“Ow! Jack! That hit me on the cheek!”
“Buck up, buttercup, it’s just a Pop-Tart!” Jack smiles.
“Well, it really hurt.”
“Ohh, I think it’s grazed,” Elliot says, peering at my cheek.
“It’s grazed!” I look at Jack accusingly.
“Oh, I’m sorry! How was I to know you’d have such sluggish hand-eye coordination? I’m sure it’ll heal, and in the meantime, it gives you a sort of rugged, masculine quality.” He grins, waggles his eyebrows and flounces out of the barn. “Love you!” he sings.
I shake my head, then notice Jack has poked his head back round the door of the barn, waiting.
I scowl at him. I’m not going to say it back. He just hit me with a Pop-Tart!
He cocks his head. Waiting.
This is the thing with Jack, he’s got this way of making me feel things … like guilt that if I don’t say it back I’ll regret it, just like I regret all the things I didn’t say years ago, and the truth is, I do … love him, as in love like a friend, obviously, not … well, anyway.
He’s tapping his foot now, and even glances at an imaginary watch on his wrist.
“Love you!” I say. “OK?”
Jack nods and disappears.
I sigh, and dab a bit of Sudocrem from the pot in my rucksack on the graze, because I know it’s just a Pop-Tart, but it actually stings quite a bit? And then I smile, because for the first time in ages, I’ve woken up and my first thought wasn’t about Tariq and, you know what, that feels good.
*
“Teamwork! Coordination! Planning!”
Hunter has been standing in front of us for ten minutes now, barking away about what this horrific outward bound course is going to involve. When we arrived at White Water Lakes, Mum and Dad booked themselves and Rose on to a pedalo around the boating lake, whereas me, Jack and Elliot were booked, by my mother, on to what was terrifyingly described as a “Water Survival Course – intermediate level”.
Hunter is a tall, broad black man, whose opening gambit was to tell us that he “doesn’t suffer fools” and “has no time for losers” because “in the water, every second counts, every person counts, so ditch your ego, ditch your rivalry and fight to survive”.
Great.
To make matters worse, the other kids on this course all know each other – they’re from London and doing a scheme over the summer that gets them out of the city. “Is it because you’ve never seen grass?” Jack asked one of them.
“No, it’s because we’re all on probation,” the other kid replied.
So. Great.
“Communication and cooperation will be your greatest asset,” Hunter continues. “Your mission sounds simple. Believe me, it’s not. Using the materials provided, each team will build a raft capable of carrying the whole team across the lake to the island in the middle. First team to get there wins the prize that awaits on the island. Glory for the winners; shame for the losers. Lads, this is not a social occasion. This is not some fancy cocktail party. This is survival. This is serious. Dig deep and power through. You!” He points at Jack. “What’s your name?”
“OK, so, hi, I’m Jack, and—”
“Stop!” Hunter shouts. “I just asked your name. Listen to commands. Respond accordingly.”
Jack nods.
“Jack, what key word or words are you taking from what I’ve told you?”
“Fancy cocktail party.”
Hunter’s eyes darken. “Oh. We have a joker.”
“Glory, then? Prize! I don’t know, build a boat and set sail?”
Hunter stares at him with utterly unimpressed eyes, then he turns to me. “What’s that on your face?”
I blink at him. “On my…”
“There! On your cheek!”
“Oh, it’s Sudocrem. I was… I got a graze.”
Hunter narrows his eyes. “A graze.”
“He was hit by a Pop-Tart,” Elliot adds.
“Guilty!” Jack trills, holding his hand up.
Hunter looks as though he’s about to explode with rage. “Some of you may see this as a bit of fun. A harmless way to pass the time. Let me tell you something. People die in water every year. You never know when the basic skills you’ll learn today will be needed.”
“This is such bullshit,” Jack whispers to me.
He’s not wrong. It’s everything I feared it would be. But while Jack being Jack worked a treat last night, I’m not sure things will end so well here, so I’m thinking he should really just keep his head down. Jack can be as cheeky as he likes to Auntie Karen – she’s not going to batter him. I’m not sure I can say the same for the other kids on this course.
