The Wild Bunch Read online

  For Ted, Sven & Ava

  My favorite Wild Bunch

  WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP #1

  IF DISTURBED, HIBERNATING ANIMALS MAY BECOME AGGRESSIVE.

  AH, THE FIRST GLORIOUS DAY of summer break!

  I’d managed to survive yet another year of brain-numbing homework, fill-in-the-circle-completely test forms, and whatever that stuff is that the cafeteria workers stick in Sloppy Joes.

  Curled snugly in my nice warm bed, I was groggily considering all the things I’d do today: sleep till noon, shower in the lawn sprinkler, spend all afternoon lounging in the California sunshine . . .

  HONK!

  I bolted upright, whacking my head on the bunk above me. My eyes watered, my legs twitched, and my heart tried desperately to eject itself from my rib cage.

  Honk! Honk-it-y-honk-honk-honk!

  This was definitely not on the list.

  I fumbled in the darkness for the clock. . . . No, that had to be wrong. 6:47 a.m.

  Huh? I held the glowing numbers closer to my face and blinked.

  Six. Forty. Seven. a.m.?

  HONKKKKK!

  I dropped the clock. Was this some kind of joke?

  “Luiz, my man!” I heard Dad from somewhere downstairs, followed by the front door slapping open and shut.

  Who in the heck was Luiz? And why was my dad speaking in that ridiculous voice?

  And then it all came flooding back. The truth I’d been trying to block out. The weekend trip.

  Not Luiz . . . not already. He wasn’t supposed to arrive until morning, and in my book 6:47 a.m. was not morning. It was definitely the tail end of the middle of the night.

  I yanked the covers over my head. Next thing I heard was the sound of Dad’s feet thundering up the stairs. Urgh. Did he always have to be so . . . enthusiastic? I peeked from beneath my blankets, eyes darting around the room in desperation.

  One dresser. One second-story window. One bookshelf. And one truly pathetic-looking half-deflated beanbag chair.

  Nowhere to run. Or hide. I flattened myself to the bed. Maybe if I kept real still, Dad wouldn’t notice. . . .

  I heard the door fly open. Whatever happened to privacy? Clearly I needed to invest in better security. A mantrap perhaps. Even a lock would do.

  “Come on, sleepyhead!” Dad said with a clap.

  I continued to play dead.

  “I wonder where the little guy’s got to,” Dad said in the kind of silly voice usually reserved for six-year-olds. “I guess Paul musta packed his bags and left home for the summer. Oh well, I guess I’ll have to go have fun without him.”

  Then, my covers were whipped off, leaving me clutching only my pillow. I opened one eye.

  Dad stood there wearing a big goofy grin and an outfit ripped straight from the pages of a Wildlife Enthusiast catalog: khaki shorts, khaki vest covered with fishing lures, and coordinating khaki hat plastered with hooks, feathers, and fishing bobs.

  He dropped the blankets, went to the window, then whipped open the curtains. I screamed like a vampire exposed to light for the first time. Dad just laughed. The shiny metal pieces on his vest reflected the early morning sunlight in every direction, making him look like some sort of camouflage disco ball.

  “Time to get up, Paulie! You haven’t forgotten about Bear Falls, have you?”

  “I tried,” I mumbled. “Really, really hard.”

  “At least you’re dressed,” said Dad. “That’s the spirit, buddy boy! As the Boy Scouts say, Always Be Prepared!”

  That had nothing to do with the trip. I just couldn’t be bothered to get undressed the night before, so I was still wearing my favorite long-sleeved Green Day T-shirt and nicely wrinkled cargo shorts. Wearing my clothes in bed also prevents Mom from getting near them. Because Mom irons everything: jeans, T-shirts, underwear, potted plants. Nothing’s safe in the Adams house. Basically, the only way to avoid looking like Mark Twain Middle School’s reigning King of Starch is to break my clothes in overnight. I mean, it’s bad enough being twelve sometimes. The last thing I need is to be known as the twelve-year-old with the crease in his socks.

  The clock hit 6:48. Dad just stood there, not taking the hint.

  I sighed and sat up. I tried to smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace.

