The Order of the Poison Oak (9 page)

“Ordinarily, yes,” I said. “Even your thick skin can’t protect you from the poison of the poison oak. And you’re still not safe from the poison oak all around us. But these poison oak leaves are special. I needed to prove to you that I’m telling the truth about the Order of the Poison Oak. So I had one of Rainbow Crow’s descendants make a deal with the plant that these leaves came from. They won’t hurt you.

I turned to the kid on my left—Blake. “By accepting this leaf,” I said, “you accept membership into the Order of the Poison Oak, and you agree always to be on the lookout for other members of the Order, and to help them whenever possible, but to never reveal to anyone except another member or inductee what you’ve learned here tonight.”

Blake hesitated. Then he reached out and took the leaf. The other kids all stared at him, at his hand, watching to see if he would break out in a rash.

He didn’t. So seven more times, I recited the same words and handed out leaves to the other kids.

Of course, this is where I should confess that I was telling my kids a little fib. We really were in a patch of poison oak, but the leaves I’d been holding weren’t really poison oak leaves. No, they were leaves from a plain old oak tree growing back near camp. They were completely harmless. Poison oak looks like oak, and I knew my kids wouldn’t be able to tell the difference (they barely even knew what
real
poison oak looked like!).

When I’d passed out leaves to all the kids, Otto said, “Do I get one?”

I smiled. Sure enough, I had one leaf left. I’d brought it for him, even though I hadn’t been sure he’d get into the spirit of it all.

Now I inducted Otto into the Order of the Poison Oak too.

When I was finally done passing out the leaves, I went on. “Now, when we get back to our cabins tonight, I want you all to press your leaf between the pages of a book. Then, when it’s dry and you get home, I want von to take it and put it somewhere where you’ll see it every day, as a reminder of what it means to be a member of the Order of the Poison Oak. Does everyone promise they’ll do that?”

The kids and Otto all nodded. I’d never seen a group of ten-year-olds look so serious in my whole life. But that was good. Again, it was just what I’d wanted to happen.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m now going to blow out the candle. I want everyone to count to ten before you turn on your flashlights. Then we’re going to turn around and walk back to our cabin.”

As the kids filed out of that patch of poison oak, Otto walked by me too. I expected him to look at me and wink or smile. And he did look at me, but he wasn’t smiling. Even in the feeble light of the flashlights, I could see there were tears in his burgundy eyes.

I’m not much of a baseball player, but earlier that year I had joined the high school baseball team for a few weeks (long story—it had to do with the “bad boy” baseball player I mentioned earlier). Anyway. once I actually hit a home run and won us a game. It had been one of the best, and proudest, moments of my life.

As I led everyone back to camp that night, I listened to the kids buzz with excitement over their induction into the Order of the Poison Oak, and I thought about the tears in Otto’s eves. That’s when I realized I had just hit my second home run.

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, I was all smiles. Who wouldn’t be? First there was my night with Web two days before. Then there was the thing with the Order of the Poison Oak last night, which would easily win mc Counselor of the Decade in any reasonable camp counselor grading system. But when I joined Min for archery, she was all smiles too. In fact, she was so all smiles that she didn’t even notice that I was all smiles. Which kind of annoyed me, because it meant that her reasons for being all smiles might be even better than my reasons, and I was still a little sore at Min.

Is all this clear?

Anyway, I said to Min, “You look happy.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. There is dreamy-eyed, and there is
dreamy-eyed.
Min was definitely
dreamy-eyed.

“Why?” I said.

She—of course!—smiled. “Guess.”

I didn’t want to guess. I wanted her to tell me. And I wasn’t all smiles anymore. Because I had this sudden fear that what was making her happy might be the same thing that was making me happy.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Web,” she breathed.

Bull’s-eye! I thought to myself.

“What about him?” I asked awkwardly.

She giggled and leaned closer to me. “We got hot and heavy.”

“What?” I said. “When?”

“Last night.”

Min was lying—she had to be! Web had said he was gay! Or had he? Maybe he’d just changed the subject. But he
had
said that he and Min were just friends. I was sure of that.

“How hot?” I said. “How heavy?”

“Pretty hot, pretty heavy,” Min said. “I mean, we didn’t do everything. But we did stuff. Well, mostly
he
did stuff. Which I guess means I’m a slut, but not a whore.”

Min and Web
couldn’t
have gotten hot and heavy last night, I thought to myself. But the night before, I’d been busy getting things ready for the Order of the Poison Oak, so I had no idea whether Web had been down around the campfire with the other counselors or not.

“So you and Web are still together?” I asked Mm.

She looked at me funny. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we still be together?”

On the one hand, I wanted to tell her the truth. Something was going on here, and we both needed to figure out what it was. On the other hand, telling her the truth meant telling her something that made me look really, really bad. Web had
told
me that he and Min were just friends! But I was pretty sure that wouldn’t make any difference to Mm.

