Caught in the Crossfire

by Juliann Rich

  My heart threatened to pound out of my chest. I flailed and kicked. I tried to sit up and couldn’t. The stupid sleeping bag wrapped my whole body in a straitjacket. Where am I? I wondered, half-asleep and disoriented. I shook my head, but the vivid image of Aaron and Ian refused to go away.

  I looked around the dark cabin and breathed a sigh of relief. It was just a dream. I’m at camp. My breathing slowed. I peered through the darkness and spotted Aaron, arm flung over his head, sound asleep on his cot. I lay back down on my bunk, aware of my hard-on.

  What would Jesus do? I stared at the carved letters that drilled me in the darkness. I had no answer. Jesus, please forgive me, I prayed as I turned my face into my pillow and hid my tears. Even from myself.

  Chapter Five

  The first Sunday of camp dawned and threatened to be the clichéd beautiful day with blue skies void of clouds and just the right amount of breeze. I walked down to the beach and joined the rest of the camp for Songs by the Shore. Spirit Lake Bible Camp had no physical church. Just Paul, sitting on the large rock in the shadow of the beautiful hand-carved cross, talking with us as if our thoughts and opinions were the most important thing he could ever hear. It was church the way church was supposed to be.

  As I listened to Aaron’s guitar music, I prayed. For my father’s safety. For my mother’s strength. Those were easy prayers. Still shaken from my dream the night before, I decided to get real with God.

  Dear Lord, I prayed silently, please make these feelings and thoughts go away. Protect me from these dreams.

  After church and a huge lunch, I sprawled out on the dock until my skin began to sizzle. The cool water looked too inviting to resist. My head broke the surface, and I saw Ian, leaning against the willow tree and alternating between staring off into space and writing. I walked out of the lake and approached the willow tree. Parting the long branches like a beaded hippie curtain, I ducked inside.

  “Hey!” Ian objected as the water, which still clung to my body, dripped on his notebook.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get your letter wet.”

  He looked confused for a moment, and then grinned as understanding crossed his face. “Your assumption is erroneous.”

  “My assumption is what?”

  “Erroneous. It means you guessed wrong. This isn’t a letter.”

  “Oh, what are you writing?” I snuck a peek at his notebook, but he closed it before I had a chance to read anything.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Just curious.”

  “Yes, you are. Quite curious.” Ian’s gaze held mine, and then dropped to the journal in his hands. “I was writing a poem, okay? And now you may commence laughing at me.”

  “Why would I do that?” I stared at the light that filtered through the green branches and cleared my throat. “Believe me when I say it was an awful day. Such a sad, sad way to start the month of May.”

  “Stop! Please stop!” He covered his ears and screwed up his face. “You’re the worst poet ever!”

  I laughed and held up my make-believe camera and took a make-believe photo of him. “Okay, can we be friends if I swear I’m better with a lens?”

  He groaned. “Friends, huh? Do you promise to never write another poem?”

  “On one condition.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Junior Counselor wannabe, official greeter of all new campers and fight referee, is demanding conditions now?”

  “I am,” I said, reaching for his journal. “I promise to never write another poem if you let me read yours.”

  He yanked his notebook away from me and ducked through the willow’s branches. “Guess I’ll have to get used to listening to crap poetry then,” he said as he strode away.

  “Okay, but you’re going to have to help me think up more words that rhyme with day,” I shouted after him.

  He swiveled and stared at me. “Off the top of my head…bent to pray, over a cafeteria tray, heart in dismay, you need to break away.”

  I don’t care what he said. Ian McGuire could read minds.

  *

  I sat on the beach for a while, my head spinning. Just hours before I had prayed for God to take these feelings from me, and what had I done? Promptly searched out Ian. Heck, I’d even recited poetry to him. Bad poetry. My stomach knotted. My mouth tasted sour and no amount of swallowing made it go away. I stood up and wandered over to the canteen.

  “Mr. Cooper!” Sara grinned at me from behind the counter. “What can I get you today?”

  “How about a Dr Pepper?”