  Dad winked. “Let’s find your backpack, buddy.” He went to my closet.

  “Hey, don’t go in—”

  But he’d already opened the door. Hey, he couldn’t say he wasn’t warned. All my stuff—clothes (some clean, some not so much), sports gear, stacks of comics, old computer games, semiretired sneakers—came pouring out in an avalanche, burying him and swamping his cries. He came up like a drowning man, with an old jockstrap on his head. And somehow he was still grinning. He shook the stuff off and held out my backpack.

  “Let’s get cracking! Want to hit the road before traffic picks up!”

  “Really? Do I have to, Dad?” I said. “I mean, I’m not much of a camper.” I rubbed my crusty eyes again and coughed. “Or a morning person. How about I just stay here? I’ll probably just drag you, uh, outdoorsmen down anyway.”

  Dad grinned and shook his head.

  “I’ll do extra chores for a month.”

  Another shake. The fishing lures clanked together.

  “A year?”

  Dad put his hands on his hips.

  “The rest of my life!”

  “Oh, come on, Paul. It’ll be fun!” Dad said. “You wait and see!”

  And this time, his smile faltered just a little, and he looked kind of desperate, so I stopped fighting. I knew Dad would never say it outright, but this trip meant a lot to him. He’d been working his butt off for the last year at school, taking on extra classes in the hope of a promotion to head of his department. Just a couple of days ago, they’d told him the job was going to someone else. All those late nights and weekends marking papers and preparing lessons had been for nothing. He pretended it didn’t matter, but I knew my parents were worried about money—Mom had been laid off three months ago.

  But “fun”? Let’s just say Dad and I don’t quite share the same definition of “fun.” Like last summer, I wanted to go to the Super Mega Blast Water Park and ride the Cannon Shooter. Instead, Dad hauled me off to this tumbledown cabin in the middle of nowhere that was the childhood home of some Really Important Historical Figure who died three hundred years ago. Probably of boredom.

  Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like I don’t respect the past and all. But with a history teacher for a dad, it kinda goes without saying I’ve seen enough Musty Old Places of Historical Significance to last an entire lifetime.

  “Okay, chop-chop!” Dad said. He tossed the bag toward me and headed back into the hall, whistling “Yankee Doodle.”

  I plucked clothes from my dresser and floor and jammed them into my backpack, doing my best to squash any creases out of them. I was almost done when there was a knock on the door. “Hello, honey,” Mom’s voice said sweetly. “I have something special for you since you had to be up so early!”

  Yes! Maybe this morning wasn’t a total bust after all. I wondered if she’d made me pancakes. Or waffles. Or those little French toast things cut into triangles. I flung open the door expectantly and discovered . . .

  Mom, standing there in her yellow bathrobe, holding a black T-shirt by the shoulders. “Father and Son Xtreme Adventures” was written across the front.

  “Here!” she said. “I ironed this for you!” She pressed the still-warm garment to my chest. I crept back a step.

  “Um, yeah, I don’t think so,” I said.

  “Oh, come on,” Mom said, raising it to put it over my head. “You’ll look cute!”

  Cute? Just what any self-respecting twelve-year-old wants to hear. “No, thank
s,” I said.

  “I insist.” Mom smiled. She held the T-shirt like it was a net and I was a wild creature about to be captured.

  “But—”

  “It’ll make your dad happy.”

  I listened to the sound of my dad’s whistling in the hallway.

  “He sounds pretty happy already,” I said.

  “Paul,” said Mom sternly. “This means a lot to him.”

  Ugh. Guilt trip coming. “I know,” I said. “The job—”

  “Not just that,” said Mom, lowering her voice. “He feels bad because you guys never spend any time together.”

  “We watched a Giants game just last week!” I protested.

  “Quality time,” said Mom. “Sitting side by side shouting at the TV doesn’t count.”

  She was right, I guess. There was a point when Dad and I did tons together—swimming, baseball, or just hanging out at the mall. When I was a couple of years younger, we even used to jam together in the garage while he taught me guitar. I’d lost interest, though. Between school, friends, and video games, I didn’t have much time for Dad these days.

  “Come on, Paul, do it for me,” said Mom.

  “Yeah, okay,” I muttered, lifting my arms.

