The Devil You Know (6 page)

“The infamous Arcadia Wells,” Matt interrupts. “I know. We've met. At the ranger station, if you want to get technical about it.”

“Wait. Is she—” I can almost see the lightbulb switch on over Noah's head as he realizes it wasn't Lindsey who invited Matt to the campfire party. “Oh, shit. Sorry, dude. Didn't mean to poach.”

“Poach?” My eyebrows practically climb up into my hairline. “Seriously? Like, I'm an endangered white rhino instead of a person? Pretty sure I'm capable of choosing for myself, instead of waiting around for you guys to decide who gets me. So that's not what you meant by poach, right?”

In the awkward silence that follows, I wonder if I'm overreacting. My mother nurtured strong opinions in me,
and sometimes I think they push people away. But why should I have to change who I am so someone else will like me? Why should anyone have to do that? And why shouldn't I call boys out on their bullshit?

Noah's pinkie finger brushes against mine on the blanket. “I'm sorry, Cadie.”

The soulful sound of my name coming from his mouth makes me want to forgive him on the spot. I don't want to be mad tonight. I'm away from home, free from every little responsibility that holds me down, and sitting beside me is a guy I want to kiss again very soon. I reach my arm into the cooler and fish out a couple of icy cans. “Who wants a beer?”

After I distribute a round, the mood seems to click back to normal and we sit for a while, discussing the guys' plan to end their camping trip at Flamingo. According to Matt, the residents were relocated after Hurricane Wilma and the town became part of Everglades National Park.

“There are streets with no houses,” he explains. “Just the concrete pads where the houses once stood.”

I smile. “Sounds like the perfect kind of creepy.”

“Exactly,” he says, smiling back as if we're together on some inside joke. “But I also think we should go to Disney World.”

Noah casts a skeptical eye at him. “You were the one
who said we should stick to camping and skip the tourist stuff.”

“Yeah, but it'll be fun,” Matt insists. He drops his arm around Lindsey's shoulder. “Especially if we convince a couple of pretty girls to go with us.”

Lindsey giggles, her eyes shining with hope, and I'm not sure if she's more excited about the idea of spending more time with Matt or going to the Magic Kingdom.

The first time my parents took me to Disney World, I was six. My memories are pretty vague, except that my dad spent the extra money for tickets to Epcot Center just because the only Disney character I wanted to meet was Mulan and she was at Epcot. And I remember getting sick after riding the teacups. Our class went to Disney at the end of seventh grade, too, but now that I think about it, Lindsey didn't go.

“Dude,” Noah says, his voice low. “I thought we weren't.”

There's something in his tone that leaves me wondering if they're still talking about Disney World, and the air feels thick with whatever is not being said, but Matt laughs it away. “Cadie might like the teacup ride.”

“Don't count on it,” I say. “Last time I rode those things, I puked orange soda all over my mom's legs.”

“I think …” Noah gets to his feet and offers me a hand up. “Maybe we should talk about this in the morning.”

I say good night to Matt and Lindsey as Noah stalks off toward his tent, leaving Molly and a very confused me to catch up. “So what was that about?” I ask, when we're zipped up inside.

“Every summer since I moved to Maine, Matt and I have done a trip,” he says. “One year we hiked the two-hundred-and-eighty-one-mile section of the Appalachian Trail that runs up through Maine. Another year we paddled the coastline from Kittery to Calais. This is probably our last summer, so we agreed it was just going to be us, you know?”

I nod. “It's a good plan.”

“It was,” Noah says. “Until I met you, and I thought about how cool it would be if you came with us. But I wasn't going to ask because of the agreement. Only now he's invited Lindsey to go to Disney World?”

“Maybe he really likes her.”

“He likes
you.
”

“Now you're just being crazy,” I say. “Matt doesn't even know me. And besides, if I was going to run off to Disney World with a stranger, it would be you.”

