by K. A. Tucker
And two: that it’s not just me.
My pulse begins to race as I reach out to trail my fingertips over his forearm. “No, that’s definitely not it. I was just trying to avoid getting grilled by Christa.” I add, more to myself, “Which I failed at spectacularly.”
His hand slips around to smooth over the small of my back, ever so quickly, before falling to his side. “What did she say?”
My eyes drift to the pavilion, to Cabin Nine’s candy-floss-pink picnic table. Christa stands over the campers, hands on hips, evaluating their plates to decide if they’ve eaten enough. She said a lot last night, but what was most unsettling, what I haven’t been able to gain more information about yet, is what we ended with. “That you lied about that robbery.”
“What?” He smirks, and his gaze flips to her. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
It’s more calculating than curious, I realize, studying him closely, his brow pinched with wariness.
He’s wondering what she knows.
Which means there’s something to know.
I watch him as I say, “She also told me to ask you about your father.”
He can’t hide his reaction fast enough—the way his smirk falls and panic flashes in his eyes—before smoothing his expression.
“What did she mean?” I ask as casually as I can.
His jaw hardens with tension as he stares at Christa from across the way. She must sense it because she glances over at us, her own eyes narrowing on him in a quiet challenge before she averts her gaze.
“What else did she say?” he asks quietly.
I toy with the idea of playing dumb but decide against it. Kyle’s too smart for that and I doubt he’d appreciate it coming from me. “That she’s the only one here who knows the truth about you.”
His shoulders sink.
An unsettling feeling begins to take over. “All right, I’m officially starting to freak out. What’s going on? Did you do something?”
“No, I didn’t do anything. It’s just . . .” He shakes his head and sighs again. “It’s my family.”
“What about them?”
“They’re . . .” His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “They’re not like yours. Or anyone else’s here, I’m guessing.” Kids are beginning to get up and carry their dirty dishes to the nearby trolleys. Soon they’ll come charging out. “Look, can we talk about this later?”
“I guess. As long as you tell me what’s going on.” Because now that the questions are out there, not having the answers will drive me insane.
He sighs. “Meet me on the path tonight. I’ll tell you everything.” There’s no missing the resignation in his voice.
I watch him trudge away toward his kids, his head hanging.
What could be so wrong with his family?
I don’t bother trying to sneak out this time.
Seven minutes after lights-out, when the last girl has drifted off, I slip down the ladder and pull on my sweatshirt.
Christa’s flashlight is shining on her open book, but I feel her gaze on me.
“I’m going to talk to him,” I whisper, and walk out, pulling the door shut behind me.
She doesn’t stop me.
I rush along the path, my arms curled around my weary body. The camp is eerily quiet at night, the spruce and hemlock trees casting ominous shadows against the property’s lights.
Kyle is waiting where he said he would be, leaning against a tree, a cigarette burning between his fingers. “Hey.”
Butterflies stir in my stomach. I’m feeling oddly shy all of a sudden. “Hey.”
I expect him to pull me into him and lay a teasing kiss on my lips, but he hangs back. “Did Christa give you problems again?”
“No.”
“Good. Come on.” He nods to his left and I notice the golf cart.
“I thought we weren’t allowed to use those after lights-out.”
“You want to walk all the way up there?” He points toward the dark, wooded path.
I shake my head and slide in. “Is there any rule you actually do follow at Wawa?”
“Uh . . .” He appears to be thinking hard. “Let me get back to you on that. I can’t think of any at the moment.”
I laugh as we take off, rounding the same winding path through the trees, the only light provided by the dull headlights. The trip to the cliff isn’t nearly as long as it seemed the first time. We’re parking and climbing out in minutes. Kyle uses one of the camp’s battery-operated lanterns to guide us up the narrow footpath, until we reach the same large rock from our last time here. He sets the lantern on a higher crop of stone, allowing it to bathe the area in dim light.
