Caught in the Crossfire

by Juliann Rich

  Synopsis

  Two boys at Bible camp; one forbidden love.

  That is the dilemma sixteen-year-old Jonathan Cooper faces when he goes away to Spirit Lake Bible Camp, an oasis for teen believers situated along Minnesota's rugged north shore. He is expecting a summer of mosquito bites, bonfires with S'mores, and photography classes with Simon, his favorite counselor, who always helps Jonathan see his life in perfect focus.

  What he isn't expecting is Ian McGuire, a new camper who openly argues against phrases like pray the gay away. Ian is certain of many things, including what could happen between them if only Jonathan could surrender to his feelings. Jonathan, however, tosses in a storm of indecision between his belief in God and his inability to stay away from Ian. When a real storm hits and Ian is lost in it, Jonathan is forced to make a public decision that changes his life.

  Caught in the Crossfire

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Caught in the Crossfire

  © 2014 By Juliann Rich. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-113-0

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: June 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editors: Lynda Sandoval and Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design by Sheri(graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)

  Acknowledgments

  I’ve always dreamed of writing a book, but it took Jonathan Cooper’s story for me to attempt the path toward publication. Thankfully, I haven’t had to walk that road alone.

  Len Barot and all the hardworking folks at Bold Strokes Books. You’ve believed in Caught in the Crossfire and guided me every step of the way.

  Lynda Sandoval and Ruth Sternglantz, my editors. You’ve helped me take Caught in the Crossfire to its highest potential and made the journey a blast to travel.

  Saritza Hernández, my super agent. You’ve set the salsa beat as we’ve walked this path together and made this long road seem much shorter.

  My awesome teachers at The Loft Literary Center: Megan Atwood, Swati Avasthi, Mary Carroll Moore, and Kurtis Scaletta. You’ve taught by example and made me a better writer.

  Ben Barnhart, my mentor. You’ve equipped me with the tools and confidence to venture into this crazy world.

  Aren Sabers, my critique partner. You’ve given countless hours to Caught in the Crossfire and profoundly shaped the book it is today.

  Heather Anastasiu, Char Myers, Siobhann Paulman, Judy Steele, Kathryn Swan Kummer, and Maggie Wimberley, my writing buds. You’ve spoiled me with the gift of thoughtful, honest critique.

  The fine folk at Mn Kidlit. You’ve taught me something every time I’ve gotten together with you (and not just about where to find the best brew in the Twin Cities!). It is an honor to be a part of your group.

  The world’s best beta readers: Beverly DeVille, Ruthie Hardin, Ryan Hemauer, Angela McLain, Nicole McLaren, Sue Morrison, and Sharmaine Rich. You’ve shared your time and valuable reader reactions.

  Jeff, my husband extraordinaire. You’ve been my rock. Matthias, my beautiful son. You’ve been my hero. My incredible mom. You’ve been my first and best teacher. What I know of a compassionate and living faith, I learned from you and Dad.

  Thank you all.

  Dedication

  For my son, Matthias, who inspires every word I write.

  Chapter One

  Sweat seeped through the thin fabric of my camo T-shirt as I stood on the beach of Spirit Lake, trying to decide the rest of my life. At least, the next thirty days of it. The bulletin board, with the twenty or so flyers that fluttered in the wind, almost convinced me I had any real choice at all.

  Outdoor Recreation with Sean promised to teach compass reading and kayaking, but I didn’t need a compass to tell me I was lost. Pass.

  Healing through Nature with Dawn. To a self-professed science geek, this one had potential. A definite maybe.

  Sculpture with Simon. Bingo! Choice number one. I chewed my lip and looked at the other flyers when a familiar voice startled me.

  “So, Jonathan! You gonna get your hands dirty with Outdoor Rec this summer, or are you gonna play dress up again with that theater chick? The one with red hair and a funky piercing?” The voice belonged to Jake Miller, the undisputed bane of my summer-camp existence. He sauntered up to me, his black eyes flashing under his greasy bangs. Here we go again. Same song, seventh summer. Jake’s large hand smacked me on the back, sending me crashing into the bulletin board. I winced and stared into the flyer with a graphic of theater masks.

  “G’head. Sign up for Outdoor Rec. All the hot chicks are in Curtain Call.” I cocked my head and arched an eyebrow. Just one of the expressions I’ve perfected over the years. This one says, I’m into hot chicks.

  “Jesus, Jonathan. That’s so gay!”

  Nearby a new kid with bright red hair jerked his head out of a book and glared at Jake. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a rainbow-colored wristband and took a step toward Jake.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Jake was caught off guard.

  Me too, but for a different reason.

  “I said, what’s that supposed to mean? That’s so funny? That’s so great?” The redheaded boy stood about five inches shorter than Jake. Somehow he seemed taller. He took another step closer, jutting his chin forward. “Tell me that’s what you meant when you said that’s so gay.”

  “What’s your problem? It’s just something people say.” Jake threw his shoulders back.

  “Something ignorant people say.” He clenched his fists. A faint yellow bruise rimmed his left eye.

  “Are you calling me ignorant?” Jake curled his lip in a sneer.

