| |
Jarret
He could not be tied up and subdued with fresh bowstrings,
nor with new ropes, nor by weaving seven locks of his head
and tying them around a nail fastened in the ground.
The secret of his great strength lay in his hair.
When someone had shaved off the seven locks of his hair,
it was then that Samson was subdued.
It was then that his strength left him.
~Judges 16
Jarret wore his hair down, aware that he drew the attention of more than a few girls. Cigarette in hand and refusing even to glance at his admirers, he strode alone to a pavilion. Agitation had been gnawing at him since he’d spoken with Keefe in the morning. He had spent the rest of the morning alone, trying to walk it off, and then down by the river, considering going home. If not for Zoe, he would go. He had no other reason to stay.
Zoe had tried to find him in the late morning. He’d seen her searching. Not in the mood to talk, he’d gone in the opposite direction.
But she saw him now.
He stepped onto the pavilion, sat up on the railing, and leaned against a post. His gaze drifted to the woods, but he knew a group of kids approached him, Zoe among them.
Keefe was a fool to have cut his hair. No one had hair like theirs. Everyone envied it. They had Mama’s dark Latin American hair, beautiful, long, and all curls. Had Keefe forgotten the significance of it? Roland didn’t have it. Roland had Papa’s hair.
Mya reached the pavilion first. “Hi, Jarret. We’ve been looking for you all day.” Her voice was soft and sweet, too sweet.
“Oh yeah?” Jarret glanced at her as he blew out cigarette smoke.
She wore cut-off shorts and a long sleeved sweater that emphasized her figure. Her short blonde curls and hot pink lipstick gave her a very feminine quality. He hated short hair. Still, she was cute.
“Why were you looking for me?” He dropped his spent cigarette onto the clean platform of the pavilion.
“Well, you weren’t there for breakfast.” Mya stuck out her bottom lip. “And Roland said you . . .”
Walking at a leisurely pace, Zoe followed the others to the pavilion. She didn’t run like Mya had. She was too dignified for that. Dressed in stonewashed straight-legged jeans, hiking boots, and a short lavender jacket with black trim that made her long dark hair stand out, she looked good. She gave Jarret a shy glance then leaned against the opposite railing, facing away from him. He liked that. She didn’t throw herself at guys.
Peter, Caitlyn, Roland, and Peter’s Mexican-American friend Dominic crowded into the pavilion. It was strange seeing Dominic on his feet. The kid used to speed around the school in a wheelchair; it wasn’t even electric. Roland said a car accident had messed him up years ago, but—supposedly—he’d since had a miraculous healing. Whatever happened to him, Roland had been going to church ever since. But maybe he was going for another reason.
Jarret’s gaze went to Caitlyn. She belonged to the Catholic youth group and probably went to church every Sunday. She’d looked good in the jeans she wore the first day camping, but she’d worn dresses ever since, a denim one yesterday and a rust-colored one today, both of them long. They looked good on her but left everything to the imagination. Not like Mya’s clothes.
Mya was still talking. “. . . so we went all the way down to the river, and Peter wondered if we needed to organize another search party, but Roland—”
“A search party, for me?” Jarret said. “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
“Let’s get a football game going, vato,” Dominic said, jabbing Peter in the side.
Peter put his hands on his hips and stepped toward Jarret. “Anyone can get lost back here. Some trails go on forever. And they aren’t all marked well. And they cross over each other. Really, anyone could—”
“Not me.” Jarret turned away and gazed into the woods.
Mya leaned on the railing with him and peeked around at his face. “Well, I’m glad, because we wanted to do something with you. We’ve wasted all morning.”
“What did you want to do with me?” He said it in a flirty way and caught Roland’s eyes narrowing up. Was Mya Roland’s girlfriend? She was always hanging on him. He could take her away from Roland if he wanted to, which he didn’t. He’d have enough fun making him jealous.
“Some of us . . .” She twisted around as she spoke, throwing a look to each of them. “. . . want to go swimming.” She leaned close again. “Do you like to swim? I hear you guys went swimming in the river last night. Was it cold?” She giggled.
Jarret glanced at her sweater. “Did you bring your swimsuit?”
Peter cracked up. Dominic mumbled something, every other word sounding Spanish.
“Mya.” Roland approached. He gave Mya a glance and a nod, sending her away.
Mya went to Zoe, who was now sitting on the railing with arms folded and eyes narrowed to slits.
Roland stood where Mya had been. “Where you been?”
Jarret grinned, seeing the worried slant of Roland’s eyes. “Worried about me? Afraid I drowned in the river?”
“Well, no, but . . . Where’ve you been? It’s past lunch time.”
Mya must’ve heard Roland, though he spoke low. She hopped over again. “Are you hungry? There’re still some hamburgers on the grill. Mr. Brandt kept asking where you were. You know he’s so thankful for what you did for Toby. I think he—”
“You want to get me something to eat?” Jarret said.
She batted her eyes. “Do you want me to?”
Jarret gave her a crooked sort of grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Zoe’s jealous glance. “Yeah. I want you to.”
Mya bounced. “Okay.” She turned to Zoe. “Want to help me?”
Zoe shook her head, threw Jarret a cold look, and turned away. Jealousy fit her, made her look hot.
A few minutes later, a few other guys came with a football and started a game in a long stretch of grass. Roland tried to get Jarret to play, but Jarret didn’t want to play that game.
He and Zoe remained alone in the pavilion, watching the game and throwing each other cold glances.
After a long while, Zoe stared him down. Then she spoke. “Are you tired of camping?”
He met her gaze. “I’m tired of a lot of things.” He hated what Keefe had done to his hair, and how Roland kept tabs on him, and that he had to wait to get the car he should’ve gotten on his sixteenth birthday.
Her jaw twitched, but she didn’t look away.
Jarret moved in. “But I’m not tired of you.” He grabbed her upper arm and leaned in to kiss her. She yielded to him as he expected she would, but then Mya broke the moment with her shrill voice.
“I hope you like hotdogs. The hamburgers sat on the grill too long and turned black. So I thought you’d rather . . .”