Boys, Bears And A Serious Pair Of Hiking Boots Part 2

"Ummm, Fiona?" I find her leaning against the front counter, seemingly not doing anything at all. "Is there a restroom anywhere I could use?"

She smirks at me before turning to face the empty store. "Ethan!" she bellows. "Jenna really needs to pee!"

I cringe, bracing myself to meet the weathered old owner (because hardware store guys have got to be old and weathered). "Sure," the answering yell comes from the decorating aisle. "Just go right on back." There's a pause, and then from behind a stack of paint cans emerges a boy. An incredibly hot teenage boy.

"Bathroom's up the stairs on the left." He grins, teeth flas.h.i.+ng white against his tanned skin.

"Umm, thanks," I manage, staring at the dark hair, dark eyes, and the obvious muscles beneath the faded blue T-s.h.i.+rt.

"No problem. When you've got to go, you've got to go."

Then, as if I'm not sufficiently mortified, a second boy appears. This one has dirty blond hair and broader shoulders than the first, but I can see from their jawline and slightly uneven noses that they're related. He thrusts a pack of toilet paper at me, his lips curling at the edges as if he's amused by my embarra.s.sment.

"Better take this. I think we're out."

Fiona sn.i.g.g.e.rs.

"Umm, thanks . . ." I look down at the pack. Charmin Ultra Soft. "OK, I'm going to . . ." I gesture uselessly behind me. The blond boy snorts with laughter as I back away, then turn to flee up the stairs.

I locate the tiny bathroom and barricade myself in, my face burning with embarra.s.sment. I know I'm supposed to be a mature young adult, cool with my bodily functions and fluids and everything else that comes along with it, but G.o.d - that has to be the worst first impression in the history of mortifying first impressions.

And I'm stuck with it.

When I've gathered enough courage, I reemerge and mumble good-bye to the boys before following Fiona back to the truck. She drives past Main Street, deeper into the forest. Now that the stereo is off, I can't help but notice the silence here. No traffic noise, no airplanes, nothing - just a heavy kind of quiet I can almost touch. The rain has stopped, leaving the air fresh and crisp, and with water droplets s.h.i.+mmering off the trees it looks like - "No. Way." I gasp, staring out of the truck in complete shock.

For a moment, Fiona gives me a look as if we're actually in this together. "They've been renovating for three months," she says, stressing every word to convey the horror of constant construction. "We only got running water back last week. You're lucky." With that, she tugs the keys out of the ignition and disappears toward the house.

Except that calling it a "house" is being generous. A huge old clapboard Victorian looms up in front of me, but half the roof is missing, plastic sheeting is flapping in the place of at least two walls, and as I edge nervously toward the scaffolding, I can see a vast black hole in the middle of the main entryway.

"h.e.l.lo?" I call into the void, careful not to trip. "Is anyone here?"

Susie warned me they'd be doing some work, but somehow, I pictured elegant faded wallpaper and a few broken tiles, not this . . . disaster zone.

"Jenna!" I hear Susie's cry from somewhere inside. "Don't move - I'll be right there."

Eyeing the dust and broken floorboards around me, I take her word as law and stay frozen to the spot until she appears at the far end of the hallway.

"Jenna!" she cries again, advancing to smother me in a huge hug. I wrap my arms around her tightly, both of us squealing like small children. We're almost the same height, but she still manages to envelop me in warmth and motherly kisses. "G.o.d, how long has it been? Since that Christmas, right? And look at you now, so tall and grown-up!"

She holds me at arm's length to study me, and I happily study her right back. Gone are the straight, glossy hair and the patent-leather boots I last saw tap-tapping their way down Manhattan streets. In their place are haphazard blond curls caught back in a bright green scarf, a paint-splattered man's s.h.i.+rt and jeans, and a pair of scuffed sneakers.

She catches my stare and laughs. "Don't worry - all this just means I know my way around a kitchen now. Come on, you must be starving - Fiona said the bus was delayed for hours."

