Swagger (7 page)

If Levi noticed the girls, he didn't say anything. I drove past the lake and through the campground to the trailhead. While he filled out the paperwork and dropped the fee into the fee box, I unloaded the trunk.

I figured we'd just sling our packs over our shoulders and start walking, but Levi had a long checklist—compass, food, water, emergency blankets, matches. It wasn't enough to tell Levi I had the item; I had to hold it up so that he could see it. The one thing I thought important—a cell phone—he didn't own.

About halfway through, I got frustrated. “We're only going out for one night, Levi. It's no big deal if we don't have something. We'll survive.”

“Only a fool goes into the mountains unprepared,” he said.

That shut me up.

At last we started up the trail. For the first mile, we saw kids with their parents out on day hikes. The second mile there were fewer people, mainly guys with their girlfriends. We'd smile and they'd smile, and for the first time in my life I wondered if somebody might think I was gay—a thought I didn't like at all. Three miles out we saw backpackers, and now guys with their buddies outnumbered guys out with their girlfriends.

Parts of the trail were steep. One spot was more than a little scary; a misstep and it was a long fall into a ravine—instant death. The backpack straps dug into my shoulders, but Levi didn't complain, so I kept my mouth shut.

As we hiked higher up into the mountains, I'd point to something and say: “That looks cool,” and then Levi would tell me all about it. Trees, birds, mushrooms, and insects—he knew about everything. He spotted cougar poop and explained how he could tell it wasn't bear poop, not that I really wanted to know. “You can feel God here,” he said. “You can feel his perfect goodness.”

At Thorp Lake, we searched for a place to set up camp. I saw a dozen spots that looked fine, but Levi found something wrong with each one. He was carrying the tent, so I trudged along, quiet, waiting.

Finally he found an area that satisfied him: high ground, flat land, and layers of composting leaves to make the earth softer. He insisted that we set up the tent perfectly, stretching out the ropes and pounding in the pegs until our campsite looked like a magazine ad.

We started a fire and roasted hot dogs; I wolfed down three along with a half pound of dried apricots. I'd packed the fixings for s'mores. We made some, ate them, made some more, and ate them too. As we ate, Levi told me about watersheds and how they clean the earth. I found myself yawning just as the first stars were coming out. I called it a night and headed into the tent. I didn't think I'd sleep well, but I didn't stir when Levi came into the tent.

In the middle of the night, I had to pee. I unzipped the sleeping bag and the front of the tent, and then staggered outside. The fire had gone completely out, but it wasn't dark. I looked up and understood why.

Thousands of stars were shining down on me—way more stars than I'd ever seen on the clearest night in either Redwood City or Seattle. I could actually see the Milky Way wind its way across the heavens. I stared up at the stars until the cold forced me back to the tent and into my sleeping bag.

The next morning I was sore, especially the back of my thighs. As we ate dried fruit and hot oatmeal for breakfast, Levi said he would have liked to keep walking deeper and deeper into the woods. I pretended to agree, but the Milky Way had been enough for one trip.

As we hiked down, the sky clouded over. Rain hadn't been predicted, but that didn't stop the clouds from opening. I had nothing that could stand up against the onslaught, but Levi had packed a rain parka for himself and a spare one for me.

It took far less time to come down the mountain than it had taken to go up. At the trailhead, we loaded our soggy stuff into the Subaru. I made a mental note to clean the trunk before returning the keys to my mother.

As we pulled onto I-90, I suddenly wished I were alone, which probably comes from being an only child. I was afraid Levi would want to talk about . . . about what? I didn't want to hear any more about ferns or mushrooms or beetles. Luckily, he surprised me. “I'd like to sketch, if that's okay.”

So he sketched and I drove, U2 playing through the car speakers. Once in a while, I peeked over at his work. He drew birds, trees, and flowers—all the things he'd pointed out to me as we'd hiked. He'd do a bird from the side, then the same bird straight on, from behind, sitting on a branch, flying. The instant he finished one animal or plant, he would turn to something new.

