The Order of the Poison Oak

by Brent Hartinger

  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.

  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 to
o, 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, andthey 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.