Fishing In Fire, page 2
“Let’s go fishing,” Annette said without thinking. “Tomorrow.” She looked at the rest of her group. Swann’s smile showed she was in. Kelton looked excited too.
“Let’s get out of here. Someplace by ourselves. You have fishing poles?” They all nodded. “Great! I’ll bring the tackle. I know some great fishing spots. How about Painted Pond? Hunter? Yumi? What do you think?” The dance might have been a disaster, but she knew about fishing. She wouldn’t be so clueless by the water, reeling in fish. And it would be a much better chance to figure things out with Yumi. And maybe even with Hunter.
“Bit of a hike, but yeah,” Yumi said.
“Painted Pond?” Swann asked.
“I’ve heard of it, but never been there,” said Kelton.
“It’s a great place,” Annette said. “You’ll see.” Annette told them about how she and her dad used to fish there a lot. All of them, Hunter included, agreed to meet the next morning to begin the trip deep into the woods to the pond. She felt something like the confidence and optimism she’d had earlier that evening returning. The dance hadn’t been a total loss. It had offered Annette this one extra chance to fix things with her friends, and to finally make a good story of her own.
CHAPTER 2
“Gabe. Gabe, did you hear what I said?” Annette asked nervously. “Gabe?”
“Huh? Yeah, Annie, just wait a sec, OK?” Gabe never took his eyes off the TV screen as he tapped away at his controller, his player in the game mowing down terrorists with a machine gun. “Food or something? No problem. Just let me finish this part. I gotta reach the end of this street before time’s up and the bomb goes off.”
“Sandwiches, Gabe. I made you and Dakota sandwiches.” She checked her phone. Already seven-thirty. “Ham and cheese for you. Peanut butter and jelly for Dakota. They’re in the fridge. Chips in the pantry.”
“You leaving, Annie?” Dakota was coming down the stairs, flying two new Lego spaceship robot things in his hands. That kid could play with his Legos for hours unless Gabe barged in to bother him. Why did he have to emerge right now, today of all days?
“Just going fishing.”
Dakota pointed at the screen. “Gabe, grab that sniper rifle up on the ledge.” To Annette he added, “But Mom said you’re supposed to be watching us.”
“Mom said it was fine if I went fishing,” Annette said. It wasn’t a lie. Mom had said it was OK if Annette went fishing with her friends sometime. Now was sometime.
“Sniper rifle?” said Gabe. “Dakota, you’re probably the worst gamer of all time.”
“Shut up! I am not! Just because you made it farther on Call of Duty.”
Annette watched the two of them, hypnotized by the game and absorbed in arguing with each other. With Janelle at work, and Kyle sleeping before his afternoon ninth-grade football practice, she was supposed to babysit the younger two. But they didn’t need her. Like the rest of the family, they mostly ignored her. Without another word, Annette slipped on her backpack and grabbed her tackle box and best fishing pole. Then she took the little key from the hook by the back door, before hurrying out across their crunchy dry lawn to the shed beside the garage.
The family’s John Deere Gator was fully gassed up and ready to go. As ATVs went, the Gator was far from the coolest. Some McCall people liked to drive wicked-fast and rugged outdoor vehicles like the Honda Talon around trails through the wilderness. She’d seen awesome four-wheelers in the Higgins family hunting lodge. The John Deere Gator, Dad had assured Mom, with its little cargo box in back, was for hauling dirt or rocks for his unending gardening efforts or for transporting lumber, tools, and other construction supplies for his ongoing house remodel project. The bright green beast could fight through deep snow or thick mud and haul up to five hundred pounds, but its top speed was less than thirty. It had four seats, enough to fit her and all of her friends if people squeezed together in the back.
Annette, at nearly thirteen years of age, had two issues with the Gator. Driving it on roads and trails required both for her to wear a helmet—No problem, she thought, slipping hers on—and the supervision of a licensed adult operator. It was mostly legal for her to be driving this vehicle.