  “Coming right up.” Sara poured the soda and handed it to me. “That’ll be one canteen token, please.”

  I reached into my pocket and fished out a gold coin. “Thanks, Sara.” I gulped the Dr Pepper, but it didn’t wash away the sour taste in my mouth.

  “Say, I saw you talking with Ian McGuire. It’s great that you’re reaching out to him. You know, life has kicked the kid around like a Hacky Sack. He doesn’t know it, but he needs a friend. Something tells me you’re exactly the person for the job.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Any word on your dad yet?” Sara asked, startling me as I realized that she knew. Of course, all the counselors knew. My mom would have made sure of that.

  “No, not yet. Soon, I hope.” I looked away from Sara and toward the lake. “See you at Curtain Call, okay, Sara?”

  “You got it. See you tomorrow morning.” She smiled.

  I finished my Dr Pepper and waded into the cool lake, step after step. The burning in my flesh eased, at least for now. I held my breath and let my body float on the surface. My hair fanned out around me. I stared into the sun until my pupils shrank and my retinas burned. I closed my eyes. Blinking spots and a throbbing black globe floated across the screen of my closed eyelids. So real at first. Sharply outlined and clearly visible. Then the fading began. Bit by bit until the screen filled with just a warm red glow.

  I exhaled and felt Spirit Lake pull me beneath the surface. Water seeped into the sockets of my eyes and filled my nostrils and then I was in…over my head.

  *

  Covered in sand and reeking of lake water, I headed for the boys’ shower room. I tried to push thoughts of Ian out of my mind as I turned my face into the full stream of hot water, making it impossible to open my mouth or eyes. Even then, I couldn’t block out the sounds of the other guys who stood, naked, water splashing against their flesh. They didn’t seem to mind the lack of privacy, but I couldn’t stand the old-school mass shower room. I envied them.

  Eventually I had to surface; it was either that or drown. My head turned slightly for just one moment. I took a deep drag of hot steamy air, wiped the water from my face, and opened my eyes. The bar of soap slipped through my fingers and thudded to the floor. Don’t look. Don’t look. I knelt and retrieved the bar, glistening white against the tile floor. A rolled up towel bit into someone’s naked ass with a loud snap. I peeked.

  “Hey, no fair!” a confident male voice yelled. No chance of cracking there. Well on his way to manhood, I noticed, as I reached for my shampoo and poured it over my shaggy hair. The scent of musk filled the air around me. My fingers scrubbed and scratched until the lather exploded. It slid down my forehead. There’s no other way, I tried to convince myself as the stinging soap hit my eyes. But even the tears were not enough to blind me from Ian’s slim figure as he strode into the room, proving to everyone he was a true redhead. There were half a dozen open showerheads, but he chose the one next to me and turned it on. Full blast. He stepped into the heat. Steam sizzled, rose from his body, and evaporated in the hot, humid air.

  “Aaahh.” His hands moved the bar of soap over his body. Across his arms, his chest, his stomach, and below. I breathed in the scent of his soap, burned from the nearness of his body. Still covered in suds, I bolted.

  I wrapped my towel securely around my waist, leaned on the sink, and waited for the room to stop spinning. I squeegeed the dripping layer of condensation off the ripp
led metal mirror with my hand and checked out my distorted reflection. I ran a comb through my long hair and smiled. Better. More like what a junior counselor should look like. Time for a shave.

  I ran my fingertips along my cheek and chin. Still not much scruff to speak of, but I picked up the can of shaving lotion anyway and shot a wad of slippery Smurf-blue gel into my hand. I covered my burning cheeks with the cool lather.

  The flash of red in my mirror grabbed my attention. Turning, I saw Ian’s fully lathered face reflected in his own mirror. He slid a straight razor over his cheek, gathering a blade full of lather.

  “Hey, what’s that?”

  “The only way to shave.” He wiped the lather off and proudly held the razor toward me. It was beautiful with its iridescent pearl handle.

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll cut yourself?” The blade was samurai sharp. I handed it back to Ian.

