Boys, Bears, and a Serious Pair of Hiking Boots(28)
Author: Abby McDonald

He snorts. “Sure, when it comes to regular stuff. But Jenna, it’s still a small town, and my parents . . . Let’s just say they’re big on their ‘family values’ stuff.”

I feel another pang of sympathy. “That must be terrible.”

“Not so much.”

I sit up, surprised. “What?”

He shrugs, one arm slung over his eyes to keep out the sun. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll come out when I move away to college, but for now, I don’t mind.” He catches my gasp of disbelief. “It’s not all drama with this stuff, Jenna. I mean, not for me, anyway.”

“But don’t you feel like you’re not being honest — that you have to hide part of yourself?” I can’t believe he’s being so nonchalant.

“But I’m not, not really. So I like guys? Big deal. It’s not the sum total of my entire identity.” He sits forward. “And if I came out here, then it would be. Everything would be different. Maybe I’d think about it if I, you know, wanted to date or whatever. But that hasn’t happened yet.” He tosses pebbles into the river, one by one.

“And nobody suspects anything?”

“You didn’t.” He turns and meets my eyes. “Seriously, it’s not that big a deal. Sure, there’s guy talk, and I play along with that, and sometimes I’ll say something about liking some girl in school — someone with a boyfriend, who I couldn’t date even if I wanted to — but aside from that . . . it doesn’t come up. I just want to keep things normal, you know?”

I nod, dubious. It still doesn’t sound right to me, to just shut off a whole side of his identity, but he seems to be content to keep it that way. And I would be too, if it weren’t for one major flaw in the plan.

“I don’t want to be your girlfriend. No offense,” I add.

“None taken.” He manages a half grin. “I can straighten it out, I guess.” We both stop and smirk at his choice of words. He laughs. “You know what I mean.”

“That would be OK? It wouldn’t, you know, blow your cover?”

“No, it’s cool. I’ll just say I realized you weren’t right for me.”

“Or that I shot you down,” I suggest. I’d prefer a version of the non-truth that made me look good, at least.

“Fine,” he agrees, grinning. “I fell at your feet, proclaimed my love for you, but you refused.”

“That’s more like it.” I smile, finally relaxing.

Ethan gets to his feet, surveying our pile of tangled equipment. “So, do you want to give it another try? I can’t go home empty-handed.”

“You mean the fishing? Sure.” I put out my hands, and he helps pull me to my feet. “But I’m not catching anything, I promise.”

It turns out I’m wrong. Barely ten minutes after we wade back into the river, my line begins to tug.

“Ethan!” I cry, taken by surprise. “What do I do?”

He splashes closer, applauding. “Reel it in, reel it in!”

“I don’t want to!” I jiggle my rod, trying to dislodge whatever is caught on the line, but it just tugs harder. “I didn’t want to actually catch anything!”

Ethan stares. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a vegetarian!” I explain, still trying my hardest to get rid of my catch. “I don’t believe in killing animals.”

He pauses. “Technically, a fish isn’t —”

“Or fish!”

Ethan looks at me, bemused. “Then why did you —?”

“I left the cork on the hook! I didn’t think anything would actually bite.”

“Looks like something did.” Shaking his head in amusement, Ethan takes the rod from me and begins reeling in the line. Sure enough, the cork is nowhere to be seen, and there’s a fish flapping away on the hook: silvery gray scales sparkling in the sun. “It’s a big one!” he says, admiring.

“I don’t want a big one!” I wail. The fish is suspended over the water, gasping and thrashing around like it’s in a huge amount of pain. At least, that’s what it looks like to me. I watch it, guilty. “What do we do?”

Ethan looks uneasy. “Umm, this is when I smash its brains in with a rock.”

“What?”

“It’s too late to save it,” he says hurriedly. “The hook’s done too much damage. It’ll just die in the water.”

I let out a whimper. So much for rushing river and relaxing sun: I’m a murderer now. “You’re sure we can’t just let it go?”

“I’m sorry.” He scrunches up his face. “But I’ll make it quick!”

“OK,” I say at last. “Do it.”

I watch as Ethan grabs the fish off the line, wades over to the edge of the water, and presses it down on a boulder, still flapping around. He reaches for a smaller rock and raises it up. I cover my eyes as I hear a faint squelching noise. “Is it done?” I ask.

“Done.”

I slowly lower my hands. The fish is lying there, a smear of silver gunk beside it on the rock. It’s definitely dead.

“I’m a hypocrite,” I murmur sadly. “I spend all this time telling people how killing animals is wrong . . .”

“Technically —”

“I know, it’s a fish! But still . . .” I look at the lifeless body and sigh. “What do we do with it now?”

Ethan looks evasive again. “Umm, now we cook it over a nice open fire?”

I glare at him.

“What?” he protests. “I’m hungry; it’s dead . . .”

“I’ve got snacks in the car,” I inform him icily.

“C’mon . . .” Ethan puts his arm around me and steers me to shore. “It’s dead now. Shouldn’t we, you know, pay respect to it?”

“By eating the poor thing?”

He shrugs. “It’s better than just letting it rot on the ground.”

“You’re serious!”

He sighs. “Jenna, this is what we do out here. We fish; we hunt; we eat stuff!”

“I don’t agree with that,” I tell him, stubborn.

“Fine.” Ethan gives up. “You sit here and dry off. That just leaves more for me!”

He’s serious. As I perch on a (non-fish-smeared) rock, letting my feet dangle in the cool water, Ethan busies himself. Taking out a hunting knife, he hacks off the fish’s head, slices it open, and proceeds to scrape out all the slimy guts and tiny bones with swift motions.