Before Wings (12 page)

“You’re not a shit,” said Adrien. “And I’m not Leanne.”

Paul slumped against the fence. “Two years, I’ve been dreaming about you.”

“It’s been two years since I had my aneurysm,” Adrien said slowly.

“Must mean something,” he muttered. “How’re you supposed to know? I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m supposed to do, how I’m supposed to be. Is there some purpose to all this? Y’know, like this is the way I’m finally gonna wise up and become a better person. Well if it is, I already learned, okay? I know what an absolute jerk I can be, so until this is all over—whatever that means—every-thing’s on hold. I’m on hold.
Life
is on hold.”

“But—” said Adrien. Out in the corrals, horses wickered and nuzzled. Horses had it so easy. They didn’t have to talk about it, they just did it. Words were an impossible dream. “Shit!” she erupted. “I wish I was a horse.”

Paul followed her gaze out into the paddock, just as one horse began nosing the rump of another.

“Not
that
horse,” she said desperately.

Paul gave a shout of laughter, then pulled his baseball cap back on. “The day after my birthday,” he said, “if I’m still around, I am going into those trees. And if you come after me, we are going to build a lean-to, crawl into it and not come out for a long time.”

“Why not now?” asked Adrien in a small hopeful voice.

“I’m still a crazy dying shit,” Paul said simply.

It was late afternoon, the dining hall a mass of shouting, fidgeting children. As the serving line moved slowly along the counter, the hairnets dumped large helpings of sloppy joes, corn and coleslaw onto pale yellow plates. Slinking in
through a side entrance, Adrien joined the closest staff table. Big mistake—they had gotten through the serving line early, and were already halfway through the mess on their plates. She had missed lunch because she had stayed at the corrals to help Paul with the fence. The hairnets had given them a few sandwiches, but now she was absolutely starved. She couldn’t remember being this hungry as a camper. Buttering a slice of bread, she wolfed it down.

“So, how’s little Wood?”

Connor sat across the table, mopping up the last of his sloppy joes with a piece of bread. He had spent the afternoon at the docks, putting several cabins through their waterfront orientation. Tuck’n Tack was closed on Sunday afternoons, so after the fence had been fixed, Adrien had worked at the office computer, helping Gwen slot cabins into a master activities schedule. From there, she had watched groups of children sitting on the lawn, waiting to get their medical records checked at the First Aid cabin. Beyond them, Connor had strode up and down the horizon like a bronze god, blond halo gleaming as he explained life jacket fastenings and how to hold onto a tipped canoe.

“Busy,” Adrien replied.

“Now, what could keep a little girl like you busy?” he drawled, leaning back and patting his stomach.

“Fixing the fence up at the corrals. Someone vandalized it.”

His eyebrows made a careful ascent.
Manufactured shock
, Adrien thought.
He’s not really surprised.

“Yeah,” she continued. “It must’ve happened last night. Late last night. Y’know, some stupid drunks thought they’d
have a good time letting out the horses.”

“Sounds like the way I’d want to spend a good drunk,” Connor said sarcastically.

She plunged on. “But of course, they were too drunk to unhitch the gate. Oh no, they had to take the fence apart.”

“Probably some of the natives,” he said easily. “Paul and his buddies.”

“I don’t think so!” she hissed. “More like initiation for new recruits, don’t you think?”

The staff at the table had fallen completely silent. Among the shouts and laughter of several hundred children, it was an odd oasis of quiet. Hand shaking, Adrien reached for the bread basket, but Connor pulled it out of reach.

“Uh-uh,” he said, smiling coldly. “Tsk-tsk.”

“I don’t have to play your stupid games,” she said, enunciating clearly. “Midnight fire. Good times. The training manual is trash.”

The staffer sitting next to Connor froze with her fork in her mouth. Even Connor had gone very still. Then a throat at the other end of the table cleared itself loudly and said, “Con, pass me that bread, would ya?”

“Sure, Bunter. Catch.” Connor tossed the basket and the other guy caught it neatly, removing the last few pieces of bread.

“Sure am hungry,” said Bunter, biting into all three at once.

Adrien noticed an empty seat at another staff table. She stood, about to walk over to it, but Connor caught her
wrist. “Catch ya later,” he said softly, tightening his grip, then letting go.