Before I told Min the truth, I needed to talk to Web. There were all kinds of possible explanations as to why what happened had happened. Maybe Min and Web broke up three days ago, then he and I got together for a night, then he and Min got back together again. Or maybe Min and Web had been together all along, but they’d also agreed to see other people. But the problem with both these explanations was that Web had told me that he and Min had always only been just friends.

It was Min. I was back to thinking she was lying about Web. But why? That was another thing I needed to talk to Web about.

“Russel?” Min said.

“Huh?” I said.

She repeated her question from a couple of seconds before: “Why wouldn’t Web and I be together?”

“Oh,” I said. “Nothing. I just hadn’t heard you talk about him in a few days. But that’s great. I’m happy for you. Really.”

The instructor called to us right after that, and I suppose this would be a good place to make some archery reference about how I’d finally felt the pain of Cupid shooting me with his arrow. But that seems stupid. So I’ll just end by saying I’d gone from being all smiles to feeling like absolute shit.

* * * * *

Have you ever
really
needed to pee, but you’re in some place—an airplane during landing, a freeway with no exit—where going to the bathroom is impossible? That’s the way it felt with me wanting to talk to Web. I really,
really
needed to talk to him. But I couldn’t leave the archery session, and I knew Web couldn’t leave beadworking. So I tried to put the whole me-Web-Min thing completely out of my mind, which was about as easy as ignoring your bladder when you really need to pee.

But lunchtime came eventually, and I hurried back to my cabin to meet my kids, then hustled them all over to the lodge.

Problem was, Web wasn’t there. (To continue with the really-having-to-pee analogy, this was like finally finding a bathroom only to see a padlock on the door!)

I got my kids settled at a table, but kept a keen lookout for Web.

Em stepped up beside me. “Did you see we’re going out on a pontoon boat for today’s all-camp activity?” she asked me.

“Yeah?” I said, trying to pay attention to her but still looking around for Web. “Great.”

“But they can only fit two cabins of kids on the boat at a time,” Em said. “So we’re going in shifts. Meanwhile, the rest of us’ll play volleyball.”

“I guess that makes sense. Don’t want the boat to sink.”

“You’re up first on the boat. Your kids, and Gunnar’s. I saw your names on the list.”

“Oh.”

“You know,” Em said, musing aloud, “I was thinking of taking my kids on a little hike this afternoon. Would you mind if we traded?”

I scanned the cafeteria again, but there was still no Web. “What?” I said to Em.

“Would you care if my cabin went with Gunnar’s? You can go with Otto’s cabin, when I was supposed to go. You’d be second.”

Suddenly, I spotted Web! He was just entering with his kids.

“I gotta go!” I said.

“Is that okay?” Em asked.

I looked back at her. “Huh?”

“If we trade! My cab in goes first on the pontoon boat, your cabin goes second.”

“Sure!” I said. “Whatever.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Em smile to herself, but I didn’t pay much attention because I was already working my way over to Web.

He was staking out a table with his kids. I pulled him aside. “We need to talk,” I whispered.

“About
what?”
He wasn’t whispering at all, which surprised me a little. Maybe it meant he really didn’t have anything to hide.

“About Min!” I whispered.

“What about her?” He said this completely casually, like he had no idea what I was talking about. Either that or he was partially autistic.

That’s when it occurred to me: we couldn’t talk here either. People would overhear.
Min
might see. I glanced around to see if she’d arrived with her kids yet, but she hadn’t.

“Never mind,” I said to Web. “Let’s meet tonight after lights-out. At the cove.”

He grinned at me. “Sure.”

In other words, it would be another eight hours before I could finally take a piss!

* * * * *

After lunch, my kids and I headed back to our cabin before volleyball. I brought up the rear, but soon Ian lagged behind with me.

“That was cool,” he said quietly, looking over at the lake.

“Huh?” I said.

“Last night in the woods. The Order of the Poison Oak? That was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, thanks.” Needing to talk to Web or not, I was all smiles again, at least on the inside.

The kids in front of us had reached our cabin and were going inside, but Ian stopped outside. “I just have one question,” he said.

I stopped too and looked at him. “Sure,” I said.

“How come you’re a member?”

“What?” Suddenly, I wasn’t smiling on the inside anymore. Can a person
frown
on the inside?

“You heard me,” Ian said. “How come you ‘re a member of the Order of the Poison Oak? You’re not like Otto. You don’t have scars.”

“Oh,” I said. If the qualification for being a member of the Order was that you knew what it was like to be teased and misjudged, well, let’s just say my membership papers were in good shape. But I was a member because I was gay, and that was something I couldn’t tell Ian.

“Well,” I said, stalling for time, “I have psychological scars.”
Psychological scars?
Had I really just said something that stupid, especially to a ten-year-old boy? “Let’s just say I’m an
honorary
member,” I went on quickly. “Okay?”

“Why?” Ian said.

“Why what?”

“Why are you an honorary member? You told us a member can’t talk about the Order with anyone except another member. So who talked to you?”

“That’s a good question,” I said. Problem was, I didn’t have a good answer.

“I think I know.”

