“When?”
“Sunday.”
“Why not Saturday?”
“Calculus test next week. I need to study.”
She tilted her head. A strand of hair caught in her eyelashes. “Hmm.”
Jeff flexed his jaw and looked away.
Maya leaned over and waggled her eyebrows. “It’s so you can focus on studying, isn’t it? Because he’s so hot. And you picked hiking so you don’t get up close and pop a—”
“I like hiking,” he snapped. His face burned, like his blood was gasoline and her words a match. “You know that.”
She raised her hands in mock self-defense. “Sorry, Señor Dickmunch.”
“Shut up.”
Her expression sobered. “But seriously, be careful.”
Two of his fingers ached. Jeff winced and massaged them, trying to bat away the memory with a flippant attitude. “About what?”
“Just … be careful.” She looked over both shoulders and lowered her voice. “If the wrong people find out you’re into dudes…”
The red blood of the military town. Jeff looked down at his feet. His voice flattened. “If I don’t do anything, they won’t find out. And I won’t do anything, because the only one even remotely interesting is straighter than a vaulting pole.”
She gave him an odd look. “They bend under pressure.”
He waved that off. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m just saying, there are straighter things. Flagpoles. Light posts. Chalkboards.”
“Braeden.”
“Says you.”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “What do you call, as he put it, cycling through girls?”
Maya pressed her finger against her lips, thoughtful. “Eager?”
He snorted.
Looping an arm through his, she said, “That’s an added bonus to him graduating, you know. If you did date, you could do it outside of school and no one would know.”
“Convenient.”
“And safe,” she said softly. “You promise you’ll be careful?”
Something in her voice struck a chord deep inside. Jeff rested his head against hers, something he hadn’t done since they were kids. Her muscles tightened in surprise, and then relaxed. “Nothing’s going to happen,” he said.
“But if it does?”
“I’ll be careful. I promise.”
She grabbed his hand and squeezed.
They watched rain splatter the windows in fat yet lazy drops, waiting, silent in their mutual contemplation.
Chapter Five
Sunday arrived far too quickly for Jeff’s comfort. He’d almost hoped the rain would return, but the day was bright, sunny, and cool. He ate his breakfast mechanically while his mother sat at the other end of the table, sipping coffee and cream while she typed on an outdated, clunky laptop. An e-mail to Dad, no doubt.
“Is there anything you want me to say to him?” she asked.
Jeff didn’t look up from his cereal. “The usual.”
She smiled. He knew what she’d write. Our lil’ Jeffy loves you and misses you very much. Still getting straight A’s, just like his father! He hopes you’re as proud of him as he is of you. Not the words he would have chosen, but then, the e-mails his father wrote back were more verbose than the man in person. Something changed people when it came to the written word. Like with Braeden. Jeff found it easier to talk behind a screen than in person. It was like wearing a mask with only the eyeholes cut out—people see you, but they don’t see you.
After he rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the washer, Jeff turned to his mother and cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, going on a hike today.”
Click-click-clack. A pregnant pause. Click-clack-click-tap-tap. “Where?”
“Copperfield Park.”
She stopped and peered over the screen. “With Maya?”
He shrugged.
After a long moment, she nodded. “Will you be back in time for dinner?”
“Yeah.” He rifled through one of the cabinets for a reusable water bottle and filled it at the sink. “Mind if I take some snacks?”
“Your hiking food is in the pantry.”
He nodded, snagged a few oatmeal bars from the upper shelf, and stuffed them into the baggy pockets by his knees. It was cold for shorts, but the hike would warm him up. “Later, then.”
“Have fun.”
Or not. Because I can’t get too close. This needs to be strictly research.
His walk to the park took nearly an hour. He passed Braeden’s neighborhood on the way. A quick scan didn’t reveal him, and Jeff wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Perhaps the former. It gave him more time to think of questions to ask. The article needed something nicer, according to Maya, so he needed to focus on Braeden’s positive aspects. His golden track record. His kindness. Things that weren’t strictly superficial.
