The Order of the Poison Oak

by Brent Hartinger

  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.

  Except he wasn’t angry. I saw that now. He was crying. And that just made me feel about a thousand times worse. The thing he had most feared about trying to get a girlfriend—that he would totally embarrass himself in front of her—had come true with a vengeance.

  “Oh, Gunnar!” I said. “I am so, so sorry! Can you ever forgive me?”

  He didn’t forgive me. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he turned and ran from the boathouse. He slammed the door in my face, and I didn’t blame him in the least.

  * * * * *

  I had screwed up. I knew it, and Gunnar knew it. Still, I also knew that he’d forgive me eventually. He had to. He’d done something to me a few months earlier that was almost as stupid, and I’d forgiven him.

  Even so, I figured I’d give him a day or so to cool off. I still hadn’t talked to Min since we’d had our little spat three days earlier—by now, she had had enough time to cool off—so I asked her to meet me down at the secret cove after lights-out. After all, we had plenty to talk about: not just the stuff about Gunnar, but also my encounter with Web the night before, looking up at the stars, and the even more interesting encounter with him in the camp showers.

  I got to the cove first—I’d put my kids down in almost no time. (Who knew? It turns out I was a master camp counselor after all!)

  This time, I didn’t climb up on the big granite rock. I waited on the beach. But as I waited, I noticed that the rock did remind me of something after all (and not just the Rock of Gibraltar). It looked like a deflated wedding cake.

  A few minutes later, I heard the crunch of footsteps in the dark.

  “Min?” I said. She’d been frosty with me for a while now, so I was a little worried that she’d still be miffed.

  “Russel!” she said excitedly. “Hey!” She almost skipped out toward me. But that meant she’d forgiven me, right?

  “You seem happy,” I said to her. “What’s up?”

  “You’ll never believe it!” she said. And then she spoke the horrible words that I knew I would re
member until the day I died: “Web and I hooked up!”

  Chapter Seven

  So Min and Web had gotten together. How was this possible? I knew Min was bi, but I’d never known her to be seriously hot for a guy before. I saw now that this was why she’d been so eager to be his partner those first few days, and why she’d been so insistent a couple of nights before that he wasn’t gay (big-time duh!). As for Web, the question in my mind had been whether or not he liked me, not whether or not he liked guys in general. Talk about putting the conditioner before the shampoo!

  “Wow,” I said to Min, that night in the cove. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

  “Really?” she said. “Because I know you liked him too.,,

  “No. I mean, yeah, I’m a little disappointed. But hey, if he’s straight, he’s straight. And if he’s straight, well, I’d rather have him hanging out with you than with Lorna.” Lorna was one of the other counselors, a real cheerleader-and-headband type.

  Min smiled. “Thanks, Russel.” Then she happened to glance back toward camp.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Huh? Oh, nothing.”

  “Are you meeting Web tonight?”

  “No! Well, maybe. But I don’t have to leave just yet.”

  “Go on,” I said.

  Her face brightened like a halogen lamp. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks, Russel! You’re fantastic!”

  And before I could say anything else, she turned and bounded off into the darkness like an eager puppy.

  * * * * *

  On the way back to my cabin, I ran into Gunnar.

  “Hi!” I said. “How you doin’?” What I really meant was, Have you forgiven me yet?

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m okay.” What he really meant was, No.

  One of my best friends had hooked up with the object of my affections, and my other best friend was so mad that he was barely even talking to me. I was not having a good week.

  * * * * *

  That Friday, we took the kids on another all-camp hike. We went south along the water on something called the Waterfront Trail, which mostly followed the shoreline of the lake. There was still a haze in the sky from those distant forest fires, but the real fog was in my mind, from the fact that I felt so at odds with my two best friends and I had no idea what to do about it.

  We’d been walking for thirty minutes or so when I came upon Otto on the trail. My kids were overtaking his. For the time being, I was hiking right behind him.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Oh, hey!” he said, turning to me. Somewhere in the branches overhead, a crow cawed.

  For the record, ten-year-old boys don’t have a lot of patience or tact, especially when it comes to passing other kids on a trail.

  “Hey!” I said to my kids. “No pushing! If you guys want to pass someone, wait your turn.”

  Sure enough, my kids actually waited their turn.

  “Hmm,” Otto said. “I guess things are better with your kids, huh?”

  “What?” I said.

  “When we talked before, you said you were having trouble.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I had been having trouble with my kids. But not anymore. Things were so good, I’d almost forgotten about my problems before. “Well, that was good advice you gave. It worked. Thanks.”

  Up ahead, our kids were stopping and gathering around a ramshackle old cabin by the edge of the lake. It had to have been built and abandoned years ago, and now the roof had mostly fallen in. It looked like a game of Jenga after the blocks had collapsed. In the long grass alongside the cabin, there was the scattered rubble of a fallen stone chimney, and even a bent and rusted metal trough of some sort.

  “What is it?” one of Otto’s kids asked him.

  “Kepler’s Homestead,” he said. “Built by one of the early lake settlers. It’s over a hundred years old.”

  There was just enough of the front of the cabin left standing that you could step inside for a few yards. So of course, all our kids immediately wanted to go in. They sounded like a bunch of squeaking mice.

