The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 13: Ronan

Dinner was a success, no big surprise there— I've always been good at making friends out of strangers; it comes with the territory. I moved around a lot as a kid so mastering the social scene was just another survival tactic. My theory was this: you can't get bullied for being the new kid if you make friends with the bullies first.

Risky, I know. But back then everything felt so temporary that I didn't care if trying to chat up the bullies didn't work. I knew that no matter what I did, no matter who I talked to, no matter what mistakes I made... in a few months, we'd just be leaving all over again, and my slate would be wiped clean once more, ready for another go.

Until New York, of course. Things changed in New York.

I don't think I had a serious friend until Jesse. Maybe it's because I didn't try to choose him— he just walked up to me and asked if I wanted to start a game of football. At first, I wrote him off as an overeager nobody with shaggy brown hair and a gap-toothed smile— but it was like he had made it his personal mission to become my friend, and I just couldn't shake him. So I wound up playing football anyway. The next day, too. And the next.

Jesse. There's really nobody like him. Especially not at this camp. I already know that there's no kid here that could walk up to me, grin, and then instantly make me want to become their friend. I didn't come to this camp to make friends. And even if I did, none of these kids are exactly "best friend" material.

I decide to put my old theory to the test again. It's never failed me before, so I don't know why it wouldn't work out for me at Lightlake.

After watching Finn make a fool out of himself with the SPAM, I do a little tour of the cafeteria, searching for the cool kids. In the end, they're the ones that find me. I register the doors slamming open, but don't think much of the commotion until I hear my presence being summoned— "Hey, kid with the black-eye! C'mon over here!"

I pivot around to meet my new friends; three boys, all the type you could find in detention on any given Saturday. The obvious ringleader is the blonde boy in the middle, judging by the way the other two boys follow his every move. Blondie's cute, in a very William Zabka in Karate Kid way, but his sharp blue eyes, sharp in the way that coal is sharp after it's been compressed into a diamond, make me wary. His smile is friendly enough for a camper at Lightlake, but I've been around the block enough times to know that the worst people put on the best facades.

Or maybe he really is friendly, and I'm just being paranoid.

Blondie grins at me and waves me over to their table. "Yeah, I'm talking to you!"

Fuck it, I think. I throw caution to the wind and stride across the cafeteria to join the trio, tray in hand.

I'm blatantly breaking the camp dress code in my army jacket and polo shirt (approaching rules with flippant regard is one of my favorite hobbies), but Blondie and his friends looks like the kind of guys who would appreciate a little rule-breaking. They're all wearing their camp shirts, but Blondie has converted his into a wife beater by hacking off the sleeves. The tank shows off his muscles well— even from across the room I can tell that he's seriously ripped.

I walk up to the table and present my most charismatic smile. "What can I do for you, fellas?"

Blondie looks me up and down. His gaze catches on my black-eye and lingers there. "Nice shiner," he comments. He grins at me, looking impressed. "You get in a fight or something?"

"Maybe. You should see the other guy." And never-mind the fact that the other guy is a fuchsia wheelie suitcase.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side this summer. What's your name, camper?"