Caught in the Crossfire

by Juliann Rich

  “Okay, as long as we’re being honest, you should know I’ve been thinking a lot too.”

  Ian turned his notebook over and over in his hands. Finally he placed it on the table in front of him and pushed it across to me.

  “Here.” He drew his hands back across the table and put them in his lap.

  “You’re letting me read this? Really?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am. You’ll be the first person other than me to read it.”

  “Cool!” I flipped through the notebook. My eyes fell on a poem he had titled “Your fingers brush the lily pad.”

  My idea of the perfect day:

  80 degrees,

  light breeze.

  Our canoe slices Spirit Lake.

  One look at you and I feel myself quake.

  My hands shook. The poem took up the whole page, but the words blurred and I couldn’t keep reading. I took his thin, freckled hands in mine and stared at his jagged, uneven fingernails.

  “I know exactly how I’m going to play Herodias.” MacKenzie’s voice traveled through the screen window. We pulled apart just as she walked into the dining hall with Bethany, Lily, and Kari.

  “Hey, Bethany, wait up.” Jake sprinted after them, but Bethany ignored him.

  “Hi, Jonathan.” She spotted me. Hannah walked in carrying a tray of syrup jugs.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Sara sang out as she entered the dining hall. “Everyone, gather up. Today we’re going to practice a few crucial scenes before breakfast. Only three days until showtime!”

  I looked down at Ian’s notebook, then back at him and raised an eyebrow.

  You keep it. Ian mouthed the words. It’s okay.

  “We’re going to practice the dance today.” Bethany approached our table. Her face flushed a deep shade of crimson.

  “Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine.” I stood up and set the notebook on the floor next to my jacket.

  “Jonathan and Bethany, we need to practice that dance scene.” Sara snapped her fingers. “Ian, Simon asked if you could run over to the arts-and-crafts pavilion for a second. He’s working on the bust of your head. Kari, Lily, and MacKenzie, could you check in with Hannah about the food for the dinner scene? Jake, could you move a few of these tables against the wall? We’re going to practice the main dinner scene again once everyone gets back. It’s getting down to the wire, kids. We need to get all the details worked out now.”

  Time to practice being seduced. Ugh. I stole a quick glance behind me as I trailed after Bethany just in time to see Jake lean his weight into a table and give it a shove. It skidded across the room and banged against the wall where my jacket lay on the floor.

  *

  “It was right here, Ian! I swear it was!” The rest of the cast had left. The dining hall was empty, except for Ian and me.

  I spun in a circle, searching every corner of the room. “I don’t understand. Where could it be?” I walked to my jacket that lay on the floor and picked it up for the hundredth time.

  “I’d say it’s obvious. Jake took it.” Ian’s face was unreadable.

  “Why? Why would he take your notebook?”

  “Because he’s a major douche nozzle. Guys like that don’t need a reason.”

  “Maybe someone picked it up by accident. It’s possible.” Just not likely. “Ian, I…you trusted me, and I lost your notebook.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes.

  “Stop beating yourself up. We both know you didn’t lose it.”

  The notebook still had not reappeared as we sat on the dock with our jeans rolled up, feet dangling into the cool water, and watched the sun sizzle into the lake. Silent and stone-faced, Ian stared at the horizon. I had run out of apologies and was wallowing in guilt when I heard the smack of flip-flops behind me. I looked toward the sound and saw Bethany walking down the dock toward us, her long hair loose and swaying.

  “Hi, Jonathan!” She waved. “Oh, and hi, Ian. The counselors are having their staff meeting with Paul tonight. A couple of us are getting a bonfire going. C’mon, it’ll be much more fun with you there.” She stared at me.

  “What do you say, Ian?” I bumped shoulders with him. He blinked and surfaced from the stupor.

  “Yeah, sure. Bonfire, whatever.”

  We got up, unrolled our jeans, put our shoes on, and followed Bethany toward the bonfire. The heat from the five-foot-tall flames hit me full force as I walked up and found Bryan pouring something from a bottle into a clear plastic cup.