I don't correct her, letting her pull me through the house to a room with four solid walls and the smell of cheesy goodness wafting in the air. I must look starving, because Susie doesn't say another word before settling me in a chair and presenting me with a bowl br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with pasta. "You're still a vegetarian, right?"

I nod, mouth already full.

"Adam will bring your bags in when he gets back - don't worry. As you can see, we're kind of rough around the edges right now." Susie's expression becomes kind of apprehensive. "Which means you'll be doubling up in Fiona's room for now. Just until we get another bedroom finished," she adds quickly.

I nod again, admittedly with less enthusiasm.

"I'm so glad you're here." Susie beams at me again. "I've missed you, kid!"

I swallow. "Me too - missed you, I mean. And I want to say thanks for this, letting me stay. I won't be any trouble, I promise," I swear. Given the choice between Grandma's luxury condo and this construction site, I'd still choose Stillwater.

Susie looks amused. "You, trouble? Kid, you were always the one keeping me in check. Don't tell me you've decided to become a rebellious teen?"

At that moment, Fiona slouches into the room and slumps at the table. She looks expectantly at Susie, who - to my surprise - goes over to the stove and serves up a plate of food, then deposits it in front of Fiona as if she's a queen. I blink. Fiona doesn't even murmur any thanks; she just picks up a well-thumbed book and begins to read, ignoring us both as she picks at her food. I squint to make out the t.i.tle. The Bell Jar.

Cheerful.

"So, this place is pretty large." I turn back to Susie, who's pouring out a cup of coffee. Unless Fiona has a brood of (G.o.d, hopefully more upbeat) siblings, it seems kind of strange for them to be rattling around in such a huge house.

"Didn't I say? We're opening up a B and B," Susie explains, obviously excited. "Stillwater's first!"

"Wow." I blink, trying to imagine the place as habitable, let alone a tourist spot. "That's a big project."

"Uh-huh." She takes a sip from her mug. "But this will all be fixed up soon, and it's such a perfect spot. . . ." Susie gives a contented sigh, as if she's not sitting in the middle of sawdust and safety hazards. Then again, she did spend three months living in a shack in Ecuador, volunteering with drug-addicted children, so maybe this house - and Fiona - doesn't seem like such a challenge to her.

"Anyway, we can talk about that all summer! Right now, I want to hear everything about your life," Susie insists, so I begin to chat about school, and Olivia, and all the Green Teen work until Susie interrupts me for a moment to turn to the other side of the table.

"Fiona, honey - it's time to put the book away. We have a guest."

"I thought she was part of the family." Fiona doesn't look up, but her tone says plenty. "Isn't that what you've been saying all week?"

"Yes, but you still need to put the book away." Susie's voice is pleasant. "Now."

"Dad lets me."

"I let you do what?" A tall, broad-built man walks into the room, hoists off his tool belt, and puts it on a counter with a clatter. He's blond, with a fuzzy beard and wispy hair framing his tanned face. As he leans over to kiss Susie's forehead, I catch the soft look that comes into her eyes and begin to understand why she was so quick to leave the luxuries of running water and move all the way out here.

"She says I have to stop reading." Fiona pouts. "Do you want me to be completely illiterate?"

Adam laughs good-naturedly. "If it means we get a nice family dinner, then sure, pumpkin."

Pumpkin? I nearly choke.

"Fine!" Fiona sc.r.a.pes back her chair. "I wasn't hungry anyway." She makes for the stairs, but Adam stops her.

"Are you going out this evening?"

Fiona sighs. "Maybe."

"Then why don't you take Jenna along, introduce her to everyone? You'd like that, right?" He turns to me expectantly.

I'm torn. It's obvious that Fiona doesn't want me trailing after her, but I can't wait to meet the other kids in town - and make a better first impression than back at the hardware store. "Sure, that could be fun. If it's OK with you, Fiona," I add quickly.

