Disclaimer: These are not my characters.
A/N: Yes, this is not as funny as the last chapter, but I never said this was a comedy, either. Thanks for the reviews, they are hugely appreciated. I feel so loved.
Chapter 2: Breaking In
Trip. Each school had included a list of nicknames that the students preferred, and Tucker's was right there on that list. But I'm not calling him anything until he meets me halfway. Until then, well…
"Hotshot." Jonathan smiled, thinking of the look on the kid's face. Oh, it hadn't been there long, maybe only a millisecond, but there had definitely been a quick moment of shock. Maybe he wasn't used to being challenged back, found it difficult to be on the receiving end of his own game. Hotshot was smart, Jonathan gave him that. Oh, his reported grades fell all over the map… but given the comments, Jonathan assumed that some of that had to be good old teacher prejudice. I bet you're a riot to have all year round.
Yet… something nagged at Jonathan, wouldn't let him believe that this was all there was. Twelve-year-old boys didn't act like that without a reason, especially not twelve-year-old boys as well adjusted as Tucker ought to be. Football, baseball and swim teams along with that chess club. He should have been out there making friends with everybody, instead he spent his time mouthing off, like he was getting in a pre-emptive strike.
"What's the matter, kid? Afraid someone's going to like you?" Tucker's hostility was real, no way he could pull it off as all act. The trick was finding out what caused it and defusing that landmine. Which – given the kid's obvious resentment of authority – wasn't going to be an easy task.
And then there was Malcolm Reed. Hadn't said a word since that 'present, sir.' had simply followed him mutely as though disobedience were anathema to his entire character. Hadn't reacted well to Tucker, either. Jonathan had seen the look when Malcolm caught sight of the hotshot in the top bunk – right next to the door, have to think about that -- as though his darkest fear had just materialised in the form of a grubby, dark-blond, foul mouthed (oh yes, Jonathan was willing to bet Tucker used more than a few words that deserved a bar of soap) kid who didn't like to play by the rules. Then again, given the initial impression he'd gotten of Malcolm, it probably had. Oh, yeah, those two are going to get along like a house on fire. Probably see more than a few explosions and sparks.
As for the others: it was the standard mix you got every year. Most of the differences would come down to culture rather than some deep emotional difference. These two, however… how much money was he willing to place on the probability that when he stepped out to collect them that Malcolm's bed would be neat enough to bounce that coin off of, and Tucker still wouldn't have moved from his? That when Jonathan told them to assemble for the tour, Malcolm would be the first one out on to the porch – not through eagerness, but simply because he was expected to be there – and that he'd have to haul the hotshot outside, physically?
Bet you didn't check that the forms give me permission to do that. Jonathan decided that he had a new mission during this camp, probably the toughest he'd given himself yet. Get that hotshot to crack a genuine smile.
# # # #
Jonathan stepped back into the main cabin and clapped his hands. "Okay, guys. Tour time."
The other kids dropped what they were doing or finished it up quick, heading for the door. Kid on his lower bunk was there first, waiting patiently for his next set of instructions. Well isn't that a surprise. Kid moved like he expected the world to stop if he didn't snap to. Not.
Well, let those eager beavers get out there to 'tour' their fenced in bit of Canadian Wilderness, he was going to stay right here, thank you. Nothing short of an act of God and I'm from Florida buddy, even those don't get me to move was going to budge him from this bunk.
"You, too, hotshot. Let's go." Jonathan clapped again; what, did he assume that Trip just hadn't been paying attention? Maybe it was something else they taught in counsellor school. "Move."
Nope. Nobody could beat Trip at the Zero-Yards Not Moving competition, not when he didn't want to do something. If Mr. Cheerful wanted to waste his time, well that wasn't Trip's problem.
Another couple of seconds passed, then the last of the kids was out the door, closing it behind him. Just Trip and Jonathan left.
"Last chance, kid."
Good. Finally the lightning rod was catching on. Quick, too. It usually took his parents longer than this.