  “No!” Otto said. “It’s not safe. And I don’t want anyone getting any ideas about coming back here alone.”

  “What would you do?” Ian asked.

  “Kick your butt. And then call your parents and have them come take you home. Trust me, you’d be in big trouble, and your parents would not be happy.”

  “What’s that?” said one of Otto’s kids. He was pointing beyond the cabin, out across the lake.

  We all looked.

  There was gray smoke billowing up from behind the wooded hills on the opposite side of the water. It was the kind of smoke that could only be coming from a forest fire.

  I had known there were fires burning somewhere—I’d seen the haze in the air for days now. But I hadn’t known they were so close to camp. I’m not sure what was different here—the angle from the Waterfront Trail or the fact that the lake was so much narrower here, barely a quarter mile across.

  But even with the new view, it was impossible to know exactly how close that fire was, or even how big it was. It could have been burning right on the other side of that hill, or maybe it was miles and miles away and the smoke just made it look close. And it could have been the smoke of an isolated little fire already burning itself out—or maybe it was the result of some great conflagration burning out of control.

  “It’s nothing,” Otto said at last. “Let’s keep going.”

  “It’s not nothing!” Ian said. “It’s a fire!”

  “Way on the other side of the lake,” I said. “We’re perfectly safe here. And look, the firefighters are already putting it out.” Sure enough, there were helicopters approaching, no doubt preparing to dump water on the blaze. Why hadn’t I noticed the copters before? I guess I had, but I’d assumed they were tourists out sightseeing.

  “But what about the trees that are already on fire?” one of Otto’s kids asked. “Won’t they die?”

  “Not the grown ones,” Otto said. “Their bark is special. When trees get really old, their bark develops these fire-retardant properties. It protects them from fires.”

  “It does not!” Kwame said.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “But they’ll still be hurt, won’t they?” one of Otto’s kids said.

  “No,” Otto said. “They’ll survive.”

  “But they’ll still feel pain!” another kid said.

  “No,” Otto said. “They’re trees. Trees don’t feel pain.”

  “They do so!” Ian said.

  “No!” Otto said, losing his composure at last. “They don’t!”

  I may not be the smartest guy in the world, but even I could tell that Otto and the kids weren’t just talking about trees. They were burn survivors, and in some strange way, Otto and those kids were really talking about themselves.

  I looked at them, staring out across the lake in silence. Every single one of them was transfixed, like he was seeing a ghost, which I guess they kind of were. One way or another, they’d all seen that fire up close (well, except for Julian with his acne conglobata—but he was watching that fire pretty intently too).

  I looked at Otto. Now even he was being hypnotized by the smoke. I was the only one not spellbound by the sight. So I figured I should say something. But what? Part of me didn’t want to intrude on their moment, except it didn’t seem like a good moment. It felt like they were scared, stuck in place, unable to move forward. But it also didn’t seem right just to say, Okay, guys, time to push on! like I was pretending what was happening wasn’t happening at all.

  In the trees overhead, the crow cawed again.

  And suddenly, I had an idea.

  “The Lenape Indians have a legend about fire,” I said to the whole group. Otto glanced at me, curious as to what I was up to, but the kids were all still staring across the lake.

  It all started back when there were just animals on the Earth,” I went on. “Before humans—before se
asons, even—back when the weather was always warm. But then, one day winter came, and snow fell for the very first time. At first, the animals liked it, but as it continued to fall they began to get cold. So they met together to figure out what to do. And in the end, they decided to send one of the animals to the distant home of the Creator, to ask him to stop the snow.”

  I looked around. The kids were still staring across the lake, but they seemed to be listening to me too (well, except for Ian, who was now busy kicking the stones from the collapsed fireplace).

  I had to think hard to remember the rest of the story. I was pretty sure it was even better than the one Web had told me about Hercules and Leo the Lion.

  “The animals were going to send Owl to see the Creator,” I said, “but they worried that he’d get confused in the daylight. And they couldn’t send Coyote, because they figured she’d get distracted. So they decided to send the most beautiful of all the animals, Rainbow Crow. Because back then, the crow had feathers with all the colors of the rainbow, and a singing voice that was the most beautiful of all the birds’.

  “Rainbow Crow agreed to go see the Creator, and flew high up into the sky, above the snow and wind and clouds and moon and stars. He flew for three days, and finally he reached his destination. But the Creator was too busy to see the crow. So Rainbow Crow started singing, and the sound was so beautiful that the Creator stopped what he was doing and came to Rainbow Crow and said, ‘By singing that song, you have given me a great gift. Now I want to give you a gift. ‘What shall I give you?’

  “Rainbow Crow said, ‘Please, Sir, it is so cold down on Earth. I would like you to stop the snow.’

  “The Creator said to the crow, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that, because the snow has a spirit of its own, as do the wind and the winter. But I can give you a gift to use against the cold. I can give you the gift of fire, and that will keep you and the other animals warm.’

  “So,” I continued with my story, “the Creator picked up a stick and put it into the sun, setting it on fire. Then he gave it to Rainbow Crow, saying, ‘Unfortunately, I can only give you this gift one time, so hurry back to Earth before the flame goes out.’”