Jeff wasn’t sure it was possible for him to pull off.
The entrance to Copperfield Park was a paved trail surrounded by fir trees. Their springy needles littered the grass. Someone had come through and blown the needles off the main walkway. Three minutes in, the trees spaced out and opened into a playground. It was refreshing, contained yet untamed, relying only on the dirt and grass that had grown there naturally; no rocks or splintery wood chips to break a child’s fall. An old swing set with chain ropes was filled with children. Only two were swinging; the other three stood on the plastic seats and twisted this way and that, laughing even as the chains caught strands of their hair. A mother helped her whimpering toddler down the metallic slide. A plastic seesaw had three kids on it, two hopping and one trying to balance in the middle. It was loud and rowdy and full of high-pitched squeals. It was a place that had made Jeff uncomfortable when he was their age, and that had never changed.
He found a picnic bench unoccupied by parents or tweens and sat down. Braeden was nowhere to be seen. Not a surprise. Jeff was early by ten minutes.
The parents bothered him. Not the mother with her toddler, not the father watching his twin daughters smack each other with foam swords, but the ones who idled on the benches, cell phones glued to their ears or eyes. He didn’t know precisely why it bothered him. He didn’t care for kids. But something about a parent who didn’t watch their child rubbed him the wrong way. His parents had never done that. If anything, they’d kept too close an eye on him, were too quick to intervene when something went wrong.
No wonder I suck at making friends.
It wasn’t an angry thought, just one that made sense. An inevitable conclusion to the presented equation.
A large hand clapped him on the back.
Jeff was so startled he nearly fell off the bench. He stood and looked up.
Braeden grinned. “Yo.”
He was alone.
Jeff relaxed. “Hey.”
“Kind of surprised you showed up, to be honest.”
Jeff shrugged. “I like a good hike.” He nodded toward a thicket of trees, opposite the way he’d come in. “It’s this way. It gets rough, though.”
Braeden turned and pointed to the small backpack on his shoulders. “I got water and snacks.”
“Smart.” Jeff clutched his own bottle, his nails digging into the foamy grip, and headed for the trail.
Braeden’s heavy footsteps sounded behind him, and then beside him.
The hiking trail was very different from the paved walkway. The way was clear, but with dirt instead of cement. Though Jeff didn’t see anyone else, the lack of grass and weeds spoke to the trail’s frequent use. There were muddy spots from the recent rainfall, which Jeff didn’t bother to avoid. Hiking boots were made for getting dirty.
Their walk was easy for the first half hour, and then they started facing steeper and steeper inclines. Out here, the fir trees gave way to maple, cottonwood, yew, sycamore, and even the occasional giant sequoia. The smells here were muskier, fresher, dirtier. Thickets of blackberry bushes grew on either side of the trail, with tiny, bitter green berr
ies beginning to pop out.
“It’s nice,” said Braeden.
“Yeah.”
“I usually don’t get this far back.”
Jeff nodded.
“Most of my girlfriends didn’t like hiking. We’d get about twenty minutes in and then just … well. You know.”
Jeff grimaced. “Not really.”
Braeden sounded surprised. “No?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Jeff scoffed. “Because I don’t ‘cycle through’ girls.”
Braeden chuckled. “Fair enough. I’m sure you could, though.”
“Not interested.”
“In girls?”
Jeff could have kicked himself. Through his teeth, he said, “In fleeting relationships. They’re distracting.”
“Got to keep that GPA up.”
“I’m going to make valedictorian next year.”
Braeden cocked his head. “No shit?”
Jeff stomped on a stray blackberry vine before its thorns could snag his flesh. “I’ve been top of the class every year so far. If I still am this year, my odds are good.”
“You taking AP classes?”
“Every one I can.” Jeff glanced up at him. A single bead of sweat was working its way down Braeden’s temple, clearing a path toward his neck.
Sexy.
