Dead Wrong

by Kristi Belcamino

  He is alternately whistling and throwing rocks and sticks into the water. A big, dark dog scrambles madly into the lake. It’s sticking its nose underwater searching and then surfaces, snorting and shaking his head, sending spurts of water flying everywhere.

  That must be why the dog is no longer growling at my approach. Even so, every once in a while, when he is waiting at the shore for more things to fetch, the dog’s ears prick up and he looks straight at me, which sends my heart bouncing up into my throat. Luckily, the rat-faced kid keeps distracting him by throwing rocks and sticks into the water.

  Raven pulls a small mesh bag out of one of the knapsacks. It looks like it contains shampoo and soap. As I watch, he extracts a toothbrush. He swipes it with paste from a tube and sticks it in his mouth. He dangles the rope of the mesh bag from one finger as he heads toward the lake.

  At the edge of the water, with the lake lapping the shore, he yawns and stretches. He kicks off his unlaced boots. He takes off his cap and then tugs some studded black leather cuffs off his wrists and plops them in the middle of his cap. He sets these on a flat rock nearby and then pulls at the center of his faded cowboy cut shirt, the silver snaps pop as his fingers move down his chest. He drops the shirt to the ground. His chest is smooth and his pants hang low, exposing a slice of hipbone.

  “Dude. This is our spot,” one of the guys says in an annoyed voice. “Go home and do your grooming there.”

  “Nothing like a lake bath,” he says.

  “Whatever,” the other voice says with a sneer. “I’ll be taking a shower next time I’m over at your place. Using all your fancy soap and shampoo as long as I want. Hot water for days, man.”

  His place?

  I shrink further into the bushes as he turns toward the water and drops his pants. He is not wearing underwear. The girl with the pixie hair gives a low whistle and the Mohawk kid swats at her and puts his hands over her eyes.

  I feel the warmth rise up my neck. It’s the first time I’ve seen a naked guy — even it if is only from behind. It sends me scrambling backward toward the main trail. Back at the path, I find a bench nearby and try to figure out what to do next. I want to go talk to that Raven guy, but the thought of walking into the middle of that group stops me cold — no way.

  I can wait here to see if they leave and then I follow them. If I sit on this bench, I’ll be able to see them come up the small trail no matter which way they end up turning. I yank the Flannery O’Connor book out of my bag and stick my nose in it, keeping my eye on the trailhead.

  From where I sit, I can hear the rat-faced kid whistling for his dog every once in a while. The music from my cell phone startles me. I answer before I see who it is just to stop the noise.

  “Em? It’s Dad.”

  “Hi.”

  I hear some noises coming from the bushes and keep my eyes on the small path leading to the walking trail.

  “Listen. Your mom told me what happened with your friend. Do you need me to send you some money?”

  Is he crazy? Why does he think money would help? He doesn’t get it. He never gets it. I don’t answer.

  “Emily?”

  Now for sure I hear trampling through the bushes.

  “Gotta go, Dad.” I snap my phone shut and hurriedly pick up my book.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A few seconds later, the bushes part and the gutterpunks emerge onto the main trail. They stand in a cluster in the middle of the path. The girl is holding the Mohawk boy’s hand and the banjo. Raven has the guitar slung across his back, tied to a string. I try not to stare as I watch them out of my peripheral vision and make like I’m reading my book.

  But Raven notices me, sending a flush up my neck. I pretend not to notice. He says something to the others and they take off, going the opposite way. He waits. Standing there. He takes off his newsboy cap, slicks back his hair, which is wet and comes down to his chin, and puts his hat back on. He’s not looking at me anymore so I watch him out of the corner of my eye, holding my book up, pretending to read. He sneaks a glance my way and I hold the book higher in front of my face. He turns and heads toward me. I draw my knees up to my chest on the bench in front of me.

  I realize I’m holding my breath.

  “Hey.”

  I look up, pretending like I’ve just noticed him.

  “Oh. Hi.” I try to sound nonchalant.