A large pair of hands reached out, grabbed Trip's arm and started pulling. Instantly he stiffened, which only made the job easier.
"I don't think you understood me when I said 'no exceptions', hotshot. Everybody goes on this tour, and that includes you, even if I have to drag your miserable ass the entire way."
You can't do this. Trip wanted to scream, but didn't, knowing that it would mean giving in. This is assault, you can't do it. His parents didn't even pull shit like this, hadn't since he was four years old. His feet dropped to the floor, and only Jonathan's grip and Trip's own natural athleticism let him keep his balance.
"And just for the record, I can do it, your parents gave me that permission." Damned shithead was psychic, no other explanation for it. Strong, too. Trip didn't even try to pull away, only babies did that. If dork-weenie wanted to work for it…
"You know, you're really going to make an impression on those others out there. Probably the first time they've ever seen a forced march."
Trip didn't say anything, just let his features solidify further.
"Okay. Your choice, hotshot." At that, Jonathan headed for the door, not loosening his grip in the slightest. Those long legs meant that Trip had to stumble to keep up, especially since his knees –like the rest of him -- weren't going to bend. Oh well, this wasn't going to last long.
# # # #
Malcolm's eyes widened as the door opened and Jonathan stepped out with Trip in tow. He hadn't expected that, had expected a longer wait while the two argued, then Jonathan to emerge alone and tell them that they were going to leave Trip behind for now to think. Trip's face looked like he wanted to kill people, starting with the guy attached to his arm.
That's like something my father would do. Or rather have someone do for him, right before the offender was cashiered for disobedience. But Jonathan looked perfectly calm, as though dragging kids behind him was an everyday occurrence. He didn't look like he held any malice towards Trip at all; indeed it seemed as though his new appendage was merely incidental to everything going on.
"Okay, guys, pay attention. We're going to do a basic tour of the camp so you get an idea where everything is. You may have noticed that the cabins are a little short on facilities, believe me, that's part of the tour. Now I'm sure you all want to get this over with before dinner -- I know I do -- so let's get going. Stay together, and if you have any questions, just ask." Jonathan started walking backwards down the path, the fact that he still had hold of Trip's arm meant the smaller boy had to go with him.
He heard a couple of the others muttering amongst themselves, saw them stifle a couple of giggles. Why? It's not funny. He'd have hated Jonathan in that moment, but for the expression on Trip's face. A mutinous look, if Malcolm had ever seen one. Watch your back, captain. He had a feeling that Trip had every intention of making their counsellor's life a living hell from this moment on. No, this was no innocent victim, this was a war, and Malcolm wasn't sure which side to cheer for. Or for that matter, which side was going to win.
The tour took a while, with Jonathan pointing out the important buildings, like the bathrooms and showers – "Sorry, guys, but there's not a lot of privacy at camp" – the Mess hall, the Arts Cabin, and – to Malcolm's dread – the boathouse and the small lake.
"Water's awfully cold, but on a day like today that can be fun." Malcolm was ready now to believe that Jonathan had taken cheeriness lessons somewhere along the line. "Absolutely no swimming or going in the boats if there isn't a lifeguard on duty. Now, all of us counsellors are all certified lifeguards, but if one of us isn't actually there, and on duty, do not go in the water. If you're unsure, ask. It's for your own safety guys, cold freshwater probably isn't what a lot of you are used to, and believe me, it can make all the difference."
Don't worry about that. Cold water was the worst, the shock made it so you couldn't breathe, then you just sank. Even the thought of drowning made his heart race, his breathing quicken.
They passed a few groups, on tours of their own. Many of the other campers snickered or stared at the Cabin 3 spectacle as well. Then…
"Hey, Reedy." Jonesy, passing in his own group, leaning in for a leer. "Having fun, yet?"
