The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 41: Finn

The canoe falls silent again. Ronan flicks his finger at a piece of peeling paint on the rim of the canoe; it flies off into the water and drifts away. A second later, it's joined by another fleck of paint, and then another.

"Stop doing that," I say sharply.

"Stop doing what?" he replies, sending another scrap of paint to its watery demise.

"That," I say, jabbing my finger at the offending paint-job. "You shouldn't flick paint into the lake. It's not good for the..." I struggle to come up with an adequately scathing (yet still factual) remark. "The fish."

Ronan snorts. "Concerned for your family?"

"Wow, so creative. You know it's not funny when you call me that."

"Call you what?" he asks innocently.

My eyes are like slits now. All scrunched up and perturbed. "You know what."

"Enlighten me."

"Guys!" Emily exclaims. "Can we please hold off on the WWE match? This is getting ridiculous. You two are behaving like children."

"Ronan started it," I say.

He lets out a loud peal of laughter. "Oh, boy."

"What's so funny?" I demand aggressively.

"Finn, please—" Emily begins in a beseeching voice.

"Oh, just stay out of it," I snap. "This isn't your business, anyways."

She recoils, hurt flashing across her face. "I'm just trying to—"

"Then don't try," I say, effectively cutting her up.

The lake goes silent around us. The mist has grown closer, like a shroud. It's so thick that I can't even see the counselor's boat anymore.

Ronan scrapes his nail against the paint. Another fleck of faded green flies into the lake.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph; Ronan, did I not already tell you to stop doing that?"

He digs his fingernails underneath the paint and tugs. A strip peels away beneath my hand, a good few inches long, and he makes sure that he's looking me right in the eye when I drop it into the lake.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph are right. I'm going to need all their patience to prevent myself from chucking Ronan overboard.

I slam my paddle down so hard on the canoe that Emily flinches. "That's fucking it," I cry, heat flushing into my cheeks, "I'm so done with you, Ronan! Acting like you can do whatever you want, whenever you want— pretending like there aren't consequences to anything!"

"Why don't you just jump in and swim for the paint, if you care about it so much? Why do you even care?"

"It's not about the stupid paint, and you know it. This is about how you told Clancy exactly how to get his gun back! And how you played that whole game last night just to piss me off! All you do is cause trouble. You just fuck things up all the time, and you never care who gets hurt because of it!"

"Wow, you caught me," he says lazily. "What outstanding detective skills; I see that you take after your father." Behind him, I see Emily grip the side of the canoe like she's anticipating another fight. "Besides," he continues, "It's not my fault that Clancy shoots cats for sport or that Becca likes me better than you. Although you really are missing out on that one— she is an excellent kisser."

I feel my hands clench into fists. "Shut up, Ronan. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I do. More than you, at least. It's sort of sad, you know, watching you go after Becca, knowing that she'll never like you back— well, not after what happened last night she won't. You know what? Now that I think about it, you're kind of pathetic."