“I’ve been trapped at home all summer,” she said to herself, dropping enough helmets for everyone else in the Gator’s cargo space. “This is the first and only chance I’ve had to be with people my age.” It was the best opportunity for fun since the start of the war. She turned the key and the machine fired up. “This is mostly legal.
“Life isn’t a story to think about and revise forever,” Annette said. “Sometimes you just have to go for it.” She shifted into forward high and rolled clear of the shed and down the driveway out onto the road.
About ten minutes later, she arrived at the agreed-upon meeting place, a small clearing off Eastside Drive overlooking Lake Payette. Swann, Yumi, Kelton, and Hunter waited with their assortment of backpacks and fishing poles, having been dropped off by their parents who thought they’d be fishing right there.
She brought the Gator to a halt, pulled off her helmet, and shook out her always-too-puffy hair. Kelton smiled and elbowed Hunter, who frowned and pushed Kelton away. What was that about?
“Wow,” Yumi said as she examined the Gator. “Miss Perfect, you really did it.” Was Yumi saying that because she was impressed by Annette’s boldness in borrowing the Gator, or was she making fun of her? It was hard to tell.
Hunter and Kelton laughed.
“Gutsy, Annette,” Hunter said.
“I don’t get it,” Swann said. “What did she do?”
Yumi rolled her eyes, but sounded playful when she answered. “Listen, Hollywood. Maybe you didn’t know this—”
“I live here now,” Swann said evenly.
“I don’t know how they do things in California, but here in Idaho a kid without a driver’s license isn’t allowed to drive one of these things off her property unless an adult’s around.”
“I did not know that,” Swann admitted. “Is it weird that it kind of makes all of this even more exciting?”
Annette wished, not for the first time, that she was capable of taking a compliment, especially one from a cool person, without her cheeks flaring red and hot.
“I brought enough helmets for everybody else,” Annette said. “Sorry. Some of them belong to my brothers and probably smell gross.”
“Well, let’s get going while the morning’s still a little cool.” Yumi put her fishing pole in the Gator’s back cargo space and, holding on to her CamelBak pack and thermos, swung into the passenger seat beside Annette. Everyone followed her lead in loading their gear.
“You know,” Kelton said after he, Hunter, and Swann had squeezed into the two backseats, “we could just fish right here, like we told our parents. Catch some sweet trout.”
“If we wanted to hang out with the rest of the tourists who are probably searching for Sharlie the lake monster, yeah,” Yumi said.
“I want to see this Painted Pond,” Swann said. “I’ve heard about it. A high school party place?”
“Yeah,” Annette said. “But no parties this early in the morning. My dad and I used to fish there sometimes. We can take the Gator most of the way there on this rough trail.”
They all slipped on their helmets and set off. The Gator’s engine ran kind of loud, and in their helmets they couldn’t hear well, so the group settled into silence as Annette drove down the road and then off onto the trail. She might have been unable to stop the war, but so far this little fishing trip seemed like it was reuniting at least one faction in the struggle, and soon they’d all be well outside of phone coverage area, safe from any mean online comments.
Annette hit a bump, launching the Gator and everyone in it up in the air a little. Lucky thing it had good shocks. After the vehicle smacked back down, she was about to apologize, but everybody clapped and cheered, like her mistake was a big, cool, deliberate stunt. She pumped her fist in the air like a champion off-road race driver, or, as she knew nothing about off-road race driving—was that even a thing?—the way she imagined such a pro would do it.
Eventually the Gator had taken them as far as it could. It was good at driving off-road, but the trail disintegrated ahead and they had to cross a wide rocky expanse crowded with trees and shrubs. She and Dad had tried to drive through there once but ended up spending over an hour working to get the little vehicle unstuck. They all dismounted, removed their helmets, and grabbed their gear.
Swann leaned forward, holding out her phone to get the perfect shot of the way ahead. She looked half jungle commando and half outdoor clothing website model, wearing a cute little olive-drab military-style backpack, expensive hiking boots, tan cargo shorts, a black T-shirt, and a cool green Army-style vest with many pockets, the kind that looked old and a little worn, but came like that new from the store. Annette often sported old, worn outfits too, but they were mostly pieces Janelle had once enjoyed new.