Malcolm stepped back involuntarily. He hadn't wanted to show fear in front of his cabin-mates, but instinct ran too deeply. He was afraid, especially out here, alone and unprotected.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Trip paying close attention to Jonesy, memorizing the entire exchange. Oh, wonderful. The rebel kid didn't need lessons, and certainly didn't need it pointed out that Malcolm was a complete and utter coward. Jonathan's attention, too, focussed in on Jonesy. No, sir, please don't do anything, you'll only make it worse. He had to learn to defend himself; the problem was finding someone to teach him. You'd think being in a military family, it would be easier. If only his family knew he was there more than once in a millennium. And at school… Well, Jonesy was too popular with the physical education teachers. Trying to convince them that he was a bully…
"Come on, Jones. Let's go." Thankfully, Jonesy's own counsellor called him back, removing the need for Jonathan to get involved. Still, they were supposed to be here for two months, which gave lots of time for Jonesy to finally kill him.
# # # #
Not good news. Jonathan stared after the departing Jones, glad that Kendricks took care of the problem, but frustrated there was a problem to begin with. There's always one. Explained a lot about Malcolm though, as to why the kid always seemed to try to blend into the background.
An intake of breath drew his attention, and he realised he'd tightened his grip on Tucker's arm, probably too painfully. Loosening his grip – but not letting go -- he saw the smaller boy's attention focussed on Jones, wondered why. I hope that's not what you want to be like. Probably not, Jones was more the type to bully the weaker but obey the stronger. Tucker seemed to have no problem taking on bigger people.
"Are you okay, hotshot?" The look he received in return could've melted steel. Okay, note that one. Do not ask if the hotshot is okay, it implies weakness. On whose part, Jonathan wasn't sure, but either way it probably wasn't a good thing.
He made another mental note to talk to Malcolm later about it. Any bullying needed to stop now, before it got any worse. What wouldn't be good would be to hassle him now, in front of the others. Bad enough he was doing it with Tucker, but Tucker seemed to have the ability to defend himself.
He finished the rest of the tour up quickly, too distracted now to give them the regular spiel. Bad enough to have one case of trouble in the cabin, but two?
Be fair. It doesn't look like Malcolm goes out looking for it. Ah, that was the difference, wasn't it?
Depositing them back in the cabin, he kept walking down to Six for a word with Kendricks. Get him to put a bug in that Jones kid's ear about the fighting rules around here. Tucker stayed standing right at the point where Jonathan let him go, not moving a muscle. Kid could outstubborn a mule. He didn't delude himself on his chances against the younger one in a straight battle of wills; Jonathan knew he'd have to think fast to stay a step ahead.
Sure enough, when he returned from his conversation ("Yeah, John, already had that word in fact."), Tucker still stood there, doing his own version of human statue.
"Might be more comfortable if you sat down, hotshot." He avoided the glare by not looking at it as he walked past. A couple of the others snickered, he silenced them with a look of his own. "Dinner's in half an hour, you might want to go get washed up." He opened his door, listening to the sound of kids getting their stuff together and leaving the cabin. "Dinner's not mandatory, hotshot. You don't want to go, you don't have to."
He could almost hear the thoughts run through the kid's head. I won't then. And you can't make me. He sighed, and collected a few of his own things. This was going to be a long summer.
# # # #
Cat food would probably taste better, anyway. Trip waited until they left, then climbed back up to his bunk. Damn that guy anyway, who did he think he was? "Dinner is not mandatory," Trip mocked, "I can drag you all over Hell's half acre, break your arm in two for some information you can do without, but sustenance is not important." Like he cared anyway. The look on people's faces when Jonathan yanked him around like that… easy to make people believe that Jonny-boy was the villain there.
ABUSE AT CAMP. Wouldn't that make a great headline. He could even show them the bruises on his arm. See how they beat me, I just barely got out of there, it was a nightmare. He smiled to himself, tried to imagine that sanctimonious hypocrite (like 'indigent' he wasn't positive on sanctimonious, but was pretty sure it worked) facing an investigative panel and trying to explain himself.
Bite me, jerkoff. Hypocrite did work, look at the way he treated Trip then went running off to help that Malcolm kid. Like what Jonathan did wasn't the exact same thing. Though – Trip had to admit – Malcolm definitely had a few things to worry about. Not that it was surprising: Jones was the type to look for someone to pick on, and Malcolm might as well paint the word BAIT on his forehead in bright orange letters.