He could have kicked himself again. Since when had that word made its way into his vocabulary?
“No wonder Brenda wanted you to tutor her.”
Jeff chewed the inside of his cheek. “She said she didn’t actually need my help. That she just wanted to get close to me.” Above their heads, a couple birds twittered and flew off. Jeff watched them go. They were tiny, gray, with black feathers creating tiger-like stripes. Pine siskins.
Braeden laughed. A luscious, happy sound that gave Jeff goose bumps. “It was a little bit of both. She’s not failing, but Mom wasn’t happy she was making a B-minus.”
“B-minus isn’t bad.”
“It is when you’re an A student, right?”
Jeff looked over to where a squirrel flitted its way up a tree. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had even an A-minus.”
“So wouldn’t it crush you if you did get one?”
“I wouldn’t.”
Braeden shook his head. “You’re not good at hypotheticals, are you?”
Jeff felt his voice flatten. As with Brenda, he began to feel detached from the moment. “I am, when they’re reasonable. I’m just not stupid.”
And that, he realized an instant too late, had been the wrong thing to say.
He stopped, groaned, and turned to Braeden. His eyes came chest-height to his senior classmate—and Braeden was sweating, just like him, only unlike him, the sweat made his shirt cling tight, and all Jeff could see were the lines shaping his pectorals.
He closed his eyes—though it only seared the sight into his brain—and sighed. “I didn’t mean that.”
Braeden watched him carefully. “Yeah, you did.”
Jeff said nothing.
A faint smile tugged Braeden’s lips. “Brenda’s right. You’re kind of an asshole.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
“You could try being nicer. I know she has her moments, but she is my sister.”
Jeff felt the arguments well up. That it wasn’t his problem. That, lest Braeden forget, his sister had punched Jeff over next to nothing. He knew he couldn’t say those things, though, and struggled to come up with something else.
What came out was, “My article was about you.”
Braeden blinked.
Oh, God, those eyes… Green as the fresh blades of grass sprouting on the sides of the trail. Like a chrysalis encasing a caterpillar, transforming it into something more brilliant and delicate. Jeff locked his knees before they could weaken any further.
“About me,” repeated Braeden, slowly.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Jeff turned away, embarrassed. “I heard you guys saying you needed a big story. I thought the goose attack was a good opportunity.”
Braeden’s face lit up. “No shit? Can I read it?”
“I—no.” Damn it, had he just stuttered? Jeff pivoted and kept climbing the trail. His boots felt heavier than normal, kicking small rocks about when he couldn’t get his toes off the ground. “I tore it up.”
“Why?”
Jeff scratched behind his ear. “Public feedback said it was too mean.”
“I don’t mind.”
Just like Maya had said. Jeff shook his head. “Not just about you. About the school. Everyone in it.” Maybe even myself. Because I’m an asshole.
Braeden appeared to contemplate that for a while. The steep hill leveled out for a while, winding around some trees. They crossed a broad path where one side molded an edge that dropped down into a ravine. A whooshing sounded in the distance—the highway. Jeff had seen cars sit in this ravine for months before, terrible accidents where the people were recovered and the cars abandoned until the city finally picked up the towing tab.
“Give me an example.”
A root sprouted from the ground, into their path. Jeff carefully stepped over it. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Probably not. But I’m curious.”
The words from the draft he’d written up scrawled through Jeff’s thoughts. He quoted, “Though the Hogs want to be known as fearsome, they stood by, inert and spineless as jellyfish, while the goose tore skin from Braeden Britely’s fingers.”
Braeden remained quiet.
Perhaps this was best. Perhaps the only way to kill what could never function was to obliterate it from the inside. “Girls flocked to Braeden Britely’s side. You could practically see their legs parting as they checked him for wounds he clearly didn’t have. All the while, the jellyfish prodded the dead goose, perhaps fulfilling morbid desires they could otherwise never achieve.”
Behind him, Braeden’s breathing began to change.