It’s eerily quiet here at night. I much prefer the daytime, I decide. Though I’d sit here in a torrential downpour if it meant being with Kyle.
He slides another cigarette into his mouth.
“You know smoking is bad for you, right?”
“So I’ve been told.” I catch his smirk in the flash of his lighter as he lights the end.
“No cliff jumping tonight?”
“You wanna go?” he asks through a puff, his intense gaze on me. “We can go.”
I take in the inky sky, the moonlight dappled through the clouds. As terrifying as it was in the daylight, I doubt I could dig up the nerve to leap into the darkness. “Did you actually jump last night?”
“Nah. Wasn’t much in the mood.”
Because he was waiting for me. Because he thought I’d ditched him.
Awkward silence falls over us, this wedge that Christa managed to slide between us effective.
“So . . .” Where to start this conversation, so I can put my mind and nerves to rest? “Your dad’s a government spy. Is that it?”
He chuckles softly. “That’d be cool.”
“Assassin?”
“That’d be even cooler.”
My thoughts have been lingering on this all day, as I tried to work out what would make Kyle’s smile fall so fast when I mentioned his father. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.
“Is he alive?”
“Yeah.” He adds more quietly, “Unfortunately.”
There’s only one other thing I can think of, one thing that might make Kyle ashamed to tell me.
I swallow. “In prison?”
The long stretch of silence answers me.
I reach for him, setting my hand on his forearm. “Whatever. It’s not a big deal.”
“Right.” He chuckles darkly. “Would you say that if your father were in an orange jumpsuit right now?”
That gives me pause. First, I can’t imagine my father behind bars. Has he ever done anything to deserve to be? No, I can’t imagine so. He’s always going on and on about principles and morality.
“So, what’s your father in for?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah. I mean, my dad’s friend got nailed for fudging financials at his company to get more money from the bank. It was dishonest, and of course no one will go into business with him now, but I still see him around sometimes. People still talk to him.” Not my father, mind you, but I don’t need to share that part. “And people end up in jail for causing car accidents that kill people. It’s horrible, but it’s not the same as someone who, like, killed ten people and ate their organs. I mean, that’d be bad.”
“Yeah, about that . . .” Kyle is silent. For too long.
“Oh my God.” My stomach falls.
“I’m kidding.” He reaches out to squeeze my thigh. “Seriously, I’m kidding.”
I give his side a gentle elbow, but groan with relief. “So then, what’s he in for?”
“Let’s see.” He takes a long puff of his cigarette. “He stole a bunch of equipment from the construction company he worked for and resold it. Mainly tools.”
“That’s not the worst. I mean, no one got hurt, right?”
“I’m sure they had insurance,” he agrees. “But it was that scam where he robbed a bunch of senior citizens
of their life savings that really seemed to piss the judge off.”
I cringe before I can help it. “He robbed old people? But, that’s just . . .”
“Up there with stealing medication from sick children. Don’t worry, you can say it.” Kyle kicks at a loose stone. “My dad is a lowlife.”
I try to imagine the kind of man who would do that—what he looks like, how he talks, what you’d see when you look into his eyes—and I come up empty. I’ve never knowingly met someone that vile. “When did this happen?” I ask quietly.
“Seven years ago. I was ten. It was the last time I came here. Couldn’t afford it after that.”
Ashley did say that he and his brother stopped coming. I guess I know the reason why now.
Kyle has burned through one cigarette already. He lights another. “We were living in Albany at the time. My mom was working at IHOP. She got fired because the owner figured she must have known what my dad was doing. He said he couldn’t trust her.”
“Did she? Know, I mean.”
“She’s never admitted to it, but she definitely had to know he was doing something shady. I remember this one day he came home on a Saturday night with this fat wad of cash. She had a big coffee can where she stuffed it in, then put it in the cupboard above the fridge. I asked her why she didn’t just put it in the bank. She laughed and said sometimes you have to hide your money. So yeah, I’d say she knew. But did she know he was stealing from old people?” He shrugs. “She acted all horrified when news started spreading, but I’m thinking it might have been an act. She visits him.” He studies a cut on his index finger. “She finally stopped trying to make me go, though.”