  “What happens at camp, stays at camp.” He handed a glass to each of us. “On threat of retaliation. Epic retaliation. Understand, Cooper?”

  I glanced at the bottle. Manischewitz concord grape. The kind my mom drank because it was holy. “You raided Paul’s communion wine? What? How?”

  Bryan laughed. “They don’t lock anything up around here. I swear I waltzed right into the kitchen and helped myself. Seriously, it was that easy.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” I said, glancing sideways at Ian.

  Bethany looked at her glass like she was expecting Satan to jump out and poke her with his pitchfork. Ian, however, drained his in one gulp and muttered, “Why couldn’t they have served beer at the Last Supper?”

  And me? I did what I always do whenever I’m in this circumstance. I walked over to the bonfire and sat down, the glass in my hand. I learned a few years ago at the end of season soccer party that I don’t actually have to drink. I just have to carry a glass around.

  Bethany sipped her wine and sat down next to me on my right. Ian said something indistinguishable and most likely profane under his breath and sat to my left.

  “Mom would go ballistic if she knew I was drinking.” Bethany took another sip.

  I considered telling her that two sips hardly qualified as drinking, but then she took a third. And a fourth. And before I knew it, her glass was empty and she had propped her legs on top of mine and was leaning toward me, giving me a clear shot down her shirt. Who knew I’d miss the sight of a bra? I tried to scoot closer to Ian, but he was sending death rays out of his eyes at Jake who seemed oblivious to the danger he was in. Which reminded me.

  “Hey, Bethany, you didn’t happen to see anyone pick up Ian’s journal at Curtain Call this morning, did you?” The wind shifted direction, blowing the smoke away. The scent of her perfume assaulted me.

  “You mean that notebook he’s always writing in? No. Why?” She held her glass out to Bryan who was making the rounds with another bottle of contraband communion wine.

  He spotted my full glass. “Dude, drink up. Looks like you’re in for an epic night.” He winked at me, and I imagined frying him with his stupid mosquito zapper.

  Ian exhaled. “August. Imperial. Magnificent. Splendid. There are more synonyms for the word epic, Bryan, but that’s a start.”

  Bryan frowned as he walked away. “What’s his problem?”

  Beside me, Ian ran out of words and resorted to groaning.

  Jake got up and high-stepped over the sprawling limbs of couples who were well on their way to making lilac, if not purple, until he reached us and sat down next to Bethany.

  “H-hey,” he stuttered, “I was wondering if you’d like to go for a walk in the forest. You know, with me.” He looked toward the edge of the trees and grinned…if groveling and grinning were synonyms, that is.

  “Thanks, but Jonathan and I were talking about something Ian lost at Curtain Call this morning.” Bethany rested her hand on my leg. “A notebook.”

  Beside me, Ian stiffened.

  Jake frowned and stood up. “Jonathan and you, huh? Having a nice little talk about Ian’s notebook? This notebook?” He pulled something from his back pocket.

  “Hey everybody. Listen to this.” Jake opened the notebook. “I nearly told him today. I found myself thinking that I could be happy just sitting with him on this log being a blood donor for mosquitoes for the rest of my life. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or sad that I said nothing. What if I told him and he didn’t feel the sam
e way, isn’t the same way? But if he did, if he was? Oh God, he’s all I can think about. Looks like Ian’s in love.”

  Jake made the word sound smutty.

  Oh shit! Giggles and whispers blew around the bonfire. Ian stumbled to his feet and moved away from the circle.

  Jake called out after him. “This is your notebook, isn’t it?”

  Ian broke into a full run toward the woods.

  “Where are you going? You haven’t told us who Lover Boy is. Not that we all can’t guess! Okay, you must not care about this then.” Jake tossed the notebook into the bonfire.

  “No!” I dropped my glass of wine and lunged for the notebook.

  It didn’t matter that I burned my hands.

  It didn’t matter that MacKenzie’s mouth fell open.

  It didn’t even matter that Bethany lost her balance and fell off the log when I sprang to my feet.

  Only two things mattered: saving Ian’s journal and getting to him as fast as possible.

  I knew exactly where to go.

