The Order of the Poison Oak (5 page)

Suddenly, Web said, “Hey! Look!”

I could tell he had stopped walking, but I wasn’t sure where he was in the dark, or what he was talking about. So I said, “Huh?”

“The stars! I can see Leo.”

I looked up into the sky This far from the city lights, the stars were brighter than I’d ever seen them. The sky looked like the photo negative of a vast sandy beach. “Where?” I asked.

A darkened silhouette pointed up into the dome of stars. “There.”

I didn’t say anything, mostly because I still couldn’t see where he was pointing.

Web laughed. “Here,” he said, stepping close to me
—behind me.
I couldn’t see him, but suddenly I could sure feel him. From behind, he was guiding me by the biceps with one hand and resting his other arm on my shoulder, pointing it—and me—in the right direction. “There,” he whispered, and I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. (The night was warm, but I shivered.) “See it? That sort of upside-down question mark? That’s the head. And those other five stars? That’s the body. It’s sorta crouching down? It really does look like a lion!”

I didn’t move a muscle. It was all I could do not to fall back into his arms. But I was barely more than a puddle of water at that point, so I doubted he could hold me.

“You know about Leo the Lion?” Web asked me.

Somehow, I managed to force out the word “No.”

“He was this lion from a long time ago. You’ve heard of Hercules, right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Well, some god made Hercules go crazy, so he killed his own wife and kids. When Hercules got normal again, he was really sad about what he’d done. So this oracle-lady told him he could make everything okay again if he could do these twelve impossible tasks. The Twelve Labors of Hercules.”

“Oh,” I said. Web hadn’t moved from behind me; he was still resting his arm on my shoulder and talking into my ear. So now I could smell him too (soap, woodsmoke, and a hint of clean sweat).

“For the first task, Hercules had to kill Leo the Lion,” Web said. “But this wasn’t just any lion. He was extra strong, and he had this, like, super-hard skin. Hercules tried to shoot arrows at it, but they just bounced off. He tried to kill the lion with his sword, but the metal bent. And he tried to pound it with a club, but the club just broke into a hundred pieces. So you know what Hercules did?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“He
strangled
the lion with his bare hands! And when the lion was dead, Hercules took one of Leo’s own claws—the only thing sharp enough to cut through the lion’s extra-strong skin!—and he skinned it. Then Hercules started wearing the lion’s skin himself, and that gave
him
super-hard skin!”

“Wow,” I said, and that’s when it occurred to me that since Web and I had left to go on our rounds, I had not said a single thing that wasn’t a one-word answer.

When I didn’t say anything more than my usual single word, Web broke away from me at last. “Well,” he said. “We should probably go check on the guys’ cabins now”

This was so stupid! Why wasn’t I saving anything? Here I was, finally alone with this guy I was so hot for, and I couldn’t manage to say anything more than a damn “Wow”?

I needed to say
something—
tell
him what a great story that was, ask him what brand of soap he used!
Anything!

“What about Orion?” I said at last, in a voice just above a whisper. “Where’s that in the sky?”

“Huh?” Web said, but not from nearby. He was a good ten feet away from me now. In other words, he’d already moved on across the grass, toward the boys’ cabins. I’d finally said something, but he’d been too far away to hear it!

“Russel?” Web said. “You say somethin’?”

“No,” I said. Suddenly, I was back in puddle mode.

“Oh,” Web said.

And so, with nothing else to say, the two of us walked wordlessly on through the night.

Chapter Six

The next morning, I was still kicking myself for what had—or hadn’t!—happened the night before. Web had clearly been flirting with me, hadn’t he? So why hadn’t I responded—or even
spoken?
It was no wonder he’d lost interest! I felt about as sexy as a plastic reindeer.

More than anything, I was determined never to blow it like that again. Remember that scene in
Gone With the Wind
when Scarlett O’Hara stands with an upraised fist in the desolation that is the Tara plantation after the Civil War, and vows to herself that if she has to lie, cheat, or steal, she’ll never go hungry again? That was me when it came to Web: as God was my witness, I was never going to let an opportunity to get cozy with him pass me by again.

