Boys of Summer

by Steve Berman

  She made the little hand gesture that meant “I’m all done with your nonsense” and started putting clean clothes away.

  “Thanks,” Shane said to her back.

  *

  That night, Shane equipped himself with a flashlight and made sure his phone was charged. He considered putting on some aftershave, but realized the scent of Off would destroy the effect.

  Chase rowed him across the lake with great energy, determined to dump him on the far shore and get back to his frog survey.

  “You probably think I’m really shallow, but I just want to do this, you know?” Shane said. “Don’t you ever want to just do something? Like, to know what it would be like?”

  “Sure,” Chase said, rowing steadily. “But I already know what Jason’s parties are like. Call me, okay? I’ll be out here in the swamp.”

  Shane jumped onshore without getting his pants wet and jogged down the road that crossed the park to the Lake Michigan beach beyond the woods. He could smell woodsmoke before he got there. As he crested the foredunes, he could see the blaze of a driftwood fire. He heard voices and spotted a crowd of dark shapes moving between him and the fire.

  He walked boldly into the middle of the crowd, anonymous as anyone. He didn’t see any familiar faces. A lot of the people there seemed bigger, older than he was, like townies. And there were girls, of course. Girls everywhere. People were dancing, flirting, making out in the shadows. He got into a conversation with a couple of girls as he filled himself a paper cup of beer and drank it, and started to loosen up a bit.

  “Hey, man—you made it here.” It was Scott.

  “No problem,” Shane said, feeling very cool.

  “How’d you get here?”

  “I got a ride. You?”

  “Jason and a couple of the guys rode the Jet Skis. I hitched a ride behind Jason. Night riding is awesome.”

  “Did you come down the river all the way to the big lake?”

  “No—parked them on the Jensen Lake side.”

  Shane made a note to himself to be careful when leaving and not run into any of them on the way back. He didn’t want them to meet up with Chase.

  Scott was hanging out with the usual crew plus a few strangers. They’d brought a couple of six-packs in addition to the keg. “Here, you gotta see this,” Scott said, pulling him into the shadows behind the dunes.

  “Fireworks! Cool, huh? We’re going to light them off later. After everyone’s shitfaced. Freak them out.”

  Jason stepped out of the firelight into the shadows, to grab another can of beer. He looked as if he’d had a few already. He was with several of the bigger kids Shane had noticed.

  “Hey,” Jason said. “So you finally ditched Frog Boy, huh?”

  Shane didn’t know what to say. He just took another gulp of beer and shrugged.

  “Listen, you know what?” Scott said. “We’re gonna take the Jet Skis and see if we can find him later tonight. We can buzz him again. We sideswiped him last night and you should have heard him squawk. Like a frog. Want to come along?”

  He glanced at Jason for approval. Jason didn’t seem that happy to see Shane. But if Shane just laughed and said it was cool, he figured he could join up with them. At least for the duration of the party. He’d drained the last of his beer, and he had to say something.

  “Why?” he said. “What’s the point?”

  Scott’s smile faded. He still didn’t quite get that Shane wasn’t thrilled to be part of this.

  “Dude, because he’s such a loser!” he said. One of the other kids laughed. “Yeah, he’s so gay. Gay for frogs.”

  Shane crumpled the paper cup in his hand. He surprised himself by speaking. “Your plan sucks ass. It’s lame.” He tossed the cup at Jason’s feet and turned away.

  There was astonished silence, and then a lot of noise and laughter.

  “Don’t go away mad! Aww, what’s wrong?”

  “Maybe he’s gay, too—gay for the little froggies.”

  “Yeah, he is—gay for Chase!”

  There was general laughter, like that was clearly impossible.

  Shane didn’t think anyone heard him say, “Maybe I am,” as he walked away. He heard them behind him, picking up their six-packs and heading back to the fire.

  Shane didn’t know what he was going to do. He just knew he was mad. He paced back and forth behind the dunes. Finally he picked up his cell and called Chase.

  “That was quick,” Chase said.

  “Meet me by the landing in ten minutes,” Shane said. “But watch out. The Jet Ski boys are back in town.”

  “Okay,” Chase said, like he understood more than Shane did. “I’ll be there.”