  “Didn’t I see you the other day at Retro Star?”

  I clamp my mouth together and nod.

  “Emily, right?”

  I nod. Oh my God. He remembers my name.

  “I’m Raven.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. A big drip of lake water seeps down his temple.

  “Is that your real name?” I blurt it out. I’ve been wondering that ever since Beth told me about him.

  “My mom was an ornithologist,” he looks at me out of the corner of my eye as if to gauge my reaction to his next words. “She’s also full-blooded Sioux. Raven is a god to Native Americans.”

  He won’t look at me as he talks. His eyes look past me into the wooded area behind me. He swallows hard.

  “When I was little, I didn’t like it, I mean kids made fun of me for my name. But now it’s cool and all that. I mean, do you know anything about ravens?”

  “Yeah.” I try to decide whether to go on. My mom has always told me guys like smart girls. But she probably just says that to make me feel better. “They’re part of the Corvid family. So are crows and jays and magpies.”

  I look up to see his reaction. He is smiling so I go on.

  “Their brain-to-body mass ratio is identical to apes and nearly that of humans. They are said to be as smart as apes, too. Just like primates, they make tools of sticks and stuff to get food or ants or whatever out of a hole.” I say it and shrug like “doesn’t everyone know this?”

  “Yeah,” he says, his voice rising in excitement. “Did you know they’re one of the only animals to have self-awareness? You know, when they look in a mirror, they know they are looking at themselves, not another bird. Human babies don’t get that until I don’t know, some age, but they aren’t born that way.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I say. It’s quiet for a few seconds and awkward, so I blurt it out. “Have you seen that video of the raven who surfs on a roof?”

  His smile grows wider. “No way.”

  “Hold up.” I grab my phone and punch up a YouTube video. Raven leans closer so he can see it. It makes me uncomfortable so I stand and hold it in front of us.

  The video shows a raven that keeps dragging a piece of cardboard to the top of a slanted roof and sliding down it like a skateboard. He does it over and over again, picking up the cardboard with his beak, flying up to the top of the roof, stepping on it and sliding down.

  Raven’s arm touches mine as he leans in to watch the small screen with me.

  “Killer!” I can smell his breath when he says it. It smells like toothpaste. “I’ve never seen this one.”

  When the video ends, it’s suddenly awkward. He doesn’t move away and I’m afraid to look up at him. His mouth is level with my eyes. I turn slightly away.

  “There’s other stuff about ravens. Less scientific stuff.” His voice is right in my ear. I can feel the hotness and it sends a shiver down my arm. I can tell he is watching me. “I had this book when I was a kid. My mom gave it to me. It was called The Raven Tales. It was when I first realized that even though everyone made fun of my name, I was going to like it no matter what. I wish I still had that book. I guess it’s out of print now.”

  I move away and look down the path at a group of joggers heading our way. “What happened to your copy?”

  “I don’t know ...” He suddenly seems uncomfortable, jamming his fists in his pocket and looking away. “I left it when I left home.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. He means when he became homeless. Or a runaway. Or whatever he is. The silence is awkward. Finally, he looks up at me.

  “There’s other coo
l things you can’t find in a book either. Stories my ... mother told me.” He trails off and seems hesitant and even more awkward all of a sudden. He clears his throat and steps away.

  Then his voice grows confident again and a little cocky. “Hey, I’m impressed you know so much about ravens. Most people don’t. But I knew when I saw you reading ‘Wise Blood,’” he gestures to my Flannery O’Connor book, “I figured you weren’t any slouch in the brains department.”

  “Thanks. I think.” I raise my eyebrow.

  He laughs. “It was a compliment.”

  “Wasn’t sure.”

  “Do you like it?” He gestures again to the book.

  “It’s okay. Have you read it?”

  He nods so I continue.

  “It’s a little messed up with that dude stealing that mummy dwarf and then Lily acting like it’s the baby Jesus.” I set it down. “I’m not sure I’m going to finish it, honestly.”