I was still thinking about Web that afternoon when I had lifeguard duty with Em.

“So,” she said as we sat together on the beach, “who’s your Brand?”

“What?” I said. Was she asking me what kind of shoes I liked, or what? That didn’t seem like her kind of question at all.

“From that old movie
The Goonies?”
Em said. “Brand is the cool kid. Every cabin has one. Who’s yours?”

“Oh,” I said, smiling. “Definitely Ian. Ian is
so
Brand. But at least he’s human. He keeps losing his flashlight.”

“Who’s your Data?”

“The brain? Blake, I guess.”

“Chunk?”

“The outcast? I hope I don’t have one. B the way, I always thought it was so mean that that movie had a fat character named Chunk. What was that about? Spielberg’s supposed to be this big humanitarian or whatever.”

“Fat bigotry,” Em said. “Truly the last acceptable prejudice.”

I thought for a second. “I guess the one kid my kids tease the most is Willy. He refuses to take a shower, so he smells.”

“Uh-huh,” said Em. “Like my kid Caitlin.”

“At first, I thought it was the whole group shower thing. So I suggested he take a shower in the evening when no one else was around. No go. I always thought little kids
couldn’t
stink. That they didn’t have sweat glands or something.”

“Oh, God, I wish! Thank God for swimming, though. But even that doesn’t get Caitlin really clean. I have to be happy if it just kind of settles the dust.”

“Wait,” I said. “Little girls stink too?”

“If you don’t believe me, come around my cabin sometime. It’s like a bad science fiction movie.
The Kid with the Amazing Stink!”

I laughed. “They’re all around us!” Then I started making
woo-woo
science fiction sound effects.

“Oh yeah!” Em said. “Definitely cue the theremin!”

I stopped laughing. “Wait a minute,” I said, amazed and astounded.
“You
know what a theremin is?”

She looked at me. “Of course. Doesn’t everybody?”

Okay, this was too weird. As long as I’d known him, Gunnar had been crazy to get a girlfriend.
And
he was crazy for theremins. And now, completely by accident, I had met the one girl on the whole entire planet who actually knew what one was. It was fate. Gunnar and Em were
destined
to be together.

Except that Gunnar had said he’d given up girls. And if I told him about her, I knew what he’d say: Thanks, but no thanks. The last time I’d mentioned Em, he’d shot me down outright.

No, I thought. Em was too perfect. I
had
to get the two of them together. True, Gunnar had
said
he didn’t want a girlfriend anymore, but I just knew he wasn’t telling the truth. Why else would he be reading romance novels? It was like that theremin he hadn’t gotten for Christmas. He could
say
he hadn’t wanted it anymore, but anyone who knew him knew it wasn’t true. And anyway, hadn’t I just made myself a vow never to let a romantic opportunity pass me by again? True, I’d been talking about myself and Web, but the same principle applied here.

“Hey,” I said to Em. “You busy tonight?”

She stood up and shouted down to some kids at the edge of the lake, “Knock it off! Let the fish go!” They had caught some minnows in a bucket and were now shooting at them with squirt guns.

She looked back at me, and in typical lifeguard fashion, we picked up our conversation exactly where we’d left off. “Why?” she said. “You asking me out?”

“Uh, no,” I said.

“Yeah, I figured I’m not really your type.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Was she saying what I thought she was saving?

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m cool.”

“Good gaydar.”

“Really?” And I immediately wanted to add, What does your gaydar say about Web?

“No,” Em said. “I have a friend who goes to your school. She was telling me about this kid named Russel. From what she said, I figured it was you.”

Wow, I thought. I’m famous. For the exact last thing in the world that I wanted to be famous for.

“But don’t worry,” Em went on. “No one else here knows about you. And I sure won’t tell.” She looked at me for a second more, then said, “So? What were you going to ask me?”

“Oh,” I said, still lost in thought about the whole famous-for-being-gay thing. “Well, there’s someone I wanted you to get to know better.”

“A guy?”

I nodded.

“Who?” she asked.

