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 gay?" 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.
"This is getting to be a habit," Ethan says ruefully, shaking water out of his hair. We"ve managed to haul ourselves to sh.o.r.e. 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 gay?"
"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. n.o.body 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 a.s.sume . . ."
I flop backward onto the gra.s.s, tired out by all these revelations. "So now they think I"m the crazy, s.l.u.tty 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."
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 ident.i.ty." 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 n.o.body 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 ident.i.ty, 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 amus.e.m.e.nt, 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 sh.o.r.e. "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 sc.r.a.pe out all the slimy guts and tiny bones with swift motions.
"You"ve done this a lot, haven"t you?" I say, watching curiously.
"My dad"s been taking us out since I could walk." He grins. "I caught my first two-footer before I turned seven."
"That"s . . . nice." The father-bonding part, not the fish killing, obviously.
"Hey, why don"t you set up the fire, and I"ll rustle us up a proper meal. It won"t take long, now that I"ve got some decent bait." Ethan holds up a mess of fish entrails.
"Eww!"
He laughs, looking around. "There"s a bunch of dry scrub over there. You do know how to make a fire, right?"
"Yes! Well, I"m pretty sure." I hop down. "It can"t be that hard. . . ."
Ethan raises an eyebrow. "We"ll see . . ."
My kindling skills pa.s.s the test, because soon we"re settled around a small - but impressive - campfire. "Good job." Ethan applauds me, poking at the fish with a gnarled branch. He managed to quickly catch another and wrapped them in squares of newspaper, burying them deep in the embers. For all my promises to stick to the Doritos, I can"t help but be intrigued by the singed packages.
"I cheated," I admit, pulling my sweatshirt hood up. Our clothes are dry now, and just in time - the afternoon has clouded over, and the temperature is dropping. "I just copied what I saw Reeve do on my first night."
"Hey, you got it going just fine." Ethan prods the fire. "OK, they"re done."
"How can you tell?"
"Because now I"m really hungry." He grins. "So, what do you say? Going to honor Derek"s life the way nature intended?"
"Derek?" I laugh.