After supper, everyone filed out of the dining hall to stand in a large circle facing the flagpole. Aunt Erin was a stickler for instilling national pride—twice a day, the entire camp lined up to watch as the flag was raised or lowered. Most of the ceremony took place in complete silence, only the flag speaking into the wind. Already a camper had been selected to help Aunt Erin fold the flag—the nine-year-old squirt who had lost her boombox. Looking ridiculously serious, she stood ramrod straight at the center of the circle. It was obvious she had fallen hopelessly under the camp director’s spell. Adrien could almost hear her fierce little heart beat quicker as Aunt Erin stepped forward and began a short speech.

“Tomorrow is Canada Day, a day we have set aside to honor our country and celebrate the fact that we live in a place of freedom and dignity.” Adrien was surprised. She had forgotten her aunt could speak in long sentences. “This flag represents what we feel about our country and about ourselves. It stands for everything we believe in—freedom of speech, freedom to worship ...”

Five girls stepped forward and stood around the flagpole in a small group. It was early morning, the horizon lit with first light. At the top of the flagpole flew a single pair of girl’s panties.

“I told Mom!” wailed Roberta. “They stole all of them. That’s the only pair I have left and they stuck it up there.” She stood, hands on hips, looking very pleased as she watched her pink panties flutter.

“Bet you they’re wearing the rest of them,” observed Sherry.

“No way!” gawked a girl with a long tumble of brown hair who was standing beside her.

“You don’t want them back, Roberta,” advised Nat. “They’ll be stretched way out of shape.” She made a lewd gesture and the girls burst into fidgety laughter.

“What’m I gonna wear?” demanded Roberta.

“Nothing,” grinned Nat. “None of us will, for the whole week. But don’t tell Erin, okay? Only us’ll know.”

“No underwear?” The fifth girl looked shocked.

“C’mon, Cath, this is your big chance to dump those bloomers your mother makes you wear.” Quickly Nat unzipped her shorts, stepped out of them, removed her panties and pulled her shorts back on. “Hooey!” she cried, waving her panties over her head. “Everyone do it!”

“Someone’ll see,” protested Cath, looking around.

“Everyone’s asleep. Erin’s snoring and you know why.” Nat began to dance around the flagpole.

“I dunno,” said Cath, but the other girls were following suit, sitting down to tug off their jeans.

“My bum’s wet from the dew,” laughed Roberta as she scrambled to her feet.

“You’ve got a bug on it,” Sherry observed.

Delicately, Roberta removed the mayfly, then pulled her jeans back on. “Yahoo!” Waving her panties over her head, she joined Nat in the dance around the flagpole. Soon the others joined in, giggling and snorting through a wobbly version of “O Canada”. Finally Sherry stopped dancing and stood staring upward. Her face held a look of awe.

“Let’s put them all up there,” she whispered fiercely.

Adrien watched the bright red maple leaf descend in small jerks, sagging as it came out of the wind. Then Aunt Erin and her nine-year-old fan were folding the flag and putting it into its overnight box. Serious faces began singing “O Canada” as a V of geese flew across the lake. Adrien mouthed the words, but their meaning escaped her. She couldn’t believe what she had just seen. Every summer she had stood in line, morning and evening, listening to her aunt’s speeches, watching the red leaf and believing in its holiness. Now for one vivid moment, she saw six pairs of pink and white panties flying wildly at the top of the flagpole, catching the light as the morning sun rose over the lake.

She would never be the same again.

nine

She was jerked roughly out of sleep, into the glare of a flashlight. Once again, her blankets were pulled off the bed. This time she backed into the wall, shielding her eyes.

“You’ve broken a long tradition, Grouch.” Connor was speaking in a deep unfamiliar voice, but she recognized him. What made him think he could pretend to be a different person at night? And why did everyone else pretend along with him? Even Darcie stood in the shadows, ready to jump at his slightest command.

“I don’t like your traditions,” she said. “No one made them the law.”

“They’re the law here.” He pulled her hand from her face. She blinked and tried to turn her head. “Bad girls have to be punished, you know.”

“What’re you, a bunch of Nazis?”

He snapped his fingers and two guys leaned toward her—the waterfront assistant and one of the riding instructors. They grabbed her arms and pulled her off the bed.