Voices at the door interrupted his musings; quickly he resumed his stiff posture and locked unblinking eyes on the ceiling.
"Reedy's here. We find out what bunk…"
And I drop you piss-brains on your skulls for wrecking my nap. Overwhelming odds didn't frighten Trip in the least; it was the easy things he hated.
The boys opened the door and stepped in, clearly expecting everyone to be milling around that barn they called a mess hall. And with that many kids, who'd miss a couple who probably said they were going to the bathroom?
Stupid morons didn't look up, instead they kept their eyes on the floor, looking for a particular bag. Slowly, Trip shifted position and waited.
"There." They spotted the bag, still didn't see him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
They came closer; he waited. As soon as they were close enough…
He lashed out with his foot and caught the Jones kid right in the centre of the forehead. His other foot struck downwards onto the bastard's nose. It wasn't a direct hit, but it was enough. "Get the fuck out of here, you bastards."
They seemed more surprised than anything. They'd been expecting an empty cabin, not a pissed off occupant.
"Get him." Jones responded quickly, ordering his lieutenants into the fray.
"Fuck you, dickhead." Trip crawled up into the rafters, moving away from the bunk. They scrambled up to follow him, while Jones waited on the floor. "What's the matter, too afraid of me to do it yourself?" Yeah, that was it, shithead couldn't do it. Too scared of a real opponent.
"Jonesy. They're out. Let's get out of here." So they'd at least had the brains to post a look-out. Not that it took much -- any decent heist movie told you to do that.
One of the others was close enough to make a grab for Trip, who dodged out of the way. The other kid overbalanced and fell, wound up hanging by his fingers.
"I said out, shitface. You deaf and stupid?" Trip lay back and braced himself on his hands then brought the heel of his sneaker down hard on the kid's knuckles. The kid screamed and let go, but not quite fast enough. His hands dragged across the wood with enough force to embed several slivers deep into the skin. He hit the floor hard, pausing a moment before rolling to his feet and bolting.
"I'll get you for this, you little fuck." Jonesy pointed a warning finger at Trip then ran out himself.
"Any time, limpdick." Trip shouted after him, unable to resist the last word. He couldn't leave it to Jonesy, how could you count it as a win if the other guy didn't know that he'd lost?
He barely had time to get back into bed before his bunkmates showed, fortunately the fight hadn't wrecked anything. 'Cause, what the hell. I'd get blamed for that, too.
Jonathan brought up the rear, as usual. "Okay, guys, you've got a couple of free hours, then it's lights out. Morning comes early around here, and you're going to want to be ready for it."
I don't think so. Usually Trip was the first one awake in the house, especially during the summer. He could go days without sleep, most of the time, anyway. He certainly had no plans for sleep tonight, he had too many other things to accomplish.
# # # #
Something happened here. It wasn't just the open door that put Malcolm on alert, though that had certainly triggered the alarms. He'd been edgy every since that encounter with Jonsey, and half expected to find his bunk demolished when he stepped inside.
Instead, the only thing out of place was Trip, who tried to look nonchalant up there on his bunk, but Malcolm could see that he was breathing more heavily than normal, and that he seemed to be shaking ever-so-slightly, the typical symptoms of an adrenaline let down.
That someone had broken in seemed obvious, and Malcolm had a pretty good idea who, so what had happened after that? Had Jonesy seen Trip and decided to go for an attack of opportunity? It seemed unlikely: Jonesy didn't like taking on those who could fight back, and Trip didn't strike him as the type to simply knuckle under. This is going to get bad.
"That was such a good dinner, they gave us second helpings of everything." No they hadn't, but Dutertre seemed to be trying to make a point. He'd waited until Jonathan told them about lights out and left, so no one but the group was left to hear. "Too bad you couldn't make it, hotshot."
And now it begins. No matter where, there would always be a Jonesy. The other kids were picking up on Jonathan's form of address -- they thought it was funny.