  “Not really. The trick is to shave in the direction your hair grows. Never against it. It’s easy once you know what you’re doing.” He faced the mirror and pressed the blade against his cheek, guiding it around the curve of his chin and down his neck.

  Suddenly a toxic cloud wafted off Jake who stood two sinks down from Ian, trying to cover up the smell of DEET with half a can of Axe body spray. You always could count on Jake to make a bad situation worse.

  “Cool. Where did you learn to shave like that?”

  “My dad taught me.” Ian flinched as a thin ribbon of blood snaked down his neck. “Shit.”

  “Hold still.” I tore off the corner of a Kleenex and pressed it against the small cut on his neck. His skin was as soft as my voice. “Poet, mind reader, semiprofessional barber. What other talents do you have?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He laughed as he walked over to his locker and let the towel slip from his waist. “And for the record, I’m fully accomplished with a razor. You distracted me.”

  I watched out of the corner of my eye as he stepped into his shorts and pulled a T-shirt over his head. Slipping the razor into his pocket, he walked out the door. I almost called after him to ask if he wanted to meet me for dinner, but I didn’t. My eyes, reflected in the mirror, knew the reason why the words stuck in my throat.

  I was afraid he would say no.

  I was even more afraid he would say yes.

  Chapter Six

  “So this is Curtain Call’s motley crew this summer?” Sara stood on the grassy stage of the outdoor theater on Monday morning and evaluated the group of kids who had shown up for her first theater-club meeting. The air filled with the scent of freshly mowed grass. “Let me see, all I need is a play that casts four girls and two boys? No problem.” I looked around our group. Shocked, I saw Ian, sitting apart from the rest of us. His mouth was pinched, like he’d taken a bite out of a lemon and the taste of it lingered.

  “Let’s begin by going around the circle and telling our names and something unusual about ourselves. My name is Sara Reid. The unusual thing about me is that I never have the same hairstyle for more than six months. I’m thinking of going platinum blond with fuchsia and bright blue streaks next. What do you think?”

  I chuckled. Sara’s style could put Lady Gaga to shame any day.

  “Jonathan, would you go next?”

  “Yeah, sure. My name is Jonathan Cooper, but you already know that.” I shot Ian a dirty look, pretty sure no one would ever forget my name, thanks to him. Then I got stuck. “Um, I like photography, soccer, and acting. I don’t know if that’s unusual or not, but I can’t think of anything else.”

  “Jonathan is being modest. He played Jesus last summer in Godspell. He had the whole audience in tears.” Sara smiled at me. “Next, please.”

  The introductions didn’t take long. There weren’t that many of us. Kari: blond and fidgety. She talked at the speed of someone in need of a 12-step program for Red Bull. Cats were her thing and she owned six of them. Definitely unusual. MacKenzie: extremely thin, dark brown hair, and Angelina lips. She rambled on about her theater group back home and all the plays she’d starred in. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I actually caught Sara rolling her eyes. Lily: plain and, well, plump. She stared at the lake and talked in whispers. She didn’t have to tell us she was shy. She wanted to help with costumes but begged not to have to act. Smiling, I welcomed her to Curtain Call.

  “Okay, hello, my name is Bethany Frasier,” the brown-haired girl who had asked me to be her partner during Silent Introductions said. “What’s unusual about me? Not much, really. Except that I’m homesick. My mom homeschools my brothers and sisters and me. There are nine of us. Oh, I guess that’s unusual. This is the first time I’ve been away from my family. Four weeks seems like such a long time.”

  Bethany may have been addressing the whole group, but her eyes didn’t leave my face.

  “I’m in Sara’s cabin and she invited me to Curtain Call. I’ve never been in a play before, so I hope I’m not too terrible.”

  “Thank you, Bethany,” Sara said. “While you’re here, I want you to think of us all as your family away from home. And now, Ian, would you please introduce yourself?”

  He frowned as our eyes turned to him. “I’m from Wisconsin. There’s not much interesting about me except I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here. Sean, my counselor, told me to get my butt over to Curtain Call, so here I am.”

