WE ENTER MOSQUITO CREEK through Rana’s backyard. She was my lab partner through most of grade eight, and she told me her mom is always complaining of either bears or teenagers in their backyard, shit or beer bottles. The beer bottles are better any day; there’s nothing worse than bear shit. Rana likes to describe the scat in detail — berries, grass, fur, and bones.
Kate and I crouch low past the big picture window that looks out on their perfectly manicured lawn to the break in the hedges and the steep dirt path leading to the creek. On the trail, my eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark yet and we forgot a flashlight, but Kate’s an owl or a fox, dragging me by the arm as she skips ahead. Every few steps we stop to take swigs from the bottle, more for Kate than for me. It’s her booze, I guess, and it doesn’t matter because I’m already feeling a buzz. Kate trips over a stump, barely catching herself from falling, and I haul her back onto her feet. “What’s the hurry?” I say, but she’s already ahead of me.
We’re past the neighbourhood and working our way up the mountain when I see the glow of a fire. We can hear music through the trees, but it’s hard to judge how close things are in the dark and all of a sudden we’re there. A group of grade elevens chat around a fire burning in a ketchup tin, and past them kids walk along the paths or sit on the rocks in groups of two or three. Deeper in the forest, at the source of the music, a larger crowd is gathered. We wander around the creek chatting with friends, trying to find a group we want to hang out with. Rana’s sitting on a stump with a bunch of drama club kids and when she sees me she stands, waving me over. Kate and I join their circle and drink from the two-litre of shit-mix being passed around. When I spot Elgin coming toward us through the trees, I turn my back to him without saying anything to Kate, but she sees him anyway and squeezes my hand before disappearing with him into the forest. “Are they together?” Rana asks, passing me the two-litre, but I don’t bother answering her.
A few minutes later, Kate comes back alone to lead me up one of the paths along the edge of the creek. At the base of a big evergreen a lighter flicks on and off and Elgin’s voice calls out from the dark. I can see the outline of someone sitting beside him.
“Who’s with you?” Kate says, still hanging onto my hand.
“Max,” Max says. He lights a joint and the flame briefly illuminates his face.
“I can’t see anything out here,” Kate says, letting go of me and sitting down beside Elgin.
“Hi,” I say to no one in particular — Max or Elgin — just so everyone knows I’m here. I can barely see my own hand in front of my face.
“I know you,” Max says, passing me the joint.
“Yeah?”
“We were in elementary together.” He laughs like it’s a joke.
“Yeah, I remember,” I say, taking a puff. The smoke tickles my throat and my lungs tighten. I cough as I pass the joint to Kate.
“You liked My Little Ponies,” Max says.
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did. At recess you’d be brushing their hair and shit.”
Kate starts giggling and Elgin joins in. “Why do you remember that?” Kate says.
“I have a good memory,” Max says, the joint back between his fingers, embers growing as he sucks in the smoke.
“Well, you don’t,” I say, “because that wasn’t me.”
“Whatever,” Max shrugs.
“I think I’d remember that,” I say. The glowing tip of the joint comes toward me and Max touches my hand as he passes it to me. I pull it back quickly and even in the dark I can tell he’s smiling. The joint goes around the circle again before anyone says anything.
“This guy has the best weed in North Van,” Elgin says, slapping Max on the back hard enough that he drops the roach. “Maybe the whole Lower Mainland.”
“Fuck yeah,” Max agrees, searching on the ground.
“We’ll be right back,” Kate says, grabbing my arm and pulling me over to the creek out of earshot. She’s close enough I can feel her breath and the moonlight cuts down through the branches brightening her face. Her cheeks are slack and her eyes are wet like a sick dog. The pot’s creeping into my face too. “I’m really stoned,” I say, rubbing my wet eyes. We’re both sick dogs.
“I’m gonna go with Elgin,” Kate says.
“Okay.”
“I’m not asking your permission.”
“I know.”
