“Gunnar,” I said, “what does this have to do with—?”
“I’d dreamed about that theremin for months. And I didn’t get it! I couldn’t afford to buy one myself, and it was forever until my birthday. I couldn’t bear the thought of wanting anything that bad for so long again. And what if I asked for it for my birthday and my parents got me a xylophone? I knew I wouldn’t have been able to handle that disappointment. So I made myself stop wanting that theremin. I willed myself to not want it. And I did.”
“No, you didn’t!” I said. “I see your face every time we hear a theremin in a movie or whatever.”
“Yes, I did!” Gunnar said firmly. “And it’s the same thing with my wanting a girlfriend. I don’t want to be disappointed by not getting the girl ever again. And now I won’t be.”
“Gunnar—”
But at that exact moment, a couple of kids barged into the camp store.
“We’ll talk about this later,” I said. It was time for me to get back to lifeguarding, anyway.
“There’s nothing to talk about!” Gunnar said. Then he turned his attention to the kids, who were already reaching for candy bars.
“You don’t want that,” I heard him say.
The good news was that none of my kids threw up that night. The bad news was that I almost did. Almost every one of my kids had some salve or ointment that he had to put on at night (even Julian had zit cream). Most of those ointments smelled strong enough by themselves. All together, it was like sleeping in a medicine chest. But I sure as hell couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t like it was these kids’ fault that they had to put on all those creams.
Still, I was plenty happy when the kids were finally all asleep and I could get out into the fresh night air. I knew the other counselors were gathering around the fire pit on the beach, so I went down to join them.
I saw Min sitting on one side of the campfire and I thought about sitting next to her, but I was still a little peeved by the way she’d acted the night before. So I decided to sit next to Otto instead. I’d seen him around, but I hadn’t really talked to him since he’d been my partner during counselor orientation.
“How’s it going?” I said, plunking down next to him.
“Oh!” he said. “Good! You want a marshmallow?” He and the other counselors were roasting them over the fire.
“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Here, you can use my stick.”
I took the stick, poked a marshmallow with it, and aimed it at the fire. The other counselors were having little conversations all around us, hut I couldn’t think of anything else to say to Otto.
“So what do you think so far?” he asked.
“Of camp?” I said. “Well, you didn’t tell me they’d keep us this busy.”
“It gets easier. The kids are just testing you.”
“I guess.”
“What?” he said.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t think I’m very good at this counselor thing.”
“Can I give you some advice?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure.”
“It’s just that I was watching you at lunch.” What in the world? Had the whole camp been watching me and my kids at lunch or what?
“I kind of think you’re letting them walk all over you,” Otto went on.
“I guess,” I said. “I just hate to yell at them.” I checked my marshmallow, but it wasn’t even singed. I was still too far from the fire, so I stuck my stick farther in.
“Why?” Otto asked.
“Why what?”
“Why do you hate to yell at ‘em?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Okay, so this was really awkward. I didn’t want to yell at them because they were burn survivors. But I didn’t want to say that to Otto, who was a burn survivor himself.
“It’s okay, you know. They won’t break.”
“What?” I said, fiddling with my stick. “You mean my kids?”
“Sure. Remember what Jean and Ryan said? Burn survivors just want to be treated like everyone else. Maybe your kids can tell that you’re nervous around them.”
“But—”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. Which told me Otto was right. I felt like I couldn’t come down on them. But just because you feel something, that doesn’t mean it’s right.
“So you think I should just go for it?” I said. “Be a real hard-ass?”
He laughed. “Within reason. You know, I think I’m the only kid in my whole school who loves it when teachers are hard on me. But I do, because then I know for a fact they aren’t giving me special treatment. That they see me, not just my scar.”
There was this kind of awkward silence. “So,” I said, “you like it up here .. . ?“ I’d been going to say with your own kind,” but I figured that sounded really stupid, especially given what he’d just said about people seeing beyond his scar. Fortunately, my abbreviated half sentence happened to sound like a complete sentence—like that’s what I’d been going to say all along.
“Oh, sure,” Otto said. “But I miss being home too.”
“Yeah? Friends?”
“And parents. You?”
“Well, my two best friends are here. So I don’t really miss anything.” On the contrary, I thought. It was a relief to be away from a hometown where everyone was whispering behind my back. I didn’t ever want to go back.
“No girlfriend?”
Girlfriend. Otto was asking me if I had a girlfriend. Which wasn’t any big deal. Except that fully answering that question meant telling him that I didn’t have a girlfriend and I didn’t want one. That I was gay.
“No,” I said. “No girlfriend.” I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell him the truth. It’s not like I was ashamed or anything. It’s just that one of the reasons I’d come to this camp was to get away from being The Gay Kid for a few weeks. If I told Otto the truth, he might keep it a secret if I asked him to. Then again, he might not. He might tell the whole camp—and then I’d be right back where I’d been during the school year.
“Your marshmallow,” Otto said.
“Huh?” I said.