  Shane pulled off his sweater. The fireworks were unguarded. He stuffed a bunch of them into his sweater and made a bundle of it. He thought there was enough left that they wouldn’t notice. He didn’t know what he was going to do with them yet, but the thought of things exploding made him feel better.

  By the time Chase arrived with the boat, Shane knew what he wanted to do. But it scared him a little.

  “Taxi’s here,” Chase said. “Where do you want to go?”

  Shane waded into the water, not caring if he got his pants wet. He handed Chase the bundled sweater, and his cell. “Don’t let that get wet,” he said. “It’s fireworks, and my phone. And hand me that life jacket. I might have to go all the way in.”

  Chase rested on his oars and gave Shane that crooked smile. “Dude, what happened to you out there?” he said. “This is like superhero Shane. This is not normal for you.”

  Shane climbed into the boat, splashing. “You know what happened with the Jet Ski last night? I found out who did it. They’re planning to come by again tonight. I just—I guess it made me mad. I’m not gonna take this anymore.”

  “How are you going to stop it?” Chase reached over and put the paw of the Swamp Thing on Shane’s shoulder. Shane realized he was shaking.

  “Dude, take a breath,” Chase said. “I’ve been there. But what can you do? They’re not worth getting into trouble.”

  “The first thing I thought of was dropping a dime on them,” Shane admitted. “But I don’t want it to get back to me. I have to spend time up here and they could make it hell.”

  “Exactly,” Chase said.

  “But then I thought, suppose their Jet Skis had been improperly secured—which they probably are anyway. Suppose they just happened to drift away from shore and it was no one’s fault. It just happened. Know what I mean?”

  Chase was starting to smile again.

  “Then they wouldn’t be able to bother us tonight. And possibly they’d get busted for driving the Jet Skis at night, which is not cool.”

  “And what about that?” Chase said, nodding toward the bundle.

  “They were going to set those off later. They still have a bunch of them. So…maybe if these happened to go off prematurely…it could be that someone else would call the rangers. And if not, oh well. We’ll be out of here anyway.”

  “That’s brilliant,” Chase said.

  He rowed along the bank, while Shane used his flashlight to scan for the Jet Skis. He found one pulled up on the bank, and two more moored to a log.

  “I’m going in,” he said.

  “Wait, I’ll help.” Chase pulled into a stand of reeds and anchored the rowboat. Then he slid over the side and into the water.

  “This is everything you’re not supposed to do,” he said. “Leaving the boat? At night? Such a bad idea.”

  “Shut up,” Shane said, heaving at the watercraft to push it offshore and into the water. “They only used sandbag anchors—so I guess they just dragged. Too bad.”

  One by one, they pushed the Jet Skis into deeper water.

  “Someplace they won’t see them right away,” Chase panted. “Past the reeds there, it’s all mudflats. Put them aground. They’ll be safe but hard to—”

  “Eww!” Shane found the mud by floundering into it up to the knees.

&nbs
p; “Lie back—your float vest will hold you up and you can float out of it,” Chase said. He’d slipped, and his arms were muck to the elbows.

  “It stinks,” Shane said. “I stink. Nature is disgusting.”

  “No, it’s not,” Chase said. “It’s just nature. Swamp Thing, remember? Swamp Things rule. It’ll wash off on the way back to the boat.”

  There were a few minutes of panic when they couldn’t find the boat. But it was there.

  “I’m taller, I’ll boost you,” Chase said. Shane scrambled up his back, got a knee on his shoulder, and Chase’s wiry arms pushed him up into the boat. He put his weight on the other side so Chase could flop his long legs over the gunwale without swamping them.

  Shane tried to wipe his face and just smeared more mud over himself. “And now, part two. Oh crap. Matches. I didn’t bring any.”

  Chase smirked. “Reach under the seat. In the metal box—my emergency kit. Never go out without it. There’s a lighter in there.”

  “In case you need to smoke a bong?” Shane said.

  “I don’t use drugs,” Chase started to explain seriously. Then he stopped. “Oh. You’re kidding, right. Ha ha.”

  Shane fumbled for the fireworks in the dark. He had half a dozen strings of firecrackers and several rockets.