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. I'm going now, so you need to hurry up."

"The lake is just down that path." Susie follows us out to the front yard and points across the road, to where a faint trail disappears into the forest. The trees are thick and wet from the rain, blocking out the dusk light. I s.h.i.+ver.

"And it's safe out here?"

Susie laughs, handing Fiona a flashlight. "Of course it is. Just don't go off alone; that's the only rule. And be back by ten."

"Dad said eleven." Fiona challenges her. I bite my lip. Adam said ten as well.

"Fine." Susie sighs. "Eleven. Since it's your first night, Jenna." She smiles at me, and I feel a spark of guilt. Or maybe that's just a mosquito bite. "Have fun, girls!"

Fiona doesn't bother with good-byes; she just pulls up the hood of her black sweats.h.i.+rt and charges into the forest. "Thanks, Susie," I call out, hurrying to keep up. "See you later!"

Within moments, I've almost lost sight of Fiona's figure in the trees. "Wait up," I pant, trying not to trip on a tree root. I'm wearing my favorite red Converses, but they're still no match for the rocky path worn into the ground, littered with tree branches and chunks of dirt.

Fiona pauses and turns back, hands on hips. "What's wrong now?"

"Nothing." I force myself to smile at her. "I just thought we could take it slower, maybe talk." I plan on making friends with this girl if it kills me.

Fiona sighs, but slows her pace a fraction. "Talk about what?"

"I don't know." I squint at the dim trail ahead and think of things we might have in common. Something tells me she's not into Green Teen stuff. "How are you liking that book from dinner, the one by . . . ?" My mind goes blank, just for a couple of seconds, but it's enough for Fiona to finish my sentence with a withering glare.

"Sylvia Plath. You know who that is, right?"

"Yes." I try not to sound defensive. "She wrote poetry, too. Didn't she kill herself in the end?"

"Yup. The unappreciative literary world drove her to her death."

Lovely. "So." I try another, less depressing topic. "Have you got any plans for the summer?"

"I wish." Fiona kicks a tree stump. With her clumpy Doc Martens, I think the tree loses that battle. "Dana is in Calgary, Nina's traveling with her folks. Everybody's gone and I'm stuck at home with Dad and Susie." Her voice twists on the last word.

"The stepfamily thing can be tough." I offer a tiny bit of sympathy. "Getting used to someone new must be hard."

"What do you know?" she shoots back, scowling. "Are your parents divorced?"

I swallow. The million-dollar question is out there, drifting between us like a third person, but I can't bring myself to think about it - or confide in this bratty, unforgiving girl.

"Fine," I acknowledge. "So maybe I don't know exactly what you're going through. But I know Susie, and she's great."

"Great?" Fiona does that snorting thing again. "She's a complete b.i.t.c.h, interfering in everything. Did you see her at dinner? Nagging me like she even has a right. She's ruined everything. Dad and me were just fine before she came along."

I'm tempted to jump to Susie's defense, but something tells me that wouldn't help with this "making friends" project of mine. I bite back a reply and keep trailing after her through the trees. I can see daylight ahead, where the dense forest seems to end, but just before we emerge out of the trees, Fiona turns back to me one last time.

"And you can forget about being BFFs or a good influence or whatever it is that b.i.t.c.h has planned. I don't want you here, either." With that, she pushes back a final branch and strides away.

I pause for a moment, still hidden among the trees. I'm on the edge of a small clearing beside the lake; worn patches of gra.s.s and wildflowers stretching to a thin, stony beach and tall pine trees looming up above. It's absolutely stunning, but for once, nature is the last thing on my mind. Farther up the sh.o.r.e, I can see a handful of kids, hanging out in what seems to be a picnic area. They all look pretty young - boys tossing around a baseball, and a couple of girls sitting on a bench, bent over a magazine - but Fiona slouches past them without a word, toward a fire pit, where the older guys from the hardware store are sprawled on the ground.