  “Have you read her short stories?”

  I shake my head.

  “Seriously?” His voice rises again, excitedly. “You are missing out. You haven’t read ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find?’ That’s what she’s most famous for.”

  “I looked at Tall Tales, but they didn’t have it. I’m on the wait list for it at the library.”

  “Tall Tales is the best,” he says.

  “I know! They have a first edition Salome by Oscar Wilde behind the counter. Every time I go in there I try to get up the nerve to ask to see it, but never do.” I’m suddenly embarrassed by this confession.

  Raven smiles at me. “Why don’t you?”

  I shrug. I don’t tell him it’s one of those, if-you-have-to-ask-you-can’t-afford-it deals. But one day I did get up the nerve to ask and it was $75. Way out of my realm of possibility.

  “I think you’d really dig O’Connor’s short stories. You busy?” His excitement ebbs and he suddenly seems uncomfortable, jamming his hands back in his pocket and looking past me again off into the woods. “I have a copy back at my place, where I’m staying.”

  I don’t know what is more disturbing — his invitation or the idea that he actually has a home and that dispels all my preconceived notions of him. The other guy at the beach had mentioned his place? Where he is staying? Wasn’t he camping on that beach with the others? Maybe there will be something about Danielle left there. Maybe a sweater or a book or something I’ll recognize as hers. He doesn’t wait for me to respond, but continues excitedly.

  He raises his eyebrow and starts to walk away. “You coming?”

  “I don’t know.” I kick up some dirt with the toe of my sneaker.

  “Don’t worry. You can trust me. I’m a feminist.”

  He winks at me.

  I’m not sure about that. But that’s why I’m here anyway. To talk to him to find out if he knows something about Danielle’s death. I pick up my tote and take a step his way.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  We lope around the walking trail, Raven obviously holding back his normally long strides so I can keep up. At one point, he nods toward a tiny opening in the woods.

  “This way’s faster.” He veers off, holding a branch out of my way.

  I hesitate. I don’t know him. He wants me to follow him through some path where nobody will see us. He waits, watching me. Did he have something to do with Danielle’s death? If so, he’s the best actor I ever met, kicking butt in the role of Nice Guy.

  I dip under the branch. His smile erases all my doubt. I follow and sure enough, it’s a small shortcut through the woods, shaving off some time. Within a minute, we emerge close to the intersection of Hennepin and Lake. The area is flooded with cars and people out shopping and walking.

  I drop back without realizing it.

  I’m uncomfortable again and can’t figure out why. It’s because he’s Danielle’s boyfriend and even though I tell myself I’m hanging out with him to find out what happened to Danielle, there’s more to it than that. I just don’t want to admit that to myself.

  He stops in the path and waits for me to catch up. “It’s only about a block from here.”

  I don’t care how far it is. Guys never pay attention to me — only to girls like Danielle. Not me. Never me.

  He’s a homeless street punk! I tell myself. But he’s smart and he’s nice and right now I think he’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Out on the street, we pass the Lagoon Theater. The sun is hot. I feel a trickle of sweat dribble down the side of my face. Raven takes a quick left.

  The street has a few businesses — a bike shop and a thrift store — and ramshackle Victorian houses with big porches. For a second I think we are going to stop at one of the houses, but he turns down the driveway of a small squat concrete building — a bike shop. Near a Dumpster in the back of the parking lot, a small door leads into the back of the bike shop building.

  Raven jams his hands into his pockets again, looking past me as he speaks. “Maybe you should just wait here. I can run and get it.”

  He won’t look at me.

  “Why?” I feel brave saying it and stare at him until he meets my eyes. That’s why I came. I want to see if any trace of Danielle remains in his place. I feel like I’m accepting an unspoken dare — ask to go into my room with me. Like he is the spider, weaving his web. And I’m the fly.

  He shrugs and blows his bangs out of his eyes. “It’s probably not what you expect, I guess.” He’s embarrassed. It’s obvious.