How did girls like Swann, McKenzie, and Morgan always know how to look so great, without even seeming to try? Annette thought for a moment about her cut-off jean shorts and old take a hike T-shirt. Her sagging plain maroon school backpack. Only her fishing pole was worth anything, a legacy of the semi-serious fishing phase she and Dad had enjoyed together.
“How far do we have to go?” Swann asked.
Annette smiled, taking some encouragement from being the expert and leader here. “Only a couple of miles.” There was really no trail, but through the trees she could see the big whitish rock face that rose high on one side of the pond.
Hunter broke a long slender white stick from a nearby aspen tree, swung it twice like a sword, and then tapped one end on the ground, his walking stick ready. “Awesome. Let’s go.”
“We should have done this, like, weeks ago,” Swann said. “Why haven’t we been hiking and stuff all summer? Just trooping off into the middle of nowhere to do some fishing together.”
“You know, Swann,” said Yumi lightly, “this isn’t like a documentary that you need to narrate.”
“OK, grumpy.” Swann laughed a little. “Maybe you’ll cheer up with one of the cans of Coke in my backpack. Plus, I have a Snickers bar for each of us. And a little ice pack so they won’t melt.”
“I’m good. I brought a thermos of coffee,” Yumi said.
“I brought a pack of beef jerky,” said Kelton.
“When did you start drinking coffee, Yumi?” Annette asked. “You’re twelve, not forty-four.”
“Sometimes my dad and I go for morning hikes,” Yumi said. “We never go without coffee.”
Annette was happy to hear Yumi and her father were getting along so well. That hadn’t always been the case.
“Hot coffee?” Kelton asked. “On a hot summer day like this?”
“Well, the day’s not hot yet, is it?” Yumi fired back.
The morning was perfect. Normally the grass and low shrubbery would have been dew-soaked at this hour, but rain hadn’t fallen in weeks. The low rising sun shone in dusty beams of light through the pines. The gentle breeze shook the little round aspen leaves, darker on top than at the bottom, so that they seemed to sparkle in dazzling ripples.
As they walked through the shadows in the cool morning, Annette took in a deep satisfied breath, marveling at this outdoor cathedral that reached for miles. She grew quiet as a still spirit of reverence came over her.
On the far side of the rocky expanse, they reached a section of rising rock. They were getting closer. A little gurgling creek cascaded in a small waterfall down the dark basalt cliff. Amazing. Anything is possible, she thought, out here in the wilderness with these people.
Hunter stopped and pointed at some poop with his walking stick. “Deer,” he said, lifting the stick to his shoulder and scanning the woods as though he held a rifle. Annette smiled. Hunter was such a great shooter.
“A deer’s been here,” said Swann. “Automatically your first instinct is to shoot it?”
“Well, not out of season,” said Hunter.
“And not with a stick,” Kelton added.
Hunter and Kelton laughed.
It was neat to see how they’d become friends after their snowmobile adventure.
Swann bumped Kelton with her shoulder, pushing him a little. He didn’t resist much. Yumi caught Annette’s eye like, What’s going on with these two?
“I’d love to go hunting with you sometime,” Swann said. “Or maybe we could all go?”
“Sure,” Hunter said doubtfully. “Well, there’s a safety class you have to take. And you need a license. And—”
“And take it from me,” Annette said, “the Higgins family is super-intense about hunting. They take it very seriously.”
“Right, so could we get going before it gets super-hot?” Yumi motioned down the trail.
“It is amazing out here,” Swann said after they’d resumed walking for a few minutes. “I mean, California has plenty of beautiful views too. But a lot of it’s super-developed. Like, yeah, the ocean is gorgeous, but it’s also full of surfers or else there’s a container ship out there. Before moving to Idaho, I never knew wilderness like this still existed in America outside national parks like Yosemite.
“It is beautiful. The mountains. The cliffs. All the trees.” Kelton stepped up beside Swann. “And no snow. No freezing deadly avalanches.” Kelton’s hand moved close to hers and their fingers intertwined for a moment.
