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Jarret
The aroma of grilled fish and charred hamburgers wafted in the air. Jarret’s stomach growled. He lowered his cigarette and pivoted on his shoulder to peek around a tree.
The adults prepared dinner, men standing over the grill, women placing things on picnic tables in the community campsite. Zoe and Caitlyn carried condiments to a table. Peter chased after Toby, who wouldn’t stay put and kept whining about something. Did Toby just say the word fishing?
Jarret sneered. The kid had better not sneak off again. He was in no mood for a repeat performance. It was the last night of camping, and he had plans of his own.
Taking another hit off the cigarette, Jarret continued scanning the campsite.
Three cute girls sat in camp chairs: Mya and two longhaired, long-legged girls that Jarret didn’t remember seeing before. They whispered secrets back and forth, giggling and glancing around.
Something moved in Jarret’s peripheral vision.
Jarret looked.
Walking as silently as a fox, Roland strolled toward him coming from the direction of the bathhouse. Looking like he wanted to talk.
Not ready to be noticed yet, Jarret gave him a threatening glare and shook his head.
Roland, like a good boy, redirected his steps.
A few minutes later, dinner preparations complete, the white-haired priest led everyone in a blessing and people lined up for the food.
Jarret strolled from hiding.
Zoe sat between Caitlyn and Mya at the farthest picnic table, Roland, Dominic, and Peter across from them. Zoe’s eyes snapped to Jarret.
He nodded, but there was no room at her table. Aware of Zoe’s eyes on him, he headed for the camp chairs by the campfire, where a few other guys sat.
“Hey, Jarret,” said the pimply-faced kid in the chair beside him, a kid whose name Jarret couldn’t remember, a kid who talked with food in his mouth. “You’re making yourself scarce.”
“Yeah.” Jarret tapped the chest pocket of his t-shirt, where he kept his pack of cigarettes. “I hate to light up in front of the adults.”
A laugh and a good amount of food erupted from the kid’s mouth. The other two boys in the camp chairs laughed, too.
Jarret gave them a crooked grin then noticed Mya approaching.
She stopped by the beverage coolers near his chair.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” she said, her voice all whispery and sweet.
He watched her bend over the cooler and pull out a dripping can. “Why don’t you make me a plate?”
She hesitated but then said, “Okay,” and gave him a big smile before trotting off.
The guys in the camp chairs chuckled. Jarret chuckled with them, but then movement by the picnic tables caught his eye.
Zoe rose from her place at the picnic table. A plateful of food lay before her, but she tossed her hair over her shoulder and sauntered off without looking back. She headed for the dirt road, maybe on her way to the bathhouse. Or the campground store. Or maybe she was just taking a walk, angry, with no destination in mind. Except to go somewhere he wasn’t.
It thrilled him to know he had that effect on her, and he wanted to go after her, but he forced himself to wait. Not yet. He would avoid her until later. Then she’d really be worked up with jealousy.
After dinner, some kids stayed to help clean up, others ran off to the lake for a last paddle-boat ride, and the kids in the Catholic youth group—after making an open invitation—left for a prayer and song-fest at their campsite.
Jarret walked alone. He strolled out to the Lexus, climbed in, and rolled the windows down. As he reclined the seat, he turned on the radio. A favorite song played, making him long for his own house, his room, his bed, and all his things. He hated sleeping on Peter’s squeaky air mattress. He hated the bugs. He hated how dirty and sweaty he felt at all times. What he needed was a good long shower and to sit in front of the TV. He should just go home. Forget Zoe. Roland could find his own way home. Everyone would think he had gotten lost on a trail—as if he could really get lost out here. They’d throw together another search party and look for him. Then someone would realize his car was gone. They’d figure it out.
He dozed off thinking about it. After a good rest in the car, he strolled to the campground store and bought himself a candy bar. Going home would just remind him of Keefe and his haircut. He could stick around for the last night.
Jarret set out for a long, slow walk down a trail that should’ve wrapped around to the lake—but didn’t.
~ ~ ~
THE SUN DROPPED BEHIND the trees. The trail went on and on, winding one way and the other but without coming out anywhere. “Son of a rat!” Jarret thrust a hand into his hair. He picked up his pace, jogging now. His heart beat faster. The trail had no end. Roland, the others, they’d go searching for him. Peter would have something to say. He’d rub it in.
Jarret jogged. He couldn’t live with that. He couldn’t be lost. He’d feel like an idiot. This trail should have come out at the lake. Could it have branched off without him noticing it? Had he been that distracted?
Trees. More trees. No people. Nothing familiar.
He stopped. He would go back the way he came. The sun would soon set, so he had better hurry. He jogged alone down the trail. No one else was fool enough to be out on the longer trails at this hour.
At a fork in the trail, he stopped. A fork in the trail? No, he didn’t remember seeing a fork in the trail. One way would probably bring him to the campground store. Where would the other path take him?
He stood on each fork and looked back, trying to picture the direction he’d come from. Nothing looked familiar. The sun had disappeared, though its light still lingered in the sky, so he picked a path and jogged on.