  “If I could give you some advice, 007,” Chase said. “You don’t really want lighted explosives in the boat with you by accident.”

  He sculled back toward the log. “Put them on here, light them, and then I’ll row like hell.”

  Shane got everything set up in a line, then leaned out of the boat and lit every fuse as fast as he could. Chase pulled away fast enough that Shane nearly fell into the water again. He’d passed the grounded Jet Skis when the firecrackers started to go off. The explosions were deafening even though he’d been expecting it. Chase passed the point and reached the shelter of the little islands as the rockets’ red glare faded from the sky. When the last of the firecrackers died away, Shane could hear screen doors slamming and saw a few lights coming on in nearby cottages. Indignant residents came out to see what was going on. He could imagine that the park ranger office would be getting some phone calls soon.

  “That was awesome,” Chase said.

  “And now—back to the frog census?” Shane said.

  Chase shipped the oars and let the boat drift under the dark branches of the tamaracks on the island. “Um—no—I’m done. I finished early on purpose.” He sounded kind of funny, the way Shane did when he was nervous and his voice became unreliable.

  He leaned forward and put his hand on Shane’s shoulder again. “Could you ever—I mean—have you ever wanted to—kiss a Swamp Thing?” he said.

  Shane didn’t say anything. But when Chase leaned toward him, he didn’t move back. He put his hand on Chase’s other shoulder, to brace himself. And kissed a Swamp Thing.

  It wasn’t anything like homework. At first there was the smell of Off, and mud, and a touch of Banana Boat coconut-scented sunscreen. Then there was just the taste of Chase, and warm wet lips. Who knew? Shane thought. Something else the whole world knew and not him—that kissing Mark hadn’t been practice for anything. This wasn’t technical. It was wet fireworks and burning water, and the sun coming up at night in the middle of a swamp. It was also kind of like wrestling on a ladder, as they tried to wrap the maximum amount of arms and legs awkwardly around each other while not capsizing the boat. And the mosquitoes found them and congratulated them enthusiastically.

  They broke apart, breathing hard.

  “This—is not happening in a boat,” Chase said.

  “No,” Shane agreed, though he felt that it almost had. “But—”

  “Yeah, I know,” Chase interrupted. Shane knew they were both seeing the same thing—single beds with matching cowboy spreads, and Shane’s mom and dad down the hall. “I’ve got an idea this time. Think about cold water, and frog mating.”

  When they reached the Kerrys’ cottage, Shane stopped on the screen porch, opened the door, and stuck his head inside. “Hello? Mom? We’re back.”

  Both of his parents were up, his mother in the kitchen putting things away.

  “Oh, Shane! You’re early. Come in—why are you standing in the doorway?”

  “We’re kind of muddy,” Shane said. He spread out his arms so she could get a good look at him.

  “Oh my goodness! What on earth happened to you?”

  “We went aground,” Chase said. “We had to get out and push.”

  “I’ll get a towel,” Shane’s mom said.

  “We had another idea,” Chase said. He managed to look politely apologetic, under the mud smears. “There’s a guest bath at my house. We could go clean up over there and not track mud through your house.”

  The Kerrys only had one shower, upstairs.

  “It’s no trouble,” Shane’s mom said.

  “Well, there’s another thing,” Chase said. “I’m kind of worried about leaving the house empty.”

  “What do you mean?” Shane’s mother looked at Shane. “Is something going on out there? We heard a commotion a little while ago.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Chase said. “We heard it, too. It sounded like fireworks, maybe at that beach party. A lot of kids know there’s nobody home at my house. So I wondered if it would be okay if I slept over there tonight. Just to make sure nobody tries to come over and trash the house.”

  Shane’s mom looked from one to the other, as if she suspected they were up to something but wasn’t sure what.

  “I wouldn’t be alone,” Chase said. “That is, if Shane could come with me.”

  “Mom, we’d be right next door,” Shane said. “I’ll call you if we see anything that doesn’t look right.”

  “Oh, let them go,” Shane’s dad called from the other room. “I doubt they can get into much trouble.” He appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Just stay out of your dad’s liquor cabinet,” he said to Chase.

  “Yes, sir,” Chase said sheepishly.