  “Thanks for coming today. And Ian, I’m quite certain that there are plenty of interesting things about you. Can you think of one?”

  Ian shrugged. “Okay, here’s one. I refuse to eat at Wendy’s. Hamburgers are not supposed to be square. They should be round. I guess that’s weird enough to qualify as interesting.”

  Everyone laughed. I laughed too, but I recognized the sarcasm in his voice.

  “It certainly does.” Sara chuckled. “Ian, you’re here because of your performance the other day at Silent Introductions. Right then and there I knew I had to have you in Curtain Call.” She produced a box of doughnuts and passed them to Ian first. “The choice is yours, Ian. Stay, and I promise to bribe you shamelessly with sweets. Today it’s doughnuts. By the way, they’re round. Just like they’re supposed to be.” She grinned. “What do you say, Ian? Will you join our cast?”

  “Yeah, okay.” He chose one and took a huge bite. Custard squirted out and dripped down his chin. I felt my focus glaze over and my resolve turn to jelly.

  “Okay, crew, we need to get down to business. Godspell is going to be a tough act to follow, but we’re up to it.” Sara handed a stack of bound scripts to me. I took one and passed them around.

  I scanned the title page—Pass the Pepcid—and flipped to the list of characters on page two. Herod, Herodias, John the Baptist, Salome, Guests at Dinner, Executioner. “The story of the beheading of John the Baptist?” I guessed.

  “Yup. It’s one of the bloodiest stories in the Bible. Whenever I think of it, I get a stomachache. It’s a modern interpretation. John the Baptist is a news anchor on CESR, the local TV station for Rome. Caesar, get it? Jonathan, would you read King Herod? Ian, I’m seeing you as John the Baptist. I always pictured him as a redhead for some reason. For MacKenzie who loves the dramatic, please read Queen Herodias. Bethany, Salome, the daughter of Herodias. Kari, would you please read the role of Female Dinner Guest, and I’ll read the role of Executioner for now. I have an idea for casting that part. Lily, I want you to close your eyes and imagine what you’ll need for costuming and sets. Okay, does everyone know what you’re doing?”

  We nodded.

  “I’ve got a confession to make right now. What you’re holding is an original piece. It has never been performed. In fact, no one has ever even read it before.” Sara twisted her hands.

  “But where did you get it then?” MacKenzie asked.

  “I imagine that she wrote it herself.” Ian’s hand strayed to his notebook.

  “That’s right, Ian, I did.” Sara stared at the script in her hand. “And I haven’t had the guts to let anyone read it until now. Be kind.”
/>   *

  Before I knew it, we had finished act 1. I tried my best to sound kingly, and I think I did okay. Ian blew me away with his smooth news-anchor voice. Bethany was way too tame. She needed to loosen up. MacKenzie nailed the part of haughty Herodias. Big surprise there. Not. By the end of our first Curtain Call meeting, we were all in agreement: Pass the Pepcid was going to be a blast to perform.

  “Fantastic job, everyone! I think this is the most talented group I’ve ever had in Curtain Call,” Sara gushed.

  No one would hear from me that Sara said that every year, sort of like the judges on American Idol. This year though, it seemed like she might mean it.

  “Now, besides working on memorization, there’s something else I want you to do. It’s important for a cast to have chemistry in real life. For the rest of the afternoon, I want you guys to hang out and get to know each other.”

  “Are you coming with us, Sara?” Lily asked.

  “No, I want you to bond just as a cast. Besides, I promised Sean I’d help him prep for his first canoe class. Gotta run—I’m late.” Sara headed toward the boathouse.

  “What should we do? Does anybody have any ideas?” Bethany asked.

  “We could take a pontoon boat out on the lake,” I suggested. “That way we could practice our lines without being overheard.” Everyone jumped onboard with the plan. The girls went to ask Hannah, Paul’s wife and the camp cook, for some afternoon snacks while I stepped onto the beach and walked toward the boathouse.