He worked nonstop, filling page after page. They were amazing drawings, but they were slightly crazy, too. Why draw twenty versions of one leaf? Once he started drawing something, he didn't seem to know how to stop.

W
HEN LEVI AND I RETURNED
to Green Lake the next afternoon, the first person we saw was Ryan Hartwell. “Where were you guys?” He seemed almost angry.

When I explained that I'd gotten my mother's car and that we'd gone backpacking, his expression changed. “I love the mountains,” he said. “If you ever need somebody to get you up into the backcountry, just ask. I'll go anytime—rain, snow, or shine.”

Cash came in then, his big smile and loud voice announcing his return. A couple minutes later, Nick and DeShawn strolled through the door. I hadn't expected many other high school players to show up, but after two weeks of skimpy turnouts, nearly everyone had returned. We had ninety minutes of solid games that day, and then again every day for the following week. When we weren't playing, Hartwell was giving us tips. Everything was so good I wanted it to go on, but when I looked at the calendar one Saturday morning, it was September 3. School was just a few days away.

That afternoon we played our best basketball of the summer. Cash and I hadn't become friends, but we'd become teammates. We won four in a row before we lost one of those games where nobody can buy a bucket. Even in that game, we played as a unit.

After the last game, we stood at center court, looking at one another and feeling satisfied with what we'd accomplished. Finally Cash, DeShawn, and Nick said they were heading out. They'd reached the door when Hartwell, who'd been watching all afternoon, called them back.

“What's up?” Cash asked.

“To thank you for letting an old guy hang out with you this summer, I'm having a Labor Day party on Monday. I live across the street in the apartment building above Road Runner Sports. Number 212. There's an interior courtyard with a swimming pool. I'll order some pizzas. You can swim or just hang out at the pool with the girls.”

DeShawn and Nick looked at Cash. “Sure,” Cash said. “Sounds good.”

Hartwell turned to Levi and me. “How about you two?”

With the gym closed for Labor Day, I'd have nothing to do on Monday except work for my dad, and I didn't want to do that all day. Besides, Hartwell had done so much for us. “Okay,” I said, and it was understood that I was also speaking for Levi.

“Great,” Hartwell said. “Monday around two. And you guys had better show. I don't want to be sitting around with three large pizzas and nobody to help me eat them.”

A
T TWO ON MONDAY AFTERNOON
, Levi and I were standing in the lobby of the apartment building, staring at the call button next to Ryan Hartwell's name, neither of us eager to push it. We might have slipped away, in spite of our promise, but then Cash, DeShawn, and Nick came in. DeShawn and Nick hung back, but not Cash. “There's his name,” he said, pointing. “What are you waiting for? Push the button.”

So I did. Immediately Hartwell's voice came through the intercom. “I'll buzz you in.” Three minutes later, all five of us were in his apartment.

It was a nice place—brand-new—but without much furniture. In the main room, Hartwell had one sofa, a plasma TV on the wall, a half-filled bookcase, and that was it. Through an open door, I could see a mattress laying on the floor of his bedroom, clothes piled up around it.

“Make yourself at home,” he said.

The sliding-glass door to a balcony was open. I stepped outside and looked over the swimming pool. As Hartwell had promised, scattered around it were a bunch of girls in bikinis lying on chaise lounges, cold drinks on little metal tables next to them. What he hadn't mentioned was that nearly all of the girls had a guy lying on a chaise lounge next to them.

The pizza came. We ate as we listened to old Elton John songs on Hartwell's sound system. “You want to go down and swim?” Hartwell asked when about half of the pizza was gone.

I had swim trunks on under my shorts and so did Cash. We waited while the other guys changed in Hartwell's bedroom, and then we all went down to the pool. Most of the chairs and chaise lounges were taken, but I'm not much for lying around anyway. I slipped into the pool; the temperature was in the eighties, so the cool water felt great. But once I was in the water, I wasn't quite sure what to do. All those twenty-somethings around the pool made me feel like a little kid.

The other guys were also subdued. Nobody tried to dunk or splash anybody. For a second I thought that maybe I'd swim laps, but the pool was too small for that. I understood why everyone else was sitting around the pool and not swimming in it. You could use the pool to cool off, but that was all it was good for.

