Ch. 9

For March, it's still really cool. It's a grey, overcast day, gloomy and crisp. There are still patches of snow on the ground and the creeks are flowing but icy at the edges. As seniors we have several plastic sample bottles that we need to fill in various locations throughout the conservation area. The junior group is doing vegetation studies, and the grade 10's are collecting soil samples.

On the bus we all sit divided into our groups. We have our packs, mostly empty this time, although partially filled with our sample bottles, food for lunch, and a change of clothes just in case. As seniors, we fill the back seats, with one empty across from me waiting for Tom. He's late, by at least half an hour. He missed breakfast, and if he doesn't arrive in the next five minutes, he'll miss the bus, too.

"Okay, I guess we should get a move on," Ms. Francis calls to the driver after checking her watch again.

The bus rumbles to life and heads towards the exit of the parking lot. Just as we are about to turn out to the main road, there's Tom. His boots are undone, his coat open, as his pack bounces on his back because he's running to catch us.

"Stop!" Jen hollers—she's seen him too. "Here comes Tom."

As he gets closer and sees that the bus has stopped, his gait slows to a fast walk. His dark hair flaps out from underneath his hat, my hat, actually. I try not to take it as a sign, after all, it's just a hat, but it looks so good on him. When the breeze catches his bangs and blows them aside, he's got a fresh shiner hidden beneath, and the anger is almost radiating off him.

"Shit, I wonder what happened to him?" Kyle asks as the bus doors creak open to allow him entrance.

"You're late," Mr. Sway says as Tom loads.

"No shit, Sherlock," Tom's eyes flash and Mr. Sway takes in the bruise. "Couldn't be helped."

"Go sit with your group," Mr. Sway instructs, deciding not confront him further.

Tom grunts in response and stomps his way to the empty seat, tossing down his pack and collapsing onto the green vinyl. Breakfast today was bacon and egg on a bagel, and when Tom didn't show, I got one for him, just in case. Even though the tension is heavy, once the bus starts up again, conversations resume and Tom is mostly forgotten.

I look across at him, his chest heaving, either from his mood or the fact he just ran for the bus. It's now or never. "Tom?" I ask quietly.

His head snaps up and he glares at me, "What?"

"Breakfast." I slide the wrapped sandwich across to him. "I saved you some."

I can tell he's trying to decide whether or not to accept it, before he flashes me a quick grin. It's gorgeous, he's gorgeous, even with his black eye. I catch a quick glimpse of dimples and a slightly crooked incisor, and I smile back, open, unassuming, my cheeks flushed.

"Thanks." And the food is devoured in seconds.

......................

The ride to the conservation area isn't very long because it's just on the edge of town. We disembark in the parking lot and are greeted by a conservation officer. For the first part of the morning we are given orienteering instruction, compasses and topographic maps. The park isn't too large, but big enough that each group has a lot of area to cover. We have to get water samples from fifteen different locations, two different creeks, the area where they converge, a few different ponds, the lake area and above and below the dam.

"I think we should split up, either two groups of three or three groups of two," Nicole offers, as we watch the juniors head off along a winding path up hill with a digital camera and some other equipment.

"They didn't split up," Kent points out.

"Yeah, but they only have one set of equipment, so they can't split up," Jen explains.

"What do you think, Justin?" Kyle asks me. I think for a second or two, but before I can say anything, Tom steps in.

"We need to split up to cover all the territory." He points at our map. "There's at least three kilometres of walking for each team if we split into three, and send groups here, here, and here." He circles different locations. "We could split into two groups, but then we'd have about five kilometres to cover."

"I bow down to your superior knowledge, Tom," I say with a grin, and for a second it looks like Tom might actually be blushing.

"Okay," Jen says, giving me a sly glance, "Nicole and I will take the dam and lake, Kyle and Kent can take the convergence and creek on the left, and Tom and 95 can have the ponds and the creek on the right."

"Does everyone agree?" Kent looks around. I shrug, noncommittally, not trying to give anything away. Tom doesn't even respond, but the other three all concur, so we divide up our supplies of bottles and lunches, make sure each group has a map and compass then head out.

Tom and I don't say anything for the first little while. He's content to follow me since I have the map and compass. I decide we need to go to the farthest location first then work our way back, so we hike for a good hour or so. The walk is over rough terrain and a few times I slip on the muddy, partially frozen slope.

"Careful there, 95, I can't carry you back alone," Tom grabs me to steady me and sparks are flowing from his touch to my arm. I'm sure I'm probably blushing again, so I duck my head.

Finally arriving at our first sample location, we try to find a good spot to dip our bottle, but the creek is not the easiest to reach. The banks are slick and steep, the water is rushing, and there are unstable looking rocks—none of it is particularly safe.

"How about we gather a bit of brush to lay on, and you can hold my ankles so I can reach the water," Tom suggests.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Can you think of a better one? Besides," he looks at me from beneath his bangs, his eyes wide and sweet, "I trust you," and he bites his lip nervously before looking away.

I have to close my eyes for just a second because my stomach's fluttering and my heart is pounding. "Okay," I say softly.

Tom breaks the mood by jumping up to collect branches, while I take a minute to collect myself. Maybe putting us together was a bad idea, because for the most part right now, I am completely useless. All I can think about is Tom's eyes and the fact that he trusts me.

We collect our first sample, Tom's plan worked well, then sit to have lunch. In between bites, I ask Tom where his shiner came from.

"Last night. The people I live with aren't always the most friendly, and I have to fight for everything I have."

"You don't live at home?"

He shakes his head slowly, "No, they kicked me out a few years ago. But I'd rather be where I am now than how it was with them."

"Why?"

"You know when you asked me what I did to get in here?" Tom looks down at his boots and starts kicking patterns in the icy mud.

"Yes."

"I missed a lot of school. When my parents were in the process of kicking me out, I missed a lot. I made up some of the classes through summer school and night school, but I'm still five credits short of graduating, so I need this program."

"Why did you miss so much?" I ask. I keep looking down because I don't want Tom to stop talking, I can sense his uneasiness and if he sees me look at him, he might not tell me.

He takes a deep breath, "Have you ever heard of 'pray away the gay?'"

"Yeah."

"Well my dad took that a step or two further. But it turns out you can't knock it out of someone either." His voice is so quiet that it's almost drowned out by the rushing water of the stream, "Or, you know, tie them up and beat them and prevent them from leaving the house."

"Oh my god," I am horrified, but at the same time I know that some of my mother's boyfriends might not have spared a beating or two if I came out to them, which is why I haven't said anything. "What about your mom?"

"She's more religious than my dad. Fanaticism comes to mind." There's resignation in his voice and that makes me incredibly sad.

"But how could..." my voice trails off. I can't imagine how terrible his parents must be, but at the same time, I'm totally thrilled he's gay, which makes me a horrible person.

"I don't know, how could your dad use your back as an ashtray? People are assholes."

"But how could they not realize..." I turn to look at him and he's still focused on his boots

Tom turns his head to look at me, his blue eyes rimmed with red, "Realize what?" There are tear marks on his cheeks that he brushes away with the back of his hand.

I take a deep breath and open my heart to him, "How absolutely fantastic you are?"