  I shoved the journal into my back pocket and ran into the woods where I found him, sitting on a fallen birch log at Porcupine Point, his small frame shaking and curved in on itself.

  “Ian, are you okay?” I took a step toward him. He stiffened at the sound of my voice.

  “Yeah.” He jerked his head away.

  “You sure?” I took a few more steps toward him.

  He turned to look at me. His eyes, wild with pain, penetrated me.

  “No, I’m not okay. I’m not okay at all.” His voice shook.

  I sat next to him on the log and looked at Spirit Lake. A river of light shimmered where the moon touched the water. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Really.” I laid a hand on his shoulder.

  He snapped his shoulder and flung my hand away. He stood up. His hands, clenched at his sides, formed fists. He paced in front of me. “I swore I’d never let anyone do that to me again! Make me feel small and vulnerable and ashamed!”

  Ian put his hand in his pocket and took out his straight razor.

  “What are you doing? Give me the razor.” I stood up and looked him in the eye. Held my hand out to him.

  “Compact, smooth and polished on the outside. Impressive, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s just like him, you know. This is all I have left of him. My dad washed out of boot camp, but he ran our home like it was one.”

  At least the perfect military salute made sense now.

  “Ian, I’m not kidding. I don’t give a shit about your dad. I give a shit about you. Now give me the goddamned razor.” My voice was steel.

  “Jonathan Cooper, junior counselor wannabe, I am a bad influence on you, aren’t I?” He flipped his wrist. The blade flashed in the moonlight. “It took less than that to find my dad’s dangerous side. I don’t even know why I still carry this damned thing around with me.”

  Ian walked to the edge of the cliff, talking to Spirit Lake. Or the stars that hung over our heads. Or to the birds that chattered in the nearby trees. Or the jagged rocks below.

  “He caught me looking at a website. I told him it was a mistake…that I’d clicked on it by accident. He didn’t believe me. When he finished with me, I was more black-and-blue than white. That’s when they took me.”

  “Took you? Who took you?” I asked his back, uncertain if he was even listening to me anymore.

  “The sheriff with his badge and the social worker with her court papers. You know what’s fucked up? My parents didn’t even say good-bye.”

  I couldn’t see his face, but I heard the sound of tears in his voice. I wanted to go to him, but fear of what he might do had superglued my feet to the ground and my mouth shut.

  “She looked at me like I was a stranger.” Ian’s voice broke. “I kept saying over and over, Mom, it’s still me. I’m still the same. What does it matter that when I look at a boy I feel something? What’s the big fucking deal?” He snapped the razor shut. “She never did answer my question. She just watched as the sheriff put me in the backseat of the squad car, like I was the fucking criminal.”

  Ian wound his arm back and pitched the razor over the cliff. I heard it smash and imagined it shattering into a thousand little pieces on the rocks below. He turned around to face me. The glow of the moon behind him cast a shadow that fell across his face. He was past talking. He was shouting.

  “Like I said, my parents emigrated to the Land of the Forever Fucked Up. Screw ’em. And screw Paul and Jake and all the other people here and their bullshit phrases like Hate the sin, love the sinner or Pray the gay away. Everything’s going to be okay, you say?”

  He walked toward me, his face filled with rage. “Excuse me if I tell you that you don’t know a fucking thing about what it’s going to be.” He put his palms on my chest and shoved. Hard. “Get the hell away from me while you can before they start talking about you next. Go back to camp. Now.” He shoved me again. I stumbled and fell on my butt.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, McGuire.” I leaned forward.

  “Jonathan, seriously, go back to camp now. Before you’re missed.” He knelt and looked me in the eyes. There was something besides anger written on his face. There was fear.

  For me.

  “I don’t give a damn what people say.”

  We crouched there like two wrestlers waiting for the match to begin. Each of us tense, poised. Ready to attack. I reached for him first. I brushed my burned fingers across his cheek, damp from tears and smeared with ash from the fire.

  It was all the permission he needed. He charged. His hands locked around my body, slamming me to the ground. He climbed on top of me.

