It was a church service Sunday, so Badou and Heine snuck out back while Bishop was distracted (even his bizarrely good senses were dulled by the presence of over eighty campers sweating and muttering to each other while he tried to tell them that God wasn't so bad). Badou lit up one of his cigarettes and Heine started fiddling around with a switchblade he'd borrowed from Naoto. She didn't know he had it yet. It was only a matter of time, of course, but he was safe as long as he put it back where he'd found it. She was smart. It wasn't under her pillow. It had been tucked against the wall, carefully balanced so she would be able to grab the hilt with her right hand and, presumably, fuck some shit up as fast as possible. Heine admired that. She scared him in that way all girls did—apart from Nill—but he respected her for knowing how to set up her weapons.
"Hey, dude," Badou said, waving his cigarette so the smoke would make lazy patterns in the stifling air, "do that thing."
Heine rolled his eyes. "You have to come up with a better thing to call it than my thing. Please."
"I mean, I could get specific but that'd have pretty shit consequences. Then everyone would know what the thing was. You don't want that. It's a trump card and all that."
"Calling it my thing is starting to get old, though."
"So you come up with something better. In the meantime, do that thing!"
"Why?"
Badou smiled, teeth bared and single eye narrowed in delight. "It's fuckin awesome, that's why!"
Heine put his head in his hands for a moment. "You are an idiot, you know that right?"
"So says you!"
"Mimi agrees with me on this. We have evidence." Heine raised his hands against Badou's counterargument. "All right, all right, I'll indulge you." Heine stepped a few feet away, sat down, and flicked the knife high into the air. It spun, glinting in the light of the sun. Heine watched it lazily, unfastening his vest to reveal the painfully yellow camp shirt. He dropped onto his back, arms spread wide, just as the knife reached the height of its arc. It hung, turning slower now, and then plummeted back down. With a dull thump, it landed in Heine's chest and sank to the hilt between his ribs. His whole body shivered for a second. Then he carefully tugged the knife out, moving slowly. Nothing on his face suggested that he was in pain apart from a faint tension around his mouth and eyes. He yanked it free and sat up, turning to show Badou that he had managed to stab himself, a few inches south of his heart, and pull the knife out without any blood being spilled. There was only a rip in his camp shirt and a glistening sheen of red on the blade.
"An inch lower on that shirt and we'd all be able to see your nip, dude," Badou pointed out.
Heine's face shifted from its usual sarcastic glower to complete annoyance. "Are you kidding right now? That's what you got out of that? I am never doing that thing for your amusement again."
"What she said, man!" Badou snorted, giggling around a new cigarette.
"How do you keep getting those?" Heine asked, tapping the abandoned butt with the toe of his jangling boot.
Badou winked. "Cafeteria lady's sweet on me."
"Kiri?" Heine wore his most skeptical face. "Really?"
Badou sighed. "So little trust."
Heine just waited, wiping the knife clean on his black jeans.
"Yeah, okay, so the cafeteria dudes run a contraband business on the side. Kiri doesn't know. Mimi does, but she's not revealing her sources yet. They're all felons working off some of their time doing community service. They pity a poor gangbanger like me."
"You're the furthest thing from a gangbanger, Badou," Heine sighed.
"So I lie. What of it? They're criminals! I need my cigs, man." Badou looked solemn for once. "Seriously. Don't ruin this for me. I need nicotine."
"Is that my fucking knife?" Naoto was standing with her hands on her narrow hips, looking dangerously calm. Badou yelped and Heine flinched. Neither boy had heard her come up.
"Give it," she said, holding out a hand.
Heine snapped the knife closed and tossed it without looking directly at her. It landed in her palm neatly. She turned it around, rolling it over and under her fingers.
"It is," Naoto said, sounding distant, "my knife."
Badou swallowed audibly. "Uh, apologies, we were just fuckin around with it!"
Naoto glanced at Badou. "You know a girl in the kitchens, right?"
"Y-yeah?"
"I'll forget this whole knife thing if you tell me something."
Badou sat forward suddenly, tucking his hands under his chin. His eyes gleamed. "Ask away!"
"Is there a guy there dressed like a shit punk rocker, with really long greasy hair?"
Badou itched his nose thoughtfully. "Can't say I've seen anyone there like that, but I'll keep an eye out. I'll ask my source to keep an eye out, too."
"You are not a real information broker, jesus christ Badou," Heine muttered.
"Fuck off, Heine, you miserable asshole," Badou said, still looking pensive. "A guy's gotta make a living. Miss Naoto, I shall let you know post-haste."
Naoto nodded. "Don't touch my shit again."
"Deal," Badou said.
It took Heine a moment to find the ability to speak to a girl. "Deal."
"And don't call me Miss Naoto, that's stupid," she said. The knife had vanished somewhere on her person, but both boys remembered that it was there somewhere.
"We won't," Badou said quickly. Heine kept his eyes on the ground but nodded. Naoto walked away.
Badou breathed out in a huff. "Shit, she is terrifying! But why're you so scared of her, man? You're immortal!"
"I'm not immortal, Badou," Heine said. "I'm just resistant to getting killed. And it still fucking hurts. And—"
"And you liiiiiiike her!" Badou squealed, clasping his hands under his chin and fluttering his eyelashes. "You think she's so pretty and so badass and—"
"Shut up," Heine said, standing. "It's nearly lunch. Let's go. You can ask you, ahem, source if she's seen anything while legitimately investigating this goddamn camp."
"I'd give up while you still can, man," Badou said, standing and stretching out the kinks in his spine. "She's clearly into shitty punk rockers with poor hygiene."
"So you're saying you have a better chance than me," Heine said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and meandering down the path to the cafeteria.
"That's rude and untrue and I resent that!" Badou yelled, racing after him. "I'm like military chic, not punk rock!"
Heine laughed suddenly, a jerky, harsh sound. "And what, I'm bargain-bin bondage?"
"Woah, dude," Badou said, grinning. "You said it, not me."
"Fuck you," Heine snorted, straightening his leather vest.
"The yellow shirt ruins your look but yellow looks fabulous with my hair," Badou said, trying to toss his stringy ginger locks and ending up with a mouthful of them instead. He spat his hair out and sniggered. Heine merely smiled. White and red and yellow, they slouched together to lunch.