“I think it’s on fire.”
I pulled my stick back from the campfire. Sure enough, the marshmallow was in flames. This time, I’d been too close to the fire.
“Here,” he said, reaching for the bag. “Have another one.”
“No,” I said, standing. “I want to make sure my kids are still all asleep.”
* * * * *
That night, before turning in, I stopped by the shower house to use the bathroom. I could hear water dripping in the room beyond the toilet area, like someone had taken a shower not long before.
I was washing my hands at the sink when a voice said, “I thought I heard someone out here.”
I turned.
It was Web. He was standing in the doorway to the showers. And of course, the only thing he was wearing was a thin white towel around his waist.
Let’s just say he had a great body. Broad shoulders, dark nipples, and just a little bit of dark hair on his upper chest and lean lower stomach. And it seems important to mention—and I’m fully aware that this might very well fall into the category of “too much information”—that there was a big bulge in the towel in the exact location of his you-know-what.
“Oh!” I said.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t!” The fact that my pulse was pounding so hard had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he’d appeared so suddenly.
“So,” he said casually. “What do you think?”
“Huh?” I said. I knew what I thought of his body, but that couldn’t possibly be what he was asking me, could it?
“Of camp,” he said. “You like it so far?”
“It’s okay, I guess. I’m having some problems with—”
Web’s hair and upper body were dripping wet, like I’d caught him right after he’d turned off the shower but before he’d had a chance to compl
etely dry off. And it was right in the middle of my sentence that he nonchalantly slipped the towel from his body and started towel-drying his face and hair.
I didn’t want to stare. The problem was, his face was completely covered by that towel, which meant I could look at his lower body with impunity. (Is that a word?) I admit it, the temptation was too great. His stomach was rippled, and the little trail of hair there led down to the deeper shadows below. And—again, I’m completely aware that this might be too much information!—”it” was even bigger than it had looked under the towel.
“What?” he said, completely innocently, from underneath the towel. “Problems with what?”
I turned away at last (even I have some ethics). “With my kids!” I said. “They’re kind of bratty. Well, good night!”
He pulled the towel off his head. “You’re going?”
“Yeah!” Moving backward, I bumped into a bathroom stall. Hard. It squeaked. Loudly. “Got to go check on my kids!” I couldn’t believe I’d used the same lame excuse twice in one night.
“Okay,” he said, turning toward the showers again and giving me a glimpse of the eighth Wonder of the World that was his perfectly rounded ass. “Good night.”
“‘Night!” I said as I turned, fleeing out into it.
Chapter Five
For the all-camp activity the following day, we went on a hike. Or rather, we went on ten separate hikes—a different one led by each of the camp’s ten teenage counselors. We were all going in the same direction on the same trail—to the top of nearby Baldy Mountain, where we were supposed to meet for snacks. But that was all we had in common. Some of the counselors (mostly the guys) had turned it into a race, seeing which cabin could get to the top of the hill fastest; other counselors (mostly the girls) had turned it into a nature walk, identifying native plants to their campers and pointing out interesting land features along the way.
And then there was me, who was doing everything he could just to keep his kids moving in a forward direction.
First, we stopped to look at a snake swallowing a slug. Once someone had pointed it out, the kids all had to gather around it for a closer look.
“Okay,” I said. “That’s real interesting, but it’s time to push on, okay?”
We did push on eventually, but not before the slug had completely disappeared into the snake’s mouth.
A few minutes later, we stopped again when Willy spotted animal droppings alongside the trail.
“All right, all right,” I said, noting to myself that even the girl cabins were quickly passing us by. “Let’s keep moving, okay?”
We kept moving, but not because of what I’d said. No, it was because animal droppings are basically pretty boring.
Finally, we came to a flat wooden bridge built over a little pond.
“Cool!” Ian said, ignoring the bridge and heading down to the edge of the pond. This wouldn’t have been a problem if we hadn’t already stopped for the snake, the animal droppings, and everything else under the sun. When it came to the order of the various cabins hiking up the trail, we were now officially last.
“Wait a minute,” I said. ‘Let’s not stop again, okay?”
Ian looked back at me. “We’re on a nature hike, right?” he said.
“Well, yeah, I guess,” I said. “But—”
“And this pond is nature, right?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Then we can look at it.” The other kids found his logic impeccable. (Is that a word?) So they all joined him at the edge of the pond.
“Hey!” Julian said. “Water skippers!”
Only now did I remember what Otto had told me the day before about treating my kids like any other kids. Just because they were burn survivors, I didn’t have to put up with this crap.
“Okay, that’s it!” I said. “It’s time to go! I want everyone back on the trail right now!”
Ian glared at me. “Or what?” he said.
“What?” I said, taken aback.
“What are you going to do if we don’t get back on the trail?”
I had to think about that. Mr. Whittle had given us counselors a couple of different disciplinary options: KP duty, or docking the kids some privilege, like s’mores around the campfire.