This is the big Stillwater social scene?

My stomach flutters with nerves. Of all the things I worried about, making friends wasn't on the list; you don't spend every weekend at the mall trying to convince shoppers to reuse and recycle without getting pretty comfortable talking to strangers. But now, seeing just how small this town really is, I can't help but panic. Suppose I can't get over that embarra.s.sing first impression? Am I doomed to spend the rest of the summer alone, with nothing but Fiona's b.i.t.c.hy comments for company?

Taking a deep breath, I brace myself and walk over toward the group. Fiona has settled alone on the edge of the water with her book, so I'm left to make my own introductions.

"Hi, guys," I venture brightly, arriving at their little circle. My voice sounds almost too perky in the shadows, but I add a wide smile and carry on. "Ethan, right? And umm . . ." I trail off, waiting for them to introduce themselves. They don't. "I'm Jenna," I say, finally.

After a beat, Ethan speaks. "Hey, Jenna." He holds his hand up in a semi-almost-wave. He's wearing a faded T-s.h.i.+rt and a pair of cargo pants, and his brown hair is curling gently over the collar of his s.h.i.+rt as if it desperately needs a trim. "How are you doing?"

"Good. Tired, but I've been traveling all day. Well, since yesterday," I correct myself, trying not to feel self-conscious as everyone blatantly gives me a once-over. Even the younger boys have stopped their ball game to check me out, and while I'm dressed pretty casually like them, in a tank top and jeans, I can't help but feel like the outsider I guess I am.

"Cool. Well, you know my charming brother, Grady." Ethan nods to where Grady's carving at a block of wood with a ferocious-looking pocketknife. "And that's Reeve."

The last boy looks up briefly from arranging firewood. His hair is short and dark, almost black in the fading light, and there's a calm kind of aura around him - quiet and methodical next to Grady's restless hacking. He gives me a brief smile and what could almost qualify as a nod before turning back to his task.

So, they do things casual out here. Low-key. I can deal with that.

"Great to meet you. I mean, again," I add, looking at Grady. "Because, you know, we met before, in the store. . . ." I stop myself before I can babble (or rhyme) any more. I forget that's what I used to be like, plunged into an unfamiliar crowd, but apparently, my vocal chords have some kind of muscle memory: instant awkwardness.

Grady nods, smirking. "You're the girl who needed to pee."

Oh, G.o.d, I knew it.

Despite the overwhelming desire to turn and flee all the way back to New Jersey, I force myself to perch on a log, (realizing only when my b.u.t.t hits the wood that it's wet from the rain). Ignoring the squelch, I ask brightly, "So what are you guys up to?"

"Just hanging out," Ethan replies. He leans back on his elbows, watching me.

"Cool." I keep that big smile on my face. It turns out that the kids of Stillwater, British Columbia, are by far my toughest audience. s.h.i.+fting around to get comfy, I try to think of something interesting to say.

Finally, Grady looks over. "Where are you from, anyway?"

"New Jersey," I answer quickly. "Well, a suburb out in -"

"And you're what, a soph.o.m.ore?"

"Going to be a senior." Do I really look fifteen?

"Same as us," Ethan pipes up. "Reeve's just graduated."

"Really?" I turn to him. Again, I can't help noticing that he has the kind of taut body that half our football team would kill for. "So, are you going to college, or . . . ?" I trail off, wondering if I've made a mistake. They drum it into us so often at school, it's easy to forget that not everyone goes to college, especially not out in these small towns.

"Maybe." Reeve speaks at last. He's stacked the wood and is carefully building a fire now, laying branches in a crisscross pattern and pus.h.i.+ng twigs and dead leaves into the gaps. As I look closer, I see cuts and bruises all over his knees.

"What happened?" I point at his legs. "Are you OK?"

He looks down at the scars proudly. "This is nothing. Last time I went bouldering, I took half my elbow off."

"Bouldering?"

"You know, climbing. Rocks."