“You do?” I was afraid to ask the rest, but I didn’t have much choice. “Why?”

He kicked a pinecone. “You’re gay,” he said simply.

I had told myself I wasn’t going to come out at camp—that the whole point of coming here was to be somewhere where I didn’t have to be known as The Gay Kid. But I couldn’t lie to Ian. Not after everything I’d said about hidden beauty and not being ashamed of who you are.

The pinecone Ian had kicked skittered to a stop.

“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”

Ian nodded. “I figured.”

I was tempted to ask how he figured, but I didn’t.

“You know how I got these scars?” he asked me, tilting his head a little, meaning his melted skin.

“No,” I said. “No one ever told me that.”

He stared out at the lake. “I was seven years old, at day care after school. My mom hadn’t picked me up yet, and I was the only kid left, along with the teacher. All of a sudden, there was this big boom, and the whole building shook, and there were all these weird creaky groans. We knew something really bad had happened, so we ran out into the hallway. I wanted to run out the front doors. But the teacher thought we were in the middle of an earthquake, and the front doors were made of glass and they were by some windows too. So she told me to stop. She was the teacher, so I listened to her. The building kept rumbling, so she told me to get to one side of the hallway. I did everything she said. And that’s when steam burst out of the radiator, right into my face.” I watched Ian as he told his story. He didn’t sound upset. Then again, it wasn’t Lake Serenity that I saw reflected in his eyes.

“Wow,” I said. “That really sucks.”

“I’m not mad it happened,” Ian said. He looked at me, and the lake in his eyes had become a raging ocean. “I’m mad I listened to her.”

We stared at each other for a second.

“Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for telling me.”

He nodded once. “Sure. And by the way, it’s cool. I won’t tell anyone about you.”

* * * * *

My kids and I played volleyball until it came our turn to ride the pontoon boat. When we saw the boat returning to the dock, I led them down there.

As the first group of riders was disembarking onto the dock, I noticed something strange. Gunnar looked wet.

Completely wet. Hair and clothes and everything. He was absolutely dripping.

I met him at the end of the dock. “Gunnar? What is it? What happened?”

He didn’t look at me. It was almost like he was ignoring me. “Let’s go!” he said to his kids, who were snickering amongst themselves. “Everyone to the volleyball nets! No, leave your life jackets on the boat! I’ll join you at the nets in a few minutes!”

“Gunnar?” I said.

“I fell in,” he said to me. His kids were on their way to the volleyball nets, and my kids were out on the dock climbing onto the pontoon boat. So we were more or less alone now. But he still wasn’t looking at me.

“What?” I said.

“I fell off the pontoon boat!”

I didn’t quite know what to say to this. “Well, are you okay?”

He turned on me suddenly. “Maybe you didn’t hear me! I fell off the pontoon boat! Right in front of my kids! Right in front of Em. Do you
think
I’m okay?”

“Oh, God, Gunnar. I’m sorry.”

“I made a complete fool of myself!”

I glanced out at the boat. It was mostly loaded now. I needed to be out with my kids. “Gunnar, I’m really sorry.”

“So?” he said evenly.

“So what?”

“So I thought I was going out on that pontoon boat with your kids and
you!
I saw the list earlier!”

“Oh,” I said, remembering. “Yeah. Em wanted to switch. She asked me about it at lunch.” And in the back of my mind, I immediately thought, Uh-oh!

“Russ, I thought I asked you not to try to set me up with Em again!”

“You did. But that’s not what this was. Em said she wanted to switch.” Of course, now I realized
why
she wanted to switch. She wanted to be able to spend some time with Gunnar, but she hadn’t said that outright, because she knew I would have turned her down. I should have turned her down anyway, but when she’d talked to me, I’d been distracted, looking for Web.

“I specifically told you!” Gunnar said. “Twice! And you didn’t listen! And I made a complete fool out of myself again!”

“Gunnar, I was distracted, and I—”

He shook his head. “I don’t care. I don’t want your excuses. Not another word. Because you and I aren’t friends anymore.”

“What?”

He was already walking away. “You heard me! We’re through!”

* * * * *

I’d been at camp less than two weeks, and I’d somehow managed to betray both my best friends. That had to be some kind of record. But I’d waited all day to hear what Web had to say about Min, so that night, after lights-out, I went to meet him at the Cove of the Ever-Changing Rock Formation (tonight the rock looked like Devils Tower, Wyoming—the place in that movie
Close Encounters of the Third Kind).

I guess he had forgotten that we were there to talk, because the first thing he said was, “Come on! Let’s skinny-dip!”

“Wait!” I said. “I wanted to meet here to ask you some questions.”

He stopped, his shirt already halfway off. I could see the ridges on his stomach, but not the elastic of his underwear (was he not wearing any again?). Across the lake, forest fires burned, still out of sight, but they must have been brighter now, because tonight they were making the sky throb and ripple like the orange glow of a fake fireplace.

“Shoot,” he said.

“Are you with Min or not?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

He dropped his T-shirt back down around his torso. “I told you. No.”