Trip, said nothing, merely gave Dutretre the same gesture he'd given his chaperone.
"What's the matter, don't you eat? Maybe he only eats baby food."
Trip repeated the gesture, added a throat slashing motion. An obvious message, even for Malcolm to read. Fuck off and die.
"Hey guys." Jonathan came back into the room in time to catch Trip's sign language, nothing else. "Let's not have any of that, okay? We're here to try to get along."
Dutretre nodded agreeingly; Trip just seemed to ignore the counsellor.
Jonathan looked at them both for a long moment then went back into his room.
Why don't you say something? He knew why: because it never worked, and because Trip would probably be mad at him if he did. He wasn't sure why he cared so much about the other boy's feelings, except that he was pretty sure now that the anger was a cover for something else. Fear. Malcolm knew all about fear, he had names for several different varieties. It was what Trip could be afraid of that puzzled him. From what he'd overheard from a couple of the students who'd come in with Trip, the Southerner was into every pursuit imaginable, did things Malcolm couldn't even dream of. He couldn't even make himself get into a boat, while Trip had only his age to prevent him from being certified to do solo SCUBA dives. Quarterback (whatever that was) slash Captain of his school's (North American) football team, star pitcher for the town's Little League baseball team.
It seemed like they had been describing another person, not the mass of cold rage that lay a couple of feet above him. He'd only been sure because they'd mentioned Trip by name, and added a few details that did fit. Swearing, for instance, and always in trouble. Yet… Malcolm remembered how sad Trip had sounded earlier, when he'd given his name. An odd name, for an odd kid, that's how it was. He wished he had the guts to ask where it came from, but knew he'd never pull it off. He had enough trouble with Jonesy trying to pound his head in, without Trip trying to take it off.
# # # #
Finally. Lights Out never meant the same thing as gone to sleep; Trip knew from amassed experience on numerous sports trips that people always stayed awake after the official curfew, too keyed up to nod off. These jerks seemed to take forever though. Only now did he feel confident that the breathing and snores were even enough to signal that the last of them had dropped off. Moving silently, he slipped out of his bunk and down to the floor. Carefully he listened to be sure Malcolm hadn't woken up, then crawled underneath the smaller kid's bunk and sought out his own bag. Experienced fingers sought the small pouch that had been added to the bottom of the bag– I bet you didn't know I could use a sewing machine, hey Mom – and teased out the slender bundle from inside. There was a reason he did all his own packing; certain things you didn't need parents to find.
He slipped across the floor, carefully opened the door. At least they maintain the hinges on this thing. No creaks announced his departure, no one yelled to say he was leaving. Stage one: success.
He took a deep breath, the cool night air helped him focus. Now… mess hall was thattaway, and the main hall was over there. He stood for a moment, making a final decision and headed off to the main hall. More than likely they stored it in there, just so the kids and the kitchen staff were less likely to confuse counsellor goodies with their own. He'd have to see what they had, and adjust from there, but the power of a good strategy lay in its adaptability.
Nothing in the shadows made him jump or start: sure there might be unfamiliar wildlife around here, but it couldn't be worse than sharks or crocodiles, and he doubted any of the dangerous types would be able to make their way into a camp full of vulnerable boys. Though the staff seemed pretty serious about it: Jonathan had given them plenty of warnings against leaving garbage lying around – especially food garbage – and shown them how the kitchen scraps went directly into tightly sealed containers that were picked up and shipped out every day for recycling.
"If you see a bear, or even a deer or a beaver for that matter, don't go near it. They're dangerous animals and quicker than you think. They don't know that you're not going to hurt them: they're either scared, or think you're out to take away their food, so they do sometimes attack." Well, maybe some of the baby kids needed to be told stuff like that but…
Try getting between a dolphin and its next meal and see what happens to you, buddy. Trip already knew that just because an animal looked cute didn't mean that it was. In addition to the aforementioned crocodiles, the Everglades was full of deadly creatures that not only saw humans as a threat, but occasionally as a snack. Stories in the news all the time about some stupid tourist who lost his hand to a "harmless" looking turtle, or didn't look where they were stepping and got treated to a near death experience by a more than cooperative cottonmouth. Never stopped me, though. It was the stupid people who got hurt, the stupid and the scared who ended up startling the wildlife and causing the problem themselves. Act like you belong there, respect the rules of territory (it's theirs, never forget it), and you were fine.