“Hmm,” I said. “Why don’t we make it a surprise?”

“A blind date, huh?” She thought for a second, then shrugged. “What the hell. It’s gonna be a long summer. Where?”

That was a good question. Where could I get Em and Gunnar together where they’d have a little privacy?

Then I saw the perfect place, near the dock. “The boathouse,” I said. It was really just this weather-beaten old building where they stored the camp canoes and rowboats. But aren’t lovers in books and movies always meeting down at the boathouse?

* * * * *

On my break from lifeguarding, I went to see Gunnar again in the camp store.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he said.

On my way over to see him, I’d decided not to tell him outright about my plans. No, I was going to get Gunnar hooked up with a girlfriend without his ever even knowing I was involved.

“Guess what?” I asked. “There’s this great big hornets’ nest in the boathouse.” Gunnar liked bees; I think he was fascinated by how orderly they are. I liked bees too, but not as much as I liked movies like
Gone With the Wind.

“Really?” Gunnar said.

“Yeah. I’ll show you. Meet me in the boathouse right after dinner.”

“Cool!” he said, and I thought, Oh, this is too easy. It was just like, well, shooting fish in a bucket.

* * * * *

I left dinner early and went to make sure everything was ready for Gunnar and Em’s rendezvous in the boathouse. It had been built on pilings above the lake, near the camp dock. It wasn’t much to look at on the outside—pretty ratty and worn. It wasn’t much to look at on the inside, either—full of canoes and rowboats, life jackets, buoy ropes, and, unfortunately, big splotches of sparrow droppings (some a little too fresh). But the boathouse was enclosed on only three sides, with two empty boat slips that were open to the water. That meant there was plenty of privacy and a great view of the lake, which had settled into the perfect after-dinner calm. It had been a dry spring, and there were forest fires in some nearby hills (which was not a good thing), but the haze in the air made for an amazing sunset, with the feathery clouds awash in the most incredible shade of orange.

On my way to the boathouse, I had picked some flowers from around the lodge. I’d thought I could set them somewhere in the boathouse to increase the romance factor. I immediately saw the perfect place. I tossed them gently out onto the surface of the lake, and they lay there, slowly swirling in the filtered light. Perfect! I thought. In a setting like this, even
I’d
be into Em, and I was gay!

Then I noticed a dead seagull in the corner of the boathouse. That didn’t fit into the picture I had in my mind of Gunnar taking Em in his arms and bending her backward in a confident, Rhett Butler—like embrace.

But before I could kick the dead bird into the water, I heard wood squeak on the dock outside the boathouse. “Russ?” a voice said. Gunnar.

Shit! I thought. He was early! I had planned to be long gone by the time he and Em arrived. If I was there, I’d ruin everything.

One of the stored rowboats was covered by a canvas, so I slipped inside the boat and crouched down under the cover.

“Russ?” Gunnar said, entering the boathouse. “You here?”

What was I doing, hiding from him like this? But I couldn’t tell him I was there; otherwise he wouldn’t get together with Em. So for the time being, I decided to stay hidden under that canvas.

I heard more squeaking as Gunnar walked around the boathouse.

“Russ said there was a hive,” he said out loud. “But where?” Gunnar talked to himself? This was something I didn’t know about him.

A moment later, I heard more squeaking on the dock outside the boathouse.

“Russ?” Gunnar said.

“No,” said a voice. “It’s me.” Em, of course. She’d entered the boathouse too. (Whatever happened to people being fashionably late?)

“Oh!” Gunnar said. “Hey!”

“What’s up?” Em said.

“What? Oh, I’m waiting for someone. He was going to show me a hive.”

“Did you find it?”

“No. Just a lot of sparrows’ nests.”

“Too bad,” Em said. “I love bees.”

“Really?” Gunnar sounded surprised.

“Oh, yeah.”

Right
on!
I said to myself. This was going even better than I’d expected! Better yet, Em hadn’t spilled the beans about my setting her up to meet Gunnar.

“Hey, look!” Em said. “Flowers in the water.”