“Team names!” Hunter announces. He looks at Jack.
Jack rolls his eyes. “Gay Ship Lollipop.”
“Fine,” Hunter says. “You lads?” He points at one group of the London boys.
“Destroyer.”
“Wait—” says Jack.
“And you other lads?” Hunter says, ignoring Jack.
“Armageddon.”
“We’re changing our name!” Jack pipes up.
Hunter gives Jack a malicious smile. “Too late. Words have consequences. First lesson. Armageddon, you’re working at the far end of the shore, Destroyer, you’re here, and Gay Ship Lollipop, you’re at the other end. Your fight for survival begins … now!”
Hunter blows a whistle and we all head over to our work areas, where we’re presented with six huge, empty plastic barrels, a pile of wooden planks, oars, and various lengths of rope.
Hunter’s right over with us. “Any initial plan of action, lads?”
“Lash the planks together in a criss-cross formation, attach to the barrels, launch into water, paddle to the island,” Jack replies.
“Think. Talk. Communicate,” is Hunter’s response. “Is there a better way?”
Jack blinks once. “No. That’s the way.”
Hunter runs his tongue over his lips. “Talk to each other. Communicate. Teamwork.” And he heads over to the next group.
“All this just so we can go to the festival,” Jack mutters, as he picks up one of the planks like it’s a completely foreign object. “Argh! Splinter!” he squeals, dropping it on his foot. “Argh! Why is this plank so homophobic?”
“Try sucking it out!” one of the lads from the other team shouts across, smirking.
Jack’s eyes widen. “Oh my days,” he says in hushed tones. “They’re talking to us. Let’s just get on with it, eyes down, focus.”
Which is all well and good, and is certainly my preferred way of dealing with this nightmare situation, but as we start trying to lash together our planks, of course Jack can’t help himself but to keep glancing up at the other boys. “That one keeps looking at me!” he hisses.
“Which one?” I ask.
“Don’t look!”
“OK, but which one?”
“The one that definitely would if it was just you and him alone in a tent with some cider because he’s curious but the next day he’ll totally ignore you and you’ll never speak of it again and then he’ll get a girlfriend.”
I look over. “Oh, yeah, him.” The boy (worryingly athletic-looking, white, sagging jogging bottoms that reveal grey boxers, Adidas sweat top, buzz cut) starts walking over to us. “Oh my god. Act normal. Act normal.”
“Why you keep looking for?” the boy says.
“Why have you come over?” Jack replies, without missing a beat.
“Bro, I come over ’cause you was looking over!”
“Are you sure?” Jack says. “Or were you just attracted by my strong jawline?”
The boy glares at him.
Jack sniffs. “What have you done anyway? Why are you on probation?” He lowers his voice. “Was it a brutal murder?”
I honestly wish Jack would just shut up, but apparently he’s determined to get us all beaten up.
“Hacking,” the lad replies.
“What, like computers?” Jack says
.
The lad nods. “Yeah. Cybercrime. Specifically, a cryptocurrency scam, in my case.”
Jack looks impressed. “So why did they send you here?”
“I don’t know!” the lad replies, clearly as exasperated as we are. “Everyone always thinks boys need physical activity, innit?”
“Right!” I say.
“And what about your mates?” Jack continues. “Are they murderers?”
“Nah,” the lad says. “Corey helped ram-raid a cashpoint using a stolen forklift.”
The lad looks at our open-mouthed expressions of wonder and awe. God, he must think we’re so provincial and sheltered.
“Messin’ with ya!” he grins. “Why do that when a simple card skimmer does all the hard work for ya?”
Jack nods, like he knows all about that. “Mm. And so, were you all in ‘juvie’ together? Is that what you call it? ‘Juvie’?” He runs his tongue over his lips. “Did you have to wear a special … uniform?”
“Jack!” I hiss. I mean, really?
The lad rolls his eyes. “It’s probation, like I said. Whole point is that means you don’t go to juvie.”
“Oh, yes, yes, mais oui!” Jack replies.
Hunter blows his whistle. “Lads!”
The boy nods at Jack, then turns and heads back to his group.