Breaking into the main hall proved easy enough, these guys certainly weren't big on security. Several rooms lay off the main one, he quickly eliminated the ones marked Office, or with someone's name. The right door proved easy enough to identify as well, either someone very clever or very juvenile had put their own sign up on it, the icon recognisable no matter what your native language: Ladies' Washroom. Cute.
…………………………………..
He headed back down the path, pleased with the way things had unfolded so far. He'd found lots to work with in the counsellors' secret stash – how much of it was Jonathan's he wondered, and decided that probably, not much – enough to expand upon his original plans. Halfway back to the cabins he stopped, catching sight of a figure moving towards him.
You've got to be kidding me. That Malcolm kid; if anyone was going to tattle on him, Malcolm would be the one. Oh well, might as well make it worthwhile. He slipped his index finger under the tab on the can he held, pulling up to break the seal. Yes, the best plans were adaptable, a good thing when you had to include other people in them.
# # # #
You'd think I'd be able to do this by now. Shouldn't dormitory living inure you to the presence of others and let you sleep? Yet every time Malcolm found himself in a new setting, rest would not come no matter how hard he tried. Instead he lay perfectly still, listening to his companions gently snoring and shifting in their bunks. He didn't move when Trip climbed down from his, began rummaging in his luggage.
Probably has to go to the toilet. After all, he doubted Trip had left the cabin all day, except for the tour. It would be more surprising if the kid didn't go out, even if he had missed supper.
Except he didn't come back. It shouldn't take more than five, ten minutes to go to the bathroom, and it was well over half an hour. Something must have happened.
Should I tell Jonathan? If Trip was in trouble, surely the counsellor was the best equipped to handle it. Yet, telling seemed so much like tattling. If it was nothing, Trip would have even more reason to hate him.
He slipped out of his own bed, found his shoes and snuck outside. The slight breeze slipped right through his pyjamas, chilling him a little. At least Trip had been fully dressed; he hadn't bothered to change from the clothes he'd shown up in.
He doubted now that the older boy had gone to the toilet; Trip was more the type to be up to mischief in the middle of the night than anything else. So… he headed up the path towards the main hall and activities buildings.
Halfway there he spotted his quarry, wandering casually back towards the cabins like he'd just been out for a midnight stroll. Something dangled loosely in Trip's left hand; it was a beverage can, Malcolm realised, and Trip raised it in a salute when he spotted Malcolm.
"Hey." Trip didn't seem the slightest bit concerned that he'd been caught after Lights Out; it was just another rule that didn't apply to him.
"Hello."
"Whatcha doing out? Aren't you supposed to be in bed, with all the other good kiddies?" Trip smirked, there was no other word for it.
"Actually, I was looking for you." He didn't say he had been concerned, Trip seemed to take concern as an insult.
Trip nodded, coolly. "And now you've found me. Figured out what to do next?"
Actually, he hadn't. He was running blind here, in unfamiliar territory. Conversations themselves were novel for him; conversations with someone who just might be mentally unstable were even more alien. "I thought I'd see what you were doing and judge from there."
Apparently it was the right response. Trip looked him up and down, then grunted. "Adaptable. You're smarter than you look, then."
He supposed he should take it as a compliment, it was the closest he'd ever heard the other boy come to giving one. He'd never been called adaptable before, either; he tended to stick to well established strategies.
There was a pause, and Trip held up the can, this time Malcolm noticed the small, square box Trip held on top of it. "Beer?"
Malcolm shook his head, some territory was best left untouched. "No thank you."
Trip responded by throwing the can at a nearby trash receptacle, scoring a direct hit. The lid of the container sensed the weight and opened briefly, before resealing itself. "Good. Because it tastes like shit anyway."