  “If you have to ask, I’d say the answer is pretty obvious.”

  “You little prick!” Jake placed his hands on the new kid’s chest and shoved. Hard. The redheaded boy stumbled but came back swinging. Nearby, someone gasped and yelled for Paul, the camp director, who stood beside counselors Simon and Dawn over at the registration table.

  I once read in Popular Science that the human brain can sustain damage when exposed to temperatures of 106 degrees, which was exactly the temperature down on the beach. It must have been, because no one with functioning gray matter would have stepped between those two—and yet, I did. Cringing, brain cell after brain cell frying by the minute, I waited for the impact of a fist…or two.

  I got a good look at the new kid while my frontal lobe turned to mush. He leaned closer, not toward me but toward the fight. So close I could have counted his freckles. So close I read the anger in his green eyes. I shuddered at the sheer force of him. He noticed and blinked. Took a step back. His eyes widened and focused on me for the first time since the whole stupid drama began. I felt his gaze slide over my body. His face revealed nothing but his fists relaxed. My skin tingled. Hell, even the hair on my arms stood up as electricity arced between us.

  “Gentlemen, that is enough.” Paul started toward us with a look that mean
t there was going to be hell to pay for someone. Out of the corner of my eye I saw two things simultaneously: a blur of red hair moving away and my mother looking up at me from the registration line.

  “Cretin!” The new kid hurled the insult at Jake, but I heard it.

  “What did you call me?” Jake scowled at the retreating boy who shot a smirk in my direction.

  “What was that about?” Paul walked up to us. Behind him, Simon wheeled his chair like a madman to keep up. Trapped behind the registration table by a long line of parents with questions, Dawn frowned in our direction.

  “Nothing really. It was just a misunderstanding.”

  “Just a misunderstanding?” Paul’s voice forced me to look at him. The lines around his warm brown eyes had deepened over the past year. “Jonathan Cooper, how long have I known you?”

  “Seven years.”

  “What was that really about?”

  I couldn’t look at him. Instead, I fixed my eyes on a pile of dried leaves that swirled like a mini tornado in the breeze for a second before they fell back to the ground. Lifeless.

  “Nothing.” The lie was flimsy, and Paul knew it.

  “I see.” Paul folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “Just so there aren’t any more misunderstandings. At Spirit Lake Bible Camp we follow Christ’s example of loving one another. That means no profanity and no fighting. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Paul. Absolutely.” Jake let me come up with all the answers. Typical.

  “Jonathan! Jake! How the heck have you two been?” Simon rolled his chair between Paul and me, panting.

  “Hey, Simon. Good, I guess.” I smiled.

  “I see you guys met our new camper, Ian McGuire.”

  “Yeah, what’s his problem?” Jake shot a dirty look across the congested campground toward the redheaded boy who sulked next to a middle-aged woman in a denim shirt and a pair of mom jeans.

  “Do you remember your first year here when you didn’t know anyone?” Simon asked.

  “Yeah.” Jake stared at his shoes. I nodded.

  “I know I can count on both of you to make him feel welcome. I’d better get back to the registration table to help Dawn before she sics her mutt on me.” Simon smiled.

  “Dawn got a dog?” I looked toward the registration table again and saw a mountain of white fur rolling around on the grass next to Dawn and laughed. “Sorry, Simon, but he doesn’t look very threatening.”

  “You try being within reach of that tongue all the time!” Simon grimaced and wheeled off toward Dawn and her menacing dog.

  “Morning, Linda!” Paul smiled as my mom approached. “Looks like registration is almost finished.”

  Mom nodded. “Just a few people left. How have you been, Paul?”

  “Blessed, as always. God is so good.” Paul glanced at the counselors who were forming a semicircle in front of the crowd of campers and parents. “I’d better get going. It looks like we’re about to start. Good seeing you, Linda, and don’t you worry about Jonathan. We’ll take good care of him. Jake, why don’t we go find your folks? They must be looking for you.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief as Paul and Jake walked away.

  “Who was that boy arguing with Jake? He looks like trouble.” My mom glanced toward Ian. She brushed the long hair out of my eyes like I was six and not sixteen. Her tone and gesture said what her words did not. Stay away from him.

  “I wish I knew, Mom.” A shiver ran over my body.

  Simon, Dawn, Sara, and the other counselors began to sing, ending any further discussion about Ian McGuire. Male and female voices, equally blended, kicked off opening day at Spirit Lake Bible Camp with a song.

  Simon, in his wheelchair, snapped his fingers and sang at the top of his lungs. Beside him Dawn clasped a leash that led to the biggest dog I’d ever seen. Sara—who did indeed have long red hair and a funky piercing not to mention a penchant for glitter eyeliner—winked at me. The song entered the chorus. Simon popped his signature wheelie and danced, to everyone’s delight and applause.

  “I hope I’m in Simon’s cabin again this year.”

  “Sorry, Jon.” My mom looked at the paper she’d gotten from registration. “Looks like you’re in the Loon’s Nest with a new counselor. His name is Aaron. I think that’s him.”

