and I used to watch the fireworks from here every year."
I step ahead of Jack and climb the ladder that's nailed to the tree's trunk. When the sky brightens from a flurry of white light, I try not to think about Jack staring at the backs of my legs.
Rig starts to whine. "Just wait down there," I tell him. He circles the tree twice, then settles down, his head resting on a small bump of tree root. I think of Rig staring at Beulah the boxer's house. Is that how Jack feels when he's looking at Dad's house? Is he really willing me out or just longing for Will?
It's dirty in the tree house, disintegrated-leaf dirty. It smells like old rot. "What did you guys do up here?"
"Guy stuff," Jack says. My brain has an image, all at once, of little boys playing pirates, on the lookout for land; of baseball cards in a pile; comic books traded back and forth; marbles. What about when they were older?
"Like what kind of guy stuff?"
"I could tell you," Jack says. "Sadly, I'd then have to kill you. Sorry."
"Hmm," I say. "You don't sound sorry."
He shrugs. "Nothing I can do about it. Guy Code secret."
I wonder if Guy Code is anything like our code. I'm pretty sure my friends did not honor the unwritten rules of friendship tonight. Oh, God, no. Tonight.
"So what do you think of the joint?" Jack asks, smiling. I sit down before I can register how weak in the knees I feel. That smile has an effect on me that is not like anything that's come before. I sit down with my back against the wall. Jack sits against the wall to my left. Our sneakers are touching.
My crushes have always been intense, but wholly one-way. With Jack, it feels like there's a possibility that this might be a two-way street. Couldn't he be interested in me too?
I want to ask him,
So are we going to do guy stuff?
but it sounds like a come-on. I wish I could bring myself to brush his arm with a trademarked Leah Stamnick Casual Arm Touch or let my sneakered foot play with his.
"So what's the deal with that camp, anyway? Are you like a counselor? Orâ"
"There's no name for what I am. I don't pay to go. They don't pay me. I'm just ... in the middle. I help out. I love it there."
I look up at the wall. There's a poster of the Yankees team from six years ago on one wall, and another listing all their championships next to it. He sees me looking. "Will was a Yankees fan too," he says. "Your house is destined to be occupied by Yankees fans. It has been decreed."
I could just casually mention that maybe I'm not as big a Yankees fan as he thinks I am. But if I like talking about the Yankees with Jack, and I doâI like talking about everything with himâthen maybe it's okay?
"Where does Will live now?"
"South Carolina."
"Oh. That's far."
"We thought we'd visit each other a lot, but so far we've talked on the phone a little and done some IMing. I don't know. So what about you?"
"What?"
"You said you had some long story about tonight. About why you're home now instead of with your friends."
"Oh, just this thing."
"What kind of thing?"
"A bad thing."
"Some kind of fight?"
"No, not a fight. I don't know. They had this party with some new friends and ... I don't know. I'm sure it'll be okay." I don't really believe the words I just said. I can't imagine any way this can all work out. But we've always been friends. It never occurred to me that could ever change. Those friendships have been a fact of my life, as true as math. But right now it's turned into an equation I cannot begin to figure out.
"Were they acting likeâ"
"Jerks? Kind of. Yeah."
"I get pissed when people treat me bad. If you're going to be my friend, you need to always treat me right, you know? I can't stand it when people are jerks. I don't need that."
That's it. I can't say it, but that's exactly it. I do need them. They're my best friends. They've always been my best friends. Tonight, though, he's right. They didn't act that way. I'm sure they think that what I did was even
I step ahead of Jack and climb the ladder that's nailed to the tree's trunk. When the sky brightens from a flurry of white light, I try not to think about Jack staring at the backs of my legs.
Rig starts to whine. "Just wait down there," I tell him. He circles the tree twice, then settles down, his head resting on a small bump of tree root. I think of Rig staring at Beulah the boxer's house. Is that how Jack feels when he's looking at Dad's house? Is he really willing me out or just longing for Will?
It's dirty in the tree house, disintegrated-leaf dirty. It smells like old rot. "What did you guys do up here?"
"Guy stuff," Jack says. My brain has an image, all at once, of little boys playing pirates, on the lookout for land; of baseball cards in a pile; comic books traded back and forth; marbles. What about when they were older?
"Like what kind of guy stuff?"
"I could tell you," Jack says. "Sadly, I'd then have to kill you. Sorry."
"Hmm," I say. "You don't sound sorry."
He shrugs. "Nothing I can do about it. Guy Code secret."
I wonder if Guy Code is anything like our code. I'm pretty sure my friends did not honor the unwritten rules of friendship tonight. Oh, God, no. Tonight.
"So what do you think of the joint?" Jack asks, smiling. I sit down before I can register how weak in the knees I feel. That smile has an effect on me that is not like anything that's come before. I sit down with my back against the wall. Jack sits against the wall to my left. Our sneakers are touching.
My crushes have always been intense, but wholly one-way. With Jack, it feels like there's a possibility that this might be a two-way street. Couldn't he be interested in me too?
I want to ask him,
So are we going to do guy stuff?
but it sounds like a come-on. I wish I could bring myself to brush his arm with a trademarked Leah Stamnick Casual Arm Touch or let my sneakered foot play with his.
"So what's the deal with that camp, anyway? Are you like a counselor? Orâ"
"There's no name for what I am. I don't pay to go. They don't pay me. I'm just ... in the middle. I help out. I love it there."
I look up at the wall. There's a poster of the Yankees team from six years ago on one wall, and another listing all their championships next to it. He sees me looking. "Will was a Yankees fan too," he says. "Your house is destined to be occupied by Yankees fans. It has been decreed."
I could just casually mention that maybe I'm not as big a Yankees fan as he thinks I am. But if I like talking about the Yankees with Jack, and I doâI like talking about everything with himâthen maybe it's okay?
"Where does Will live now?"
"South Carolina."
"Oh. That's far."
"We thought we'd visit each other a lot, but so far we've talked on the phone a little and done some IMing. I don't know. So what about you?"
"What?"
"You said you had some long story about tonight. About why you're home now instead of with your friends."
"Oh, just this thing."
"What kind of thing?"
"A bad thing."
"Some kind of fight?"
"No, not a fight. I don't know. They had this party with some new friends and ... I don't know. I'm sure it'll be okay." I don't really believe the words I just said. I can't imagine any way this can all work out. But we've always been friends. It never occurred to me that could ever change. Those friendships have been a fact of my life, as true as math. But right now it's turned into an equation I cannot begin to figure out.
"Were they acting likeâ"
"Jerks? Kind of. Yeah."
"I get pissed when people treat me bad. If you're going to be my friend, you need to always treat me right, you know? I can't stand it when people are jerks. I don't need that."
That's it. I can't say it, but that's exactly it. I do need them. They're my best friends. They've always been my best friends. Tonight, though, he's right. They didn't act that way. I'm sure they think that what I did was even
Similar Books