After some time, a cool sweat covered his chest and back, and still the trail appeared to have no end. Screw this. He was not staying another night. As soon as he found his way out of the miserable woods, he would jump into the Lexus and go home.
“Blast these woods, these bug-infested, endless woods. Blast Keefe and Roland. Shoot Peter and his whiney little brother. And Zoe—”
Jarret slowed, his gaze latching onto a distant point.
A golden light flickered, showing through the leaves. The flame of a campfire? Voices and laughter traveled to him. Had he come to a campsite?
Abandoning the trail, he crunched through dead leaves and scraped between trees and wild bushes. A few more steps brought him out into a clearing. Kids too far away to identify stood in groups and sat on blankets, laughing, talking. A bonfire blazed above him. Bonfire Hill.
He took a deep breath, relieved.
He’d come out behind the little hill, the side opposite most of the activity. Strolling along the edge of the woods, he took deep breaths and exhaled slowly, trying to regain his cool before anyone saw him. He wiped the sweat from his neck and pulled his hair back into a ponytail.
Moving in closer, he recognized a few people. Caitlyn’s parents and her little sisters and brothers shared a huge blanket. The pimply kid who had sat by him at dinner stood by two others. Father Carston and the kids from the Catholic youth group—
Zoe. She sat with Caitlyn on a blanket at a little distance from the others. She leaned forward, her hair falling in her face. She pushed it back, lifting her head, looking at Caitlyn, saying something . . . She shook her head and jerked her hand in a way that made her seem angry. Caitlyn nodded, looking sympathetic.
They were talking about him. It was time.
Jarret strolled toward them. He and Zoe would have a talk.
Still a good twenty feet away, Zoe caught sight of him.
Maintaining a casual stride, he was about to give her a nod when a body collided into him from behind. He fell forward, threw out his hands, and caught himself on his hands and knees.
Wrath boiled over. He jumped up.
“Sorry, man.” Peter shot over, hands up, offering an apology, but it was Toby who had crashed into him. “Hey, you know, Roland’s out looking for you.”
Toby, head cocked to one side, watched Jarret from behind Peter.
Every muscle in Jarret’s body tensed. He stepped up to Peter, sneering. “I told you before to keep your freaky little brother away from me.” He stepped closer, maybe too close, staring down his nose at Peter’s pink face. “Keep him under control, or I’m gonna take it out on you.” He slammed Peter’s shoulder with his palm.
Peter brushed his shoulder as if wiping off a speck of dirt. And he laughed. “I’m not afraid of you.” Then he lunged, both hands slamming Jarret’s chest.
Jarret staggered back, shocked. Peter had guts. Then adrenaline surged, and he swung his fist.
Peter leaned back, Jarret’s fist skimming his jaw. He came at Jarret again, this time with a bear hug.
Jarret stumbled, almost fell, but he was used to fighting. He and Keefe did it for sport all the time, and he had more than a few moves to deal with someone like Peter. He twisted to one side, throwing Peter off balance. At the same time, he slipped his foot behind Peter’s calf. The two of them landed on the ground, Jarret on top.
Peter lay there, stunned for a moment.
Heart racing, seeing stars, Jarret drew his fist back.
Then someone shouted his name and hands snaked all over his arms and chest.
“Break it up, you two.” It was the white-haired priest.
The boys from the Fire Starters dragged Jarret off Peter and Peter off the ground. A group gathered, Zoe among them. Before the priest let them go, he said a few things about talking it out, and he made them shake hands. Then everyone scattered, leaving Jarret, Zoe, and Caitlyn standing together.
Zoe stared at him for a long moment. Then she flipped her hair and turned away.
Jarret could stand it no longer. He grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. “Don’t you be mad at me.” He frowned and peered at her through sad eyes, trying to communicate without words his feelings for her.
She blinked rapidly and pressed her lips together. Then she whispered something to Caitlyn that made Caitlyn leave. She gave her eyes to Jarret again.
“Why shouldn’t I be mad at you?”
“I didn’t do anything to you.”
With an annoyed little smile, she averted her gaze, looking out toward the bonfire.
Waiting for her to reply, he stood appreciating her beauty and watching flames reflecting in her eyes.
“I thought you liked me.” Her eyes turned to ice. “But I see you like every girl. So . . . I’m not interested in you.” She folded her arms and turned, but she didn’t walk away.
A little worried that she might slap him, he risked a touch, brushing her cheek with his hand. She let him do it, so he risked more, turning her face toward his.
“I don’t like every girl. I-I know I flirt. I can’t help it. It’s who I am. But they don’t mean anything to me.”
She met his gaze, the flames in her eyes dimming. “And I do?”
Gazing deeply into her eyes, trying to convey his desire, he nodded.
She blinked as if to break the connection he wanted to make. “So what do I mean to you?” While suspicion rang in her tone, it had softened. She had softened.
He smiled inside. He had her back. “Why don’t you . . . let me show you?” He kissed her, soft and sweet at first, but he couldn’t control his desire and the kiss grew deep and intense.
She pulled back.
“You wanna take a walk?” he said.
Suddenly he knew exactly where he would take her.