“I think he wants me,” Jack says. “Do you think he realized I might be gay?”
“Hard to say.” I shrug. “You’re sitting there in red cut-offs and rainbow braces, saying things like ‘mais oui’ – it’d be pretty impossible for anyone to work out.”
“Is anyone going to help build this raft?” Elliot asks, looking up from where he’s tying a rope around two planks. “I want to win the prize. What if it’s cupcakes?”
“Knowing Hunter, I feel it’s more likely to be a cold shower,” Jack says, “but if there’s even a chance it could be cupcakes, then I agree, we must try our best. Gay boys! Assemble!”
And we get on with the raft building with surprising speed, which is basically what happens when gay boys are thinking about butter icing.
We’re the last to launch our raft into the lake, but only just, which makes me very happy, since my entire life has been one of not just coming last in any form of competition involving physical activity, but actually coming badly last, like half an hour after everyone else. Jack’s on one side with a paddle, I’m on the other, and Elliot’s at the back, paddling alternately either side, in an attempt to keep us on course.
Hunter blows his whistle from the shore. “Jack from Gay Ship Lollipop! Where’s your life jacket?”
“It’s on the raft!” Jack replies.
“Put it on! Flotation aids are mandatory!”
“The colour clashes with my shorts!”
“Put it on or you’ll be disqualified!”
“This is barbaric!”
“Final warning!”
Jack huffs and puffs as he struggles into his life jacket, while the boys from Destroyer start wolf-whistling him. He responds by blowing them kisses. “Oh, you sweethearts!” he giggles. Then his face drops as he turns to me and Elliot. “Right, let’s paddle and get out of this hellhole before it turns into Lord of the Flies.”
It’s surprisingly hard work. The lake is bigger than it looked from the shore, and trying to steer in a straight line towards the island in the middle is near impossible. This is made harder still as Jack decides now is the time to recreate the iconic scene from Titanic for the sake of Instagram. He clambers to his feet, rocking the rickety raft to and fro as he stands at the front, arms outstretched. “Nate! You know what to do!”
“Seriously?” I say.
“Correct your course! Gay Ship Lollipop! Correct your course!” Hunter shouts from the shore.
“Nate!” Jack insists. “And, Elliot? You need to get this moment on your phone.”
“Jack, we need to try to get to the island!” I tell him.
“What’s more important?” he snaps. “The stupid island or Instagram?”
He’s not giving up, so I also struggle to my feet, clamber up behind him, and take his outstretched arms.
“I’m flying!” Jack shouts. “Did you get it?” he shouts to Elliot.
“No, I just got your backs, turn around!” Elliot says.
We do a one-eighty shuffle and assume the position again.
“I’m flying!” Jack says.
“You’re on a collision course with Armageddon!” Hunter shouts. “Gay Ship Lollipop! Take evasive action!”
I look to my right and see, to my horror, Team Armageddon frantically waving at us as we career, with speed, towards them. But before I can even open my mouth it’s too late; we plough into them, the impact knocking Jack to his knees and me straight into the water.
“Wow! Bitchy!” Jack shouts at the other team, even though it’s totally not their fault.
I’m frozen, shocked, in the freezing water, but manage to grasp the side of our stricken vessel. “Help!” I rasp.
Jack glances at me and takes my hand. “I’m sorry, Nate. There simply isn’t room for both of us on this floating wreckage, so you’ll just have to freeze to death in the water…” He starts singing “My Heart Will Go On”.
“Just help me!”
“I’m afraid that’s what you get for booking steerage!”
“Screw you! Pull me back on!”
And it’s at this point that Elliot tries to help me back on the raft, but the weight of me bearing down on the side causes a catastrophic pivot situation, the entire raft upends, and both Elliot and Jack slide into the water with me.
“Gay Ship Lollipop! You’ve capsized!” Hunter shouts from the shore.
“Oh my god, I didn’t know that, did you know that?” Jack says.
“Get out of the water, you bunch of pansies!” Hunter screams.