I don’t know what to say so I say nothing, and instead smooth a tentative hand over his back. His tension practically vibrates beneath my palm. He really must not like talking about this.
“Before my dad got busted, things were okay. After, though, everything turned to shit. We got kicked out of our house a few months later, for not paying rent. We moved to Poughkeepsie, ’cause that’s where my mom grew up and it’s actually closer to Fishkill, where my dad’s at. We stayed with my grandparents in their tiny bungalow for a few months until my mom landed a job working reception at a tire shop. Now we’re in this apartment, above a Seven-Eleven. You know, in one of those strip malls.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He chuckles softly. “About living above a Seven-Eleven?”
“No! I mean yes, but about everything.”
“Yeah. It sucks. That’s why I like coming to Wawa. It’s peaceful here. I can be someone different. Someone who doesn’t have half their family in prison.”
I frown. “Half?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot the best part, didn’t I?” His gaze wanders out to the black skies. “My two older brothers are in jail for trying to rob a fucking bank.”
My mouth drops open in shock. I’m thankful for the darkness. “Are you . . . is that for real?” Or am I unwittingly playing another round of two truths and a lie?
“Look it up. Poughkeepsie Journal. They did a nice, big front-page spread with the three of them pictured side-by-side. It’s titled ‘Criminal Gene Runs in Family.’ ” He swipes a hand through the air in front of him dramatically; his voice is thick with bitterness.
He’d only mentioned a little brother before. “But I thought you said—”
“Yeah, I lied. I’m sorry. I’ve got three brothers. I just like to pretend that two of them don’t exist.” He butts the rest of his cigarette out against the rock.
“So that story about being in an armed robbery the first night—”
“Was true. I was in an armed robbery. I just left out a few key details. Like, the part where my two idiot brothers told me to stay in the car while they went inside to take care of some bills and how I didn’t listen. Big surprise, right? But it was January and it was cold, and the heat in that car barely works, so I said fuck it and I went inside, and found the two of them with pantyhose over their heads, pointing guns at the tellers. I knew it was them right away by their voices. It was surreal . . .” He shakes his head slowly, as if replaying it in his mind. “They started yelling at me for not listening. Apparently they needed me to wait in the car so I could drive it away when they came running out.” He snorts. “Then they yelled at me to watch the security guard to make sure he didn’t do anything funny. The poor guy was sixty-seven years old and they’d taken his gun from him as soon as they came in. He wasn’t gonna do anything.
“I told them to get the hell out of there before they got themselves into more trouble. They wouldn’t listen . . .” They wouldn’t listen. “I don’t know what their plan was, but it went to shit, fast. Someone triggered the alarm for the cops and the place was surrounded in no time. They surrendered.”
“Oh my God! That’s insane, Kyle!”
He studies the ground. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.”
I try to picture Rhett standing in front of a teller with a gun in his hand—or something equally crazy—but I can’t. “What was going through your head during all this? Were you scared that they’d hurt someone? I mean, they’re your brothers.”
“Honestly?” His chuckle is low and sounds sheepish. “I remember wondering where they got those pantyhose from. Like, if they went out and bought them or took them from our mother’s dresser.”
I burst out laughing, and he joins in, releasing some of the tension in the air around us.
“So, what happened after?”
“The cops figured I was in on it, so they arrested me. That’s when I got scared. I thought I’d end up in jail, too. But they dropped the charges after they reviewed the security tapes and witness statements.”
“And your brothers?”
“They just got sentenced a few weeks ago. Nine years. They’ll be getting out around the same time as my dad. Max will be thirty, Ricky will be thirty-two.”