“Don’t come find me if I don’t come back,” she says, heading back into the trees. “I’ll find you later.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I say, following her back toward the guys. Kate looks at me as if it’s the stupidest question in the world and before she takes Elgin’s hand she leans in close and whispers, “What about Max?” I’m still shaking my head no as they disappear into the dark. “Now what?” I say, sitting on a rock. I can hear the crack and snap of underbrush as Kate and Elgin make their way further into the bush. My eyes have adjusted to the dark and I can see Max’s slouchy outline against the tree. He comes to sit beside me and I give him a weak smile he probably can’t see. “Are they gonna fuck?” he says, relighting the joint and passing it to me.
“Why are you asking me that?” I take a toke and give it back to him. I can’t decide how I feel about sitting with him, but I don’t want to walk out of the trees with him either. It’s easier to smoke weed until I figure it out.
“Curious, I guess,” Max says.
“You’re sick.”
“I thought you guys talked about shit like that?”
“Not with you.” When I look over at him, he’s smiling his weird lopsided grin and I can’t help laughing. “Should we go?”
“Let’s finish this first,” he says, blowing on the tip of the joint and we smoke in silence awhile, listening to the music down the creek. At one point I think I hear Kate laughing and my heart trips out of my chest, but the sounds are coming from a different direction. The weed is making me paranoid and I rest my head in my hands, taking some deep breaths. “Your stuff is strong.”
“Yeah,” Max says with pride in his voice. “Why do you tie your hair back like that?” All of a sudden, Max’s fingers are squeezing the bun on top of my head. He’s always been that way, inappropriate with physical contact. I remember him reaching into my pocket for an eraser when we were in elementary school.
“My hair?” I swat at his hand. “I don’t know. It’s easier.”
“I like it out.” He probes my bun.
“What are you doing?”
“Wait a sec.” He has both hands on my head now, pulling my hair out of its knot. “There,” he says, shooting the elastic into the brush.
“I need that.”
“Who gives a fuck what people say? People suck.” He massages my head until I start laughing.
“That feels pretty good.”
He sits back, smoking quietly for a moment, and I can feel him staring at me in the dark. “It’s cool,” he says, before flicking the butt into the bushes. “I bet one day you’ll really like your hair.” We stand up and his lips brush against my cheek in the dark. “We don’t have to go back yet,” he says, turning in a circle as though there’s a lot more to see in the forest.
“Okay, where should we go?”
We hike through the trees, higher up to a plateau where there are large, flat rocks, and sit together, throwing stones. Far down the creek bed, shadows move around the fire. There’s a waterfall nearby, the sound of frantic water pouring through my weed-wrecked brain. My head starts to spin and I lie back on the rocks. When Max lies beside me, I know I’ve given him a signal without meaning to, but I figure that’s okay. For once I want to be like Kate freefalling in Lynn Canyon. “Are you cold?” Max says, leaning into me. I tilt my chin up and he kisses my neck, but then stops, waiting to see what I think. His saliva smells like beer. When I reach down to unbutton his jeans, he freezes for a second. He helps me slide them off, then he pulls off my jeans and I take off my bra under my tank top. His hands slide underneath my shirt to find my nipples. We kiss awhile, rolling on the cold rock, and when he reaches inside my underwear I don’t stop him. He asks me if it’s okay, if I want to do this, and I say sure. I keep my underwear on and he has to pull them to one side, his hipbones digging into my thighs as he pushes inside me. It hurts, but there’s something wonderful about it, like I’ve finally accomplished something real. His face is pressed into my neck and I look up into the tree, branches criss-crossing the night. When he stops and asks me what’s wrong, I realize I’m not making any sounds, I realize I’m barely breathing. For some reason, I need to concentrate really hard, and by doing that it’s like I’m holding my body together, keeping everything in one piece. I tell him nothing’s wrong, I tell him I’m really stoned. He starts laughing and I wish he’d stop.