  Mom pointed at a guy around twenty years old in torn jeans and a tie-dyed shirt, playing a guitar. His light brown curls hung into his eyes, and a silver cross earring dangled from his left ear.

  I walked away from Mom toward the counselors until I stood just a few feet away from the guitarist whose hand flew around the neck, expertly landing each chord. His fingers and pick assaulted the strings until they wailed one final note and fell into silent submission. A wooden pendant hung around his neck on a leather cord: God rocks! My name is Aaron.

  Hello, Aaron! My heart pounded in the silence.

  Stepping forward, Paul offered his usual greeting. “Let us open this summer session by giving praise to the One who has brought us together.” Paul bent his head. The sun beat down on his bald spot, bigger than last summer, which gleamed red as the burn set in. His broad shoulders were permanently curved forward. Paul and prayer were close friends.

  A few minutes later Mom and I stood on the beach under the weeping willow, breathing in air that tasted bittersweet, and said our good-byes. The sky stretched like a canvas of blue, punctuated only by the throbbing sun. Light danced off the cheerful waves that shimmied along the surface of Spirit Lake.

  “I’m going to miss you, Mom.”

  “Liar!” She laughed. “You’re going to have a wonderful month, which is exactly what I want for you.”

  A gentle breeze rustled her long dark brown hair. Her cheeks flushed, and the muscles of her face relaxed just a bit. She closed her eyes. I knew her mind had traveled far away, across Spirit Lake, over the forest, to a different continent. I raised my camera and zoomed in on her face. The click interrupted her thoughts. She glanced at her watch.

  “Oh my, it’s nearly fourteen hundred hours.” In a military family you keep things: time, schedules, your word. Twenty-four hours a day. With no exceptions.

  Take care of your mother while I’m gone, Jon. I’m counting on you.

  I will, Dad. I promise.

  “He’s going to be okay, Mom,” I told us both.

  “Of course he will. Oh, I almost forgot. Your tokens for the canteen. Will thirty be enough?”

  “Yeah, that’ll be fine.” I slipped the gold tokens into my pocket.

  “Okay, then I’d better hit the road. Have fun, Jon. I’ll see you in a month.”

  She walked across the beach, stopping for a moment to turn and blow me a kiss good-bye. I raised a hand and smiled. I imagined her reaching the parking lot, climbing in the car, and navigating the bumpy dirt road. Turning south on Minnesota State Highway 61 and driving toward an empty house. My chest tightened, but then the dazzling blue of Spirit Lake called to me. I ached to plunge into the warm wetness and sink into the silent world. To surface and float, arms outstretched. To feel the sun bake the tension from my body and watch it float away on the rippling waves of good-bye. I kicked off my shoes, let the long blades of grass slip between my toes, and wondered if Iraq had grass. Probably not. Probably couldn’t survive in that kind of heat. What could?

  I shuddered.

  You’re going to have a wonderful month, Mom had said. Thirty days of freedom, every one more priceless than a gold coin, stretched before me. I breathed in, slow and steady, and wondered how I’d spend them.

  Chapter Two

  “All right, rockers!” Aaron’s voice boomed as he held a large peace sign above his head. “Follow me to the Loon’s Nest.” I brushed the sand off my backpack, swung it over my shoulder, and joined the guys who crowded around Aaron. I checked out my cabinmates as we walked across the beach and cringed when I spotted Jake. Aaron led us into the forest and down a dirt path until we reached a fork in the road that was marked by two signs. Whispering Way,
Off Limits to Gentlemen, pointed to the right and led to the girls’ cabins. We turned left, following the sign that read: Warrior’s Way, Run, Ladies, Run!

  “And that, gentlemen, is my number one rule.” Aaron grinned. “No making purple allowed. I will be watching.”

  My head jerked toward Aaron. Making purple? I wondered what he meant as I strolled down the twisting path and listened to the chattering birds that made their home in the forest. Aaron led us past two rustic cabins that held so many memories for me. Two Dancing Bears, Simon’s cabin, sported a fresh coat of maroon paint. The Mellow Moose looked bigger with the addition of a deck. Finally, we reached our cabin.

  “Welcome to the Loon’s Nest.” Aaron gestured toward a sign that had an image of a black-and-white loon painted on it. I hung back and waited for the jostling bodies to clear as everyone tried to crowd into the cabin at once. The Loon’s Nest smelled of pine trees and boasted the best view of the lake.

  “It’s every boy’s dream vacation spot. Where the mosquitoes are the size of baby pigeons and your fancy smartphones are nothing more than paperweights. No Wi-Fi. Sorry guys.” The new campers and the electronically addicted groaned, but I didn’t care. Outside, birds chirped. An owl hooted. I spied a top bunk by the window and walked over to claim it. I’d just reached up to put my duffel bag on the mattress when Jake flung his sleeping bag over my head.

  “Nice try, Coop, but you know I always call dibs on the top.”

  “Fine.” I sat on the bottom bunk, unzipped my duffel bag, and took out my Bible. I flipped it open and removed the picture I kept there. My father, covered in Kevlar but still so exposed, leaning against a tank and smiling at me. Face blistering from the relentless sun. Sand swirling behind him. Not a care in the world. War suited him.