At long last, the day at camp drew to a close, and the children began departing in small groups, some walking and others retrieving their bicycles. Weary from the responsibility of keeping watch over so many young campers, Buddy flopped down on the hillside near Clyde, his wet clothing still dripping. Multicolored fragments of rubber from dozens of burst water balloons littered the grass around them.
"You never told me that being their hero also meant I'd become the prime target during the water battle," he laughed, not really minding because of the slight relief that being soaked provided against the oppressive heat. "That was hardly a fair fight; I was so outnumbered I never stood a chance." Fumbling in the pocket of his t-shirt, he pulled out a drenched and misshapen paper box. "Aw, and now my smokes are ruined," he grumbled, his rare good mood soured. To his surprise, his fellow counselor didn't hesitate to retrieve a pack from his own pocket.
"Have one of mine," Clyde offered without a second thought. "Just don't light up until the last of the kids are outta here, okay? Y'know, we should set a good example and all." The other boy just stared blankly at the cigarette before finally regaining his wits and taking it.
"I've gotta admit, I never imagined a square like you would smoke," Buddy admitted, only catching his slight insult after he'd spoken.
"Trust me, I'd catch it at home if my folks saw me lighting up," Clyde admitted. "I really should give it up already, but it's too easy to buy the darned things." He smirked. "At work there's a vending machine at the end of this hall that nobody uses, right in the back by the kitchen-" Buddy cut him off.
"That's right, didn't you say you wash dishes at Fredbear's?" he asked, getting a nod in return. "Your vending machine is hardly a secret; I've been to the diner myself to throw a few quarters in the games and then grab some smokes on the sly." He laughed. "Your boss knew what he was doing, tucking that machine away out of sight in the hallway. From what I've seen, it must earn him some pretty sweet revenue from the young crowd. Maybe the next time I'm by that way I'll stop in and say hi."
"Just keep it on the down-low," Clyde warned. "I'm getting paid under the table, so I'm not really supposed to make a big deal out of working there." Buddy shook his head in disbelief. Between his less-than-legal employment and smoking habit, maybe his new friend was at least slightly more nervy than he'd previously thought. His choice to target him the year before at school had been little more than chance; the kid had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had invoked his wrath on a particularly bad day. It was only now that he was coming across as someone he could respect, and maybe even like.
"Will do," the teen promised, gazing longingly at the cigarette he clutched in his hand. "So anyway, when are these kids gonna scram so I can-" He abruptly fell silent, peering at a trio of children who were lingering by the gravel road at the far end of the park. A bicycle, its wheel still spinning, lay forgotten on the grass nearby, and he caught sight of a flash of chrome reflecting in the sunlight just at the edge of the pine trees. A vehicle's bumper...
"I can't believe it! The purple car guy's back," he announced, his voice tense. Clyde was already rising to his feet, but Buddy put out an arm to stop him. "No. You make sure the rest of the kids stay here. I'll send those three back up to you and then I'll deal with our creeper."
"No way. That one boy down there is my kid brother!" the camp counselor protested, recognizing Keith's familiar orange tank top, the same one he'd help him pick out that morning to wear. "He was supposed to take his bike straight home..." Before he could say more or start after the boys, the other teenager shoved roughly him in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground just as he had in the stairwell at their high school.
"Let me handle this," Buddy pleaded over his shoulder, already taking off down the hill before Clyde could respond. There would be time for apologies later. His sneakers barely touching the grass, he sprinted toward the children, slipping noiselessly through the spindly pine trees near the road.
"What do you think you're doing? Get back up there!" Buddy snapped, his eyes flashing with anger as he emerged from the woods. The three boys he'd reprimanded backed away from the large sedan, too startled to argue with their counselor, and lost no time in scrambling up the hill where Clyde awaited by the picnic pavilions.
"Well, that was a little harsh," remarked a voice from inside the vehicle, its driver sounding completely unconcerned that he was being confronted about lurking around the park. Undeterred, the black-clad teenager ducked lower, glaring at him through the open window.
"You haven't seen harsh yet," he growled. "Care to tell me why you're back again? Don't think I didn't notice you driving by earlier. Your car's pretty hard to miss." The driver leaned back, one arm slung casually over the back of the passenger seat, and snickered openly at the teen.
"I got lost," he said in an uncaring, surly tone, keeping one eye on the other counselor who was keeping his distance, a tiny, far-off figure with his arms outstretched toward the children who had almost reached him. Clad in a bright yellow camp t-shirt and cut-offs, he presented quite a contrast to the boy who was actually bold enough to confront him. "That one kid's bike chain slipped and I offered to help him fix it so he wouldn't have to walk home."
"My stupid bike chain broke, and that man said he'd give all of us a ride home," the boy explained to his brother, slumping dejectedly onto a picnic bench. "I'm in a lot of trouble, aren't I?"
"No, not really, but you shouldn't have talked to that guy, Keith. We don't know him," Clyde consoled the fretful child, feeling overwhelmed and helpless now that the senior counselors had left for the day. Scraped knees and bee stings he could handle, but the current situation left him in over his head, with his concern for his new friend growing by the moment.
"Why's he talking to him, then?" Keith demanded, echoing Clyde's worries. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"I...I think he's chasing away a bad guy," Clyde said, wishing he could be as confident as he tried to sound for his brother's sake.
The potent smell of patchouli, mixed with the baked-plastic odor of a dashboard ruthlessly heated by the sun, met Buddy as he glared defiantly into the car, both hands now gripping the open window frame as if he was daring the driver to take off. The man behind the wheel returned his stare, his expression inscrutable.