  “This is what you want?” He pinned my arms above my head and leaned down, his face inches from mine. He ground his hard-on against my leg. His breath, hot against my skin, ignited a fire in my body.

  I nodded, unable to speak. He slid his hands under my T-shirt, pausing to pinch my nipples. I shuddered. My breath caught in my throat.

  He yanked me into a sitting position. He sat on my lap, his legs wrapped around me in another wrestling move. I could feel my own erection pounding. Ian ripped his shirt off. Then he pulled my shirt over my head. The cool night air hit my skin.

  He pushed me down on the ground again. The grass was soft, but the twigs dug into my skin. Birds chattered in the nearby trees as if they too were scandalized by what we were doing.

  He climbed off me and stood up. Unzipped his pants and let them fall to his ankles. He towered, naked, above me. The scent of his body hit me.

  “You’re sure? This is what you want?” He stood, glowing in the moonlight.

  He took my silence for consent.

  Maybe it was.

  He crawled on top of me again. His lips crushed mine in a fierce kiss. My hips lifted off the ground as I lost control and thrust at him. He moved his mouth to my ear. I groaned as he reached beneath me and grabbed my butt, pushing himself against my jeans.

  I slid my arms around Ian’s thin body. My hands touched the soft skin of his lower back where he curved toward me. He kissed me again, this time parting my lips with his tongue. I forgot how to breathe. His fingers fumbled with the button to my jeans.

  “Wait!” I broke off our kiss. Pain shot through my hands as I grabbed his hands. “Please, just wait.”

  His breath came in short, hard gasps. His body shuddered against me. “Wait? Are you kidding me?”

  Yes, my mind screamed.

  No, my body disagreed.

  One thought screamed in my mind: I’m supposed to wait.

  “Wait?” he asked again.

  For what?

  I had no good answer to either question, his or mine.

  He took my silence for consent.

  Yeah, it was.

  I released Ian’s hands and closed my eyes. Felt the pressure of my jeans as Ian tugged on them. They got stuck, so I raised my hips to make it easier for him. The breeze hit me. I sucked in my breath from the shock of it.

/>   And then the cool air disappeared, swallowed by a swirling hot, wet sea. I gasped.

  He pulled away and smiled up at me, flecks of gold glinting in his eyes. A light wind blew through the forest and ran over my bare chest and arms and thighs. We were past the point of speaking. He ran his fingers down my side and hip. My muscles tightened. My chest heaved.

  “Don’t stop,” I whispered and for once Ian obeyed. For one excruciating second, I balanced on the edge. Then I fell into the waves of heat and pressure that exploded until my veins ran hot. Panting, I lay on the ground at Porcupine Point and wondered what the hell I had done.

  *

  Ian’s body curled against mine, his head resting on my arm. Darkness pressed in on me as the urgent drive slipped away. I glanced at my body, naked and exposed for anyone to see. Drunk with shame, I lunged to my feet, stumbled and caught myself with my burned hands.

  “Wait, Jonathan. Are you okay?” Ian reached for me.

  Without thinking, I jerked away from his touch.

  “Don’t touch me!” I yanked my jeans up and pulled my T-shirt over my head.

  Ian’s eyes flooded with pain. Raw. Real.

  I ran anyway.

  At the edge of the clearing, I looked back for just a moment. Ian swayed and fell to the ground. He drew his legs to his bare chest and curled into himself. He shuddered, lifted his face, and our eyes connected. I watched his eyes narrow, his lips tighten, and the cold mask of anger harden on his face.

  I turned and ran into the forest.

  Jesus! I groped my way back to camp through the complete blackness of the forest. Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! The one word was all I could produce. It was a plea. It was a prayer. “Jesus, help me!” I lost my balance and lurched forward, disoriented, into the unknown.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Hey, Cooper, you awake?” Jake’s ugly mug was the last thing I wanted to look at as I squinted into the bright morning light. Despite the events of the night before, the sun still rose on Thursday morning. The cabin still reeked of damp towels and dirty socks. Bryan still sat in his bunk, frying mosquitos with the bloodlust of a death-row executioner. Outside the chickadees still chattered, and in the distance Edward and Bella still called to each other.