Winger

seven in the morning

I WOKE UP AT SEVEN.

When I climbed down from the top bunk, Chas rolled over and said, “What the fuck? It’s Saturday, dipshit.”

I wanted to kick him in the head so bad.

“I know. I just don’t want to stay in bed.”

Chas rolled toward the wall and put the pillow over his face.

I pulled on my warm-ups and slipped my feet into my running shoes.

I went outside into a cold drizzle. It felt like it was going to snow, and the clouds hung down so low and white that I couldn’t even see the tops of the trees around me. It looked like there was a pillow over the face of the world.

I headed for the mess hall.

Weekends were kind of fend-for-yourself eating arrangements at Pine Mountain. There was always plenty of self-contained microwaveable stuff left in the coolers for the kids who stayed, but there was no real food at PM, and there were no people to serve it, either.

But before I got to eat my breakfast, I saw what looked like about a hundred police officers, park rangers, and school staff, all gathered around the front gates to the school.

Now they were really looking for Joey.

I went back to O-Hall.

Chas Becker was not pleased when I pulled the covers off his face and actually touched his bare arm, shaking him.

“Wake up, Chas.”

“You are a total fag, Pusswing. You do realize you are touching me. Right?”

“They’re doing a search for Joey. In the woods. Get your fucking ass out of bed, and let’s help look for our captain.”

I fought the urge to shut my eyes. I guessed it would hurt just as bad if Chas knocked my teeth in, whether I watched him do it or not.

But he just took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes, and sat up.

When he put his bare feet down on the floor, he looked around our room in the foggy light and said, “It’s fucking cold.”

“Yeah.”

He held his hand out so I could help pull him to his feet.

Chas stripped and got into some thermals and sweats, gloves, and a hat. He looked like he was ready to go snowshoeing, and I have to admit I wished I had more layers on too.

At least I’d stuffed a couple microwave breakfast sandwiches into my pockets. They were still warm, so I kind of hated giving one up for Chas when we stepped outside and into the drizzle.

They tasted nasty, but Chas thanked me for bringing him breakfast in bed, even if, according to his understanding of the universe, it only proved how much of a homo I was.

We knew the places to look, anyway.

There was a big drainage culvert halfway between O-Hall and the highway to Bannock. It was where O-Hall boys sometimes went to smoke weed or cigarettes with their friends, or, if they were alone, to jerk off to some nasty old porn mags everyone seemed to leave there.

Nobody was there.

Chas took a piss against the side of the drainpipe and asked if I had any cigarettes or chew.

I shook my head.

He said, “Yeah. I didn’t think so.”

“You really think I’m a pussy, don’t you?”

Chas stared at me, unblinking, like a rhino or something equally terrifying, standing three feet away from me while he tucked his dick back inside his thermals, and said, “Fuck. You? You’re about the most unpussy sack of shit winger I’ve ever seen on a rugby pitch in my fucking life. I think half your scrawny-ass weight must be taken up by balls. Winger.”

I nodded.

I wished I had a cigarette to give him after that.

We followed the lake around toward Stonehenge.

It started to snow, a wet, Pacific Northwest snow that fell in clumps, soaking and unpleasant. We ran into two Forest Service rangers near Stonehenge. They got excited when they saw us, and took out the photocopied pictures they’d been carrying of Joey’s school ID, holding the images between their eyes and us like they were some kind of prism that could sort out and break up the bullshit from the truth.

Nothing.

But we kept looking.