After a few minutes of flopping around aimlessly, Cash headed back up to Hartwell's apartment. I looked at a couple of the girls who were sitting on the chairs around the pool. They weren't girls; they were women—eight, ten, twelve years older than me. I decided to go back up too.

I changed back into my shorts in Hartwell's bedroom. When I came into the living room, Cash was sitting on the sofa going through Ryan Hartwell's DVDs.

“These are hot,” Cash said to no one as he stuck a DVD into the player. I headed into the kitchen for a slice of pizza. When I came back out, a babe wearing a tiny bikini and chugging beer filled the plasma screen. “Take it off!” Cash yelled at the screen, laughing, and it was clear that that was what she was about to do.

But Hartwell hit the Pause button on the remote. I was certain he was going to hit the Eject button next. Instead, he stood in front of his TV, blocking the screen. “Listen up,” he said, sounding like a coach at the beginning of practice. “I'm twenty-five now, but I remember what it was like to be seventeen. Here are my rules. I've got beer in a cooler out on the balcony. Each of you can have two—no more. And if you drove here, you don't leave until one hour after you finish the last beer.”

Cash's eyes widened. “You bought beer for us?”

Hartwell nodded. “I bought beer for you. Two each, like I said, but no more. And you can watch whatever movies you want—just don't go telling your moms.” He smiled. “What happens in apartment 212 stays in apartment 212. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Cash said, speaking for all of us.

“All right, then,” Hartwell said, grinning. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Cash stood and looked at us. “Beers all around?” he asked as he headed to the balcony. While he was outside, the girl on the TV screen turned her back to the camera, undid her bikini top, and let if fall. “Get back in here, Cash,” DeShawn yelled. “You're missing the best part.”

Cash came rushing back holding a six-pack of Budweiser. He passed them out. One for each of us. Only Levi wouldn't take his. “I'm going home,” he said.

“What?” Cash said in disbelief. “You got babes on the screen, you got a beer in your hand, you got pizza in your mouth—and you're leaving?”

“I'm going home,” Levi repeated, and he headed out onto the balcony to get his swimsuit, which was drying in the sun.

I sat frozen, my eyes on the screen. Three girls were sliding into a hot tub. I wanted to stay; I wanted to drink beer and eat pizza and look at beautiful girls. Levi was going, but that didn't mean I had to leave. Then, suddenly, I knew. I stood and handed my unopened beer to Cash.

“I'm leaving, too.”

“You two are both nuts,” Cash said, disbelief on his face.

“Let them go,” DeShawn said. “It means more beer for us.”

“No, it doesn't,” Hartwell said. “Two each. No more.”

I went out to the balcony to grab my wet swimsuit and then hustled to catch up with Levi. Hartwell trailed behind me. “Everything is okay, right?” he said. “You're not going home and telling your parents about any of this?”

I shook my head. “Don't worry. We wouldn't do that.”

Levi was opening the door to the stairwell. “Wait for me, Levi,” I called to him, but he didn't wait. I turned back to Hartwell. “He's very religious. His father is a minister. If it was up to me, I'd stay, but—”

Hartwell put both his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “You're being a friend, Jonas. Never apologize for being a friend.”

When I got down to the street, Levi was half a block away. I had to run to catch up with him. “You could have stayed,” he said when I reached him. His voice was shaky, as if he was near tears.

“I wasn't having that great of a time,” I said.

We walked about twenty-five yards in silence.

“‘What would Jesus do?'” Levi finally said. “That's what I ask myself when things like that happen. The answer always comes, and then I do what Jesus would do.”

I wondered: Was it really that simple? Who knows? Maybe when Jesus was seventeen, he'd have had a beer and watched the babes. I smiled at the thought, but I didn't say anything to Levi. I knew better than to make that kind of joke with him.

 

 

 

 

M
Y HOUSE WAS MORE THAN
a mile from Harding High. There was no school bus, but I wouldn't have taken one anyway. My mom told me that she'd give me a ride if it rained hard, but that most days I'd have to walk.