"You're not fooling anyone, and I think it's best you leave," Buddy said tensely, unused to facing down anyone significantly older than himself.
"Oh? That's a real relief that I'm free to go." The driver gave an exaggerated wave, a gesture of false gratitude as though Buddy was a highway officer releasing him on a verbal warning. "You'd better head back up there yourself. Your pal looks a little lost without you." He smirked, his gaze on the picnic pavilion where Clyde paced anxiously, the children peering curiously from behind a picnic table as though their counselor had "circled the wagons" in an effort to protect them. Curse him. Curse them both. Those three had been nearly within his clutches, so alluringly close to his car, until the hawk-eyed, scruffy-looking kid confronting him now had tried to be a hero.
His hunting grounds no longer a secret, the driver abruptly lost his last shred of patience and clamped the gas pedal to the floor with his boot, lurching the hefty car forward and forcing Buddy to spring back seconds before his feet would have been rolled over. The car's wing mirror reflected a wholly satisfying image of the teenager enveloped in a choking cloud of gravel dust, at least until it fell victim to a thrown projectile, a rock hastily scooped up from the roadside.
The car bounced to a halt and the driver cooly plucked a wickedly sharp sliver of glass from the back of his hand where it had embedded itself, then reached for the door handle not far from where the wing mirror now dangled uselessly from the car's body. Buddy was standing tall and confident, practically daring him to retaliate.
"This," vowed the seething man, "is not over. You'd best watch your back." Yet it seemed over at least for the meantime, leaving the teenager to watch as he swung back into his seat and sped away, the two rows of tail lights on the vehicle as it receded into the distance a welcome sight.
"You're crazy, just crazy!" Clyde cried out, his relief so intense he found himself clutching Buddy up in an awkward crush of a hug. For one moment both were reluctant to break their embrace, then they let their arms drop. "Ha, and you're still soaked. But what did he say to you? Do you think we should call the cops?"
"No." Buddy's voice was as firm as his sudden grip on Clyde's arm. He beckoned him some distance away from the boys who were watching them with nothing short of worshipful eyes, then continued. "What would we tell them, that I busted off a guy's car mirror for laughs?" No doubt used to trusting authority, the other teen clearly didn't understand. "Even if they did find him, it would be his word against ours, and who's going to believe a juvenile delinquent?" He stooped to pick up a forgotten paper plate mask from under the picnic table, sinking onto the bench and gazing into the undecorated white visage.
"One more strike against me and I'd finish up the summer in juvie hall; the judge said it himself," he admitted solemnly, twirling the mask on its stick. "Can you imagine what that would be like? Orders shouted at you from sunup to sundown, not a moment to think or do anything for yourself." He visibly shuddered at the thought of such a severe restriction to his freedom. "I may not be thrilled about being here, but I'll never wind up there. I'm nobody's puppet."
Exactly four weeks later, Buddy pulled out a packet of papers from behind his back, presenting them to Clyde with a flourish.
"Read 'em and weep," he said triumphantly. "That's what a hundred hours of community service looks like, all documented and signed off on. Five hours a day, five days a week. Man, is it going to feel good turning these in first thing tomorrow." He grinned, his face glowing in contrast against his dark clothing.
"Uh, yeah, I guess it will," said Clyde, immediately crestfallen though he knew he should praise him for the accomplishment. "The kids are sure gonna miss you the rest of summer, and this place won't be the same without you." Behind him, young faces froze in open-mouthed surprise and crayons fell forgotten from their hands as the children registered what was happening.
Buddy put his hands on his hips and grinned, not wanting to prolong their shock. "Well now, imagine if I decided to stick it out the last two weeks after all?"
"Uh oh, don't tell me you got sentenced to more service hours," Clyde exclaimed in a jestful reprimand.
"Nope, not this time! This one's by my own choice," Buddy was certain to emphasize. "Besides, maybe I do need less idle time on my hands. It just might keep me out of trouble."
"Really?" Clyde's face lit up, then promptly reddened behind the lenses of his glasses. "I mean, that's great! Otherwise, I'd have a tough time living up to your reputation. You've set some pretty high standards around here, whipping up all those great meals when I can barely pour a glass of milk, and making all those balloon animals-" He was cut off by an eager young voice.
"And you can draw anything we ask for," a child pointed out before returning to her coloring project, an outline of a puppy she had requested from the talented counselor earlier in the day.
"It's true, and meanwhile, I'm lucky to turn out a good stick figure," Clyde said with a shrug, amplifying his supposed inadequacies to such comical proportions that the children burst out into giggles around him.
Keith leaned in close to Buddy, ready to confide in him a great secret. "He may be my brother, but he couldn't chase off bad guys like you can, either." Clyde had warned him not to scare the other campers with accounts of the strange driver, but he had hardly forgotten the heroic bravery the older boy had displayed.
Buddy shrugged off the praise. "All right, can it with the flattery already. It might go to my head, and besides, Clyde's not so bad." He didn't miss the smile flash across his friend's face, but he wasn't about to tell him the other reason he had known all along he couldn't leave the camp once his service obligation was fulfilled.
As much as he envied his fellow counselor's carefree spirit, his attention was never far from the constant whereabouts of every child, even counting them periodically to reassure himself none had strayed too far, and his eyes were often drawn to the far-off gravel road where he had confronted the stranger. Most of all, the encounter remained ingrained in his mind, and he found himself always thinking, always questioning whether the man would make good on his vow to return.