  “Yeah, I was young once,” Shane’s dad said. “Go get cleaned up before you catch pneumonia.”

  *

  Shane stood in the foyer of the Garrett place, looking around, while Chase went to get more towels from the laundry room. Everything in there was new and top of the line, from the coffee maker to the big-screen TV. All perfect stuff, the kind of thing Shane had always envied.

  It didn’t seem to matter any more. He’d fallen for a Swamp Thing, for a geek with a spark in his eyes and wiry, calloused hands, for a guy who smelled like gunpowder, Off, and mud instead of Axe or Lucky. And he felt like everything about this vacation was finally the way it was supposed to be.

  Chase came back, leaving a trail of muddy droplets across the white tile floor. “Do you want the first shower?” he said.

  Shane brushed a bit of water weed off Chase’s bare chest, and let his hand trail slowly down to that tantalizing gap between damp jeans and a glimpse of untanned flesh. He felt Chase flinch from his chilly fingers. He closed the space between them and felt Chase’s warm breath on his neck. Shane rubbed his hands over the rhythm of bone and muscle he’d only glimpsed earlier, drawing the shape of Chase in his mind’s eye. “We can shower later,” Shane said. “Swamp Things forever.” They pressed together, rib to rib and belly to belly, and body heat rose up through chilled skin as creatures in dark water rise to meet the light.

  Get Brenda Foxworthy

  Shawn Syms

  I got off the blue Niagara Transit bus and crossed the road, entering the yard behind Simcoe Street Public School. Walking alone at night put me on edge. The schoolyard was empty, and I felt totally nervous.

  God fucking damn it, Rickie told me she’d be here a half hour ago. Leaning against the fence, I pinched my arm as punishment for swearing, though I hadn’t even said it out loud. Tapped out a nervous rhythm on the pile of dusty pebbles under my discount-store sneaker. Sweat slopped onto my brow, courtesy of the late-summer humidity that weighed down the air even in early e
vening. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. Tonight, we were going to do something outrageous, like nothing I’d ever dared before.

  The three of us agreed to meet behind the elementary school in order to draw as little attention as possible. Where could be quieter than the backyard of a grade school in August, especially this late at night? We all worked at the Village, but Preet had the night free to take his mom and dad to a temple in St Catharines for some Hindu holiday. Rickie’s shift ended at nine o’clock and she said she’d hurry over. Preet was picking us up before ten, as soon as he was back in Niagara Falls. I thought about where we were going: Brenda Foxworthy’s house. There wasn’t sufficient skin on both my arms to pinch myself enough times for all the swearing that nasty girl’s name inspired in me. For once I wanted to do more than just swear, though.

  And I was off work because Ed hadn’t scheduled me any shifts at all that weekend. What a prick. I pinched my arm again, wished my boss wasn’t so good-looking. Ed managed us parking-lot attendants at Maple Leaf Village every summer. Nineteen and a typical macho jock, he was in the law-and-security program at Niagara College. You got the feeling he liked being in charge. He liked to wear tight shirts that showed off his arms and chest, both of which possessed wiry spirals of manly hair. When he wasn’t ruling the roost at work, I would see him trolling around Clifton Hill in his white Trans-Am. Checking out the chicks, I guessed. He was ridiculously proud of that stupid car, bragged to all the guys at work about it.

  I was pissed about the time off. I needed that summer job. Not all of us had rich dads to pay for school clothes, let alone shiny white cars. When he saw me looking at the schedule in the office yesterday, Ed came up to me with a fake-looking smile and patted me on the shoulder. “Sorry about that, buddy. Too many guys on the team this year, I can’t fit everybody in every single weekend.”

  His firm hand on my shoulder had caused some stirring in my underwear, but I willed my groin back under control. What a phony. Ed was not my “buddy” at all. One time when he and I were alone in the office and I complained about having to work late, he actually put me into a headlock with my face in his armpit till I said uncle. I remembered the smell—and the shame. The scent I secretly liked, the feeling of defeat I sure didn’t. I never told anyone. Ed had pet names for all the parking guys; to my face, he called me Supermodel because I’m thin. I knew he called me “Dean the Queen” behind my back. Then again, who didn’t? Preet and Rickie, that’s who.