He smiles as he reaches for me, and I can feel the warmth of his hands through the thin fabric of my dress. He kisses me dizzy, then whispers in my ear, “Want to run off with me?”

The whole idea is insane, but part of me wants to say
yes. The part of me that can picture holding his free hand while he drives. Kissing at red lights in one-intersection towns. Sleeping on an air mattress with an Australian cattle dog named Molly. The part of me that's been waiting for an adventure my whole life.

“Ask me again tomorrow.” I lie down on his mattress, and Noah spoons up behind me as his dog curls against my stomach. I smile. What's more likely to happen tomorrow is, I'll go home and spend the day with Daniel Boone and a basket of dirty laundry. But tonight … this imperfectly perfect night will be pressed in my memory the way Mom pressed flowers between the pages of the dusty old dictionary.

“I shouldn't,” he says, his voice heavy with sleep. “But I will.”

The morning sky is the kind Daniel Boone calls “sheepy”—pale blue pasture filled with pink and purple puffs that look like a close-together flock of sheep—when I wake up needing to use the bathroom. Also, feeling shy because I've never woken up with a guy after an entire night together. Justin would sometimes fall asleep with me on my bed, but only just until his curfew. I have no idea what time it is as I wiggle out from under Noah's arm and push my feet into my boots. Molly follows me to the entrance
flap, but when I whisper that I'll be right back, she hops up on the mattress beside Noah.

Matt is standing outside his tent. He's still wearing last night's clothes, and his hair is scruffy and more than a little bit sexy. My own hair is beyond dirty. After sleep and river water, I'm afraid to even look at it.

“You're up early,” he says.

“Occupational hazard,” I say. “I have a little brother who thinks six a.m. is a reasonable time of day. I'm heading to the bathroom. You?”

“Same. I'll walk with you. How old is your brother?”

“Almost four.”

“My little sister, Lily, just turned five,” he says. “She was, um—unexpected.”

I nod. “Danny was an oops baby, too, but I can't even imagine what life would be like without him.”

“Lily's pretty adorable,” Matt says. “She used to wear these star-shaped sunglasses and tell me she was a movie star, only she said ‘moobie.' Cracked me up every time.”

My brother is probably up already, and I wonder if Dad's handling the morning routine okay. It's not as if they've never been alone together, but not usually overnight, and I don't trust Dad to make the eggs right. I can't even remember a morning I haven't been there. My phone is in my knapsack back in Noah's tent, so I can't call to check in.

“What are you guys doing today?” I ask.

“The plan is to do some paddling on the Santa Fe River and then spend another night,” he says. “But we need to head to town for some groceries.”

“That works out kind of perfectly because I need to get to town and my dad owns a grocery store,” I say. “So if you'll drop me off, I'll get you the family discount.”

“You're not sticking around?” Matt asks, as we come up on the Kendrick brothers' campsite. “I was serious about the Disney thing. I mean, Noah hates the idea, but Lindsey seems stoked.”

People are crashed out in sleeping bags and in the back of pickup trucks, and Justin's parents' pop-up camper is popped at the back of the site. I kick a beer can, scattering the little plastic Jell-O shot cups that litter the ground.

“Yeah, I don't think she's ever …” My words trail off when I see Jason propped naked against a big oak. It's not completely unreasonable for him to get drunk and take off his clothes, but on second glance it looks as if he's
tied
in place. “What the hell?”

There's a slash of silver duct tape across his mouth. A clothesline, wrapped several times around the trunk, holds him against the tree. As I kneel in the dirt beside him trying to untie him, I can see his body is covered with insect bites. Big puffy pink ones from mosquitoes. Tiny red pinpoints made by no-see-ums. And the angry blister
bubbles left by red ants. There are even a couple of ticks in the forest of hair on his arms. I don't even want to think about the other places he may have suffered bites.

Matt unfolds a camp knife and moves behind the tree to cut the rope as I lift Jason's head. “God, Kendrick, you big dumb hick,” I say, trying to keep from crying. “What did you do?”