  I let the words sink in for a second. “I don’t know what to expect.”

  Where are you from? Where are your parents? How old are you anyway? Do you know what happened to Danielle?

  The unspoken questions are eating at me, but I just stare at him until he meets my eyes. He makes a decision.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He pushes the door open. In the dim opening, I can see what looks like a messy teenager’s room. Clothes and junk everywhere. Before I get too much of a look, the door closes.

  I realize that I’m thankful he didn’t ask me in.

  A guy in ripped jeans comes out of the bike shop down the driveway and lights a cigarette. He stands there staring at me until the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight.

  After a minute, Raven emerges, blocking my view inside with his body as he pulls the door closed behind him. He glances down the driveway and nods at the guy smoking. He thrusts a book at me.

  “Here” He doesn’t say anything else. Suddenly it’s awkward. His eyes have grown distant.

  “Thanks.” I take the book, waiting. What happened to how excited and talkative he was a few minutes ago down by the lake?

  He pulls a cigarette out of a pack and with the flick of a wrist, lights a match and holds it to the tip of the cigarette dangling from his lips. He inhales deeply and tosses the match on the ground. His eyes narrow as he watches me. I’m feeling more awkward than ever. He exhales a big puff of smoke over my left shoulder.

  “You can find your own way, back, right?”

  He’s dismissing me. What did I do or say? All his earlier enthusiasm and openness is gone. A dull look covers his eyes. He wants me to leave.

  I shove the book in my bag and turn, walking away, feeling his eyes bore into my back. His sudden coldness hurts my feelings, which I know is ridiculous. I barely know the guy. Who cares what he thinks? Before I get to the end of the driveway, the guy who was smoking steps on his cigarette and slips into a side door.

  As I round the corner, I don’t dare chance a look back to see if Raven is watching.

  So many questions whirl through my mind. Does he want me to return the book? What caused him to become so cold so quickly? And then one last question, the most important one — that room that he won’t let me see — did Danielle go there with him?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “How was your first day of summer vacation?” My mother’s voice is overly chipper as she spoons some more mashed potatoes onto my plate. I know she spent the day
on Lake Minnetonka with Sam. Her nose is a bit sunburned and her hair is somewhat tangled, windswept. The straps of her bikini poke out of her slouchy T-shirt.

  “You didn’t have to come home just to make me dinner,” I know I sound sullen. She doesn’t deserve it.

  “I wanted to come home and shower and change before the party anyway,” she says.

  She’s going to a party with some friends of Sam’s from work. At some fancy lake house.

  “You sure you’ll be fine alone?”

  I nod and gesture at the Flannery O’Connor book on the table beside me. “I’m really looking forward to digging into this.”

  “Okay, well call me if you get bored. I think some people are bringing their teenagers. There’ll be a bonfire. You might have fun.”

  “Thanks.”

  She bustles away, clearing her dishes, but I can tell she’s relieved. Although it has only been one week since Danielle’s funeral, she seems to have relaxed, worrying about me less.

  For some inexplicable reason, I feel depressed by my encounter with that gutter punk boy today, but I’m trying very hard to hide it from my mother so she doesn’t worry. I know it’s absurd, but I feel rejected.

  At first, it seemed he liked me, the way boys have always liked Danielle. That is ridiculous, I tell myself. I take another bite of my dinner and go over every word we said to one another, every look he gave me.

  What went wrong?

  IT ONLY TAKES ME TWO hours to rip through the book Raven loaned me. My mom said if it got too late she was going to spend the night at Sam’s. She left Mrs. St. James’ phone number on the table even though she knows I already have it programmed into my phone.

  I flop on my bed in a long tee shirt and my underwear, dressed for bed, but I’m restless. I wish I were brave enough to call Curtis and see what he and his friends are doing. On the Monday after the party, he seemed hurt that I didn’t show. I told him I went to bed early. He grabbed my phone and punched in his number. “You are seventeen years old. You can sleep when you’re dead. Next time call me.”