As Ray, Jack, and I made our way up Prater’s driveway, I heard the muffled report of a rifle—target shooting. We leaned our bikes against a corral post, and I held Jack’s leash tightly as we climbed the hill to Prater’s tree house.
Just as he’d described before, the tree house sat on a platform in the split of the tree trunks. A log staircase led up to a small cabin with a shingled roof and a wide-planked door, which stood open.
Jack and I jogged up the steps behind Ray to the doorway. I’d seen forts and tree houses before but never anything like this. A braided rug covered most of the floor. Two rocking chairs sat together in the far corner, like they were just waiting for people to sit down and talk. Pictures of Prater and Shadow filled the walls. There was even a little table. It looked more like a place for CeeCee to have tea with her dolls than a place for boys to hang out.
Prater sat on a bench holding a rifle, the barrel resting through the window, another gun on the floor. His face was pink and sweaty—no doubt from running all the way home after trashing our fort. He’d obviously heard us tromping up the stairs because he didn’t act surprised to see us, and he didn’t say hello, not even to Ray. Then he saw Jack. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the gun, then he turned so red I thought his head would explode. “What do you want?” he snarled.
“Alan—,” Ray started.
“You wrecked our fort!” I blurted.
“Your fort?” he sneered. “Your dog probably got loose and smashed it. Or maybe the wind knocked it down.”
My voice dripped with contempt. “The wind?”
Prater shrugged. He laid down the gun, stood, and his mouth twisted into an ugly smirk. “Could’ve been a bear.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, thrusting myself forward. I shook the wristband in his face. “Do bears wear these?” He tried to grab it, but I whipped it behind my back. “You liar! You wrecked our fort.”
“Give me that wristband,” he growled.
“Not till you admit you wrecked our fort.”
“You better give that back to me.”
“Or what?” I was suddenly reminded of when he snatched my letter from the dog club.
He shoved me hard on the shoulder. I stumbled backward, almost falling over the bench. Jack rushed at Prater, snapping, snarling, and gnashing his teeth. Prater tried to step away, but Jack checked his every movement. Fear flashed in Prater’s eyes. A thrill swept through my body; I’d never seen Jack like this before. My heart swelled with pride that he was protecting me, even though it was scary at the same time.
“Jack,” I murmured. “It’s all right.” But Jack did not give up his position. Prater was pressed against the wall of the tree house. I crouched beside Jack and smoothed his fur. “C’mon, boy, it’s okay.” I drew him closer to me.
Prater peeled himself off the wall. “That dog almost bit me! I should call the police on him.”
“Come on, Alan,” Ray said. “You started it.”
“So what?” Prater said indignantly. “He could’ve attacked me and you don’t even care!”
“Oh, my God.” Ray stared at him.
For a second, Prater looked hurt. Then he remembered himself and glared at me. “Get out of my tree house.”
“What about our fort?” I said. “We all know you did it.”
“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR STUPID FORT. Give me my wristband!” He lunged at me, windmilling his arms.
Jack leaped and barked. His lips pulled back to reveal sharp, white teeth. A scissor bite. “You better watch it,” I said, reining Jack in and moving toward the doorway. I turned and whipped the wristband across the room.
“No,” Prater yelled, “you better watch it—you and your stupid dog.” He bent down, but instead of grabbing the wristband, he grabbed a gun, raised it to his shoulder, and aimed it at Jack.
The hairs on my arm stood up and I froze. I felt blood whoosh through me. Prater held the gun steady, head tilted, one eye shut, the other eye focused with hate. I couldn’t breathe. I did not blink.
“Put that down!” Ray yelled. “What’s the matter with you?”
Prater shifted his fingers and gripped the gun firmly. “I want them out of here.” He cocked the hammer.
My heart dropped. Blood drained from my face. I sensed Ray at my side and Jack by my legs, but all I could see was the end of that barrel. I stepped in front of Jack.
“I’m getting your dad!” Ray took one step toward the door and stopped.
Prater held the gun steady. I swallowed.
Jack growled a low warning. Outside, two birds called back and forth to each other, and a breeze rustled through the leaves. Prater opened both eyes and lifted his head. He lowered the gun to his side. “It’s just a BB gun,” he sneered, “and it’s not even loaded.”
My heart beat light and fast, and my lungs pumped quickly as though I’d been running. Heat crept into my face. “You’re an idiot,” I said to Prater in a low voice.
“You’re a wuss.”
I wanted to hit him.
“Come on, Jack.” My legs felt shaky as I climbed down the stairs. Jack sensed my lack of balance and slowed down. My eyes stung, but I wasn’t going to let Prater think I was crying.
“Josh, wait,” Ray said, leaning out of the doorway.
I shook my head without turning around. All I wanted to do was get out of there, but I walked to show Prater I wasn’t afraid of him. I wasn’t a wuss.
“Joshua!” Ray called from the tree house. I looked up to him. He had one foot on the steps and one foot in the tree house. He stared at me and Jack for a second, then he pressed his lips together and turned to Prater. “Sometimes you are an idiot,” he said. He bounded down the steps and caught up to us. “Come on, let’s go.”
Prater rushed to the doorway. “Hey, Ray!”
Ray kept walking.
“You’re not my cousin anymore,” Prater spat.
“Who cares!” Ray shouted without turning around.
We mounted our bikes and flew down the driveway with Jack sprinting alongside. Just before we hit the first curve, I looked behind us. Prater stood leaning against the bottom of the tree house steps; he had the BB gun trained on us. I mashed down on the pedals.