I pick carefully at the corner of the tape, and Jason's eyelids fly open so suddenly I nearly jump clean out of my skin. My heart is racing as he makes muffled sounds at me, his eyes desperate and wild. “Let me just—”

Matt reaches down and rips away the duct tape fast, taking a bit of skin from Jason's lower lip and leaving a bloody patch in its place. Jason yelps in pain and covers his mouth with dirty hands.

“Jesus, Matt, why did you do that?” I know it's too early in the morning for shouting, but I can't help myself.

“It would have hurt more doing it your way,” he says, pulling a blanket out from under Sammy Presley and throwing it over Jason. “What happened?”

“I don't know.” Tears cut tracks in the grime as they trickle down Jason's face, and he's crying the way Daniel Boone gets when he can't stop. Ragged. Choking. My cheeks burn with embarrassment for Jason, especially when people around us are waking up and he's an entirely different boy than the one we all know. Matt steps away to phone for help.

“I can't remember. I just—the ants kept biting me.” Jason dry-heaves, and the tears keep coming. My heart breaks a little to see him like this. “I tried to call for help, but no one could hear me.”

“An ambulance is on the way.” Matt gently squeezes my shoulder as I rub Jason's back through the blanket, assuring him over and over that everything will be okay. Everyone is awake now, and Justin comes over, squatting down beside his brother.

“Who did this?” Justin asks, but Jason shakes his head.

“I don't know. I did some Jell-O shots and then … I can't remember anything.” He goes quiet for a moment, then looks up at me and gives me a little smile that's half-sad, half-regular Jason. He wipes his face with his oversize LEGO-block hand, streaking more dirt across his forehead. “Please, Sparkles, tell me we had sex.”

“You stupid jerk,” I say, but inside I'm relieved he's going to be okay.

The ambulance arrives with no lights or sirens, but a crowd, made up of campers from around the loop, still gathers. Jason's ego has been kicked around plenty for one day, and the last thing he needs is an audience, but he's in pretty bad shape. The EMTs decide his bites should be seen by a doctor, but they don't put Jason on a gurney or anything like that. He just climbs down from the picnic table where we've been waiting together.

“Hey, um, Cadie,” he says, tightening the pink floral blanket around him as he looks at the ground and then up at me. His eyes are rimmed red, and the spot on his lip has turned dark where the bleeding has stopped. “I'm sorry about your dress.”

“I don't even know what you're talking about,” I say,
and a smile breaks through the dirt on his face as he steps up into the back of the ambulance.

“See ya, Sparkles.” The doors close behind him, and a minute later they drive off, leaving the rest of us wondering what exactly happened. Speculating on how Jason ended up tied to a tree and who might have done it. Except no one saw it happen, and now that he is gone, Chris Gannon and Sammy, both of thick neck and small brain, start snickering behind their hands like a pair of kindergarteners.

“Did you guys do this?” I gesture toward the oak, where the clothesline is puddled at the base and the imprint of Jason's backside is pressed in the dirt. “Because it's not remotely funny.”

“Dude, no,” Chris protests. “I was passed out in the back of Kendrick's truck, but come on, Cadie, he had it coming. You have to admit it's kind of hilarious.”

Only it's not, because when Matt tore off the duct tape, I could smell the vomit on Jason's breath. He'd gotten so hysterical in the night he'd thrown up in his own mouth and couldn't do anything but swallow it. My eyes burn, and I have to count to ten so I won't say something terrible. Even then, what I do say is not very nice. “You guys are such dicks.”

The park rangers move through the people at the campsite, asking questions about what happened. Even
though they're local guys—which is why they typically just break up our campfire parties instead of arresting us—they still have to do their jobs. Everyone buttons up, though, not wanting to get in trouble for underage drinking. Every single person at the campsite, including me, denies tying Jason Kendrick to a tree. Most of us aren't lying when we say we have no idea, but someone is.