“C’mon,” said Connor, leaving the room. She was pushed toward the door, then forced along the hall. As they emerged outside, she started to yell, and a hand was clamped over her mouth. The flashlight was so close, she could feel its heat on her face.

“Make another sound and it’ll get worse,” Connor said quietly.

She fell silent. They weren’t really hurting her—if she didn’t struggle, they held her quite loosely. The procession wound its way through the trees, past the dining hall and the office, then on toward the corrals until it reached the Petting Zoo, a small fenced-in enclosure that housed two sheep, one goat and several rabbits. Every day, the youngest campers came here to feed and pet the animals. As Connor vaulted the fence, the sheep bleated sleepily and backed away.

“Pass her over,” he said.

The fence was no more than a meter high. She kicked and struggled, but was easily lifted into his waiting arms. His breath stank of beer and his chin stubble rubbed her cheek, but when she pushed against his chest, he tightened his grip. He carried her effortlessly. Several more figures leapt into the enclosure.

“Darcie, get your ass in here,” Connor ordered.

With assistance, Darcie climbed the fence.

“Open it up,” Connor said.

As Darcie took out a key, someone trained the flashlight on the small cage in one corner of the pen that housed the animals’ feed. With a start, Adrien remembered that one of her roommate’s additional duties was the Petting Zoo’s early morning feeding.

“I don’t really think we should—” Darcie began, but Connor cut her off.

“Maybe we’ll put you in instead?”

Darcie unlocked the cage. “It’s too full,” she said. “Grouch won’t fit.”

“So pull out a bale,” said Connor.

Hands pulled out the closest bale of hay.

“Great,” said Connor. “Lots of room. In you go, Grouch. Sit in the cage where all the bad animals belong.”

She tried to hang onto the doorframe, but they pressed her arms to her sides and shoved her through. The small door closed, the padlock clicked shut, and the staff moved in to circle the cage. She counted eleven shapes shifting nervously in the dark.

“Erin Wood,” Connor said, and everyone stomped and grunted. Adrien crouched in the cage and waited. “So, little Wood,” Connor sneered. “How d’you like your new home?”

She couldn’t believe the snickers. They had to be completely drunk, too drunk to see her shaking. “Oh, I’m really scared,” she said. “The sheep might tear the cage apart and eat me alive. In the morning, my aunt’ll find me and you’ll be fired.”

“Then maybe we’d better make sure no one finds you.” Connor crouched by the cage and flicked a lighter. The small flame cast flickering shadows across the bales.

“What’re you doing?” gasped Darcie.

“Shut up.” Connor held the flame under several wisps of hay sticking through the wire mesh. “You gonna tell your auntie, Grouch?”

“I didn’t say I was going to tell,” Adrien said nervously. “I said she’d find me in the morning if you left me here all night.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t do that,” Connor said soothingly. “Not
all
night, Grouch.”

The hay caught fire and flames shot inward.

“No!” Darcie shoved Connor aside and began stomping the flames with her shoe. As quickly as the fire had flared, it died. “What d’you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

“Just testing your loyalties.”

“You can’t
kill
people,” Darcie cried. “That’s not part of any camp tradition.”

“No one was going to kill her.” Connor spoke calmly. “And you interfered.”

“But—” Darcie stammered.

“We’re finished for tonight,” said Connor. “Beddy-bye for all good staffies. C’mon, Darcie.” He took her by the shoulders and pushed her toward the fence. Then he and the others vaulted it, leaving her standing alone, staring at the wire mesh. Connor played the flashlight over her face. Everyone watched her take a deep breath, as if coming awake.

“This is stupid,” Darcie said. “I’ve got the key.” She walked to the pen’s main gate, unlocked it and stepped out. “See ya later, Grouch,” she whispered, then joined the others as they headed toward their cabins. The rustling of leaves faded. There was the distant snapping of a twig,
then enormous silence. Adrien’s heart beat bright stars across the sky.

“This shit only works if everyone believes it,” she yelled into the looming dark, then slumped against the cage door. She couldn’t believe they were actually leaving her here.

“On Canada Day,” she muttered. “Country of freedom and dignity. Freedom of expression and all that.”