“Just think, if you hadn’t gone in when you did, you would have driven the car away.” If they’d been caught, Kyle would be an accessory to an armed robbery. He would have ended up in jail, too, or juvenile detention, given his age.
I wouldn’t be sitting here with him right now.
A sigh of relief runs through me.
“So now you know why I pretend they don’t exist,” he mutters wryly.
Even Rhett seems like a saint right now, despite the havoc he has caused in our family. “Did they at least apologize?”
He shrugs. “In their own way. But they really fucked up things for Jeremy and me. Now every time there’s a theft around school or the neighborhood, fingers are automatically pointed our way. We’ve even had the cops come by our apartment saying that so-and-so saw one of us in the area at the time. Thankfully we had proof that we weren’t. Not sure what’s going to happen the next time, when we don’t.” He sighs. “So, now you know the kind of lowlife trash I am, Piper. We’re that family. Every town has one of them. The ones you can’t trust, that you know it’s only a matter of time before they pull some shady shit.”
“You’re not like your father or your brothers, though,” I rush to argue.
He laughs, but there’s no mirth in the sound. “How do you know I’m not?”
“I just do,” I say with conviction, shoving away that tiny voice in the back of my head that wonders if I could be wrong.
His hard swallow carries in the quiet night as he fumbles with his cigarette pack, pulling another one out. He brings it to his lips but simply holds it there, unlit. “I found a dead cockroach in the box of Cheerios, the morning that I left to come here. I’ll bet you could never say that.”
I turn away to hide my cringe. I’ve never even seen a cockroach, alive or otherwise.
He casts his free hand toward the ground. “I’m wearing these shitty running shoes because I can’t afford new ones until I get paid. My bumper is being held up by duct tape. And the best thing about coming to camp? I’m not eating peanut butter sandwiches and ramen noodles five days a week.” Finally
he gives in and lights the cigarette. His third.
I wish I knew what to say to comfort him, but I haven’t the first clue. He speaks about a world I am entirely unfamiliar with, and it’s not what my mother deems “normal” life.
It’s being outright poor.
I swallow my pity, because I know he doesn’t want it. “Does anyone else here know about your family?” Ashley doesn’t, or she would have said something. Does Avery?
He shakes his head, his gaze off in the dark distance. “I didn’t even tell Eric. It was nice, you know. No one knowing anything about me. I liked it that way.”
And now I know something big.
“I won’t say a word to anyone. I promise.”
He examines the end of the burning cigarette perched between his fingers. “Doesn’t really matter anymore, now that Christa knows. She doesn’t live too far away from me. She must have seen that news article and put two and two together.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about her. She didn’t even want to tell me. She actually held back.”
“Wow. Christa holding back her opinion. That’s a first.” His voice drips with sarcasm.
I feel a twinge of guilt. “She covered for me last night, too. With Darian.” Though the bat fiasco wouldn’t have happened in the first place had she not tried to stop me.
His lips twist in thought and when he speaks again, his tone is much softer. “She must really like you.”
Kyle might not want pity, but I can’t help but offer comfort. “Don’t worry so much about people finding out. No one’s going to care.” I nudge his shoulder with mine. “I know I don’t.”
“Really?” He tips his head to peer at me, and I can barely make out his face in the dim light. “The girl who dated the captain of the rugby team doesn’t care that her new guy is basically white trash?”
I sigh with exasperation. “Stop saying that! You aren’t that.” I frown. “And did you forget that my ex was a giant douchebag? Having rich parents doesn’t automatically make you a better person.”
“Fair point.” He kicks a loose stone away. “But what would your mom say if she knew you were out here right now with me?”
“My mom? She already knows I’m—” I cut that sentence off, feeling my cheeks flush. My mother saw me fawn over Kyle. So it’s going to be the boy with the Mohawk, is it? she said, and she wasn’t at all perturbed by that. Then again, she didn’t know about his smoking habit or his tattoos, or that half his immediate family is behind bars. “She wouldn’t care.”