“So are you two dating, or what?” Yumi almost shouted.
Kelton fell back a step behind Swann. “What?”
“You heard me,” Yumi said. “Pretty sure what I said is still echoing through the valley. Are. You. And. Swann. Dating?”
“Well, you know . . .” Kelton shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He glanced at Swann but wouldn’t look at anyone else. “It’s . . . who’s to say what . . . like, have we gone out, like on a date to the movies, or do you mean . . .”
Swann’s cheeks were about as red as Kelton’s. She took his hand and turned back to face Yumi. “Kind of. Yes.”
Her yes seemed to have flipped a switch in Kelton, because his nervousness vanished, replaced by the warmest, most excited smile. “Yes,” Kelton said. “We’re dating.”
Swann moved closer to him so they walked hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder. “Who would have thought a SuperPop and a Grit could be together?” she said. The two of them smiled and looked at each other for a long moment.
“Well, that’s great, you two,” Hunter said. Hunter glanced Annette’s way for a moment, but then turned back toward the woods. Or had she imagined it? Annette walked a little faster. “There.” She pointed. “Just coming into view around the bend. See it?”
A high rock ridge rose up before them, with a steep thirty-foot-tall cliff cut into its side. The lower part of the cliff was completely covered with spray paint. Semi-detailed murals were intermixed with crude stick-figure drawings and tons of writing. Political messages. Obscenities. As they approached, they could make out more details.
A bunch of logs had been moved down by the nearby pond, used to hold in looser, smoother dirt and sand, forming a crude beach with a stone circle firepit on it.
“My sister says high school kids come here to party sometimes,” Annette explained. “But the pond is fed by a steady stream, and it’s clear and deep. The perfect place to cast for some trout.”
“It’s a . . . spray-paint graffiti-covered cliff?” Swann asked. “We had stuff like this back in L.A.”
“Listen, California—” Yumi started.
“Stop!” Annette hissed. “What’s that sound?”
Laughter echoed from behind a cluster of boulders by the water. A playful scream, and more laughter.
“High school party?” Kelton whispered.
McKenzie, Morgan, and Mason emerged from behind the rocks.
“Of course.” Yumi sighed. “Just great.”
a rusty toyota corolla sped around a curve up eastside Drive, its nearly bald tires squealing a little. Smoke puffed from the driver’s-side window. Inside, a middle-age man cursed under his breath and took another long drag on the stub of his cigarette. His foreman at the mill had just told him he was laid off again, which was crap, because he’d been about ready to fork over a down payment for a newer, more reliable used car. Now he was stuck with this old wreck with its odometer stuck at 146,000 miles, reverse gear sometimes not working, and a touchy battery that made it a real rough gamble as to whether or not the car would actually start.
The man leaned over to open the glove box. Napkins. The stupid car manual. A knife. Packet of ketchup. He cursed again, sure that he had at least half a pack of cigarettes somewhere in there. Cigarette smoke wafted up in his eye and he blinked against the sting, the car swerving a little for a moment.
He flicked the end of his cigarette out the window. The light white papery thing whipped in the wind, flipping end over end until it fell to the rough pavement, a few red-hot ashes sparking off it. There it lay, resting in a tiny sandy crack as the loud mufflerless Toyota ground its way down the road until finally its rough engine roar faded away in the distance and all was quiet, save for the whisper of the breeze through the needles of the ponderosa pines. The cigarette shook a little in the light wind, a tiny trail of smoke rising from its fading ember. A black ant approached the object in its path, antennae inspecting the obstacle. Then the wind picked up and shook the cigarette out of the crack and away from the ant, rolling and bumping across the pavement and the sandy shoulder until it came to rest in a bed of dry brown pine needles.
The heat faded from the cigarette so that its short life was nearly over, but a gust of wind helped it flare hot one more time, and the needles, thin and lifeless, began to darken, almost imperceptibly at first, before they blackened and curled just a little. One tiny thread of smoke rose from where the cigarette kissed them.
