Camp Gorebury

Chapter Thirty Four

 Landon  

"This birthday party sucks," Essais says gloomily.  Gretchen purses her lips. She's wearing some sort of flavored lip-gloss, and the fruity scent is almost overpowering. I'm not surprised that she decided to go overboard with her make-up. Everything Gretchen does is too much. It's like she's constantly trying to one-up the rest of the camp, but in a competition of her own making. "I thought more people would show," she says, equally disappointed. "I invited at least half the camp."  "Well, as of now, there's only five of us," Beckham points out. This isn't a very helpful observation, but Beckham hasn't been very helpful all night— in fact, she's been going out of her way to be unhelpful, leading me to believe she only showed up out of spite. "And I doubt anyone else is going to magically appear. Not in this storm."  At least she's right about one thing— the weather is s**t. Outside, raindrops bigger than marbles pounds against the cabin, while thick gusts of winds howl through the trees, jostling the electric lines and threatening our power supply (because a black-out is exactly what we need right now). Someone, probably Xavier, has placed bowls (stolen from the Mess Hall, of course) around the cabin to collect the profuse amount of water leaking from the ceiling, and the sound of the droplets plunking against the plastic is enough to drive me crazy. Combined, the various sounds form a discordant cacophony that does nothing to lighten the mood.  It doesn't help that Xavier and Beckham have been eyeing each other up the entire time. I don't know why Gretchen invited Beckham (maybe she thought more people would show up?) or why Xavier agreed to host Essais's birthday party (maybe he thought Beckham wouldn't come?)— but knowing their motives doesn't change the fact that they're both here, and that neither of them looks very happy about it. And it's not like their fight is the only thing messing with the group dynamic. Essais hasn't spoken to me since I found out about his prosthetic leg, Gretchen is still pissed at Beckham and Xavier for stealing the flag she was supposed to defend, and I'm just trying not to think about my conversation with James. If you take that and throw in all the weird, unspoken crushes, you get this whole Molotov cocktail of teenage hormones and craziness that's threatening to explode at any moment.  Finally, the tension builds to an unbearable level, and Gretchen pushes herself to her feet. "We've got to do something. I'm going to go insane if we don't do something."  "I agree," says Essais, in a soft voice that barely carries over the wailing over the wind. He lifts his gaze from the floor and stares at us, looking vaguely surprised, as if he didn't expect anybody to be listening. "I don't want to spend my seventeenth birthday sitting around inside and doing nothing," he explains. "We should play a game."  "What kind of game?" Beckham asks apprehensively. I can't help but recall how the last game we played, Capture the Flag, didn't exactly end well for her. Or any of us, really. Maybe we should just away from games altogether. That would be the smart idea (as if any of us are actually smart). "We can't go outside. It's raining too hard."  "Not an outside game," Gretchen retorts. "We'll stay inside, obviously. We can play Truth or Dare or Never Have I Ever."  "I don't want to play a game," says Xavier. He's looking more miserable than usual, and he keeps casting mournful looks at Beckham when he thinks she isn't paying attention. (I, however, am always paying attention. Why wouldn't I? It's like watching a poorly written TV drama play out in real-time.) He finishes, "I want to go to sleep."  "Well, I want to celebrate my seventeenth birthday like a normal teenager," Essais says, in a rare show of confidence. "I say we play a game. So let's play a game."  Gretchen grins at him, pleased by his decision. Then, she grins even more broadly at the friendship bracelet on his wrist. "Actually, let's not play Truth or Dare. It's not like we can do any fun dares since it's raining too hard to leave the cabin. It'll be easier to play Never Have I Ever."  "We don't have anything to do shots with," says Beckham reproachfully.  "It's fine. We'll just do it the old-fashioned way, by holding up our fingers. How does that sound?"  Essais nods his head in approval. Just like that, the Matthewer is settled. "Sounds good to me. Let's do it."  His words act as a cue, and everyone scoots a little closer to each other. Beckham's shoulder bumps against mine. Essais's knee (I think it's the metal one— it feels too cold) digs into my thigh. Xavier gets wedged next to Gretchen, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn't get to sit next to his estranged running buddy. (Like I said. Poorly written TV drama.)  "Alright, everybody put up five fingers," Gretchen orders. (She'd make a great army sergeant one day.) "I'll ask the first question. We can start with something easy. Like, never have I ever been out of the country."  "That's a stupid question," Beckham says; but then Gretchen glares at her, and grudgingly, she lowers a finger.  Essais also loses a finger. So do I. (It's kind of hard not to travel when your mother's a famous CEO who constantly gets invited places. Not that Stephanieever let us do any touristy stuff in the countries we visited— unless you consider sitting outside a business conference for five hours entertainment.)  Gretchen gives Essais a curious look. "Where did you go?"  He frowns at her. "I live in Canada."  "Oh, s**t. That's true."  This is followed by a long conversation about Canada, in which Essais attempts to argue that most of the generalizations aren't true, but fails to get his message across because he's basically living the life of the polite Canadian stereotype. When we finally get back on track, Gretchen knees Xavier hard in the leg and says, "Your turn, Fish."  "This should give you all a thrill," he mumbles drearily. "Never have I ever gotten blackout drunk."  Beckham unabashedly lowers a finger. So does Gretchen. After a moment of hesitation, I lower one of my own. (I can still remember the taste of the champagne at Justin's New Year's Eve Party. I wish I hadn't drunk anything that night. I wish I hadn't gone at all.)  "Beckham? Gretchen? Landon?" Essais cranes his neck to get a look at everyone in the circle, his expression utterly betrayed. "Seriously? Have you all no conscience?"  "It's not illegal if you don't get caught," Gretchen wisecracks, making Beckham snort with laughter. I remember, vaguely, saying similar words to Justin in David's stolen Cadillac. A funny feeling passes through me. Who knew this game would give me so many flashbacks?  Essais shakes his head. "You all—" he gestures accusingly at the rest of us "—are disappointing. Is it really that hard just to wait until you're twenty-one?"  "You're just saying that because you've never tried it," Gretchen replies smugly. "Don't worry, Essais Sostenuto. I'll get you drunk one of these days."  "No, thank you! I am perfectly fine with being a law-abiding citizen."  "I bet you pay your taxes, too."  "I do, actually. Because I'm a mature adult."  "Sure, Sostenuto. Keep telling yourself that."  It's my turn next. Most of my brainpower is being used for other activities (worrying about James and trying not to worry about Justin), so I can't think of anything good. I end up defaulting on, "Never have I ever lied to a cop." If this sounds like a lie, I swear it isn't— I've never had to lie to the cops before, because I never got in trouble for the s**t I did.  Predictably, everyone else raises a finger. It seems like a simple round, until Beckham turns to Xavier and asks him, grinning maliciously, "Lie to your dad much?", which doesn't make sense but manages to upset him anyway, and I see Xavier's face darken with what might be a shadow of anger.  "Never have I ever physically hurt someone," Xavier retorts, even though it's not his turn.  Beckham's smile turns sour. She scowls at him, her face darkening with anger as well.  "Slow down, Xavier, it's Essais's turn to ask a question, not yours," Gretchen says crossly. But Essais doesn't get the chance to ask a question, because then Beckham cuts him off, too.  "Never have I ever gotten arrested by my dad," she snaps, making Xavier's cheeks turn as red as tomatoes. "That's why you're here, right?"  "No, it's not. I wasn't actually arrested. If I was, I would be in jail, not summer camp."  "Wouldn't that be nice," she says sweetly.  I can tell that this is the final straw for Xavier; that this is his breaking point. He declares, a bit too loudly, "I have a good one. Never have I ever cheated at a game of Capture the Flag!"  I don't know what he's trying to imply, but Beckham clearly doesn't appreciate it, because she leaps furiously to her feet. Seconds later, she's followed by Xavier.  "Shut up." Her voice is quietly angry, like the calm before the storm. It reminds me a little of the Director, and her underlying current of intensity. Beckham can be scary when she wants to be. "You have no right to say that. No right at all. Not after what you did."  "After what I did? I didn't do anything! You're the one that—"  "Shut up! I already told you to shut up!"  "I think you two should take five deep breaths," Essais suggests, "and then we can all calm down—"  "This doesn't involve you," Beckham snaps. "And personally, I don't think I need to calm down. What I need is for people to stop acting like they know me, when they don't actually know anything at all."  Xavier squares his jaw at Beckham like he's steadying himself for a fight— which is stupid because everyone here already knows that Beckham would win. "I know lots of things about you, Beckham Fisher. You'd be surprised."  "Oh, yeah? Like what? Go on, indulge me."  Xavier's mouth twists into a little half-smile. The sight of it is eerily familiar. A weird, slippery feeling runs down my spine as I realize why— I've seen the same smile in a hundred mirrors because it's my smile. And I know from experience that it means nothing but trouble.  "I know that you know things you shouldn't," he says. His words are a blatant chWellingtonge. "There's no way you should've known about what Rueben did to that girl, or where the hornet nest was in the woods. There's something about you, Beckham, something that I can't place; but I know it's there because things just aren't adding up. Would you like me to say more? Or was that enough indulgence?"  All the blood drains out of Beckham's face. "I can't believe you," she whispers, her voice breathy and hoarse. "I really can't believe you."  "Guys, please," Essais begs. "It's my birthday. Let's not fight. Why can't we just play a game and have fun, without bringing up all of—" He motions his hands around wildly "—this?"  "I'm sorry your birthday sucks, but I can't do anything to fix it. I don't know why I even came to this f*****g party in the first place," Beckham snaps. She flicks a braid over her shoulder and heads for the door. "Whatever. I'm leaving."  "No, don't!" cries Gretchen "It's still raining, you don't want to get wet, do you?" She flashes Beckham a winning smile. It achieves zero percent of its intended effect. "Besides, you can't walk back to your cabin alone in the dark! It's the middle of the Alaskan wilderness, you could get, er, mauled— by a moose! They're vicious creatures, you know. You could be in serious danger."  Beckham gives Gretchen a cold look, unmoved by the girl's perfect white teeth and half-assed excuses. "I'm fine on my own, thank you very much." She continues towards the door, but before she's even placed a hand on the knob, Gretchen springs to her feet and races over to intercept her.  "We aren't done playing," she says. "It'll be so boring if you leave."  "Too bad. I don't want to play your stupid game anymore."  "We can play a different game," Gretchen says, placing a hand on Beckham's shoulder.  Beckham stares down at Gretchen's hand in disgust, as if it were some large, hairy bug. She reaches up and plucks it off with two fingers. "Like what?" she asks slowly.  "We could play Spin the Bottle," Gretchen offers slyly.  I roll my eyes. "Oh, great," I mutter. "I forgot we were in middle school."  "Shut up," Beckham snaps. She slips her hand away from the door and rubs angrily at a spot on her forehead. "I'm in. It sounds better than Never Have I Ever, at least."  "It really doesn't," says Essais, who looks more alarmed now than he did when Gretchen promised to get him drunk.  Gretchen's winning smile vanishes quickly into the shine of her lip-gloss. "You're the one that wanted to play a game, Essais. Do you want this party to be over already?"  Thunder rumbles again. Essais glances out the window, at the rain pouring down in buckets, and hastily shakes his head. "Fine," he says, sighing dolefully in resignation. "I guess if you guys really want to play, we can play."  "So that's decided, then. Let's start." Gretchen grabs one of the containers that Xavier has been using to stop the leaks— an empty ketchup bottle— and places in the center of the circle. "Now, who wants to go first?"  "I will," Beckham says without hesitation.  And then I realize that we're not playing one game, but two. One of Gretchen's invention, and the other of Beckham's.  "No... let's let someone else have a turn," Gretchen says. She smiles at me, I can tell that she understands our particular situation perfectly— unlike Xavier, who just sat back down. Xavier doesn't know that we're playing two games, but then again, he doesn't know a lot of things. It's sort of entertaining, watching him stumble around in confusion.  "Fine, then," Beckham says. "I volunteer Landon."  "It doesn't work like that. You don't get to choose who goes first," protests Xavier.  I wave him away. "It's fine. Hand me the bottle."  Gretchen pushes the ketchup bottle towards me. "Have fun," she says, with a wink.  I spin the bottle. It lands on Xavier.  There's a long pause. I'm the first person to break the silence, and I break it with a laugh. I laugh and laugh, harder than I have in a long time, and when I finally look up, Xavier is glaring at me, his freckled face completely devoid of all humor.  "I'm not kissing you," he mumbles under his breath.  "Trust me, the feeling is mutual."  "Oh, masculinity," Beckham sighs. She performs a scathing eye-roll that only seems to wound Xavier and continues, "Just spin it again, Landon. Hopefully this time it lands on one of the two girls in the room."