what?

“Fine,” I said to myself, following after them. I couldn’t very well have them walking into quicksand. (Or could I? It would sure solve a lot of my problems.)

But a mere ten yards from the trail, I noticed something about the undergrowth in front of me.

“Stop!” I shouted. “No one move!”

There must have been something in the urgency of my voice because—wonder of wonders—the kids actually stopped.

“Poison oak,” I said. “It’s all around you.” Sure enough, there was even some of it growing between me and the kids.

“Poison
what?”
one of the kids said.

“It’s really nasty stuff. It’s got this oil on its leaves. If it touches your skin, you’ll get a rash, and probably blisters. It really itches, and it takes forever to heal. And it doesn’t even have to touch your skin. If it touches your clothes and then you touch them, the same thing happens.”

I hadn’t seen any poison oak around the camp grounds, which I guess is why Mr. Whittle hadn’t issued any warnings. But had none of my kids ever seen the plant before? That seemed weird. Then I remembered that since this was a session for burn survivors, they’d come from all over the country. They must have all come from places where the plant never grew. (Had none of them ever even seen an oak tree? Because—duh!—poison oak looks a lot like oak. I think it was safe to say at this point that my cabin would not be winning the Camp Botany Award.)

When I was finished talking, the kids all looked at each other—and at Ian.

“Ignore him,” he said. “He’s lying.”

“Fine,” I said, like I couldn’t have cared less (which was true). “When you guys get all covered with oozing blisters and spend the next four weeks going crazy trying not to scratch, don’t come crying to me. Man, I just hope none of you already touched the stuff”

Nobody said anything. But they didn’t move either. They just eyed the undergrowth around them like they were surrounded by hidden monsters, which I guess they kind of were.

And suddenly, I had a thought. I finally knew what Otto had been trying to tell me the night before. Burn survivors just wanted to be treated like any other kids? Well, I knew how I would treat any other kids in this exact same situation.

I started to turn away.

“Wait!” Blake said. “Where are you going?” There was actually a little fear in his voice.

“I’m getting the hell out of here,” I said. “You guys sounded like you didn’t want my help.”

“Ian said that!” Blake said. “I didn’t say that!”

I turned back to face the kids. I had their attention now, that’s for sure. Even Ian was looking at me (while trying not to).

“You want my help?” I said.

Seven kids nodded emphatically.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll show you what poison oak looks like. And I’ll help you get back to the trail.” I paused for just the right amount of time. “But only on one condition.”

“What
condition?”
Ian said disdainfully. The kid had spunk, I had to give him that.

“Look,” I said. “What’s going on here is bullshit, and you guys all know it. I’m your counselor, and you’re just a bunch of ten-year-old kids. You want
my
help? You guys have to promise to do what I say for the rest of this session. I won’t be a jerk, and you can still have fun. But when I say something is important, you have to listen. If so, I’ll lead you out of the poison oak. If not , you’re on your own.”

“You wouldn’t really leave us here!” Kwame said.

I laughed out loud. “You’re kidding, right? Why wouldn’t I leave you here? Serve you right, after the way you’ve been treating me.”

I don’t know if it was the tone of my voice or what. It might have been the laugh. But right then and there, I could have led those kids right off the Empire State Building. And they would have followed.

“He’s bluffing,” Ian said.

“Whatever,” I said, turning for the trail again.

“Wait!” Trevor said, taking a step forward. “Take me with you!”

I shook my head. “Nope. All of you or none of you. You all chose to disobey me back there on the trail, so unless you all agree to listen to me now, you’ll all suffer the consequences.” I gave them a second to think over my terms. Then I said, “Well? What’s your decision?”

Seven kids immediately vowed their undying obedience to me forever and ever.

I stared at the lone holdout. “Ian?”

“I still say you’re bluffing,” he said, but now he was the one who sounded pathetic, not me. “But okay,” he added with a mumble.

“Okay what?” I said. “Say it.” Yeah, I was rubbing it in. But it was Ian, so I figured I needed to have him spell it out.

“I’ll do what you say until the end of the session!” he said, almost shouting.

“Good,” I said quietly. And with that, I showed them what poison oak looks like, then turned and led them all to safety.