Again there was the sense of a test taken and passed. Quick on its heels came the next one, as Trip opened the box and pulled out a small paper cylinder and stuck it in his mouth. A lighter flared quickly then the only evidence of flame came from the red glow at the end of the cigarette.
"Those will kill you." It sounded stupid, everything you weren't supposed to say in this kind of a situation, but he couldn't help it. That's how he always got in trouble, said the worst things at the worst times.
"I'll try not to breathe on you then." Trip didn't seem all that concerned about the prospect of death, a lifetime down the road. He did however, angle himself away from Malcolm so the smoke drifted elsewhere.
"How did you get chosen to come here, anyway?" The question came out all wrong, came out as an insult rather than a curiosity, but Malcolm pressed with it anyway. "I was under the impression that this was for elite students and that you aren't precisely…"
"The academic type? Depends who you ask. If it's Mr. Calvin and the geek squad, no." Trip's eyes narrowed. "Who have you been asking, anyway?"
"Nobody. But you're the talk of the camp. Everybody saw you being dragged on the tour, so your classmates are the ones – naturally – who are being asked about you. I just listened."
Trip nodded. "Not enough people do that. Okay, so you've heard about me. Why'n the hell would you come out here to look for me?"
Malcolm shrugged. "I thought you might be in trouble, that's all." He winced; he'd been trying to avoid saying that.
"I'm always in trouble. I was born in trouble. No need to worry about me." It came out with too much nonchalance, too much bravado.
"I bet you're not." Newfound courage grew in Malcolm; he'd never called a bluff before. "I bet you didn't even drink any of that beer."
"Well I'm not diving into that trash can to prove it to ya." Trip looked up suddenly, startled. "Oh shit." He dropped the cigarette to the path, and ground it fiercely into the dirt. We're busted." He gestured with his head, back toward the cabin.
'Busted' indeed. Jonathan strode towards them, and he did not look happy.
"What are you two doing out here? It's way past Lights Out, you're supposed to be in bed."
Malcolm scrambled to think of something, anything to say. He wasn't a habitual rule-breaker; he had no experience at lying.
"I'm out here because I don't give a crap. He's out here because he thought I got lost going to the can." Trip didn't even bother to lie; Malcolm was impressed. This kid really wasn't afraid of anything. Maybe he'd been wrong about the anger, maybe Trip was just naturally an angry person.
Jonathan sniffed, then his nose wrinkled. "Which one of you has the smokes?" He looked straight at Trip as if to say Like I have to even ask. He held out his hand, and Trip smacked the box down into it.
"Okay. Now here's how it's going to go. This is your first offence, Malcolm, and I'm going to buy the hotshot's story here. Next time, though, let me know if you think someone is missing. You…" He pointed at Trip, though there could be no mistake "…hotshot, just wrangled yourself two days work detail. Now get back to the cabin."
"Sir." Malcolm didn't move from his spot; he wasn't sure who was more shocked, Jonathan or himself. "Tr… he didn't force me to come out here sir." He wasn't going to give up Trip's name if Trip wouldn't, "If he gets work detail, I think I should too, sir."
Trip's look said it all. Are you crazy? Maybe he was, but he'd also just ended the longest civil conversation of his life. He wasn't going to let Trip get in trouble on his own.
Jonathan did a double take. "You want work detail?"
"If he gets it, yes. It's only fair."
"Fair is a sunny day, kid. Don't kid yourself." This from Trip, muttered bitterly.
Jonathan shrugged, as though it were nothing. "Fine. You've got work detail then. Starts after breakfast tomorrow, you two can clean the place up. And yes, hotshot, you will be going to breakfast." He herded them back to the cabin, and watched to make sure they both went back to bed before returning to his own.
What have I done? When his father found out he broke the rules, he'd be in even more trouble, he'd be lucky if he'd be allowed to stay. An hour ago he'd have taken any excuse to go home, but now… Maybe this summer was going to be different after all.
.