Jeff stopped. He eyed the track star, who looked a little winded. “Need a break?” he asked.
Braeden shook his head. “Not yet.”
“I’m surprised you’re out of breath.”
A dry spark lit behind his gaze. “Sprinting is my specialty. Different use of the lungs and legs.”
Jeff nodded, not quite able to look into those eyes again. Green as envy. He took a swig from his water bottle. He noticed a long log and, despite Braeden’s protest that he could keep going, sat down. The log was sturdy, like it had been chopped down or fallen recently. Not rotting, not yet. An ant crawled up his leg, between the blond hairs. He swatted it off and tore open one of the oatmeal bars.
Braeden sat as well, a good foot away from him. “You weren’t kidding. That was brutal.”
“That was just an excerpt.” Emotionless. Flat. Uncaring. Jeff hated how his voice sounded.
“Even if we’d wanted to, we couldn’t have printed it. The principal would have had a field day with it. You could have been suspended.”
Jeff stuffed the wrapper into an empty pocket. “In college, it’d be seen as free speech.”
“To a degree. You probably still could have gotten in trouble.”
“Maybe.”
Braeden shrugged off his backpack. He took out a plastic water bottle. Plastic, thought Jeff. Non-biodegradable. Expensive.
Braeden drained the bottle’s contents then put it back in the backpack. He folded his hands beneath his chin, almost as though he was criticizing the woods before them. A sweet scent wafted with the breeze. Blackberries, Jeff knew, riper than the ones down the path.
“Why?” asked Braeden.
Jeff rubbed his mouth. “Why what?” he said into his palm.
“Why write it like that?”
This was why it had been stupid to mention the article. Jeff already knew he didn’t want to answer that. “It was funny.”
He expected Braeden to scold him. Instead, Braeden raised an eyebrow. “Was?”
Was that Braeden’s warmth on his arm? How could body heat travel so far? Jeff stood and walked a few paces away, desperate to put distance between them, like doing so would stop the one-sided tension from sparking into flame. If it did … he didn’t know what he’d do. Something impulsive. Something stupid. Something utterly unlike him.
“I took another look after I showed Ma—my friend.” His palms were hot and dry. Jeff rubbed them on his shorts. “She was right. It was mean-spirited.”
Braeden nodded.
“I want to rewrite it.”
Braeden nodded again. “Still about the goose?”
“I don’t know,” said Jeff.
“Still about me?”
“I don’t know,” he repeated, even as his insides writhed and shrieked and shouted, Yes!
As he stood, Braeden slung his backpack over his shoulders again. “Why not challenge yourself?”
Jeff frowned. “If I start something new, I won’t make the deadline.”
“So don’t,” said Braeden. “You got enough stories published this year to pass, right?”
“I already have an A-plus.”
“Okay, so that’s not the concern.” Braeden started on the trail again. Bemused, Jeff followed suit. Since this was his territory, and his legs were used to the climb, he caught up with relative ease. That, or Braeden had slowed down for him. Jeff wasn’t about to poke at which one it was. “Challenge yourself. Write something you never thought you could.”
Jeff shot him a look. “Something nice, you mean.”
Braeden smiled, revealing his crooked bottom teeth. Jeff’s pulse throbbed in his ears. “If that’s a challenge, then yeah.”
Jeff nodded and watched his feet. They were small compared to Braeden’s, yet large for his size, almost clownish. It had never bothered him before, but somehow, now, it did. “It is.”
“So think of your own flaws. For comparison. So you know how it feels to have those things written about you.”
Jeff snorted.
“Seriously. You have some shortcomings.”
“I know. I’m short.”
“You’re practically blind without your glasses. I can tell just by looking at them.” Braeden gave him a meaningful look. “Your nose is off-center, probably why you can’t get those to sit right all the time. You’re rude, mean, bordering on cruel, and you made my sister cry. You were such an asshole that she punched you. You ignore people when they’re talking to you.”
Burning Britely Page 5