Oh. My. God. Even the probation kids are shocked. Everyone just freezes and stares at Hunter on the shore. And me? I don’t know exactly where it comes from, but I’m not putting up with it, I’m not having Hunter say that about Jack, Elliot, or me; I’ve spent my whole life at secondary school just ignoring those sorts of comments, and you know what? No more. It ends. Right here.
“What did you say?” I shout.
“Don’t get all snowflakey on me!” Hunter shouts back. “This is survival! There’s no time for any of your whiny Generation Z stuff here!”
I openly laugh at him. “Yeah, OK, Boomer!”
Jack stares at me, completely agog. He can’t believe I just said that.
I can’t believe it either.
And then a wide grin spreads across Jack’s face.
“Hey, Boomer?” the hacker lad from Armageddon shouts across to Hunter. “FYI, mate, we’re ‘pansy-fying’ our raft and will now be known as the Bitanic!”
“And we’re the Jolly Roger!” another lad from Destroyer adds, making a sudden hip thrusting motion at another boy who he promptly rams into the lake.
Hunter blows his whistle, but he’s lost all his power now, as the boys from the other two rafts also jump into the lake, shouting, “BOOMER!” as they plunge in.
“Ha!” says Elliot, doing an amazing job of keeping his phone in the air so it doesn’t get wet. “No one takes the piss out of our Homo Love Boats!”
“Yeah, love boat, baby!” Jack adds.
And maybe it’s the freezing water, the adrenaline, I don’t know, but Jack and Elliot, simultaneously, like they have some weird gay boy psychic connection, start singing, to the tune of the B-52’s “Love Shack”, “Love Boat! Homo Love Boat!”
And I find myself joining in.
And the other lads join in.
And Hunter is just … standing there. He’s lost, it’s over.
And I’m laughing.
And so is Jack, and so is Elliot, who is busy also snapping away on his phone.
And for the first time ever, I don’t care. I’m happy, I’m drenched to the bone, soaking wet, but I’m dancing about, waist deep in water
singing about our “Homo Love Boat” and it feels like we’re bulletproof, invincible, we’re actually unstoppable.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
JACK
The pics Elliot took look crazy. We’re all drenched. My hair is a catastrophe. I think Nate has some algae around his neck. But our faces are pictures of unadulterated joy. It’s weird, in the circumstances, but this is the first photo where we all genuinely look happy. No faking it. Our cheeks are ruddy, our smiles broad, you can tell the laughter is really full-on, deep, proper belly laughs. The caption I add isn’t fake either:
Proper jokes today with these crazy boys. Love these guys so much.
Something else. It felt good when Nate called out Hunter’s bullshit comment, ’cause usually it’s just me defending myself, so to have him do that, it felt … it felt pretty damn great, actually. So the caption is all true – I am feeling the love.
Not feeling the love is Nate’s mum, after she saw the state of us, although Nate’s dad thought it was hilarious.
“Micky, they’re wet through!” she said, scowling.
“They’ll live!”
“This is utterly ridiculous – you don’t know what’s in that lake. All sorts of diseases!”
“Then why did you book it, Mum?” Nate asked, throwing his hands in the air. I was impressed. That boy is getting more dramatic by the minute.
That shut her up. Luckily, she’s driving the camper van today, and since we have to get to the other side of the country, just north of Gloucester, she has a lot of driving to do, so we were saved from further interrogation as she navigated various motorways, A roads and country lanes on our way to – fanfare – THE FESTIVAL! I’m determined we’re gonna have a good time. Especially since Dylan and Tariq have vague-posted something really annoying: a pic of a big question mark with the caption: Huge announcement coming later today! I mean, piss right off. Whatever mundane little thing it is, I am not going to let it play on our minds. We’ll show them. I cannot wait until we start posting pics of the bands and general partying, and with everyone in a much better mood now, I reckon we’re going to get some fantastic posts. I’m seeing mosh pits, everyone with their hands in the air, glitter cannons and confetti, amazing light shows and music so loud it hammers through your very soul. And then chill, time has no meaning, just us and some random dudes we meet, everyone friendly, crashing in someone’s tent, it doesn’t matter whose, one glorious piece of summer ecstasy.
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