* * * * *

Believe it or not, that thing with the poison oak really seemed to make a difference. I won’t say that my kids suddenly became little angels. But at least they followed behind me for the rest of the afternoon and mostly listened to what I had to say. We even made it to the top of Baldy Mountain, and we weren’t the last cabin there either (that was the group led by Min, who could, unfortunately, be something of a know-it-all). I couldn’t help but remember what Otto had told me about the kids wanting people to be strict with them because it meant they weren’t getting special treatment as a result of their injuries.

That night, after lights-out, I was feeling pretty good about myself as I went down to join the other counselors around the campfire.

“What?” Gunnar said. He had noticed the self-satisfied look on my face.

“It just went well today with my kids,” I said. “We were out on the hike, and they—”

Suddenly, someone started singing and playing the guitar on the other side of the campfire. It was Otto, playing this folksy ballad I’d never heard before, and I wondered if he’d written it himself.

Is it okay ill need you tonight?

Thought I’d check and see if it’s all right

‘Cause the stars seen, sort of far away,

the night is rather dark

Is it okay if I need you tonight?

He was a good guitar player, not show-offy at all, but the kind who makes it look effortless. He barely had to move his hands and these complicated notes and rhythms came flowing out of the instrument.

But it was his voice that was the real wonder. Pure and gentle, with just enough of an edge to keep it from being too saccharine. It was the voice of someone who had known both amazing joy and intense pain, and who knew that ultimately von can’t really have one without the other. The secret of existence was all right there in his voice. He was breaking my heart—and making it sing!—at exactly the same time.

Gunnar heard it too. “Wow,” he said—pretty much the perfect one-word description of Otto’s music.

Otto sang:

Don’t get me wrong; I know tomorrow is

another day

And I am strong. I’ll survive whatever

comes my way

But tonight the wind is bowling, and I’m

chained out in the yard

And for tonight being alone is just too hard

To tell the truth, Otto had such an amazing voice that it almost seemed to change the way he looked. How do I say this without sounding like a jerk? I’m not sure, so I’ll just say it.

His singing almost made him look normal. It was the weirdest thing. Suddenly, I was seeing things about him that I’d never noticed before. His eyes, for example, which were the most unusual color—dark but warm, like burgundy or cherry wood. And his body, which was lean and tight, with great calves and even better forearms. As for the scar on his face, the more he sang, the more it seemed to melt away right before my eyes. Except that’s not it, exactly. His scar wasn’t
disappearing.
It just now seemed perfectly normal, not like a scar at all. If you’d asked me then and there, I would have sworn Otto was—well, beautiful.

Is it okay if I want you tonight?

It’s a very long time until the morning light

And since we’re both here in the dark, can I

ask one thing of you?

Is there any chance that you might want

me too?

“Hey, Russel,” a voice said.

I didn’t want to turn away, but I figured I had to.

“Huh?” I said, a little annoyed. But when I turned to look, I saw it wasn’t Gunnar who’d been speaking.

It was Web.

“Oh!” I said. “Hi!”

“Pretty good, huh?” Web was smiling when he said this, but he was looking at me, not Otto.

“What? Oh, yeah.” Otto was still singing, but I wasn’t really listening anymore.

Web nodded back toward the cabins. “You wanna help me make rounds?” After lights-out, we counselors were supposed to go around and check on all the cabins once every hour until we turned in ourselves.

“Sure!” Usually, it was one guy and one girl who made the rounds, but I wasn’t about to put up a fuss if it meant some alone time with Web.

I scrambled up from my seat on the ground—way too eagerly, I immediately realized. I thought I heard Otto’s voice catch a little. I glanced over at him, but he was looking down at the sand.

“Let’s go,” Web said to me.

“Right!” I said, and we headed off together. Otto kept singing and playing, but his song didn’t sound happy and sad anymore. Now it just sounded sad.

“Let’s check the girls first,” Web said, drawing my attention back to him.

“Okay,” I said, and I swear, for the life of me, I couldn’t think of one other thing to say. Our feet crunched on the gravel path up from the beach, which just made the silence seem even more awkward. Neither one of us had thought to bring our flashlights, so we were walking in total darkness. This late at night, there weren’t even any lights coming from the lodge.

The girls’ cabins were clustered in the trees along the water on the south side of the camp. By the time we reached the first one, neither of us had managed another word

We checked in on the five girls’ cabins, hut all the kids seemed to be sleeping soundly.

“Now the guys?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said.

And so we headed back across the grass between the lodge and the beach. I still couldn’t see Web, but it was impossible to forget he was there. Walking next to me on that grass, he was like a black hole, sucking every ounce of energy right out of my body.