“I’ll ...,“ I started to say, but it was too late. I’d hesitated. They say that he who hesitates is lost, and they’re right. I’d hesitated. Ergo, I was lost. (I know “ergo” is a word! It means “therefore.”)
Ian turned toward the undergrowth. “I hear a stream,” he said. He was speaking to his cabin mates like I didn’t even exist. “Let’s go check it out.”
“No!” I said. “Don’t go in there!”
But they were following Ian now, not me. I’d already used up all my ammunition—and I’d been firing blanks to begin with. So the kids followed Ian into the woods—even Trevor, who at least had the good grace to glance back at me guiltily before heading off into the woods.
“That’s it!” I called after them. “No s’mores tonight!” In my defense, even as I said this I could hear how stupid it sounded.
Oh, boy, was I bad at this camp counselor thing or what?
“Fine,” I said to myself, following after them. I couldn’t very well have them walking into quicksand. (Or could I? It would sure solve a lot of my problems.)
But a mere ten yards from the trail, I noticed something about the undergrowth in front of me.
“Stop!” I shouted. “No one move!”
There must have been something in the urgency of my voice because—wonder of wonders—the kids actually stopped.
“Poison oak,” I said. “It’s all around you.” Sure enough, there was even some of it growing between me and the kids.
“Poison what?” one of the kids said.
“It’s really nasty stuff. It’s got this oil on its leaves. If it touches your skin, you’ll get a rash, and probably blisters. It really itches, and it takes forever to heal. And it doesn’t even have to touch your skin. If it touches your clothes and then you touch them, the same thing happens.”
I hadn’t seen any poison oak around the camp grounds, which I guess is why Mr. Whittle hadn’t issued any warnings. But had none of my kids ever seen the plant before? That seemed weird. Then I remembered that since this was a session for burn survivors, they’d come from all over the country. They must have all come from places where the plant never grew. (Had none of them ever even seen an oak tree? Because—duh!—poison oak looks a lot like oak. I think it was safe to say at this point that my cabin would not be winning the Camp Botany Award.)
When I was finished talking, the kids all looked at each other—and at Ian.
“Ignore him,” he said. “He’s lying.”
“Fine,” I said, like I couldn’t have cared less (which was true). “When you guys get all covered with oozing blisters and spend the next four weeks going crazy trying not to scratch, don’t come crying to me. Man, I just hope none of you already touched the stuff”
Nobody said anything. But they didn’t move either. They just eyed the undergrowth around them like they were surrounded by hidden monsters, which I guess they kind of were.
And suddenly, I had a thought. I finally knew what Otto had been trying to tell me the night before. Burn survivors just wanted to be treated like any other kids? Well, I knew how I would treat any other kids in this exact same situation.
I started to turn away.
“Wait!” Blake said. “Where are you going?” There was actually a little fear in his voice.
“I’m getting the hell out of here,” I said. “You guys sounded like you didn’t want my help.”
“Ian said that!” Blake said. “I didn’t say that!”
I turned back to face the kids. I had their attention now, that’s for sure. Even Ian was looking at me (while trying not to).
“You want my help?” I said.
Seven kids nodded emphatically.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll show you wh
at poison oak looks like. And I’ll help you get back to the trail.” I paused for just the right amount of time. “But only on one condition.”
“What condition?” Ian said disdainfully. The kid had spunk, I had to give him that.
“Look,” I said. “What’s going on here is bullshit, and you guys all know it. I’m your counselor, and you’re just a bunch of ten-year-old kids. You want my help? You guys have to promise to do what I say for the rest of this session. I won’t be a jerk, and you can still have fun. But when I say something is important, you have to listen. If so, I’ll lead you out of the poison oak. If not , you’re on your own.”
“You wouldn’t really leave us here!” Kwame said.
I laughed out loud. “You’re kidding, right? Why wouldn’t I leave you here? Serve you right, after the way you’ve been treating me.”
I don’t know if it was the tone of my voice or what. It might have been the laugh. But right then and there, I could have led those kids right off the Empire State Building. And they would have followed.
“He’s bluffing,” Ian said.
“Whatever,” I said, turning for the trail again.
“Wait!” Trevor said, taking a step forward. “Take me with you!”
I shook my head. “Nope. All of you or none of you. You all chose to disobey me back there on the trail, so unless you all agree to listen to me now, you’ll all suffer the consequences.” I gave them a second to think over my terms. Then I said, “Well? What’s your decision?”
Seven kids immediately vowed their undying obedience to me forever and ever.
I stared at the lone holdout. “Ian?”
“I still say you’re bluffing,” he said, but now he was the one who sounded pathetic, not me. “But okay,” he added with a mumble.
“Okay what?” I said. “Say it.” Yeah, I was rubbing it in. But it was Ian, so I figured I needed to have him spell it out.
“I’ll do what you say until the end of the session!” he said, almost shouting.
“Good,” I said quietly. And with that, I showed them what poison oak looks like, then turned and led them all to safety.
* * * * *
The Order of the Poison Oak Page 4