“Huh,” Gunnar said. “I wonder where they came from.”

Em starting laughing.

“What?” Gunnar said.

“I think I know where they came from,” Em said. “Your friend Russel. I think he’s trying to set the two of us up.”

Oops, I thought. I really should have made Em promise to be more circumspect. But this wasn’t necessarily a bad development, romance-wise. If the two of them saw me as some kind of outside manipulator, that might force them closer together. If nothing else, they could share a laugh at my expense.

Unfortunately, Gunnar wasn’t laughing. “No,” he said. “Russel wouldn’t do that. Not after I told him not to.”

I admit I felt a tad guilty when Gunnar said this. Just like I felt guilty eavesdropping on them like I was. But what could I do?

“You told him not to set me up with you?” Em said to Gunnar, sounding understandably offended.

“It’s not you,” Gunnar said. “It’s me!”

Sweet Jesus, he was breaking up with her and they’d barely just met!

“Oh,” Em said.

“That didn’t come out right,” Gunnar said. “Look, I’ve just had bad luck with girls, okay? I told Russel I didn’t want to meet
anyone
right now.”

“Oh. Well, I should get back to my kids, anyway.”

I heard a pause, then some squeaking, like Em was walking for the door. But before she was gone completely, Gunnar said, “No. Wait.”

I didn’t hear any more squeaking, so Em must have waited.

“What do you like about bees?” Gunnar asked.

“I dunno. They’re just cool. You know, it’s not true what they say about bumblebees being too heavy for their wings—that their being able to fly violates the laws of aerodynamics. Their wings twist sideways, so there’s less drag on the upstroke. That means they follow the laws of aerodynamics just fine.”

“Yeah,” Gunnar said. “I know.”

“I mean, obviously, right? Because they
do
fly.”

Hmm, I thought to myself. This was an interesting development. Was Gunnar snatching victory from the jaws of defeat?

The floor to the boathouse squeaked again, like someone was pacing nervously (Gunnar, no doubt).

“You allergic?” he said to Em.

“To bees?” she said. “Yeah. I don’t die or anything. I just swell up.”

“Me too.”

“Careful,“ Em said. “Don’t step on the seagull.”

“Huh?” Gunnar said. “Oh!” I heard more squeaks—little ones, like someone was stumbling backward.

Then I heard a squishy sound, followed by a word that struck terror deep into my heart.

“Whoa!”
was the word, and Gunnar was the one who said it.

Even though I still couldn’t see, somehow I knew exactly what was happening out in that boathouse. Gunnar had lurched back from the dead seagull, then slipped on some of the fresh sparrow droppings.

I thought to myself, Please don’t let him fall backward into one of the open boat slips!

But even as I thought this, I heard the splash.

“Oh, God!” Em said. “Are you okay?”

Gunnar didn’t flail around or anything. Why would he? The water was barely waist-deep in those boat slips. But he had definitely fallen
into
that water. I could hear it lapping against him, and against the pilings underneath the boathouse.

“It’s okay,” Gunnar said softly. “I’m okay.”

“Here,” Em said. “Let me help you up.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“What?”

“I’d just kind of like to be alone right now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh,” Em said. “Are you sure you don’t need—?”

“I’m sure.”

Em paused a second. “That could’ve happened to anyone, you know. I could have slipped on that bird slit too.”

“Em,” Gunnar said evenly “Please?”

“Okay.”

And with that, she left.

After she was gone, poor Gunnar climbed his way back into the boathouse.

Then I heard words that struck terror even deeper into my heart.

“Russ,” he said, still speaking oh-so-gently, “1 know you’re in here.”

How had he known? He must have just figured it out, because I was certain he hadn’t known I was there when he’d been talking with Em (or to himself).

There was no point in trying to keep up the charade, so I crawled sheepishly out from under that canvas.

“Gunnar,” I said, “I am so sorry.”

Gunnar didn’t say anything, just stared at me. He had the strangest expression on his face—a cross between confusion and pain. Then he pointed his index finger at me and started waggling it. It was like he was so angry, he couldn’t even talk to me. He could only shake.