Boys, Bears, and a Serious Pair of Hiking Boots(27)
Author: Abby McDonald

His head whips toward me. “What kind of things?”

“Crazy things,” I say meaningfully.

“Uh, yeah. Don’t pay any attention to him,” Ethan advises quickly. “Really, he just talks trash.”

I break. So much for sly patience. “Trash, huh? You mean like saying we hooked up?”

“What?” Ethan looks as if he wants to bolt, so I flick my fishing rod over in his direction, tangling my hook in his line.

“You heard me — he’s saying we were fooling around the other night.” I can’t help the plaintive note that comes into my voice. “And Reeve was in on it too, so don’t even think about denying it. Why would you do that?” My voice rises accusingly. “You know nothing happened. I haven’t even been in town two weeks, and already everyone thinks I’m some kind of slut!”

Ethan stands there wordlessly as I wait for the magic explanation that will make this all OK.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, in a quiet voice.

My mouth drops open. “So you did say something!”

“Not exactly!” He begins to edge away toward the shore, but my cable picks up the slack and pulls taut against his rod. Ethan tries to untangle the lines, avoiding my gaze.

“Why would you do that? I thought we were friends, and then you turn around and —”

“They blew it out of proportion, OK?” He looks flustered. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“So why didn’t you set them straight?” I try to understand. “Just say, ‘Hey, guys, nothing happened.’” I tug harder on my line, keeping it tangled in his. “Or how about warning me instead? I was completely ambushed — even Fiona’s got the wrong idea. And your mother!”

“My mom?” Ethan tugs back. “What did you say to her?”

“Me? Nothing! But from the way she sounded on the phone, she thinks I’m your girlfriend. She tried to invite me to dinner!”

“Oh, man.” Ethan is looking so miserable now, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

“You didn’t have to pretend like that.” I yank at my rod again. “I mean, were you trying to score points with the other guys, or what? It’s not like you’re some kind of loser who can’t get a girl, or g*y, or —”

At those last words, Ethan freezes.

I gasp.

“No. Way,” I say slowly. He tries to cover and shrug it off, but a small vein is bulging in his forehead and his eyes dart back to me nervously. These would be the instinctive reactions Jerry said to keep a lookout for.

“You’re g*y?” I exclaim, my mind racing to figure this out. “But what . . . ?” I make a move toward him, lowering my fishing rod, but the change in tension sends him reeling back, unsteady. “Ethaa —”

My warning cry is no use: he falls backward, still holding the line, which yanks me right after him.

With a splash, we both tumble into the river.

16

“This is getting to be a habit,” Ethan says ruefully, shaking water out of his hair. We’ve managed to haul ourselves to shore. Now we’re sitting side-by-side on the riverbank, drip-drying in the afternoon sun.

“You mean spreading rumors about girls to hide the fact you’re g*y?”

“No, I meant you and rivers — and how you always seem to end up in them.” He tries to laugh, but it just comes out awkward and flat.

“Oh.” I’m not sure how to react, and it’s clear Ethan doesn’t either. We both sit, staring at the water and avoiding each other’s eyes. I scrunch parts of my tank top up in my hands and watch the trickle of water pool on the ground.

“You can take that off, if you want,” he suggests, before adding, “It’s not like I’m going to look.”

“How do I know this isn’t just some devious plan to see me topless?” I finally glance over at him. Despite my joke, Ethan looks truly miserable, his whole face shadowed with tension. I sigh. “I was just kidding.”

“Uh-huh.”

We sit in silence for a moment.

“So . . .” I say quietly, still watching the river. “Gay?”

“Yup.”

“Right.” I pause, wondering what to say. The way he answers is so matter-of-fact, it doesn’t seem like he needs a big supportive speech about acceptance and being yourself. “So, I’m guessing this means you’re not out.”

He shakes his head. “No. Nobody knows.”

“Even Grady?”

Ethan sighs. “Especially Grady.”

“Oh.”

There’s another silence. I wonder what it must be like for him to hide something this major from his own brother. Suddenly, he grabs my hand, looking at me with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, Jenna, I know I messed up, but you can’t tell anyone. I’m sorry about what they said, and —”

“Whoa, it’s OK.” I cut him off, uncomfortable with the desperation in his tone. “I won’t say a thing!” I promise, squeezing his hand. “I swear.”

He stares at me a second longer, as if he’s not convinced, and then exhales slowly. “OK. I mean, thanks.”

Another silence. I slowly let go.

Eventually, I have to ask. “So you did say we hooked up. To cover . . . all of this.”

“I didn’t say anything, not really.” Ethan looks at me, apologetic. “I really am sorry. It’s just, Reeve asked about us hanging out, and then he jumped to conclusions. And I let him. I shouldn’t have,” he adds hastily. “But I thought it was a good idea at the time, you know, to let them just assume . . .”

I flop backward onto the grass, tired out by all these revelations. “So now they think I’m the crazy, slutty city girl.” I sigh, resigned.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan says again. He lies down next to me, so that we’re both staring at the clear sky. “It was a dumb idea.”

“Really dumb.” My top is still clinging to my skin, cold and damp. I think for a minute and then strip off my tank in one quick movement. “You said you wouldn’t stare,” I remind him, spreading out the fabric to dry. I cross my arms self-consciously over my worn polka-dot bra.

“Don’t even worry.”

I wait another minute before asking slowly, “So if you’re cool with it, why don’t you tell people? I mean, it’s not exactly the Dark Ages around here — people seem decent.”