  “Great! He’ll be so happy!”

  The world disappeared for a second as she put the T-shirt over my head.

  Sadly, when it reappeared, nothing had changed.

  WILDERNESS SURVIVAL TIP #2

  APPROACH PACK ANIMALS SLOWLY AND WITH EXTREME CAUTION. MAINTAIN DISTANCE AND REFRAIN FROM SUDDEN MOVEMENTS.

  I PEEKED OUT MY BEDROOM window. A huge white SUV sat in front of the house, emitting sporadic honks like some sort of suffocating goose. Mrs. Delacourt across the street was glaring out her kitchen window in a hairnet.

  Dad’s voice boomed in my doorway. “Hey, buddy, I see you got your T-shirt on.”

  I turned and saw he’d changed into an identical one. “Snap,” I said weakly. “You know, you and I could just chill out here at home, if you want?”

  Dad laughed. “Just wait till you’re in the great outdoors,” he said. “It doesn’t get any more ‘chill’ than that, as you kids say.” He made a couple of air quotes with his fingers and winked. “Your friends Hector and Jack are really excited too.”

  “Right. Hector and Jack.” I stifled a groan. “Just don’t expect too much, Dad. They’re not really my friends. They’re your friends’ kids.”

  He frowned. “You got along well at the Feinsteins’ picnic last summer, remember?”

  “Sure,” I said. How could I forget? The picnic. First time I’d ever seen anyone swell up with hives after taking one bite of a hamburger. A hamburger! “Seriously, Dad. What sort of person is allergic to a burger?”

  “Well, to be fair, Hector was only allergic to the sesame seeds in the bun,” Dad said. “As far as I know, he doesn’t have an issue with meat products. Just tree nuts. And gluten. And, um, dairy. Oh, and red dye number five. And . . .”

  I turned so Dad couldn’t see me roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay,” I said. “And Jack, the guy who spent the whole party tossing stuff into the pool?”

  “High-spirited, that’s all. Full of energy,” Dad said with a half chuckle. “Harmless.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I think the Feinsteins’ cat might disagree, though. It couldn’t swim.”

  “Be nice, Paul,” Dad said. “It’s going to be fun!”

  I rolled my eyes. That word again.

  “Or maybe,” said Dad, smiling, “you’re too chicken?”

  “What?”

  He lowered his voice, hunched over, and threw out his arms like claws. “Maybe it’s the Beast of Bear Falls you’re scared of.”

  “Ugh! Not that again!” There was some story about a monster living in the park. It sounded like a cheesy horror film.

  “Hector’s father is bringing an old article he dug out,” said Dad. “You wait and see. The Beast is real.” He paused, looking over his shoulder. “Speaking of which.”

  I turned. “Ack!” I jolted backward.

  My sixteen-year-old sister, Jeanie, stood at the door scowling, hair yanked tight in a ponytail and face caked in some horrible green goo. “Could you guys make any more noise?” she snarled.

  “Gross,” I said. “What happened to you? An alien barf on you while you slept?”

  “Ha-ha.” She perched her hands on her hips. “I’m exfoliating, moron.”

  “Ex-folly-what?”

  “Ex . . . folllll . . . eeeee . . . ATE . . . ing,” she said. “You know, removing the dead skin cells.”

  “Yeah? Better be careful . . . you might remove your whole head, then.”

  Jeanie scowled even more. The green stuff cracked a little. She looked like the Hulk’s even grumpier daughter. I shuddered.

  “Very funny,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. I turned around and grabbed my bag, hoping Jeanie would just crawl back into her cave. Instead, she burst out laughing.

  “Well,” she said, “at least I’m not wearing that lame-o T-shirt.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I said.

  “I mean, ‘The Wild Bunch’!” She clutched her stomach and doubled over laughing again. “Really fierce, Paul.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The back of your shirt, burp breath.”

  “Now, kids . . . ,” Dad said.

  I yanked the shirt off and flipped it around. Across the back, block letters spelled out “The Wild Bunch.” In bright orange. There was a feeble squiggle underneath that looked like it was trying to be a lightning bolt but gave up.

  Dad shrugged. “Our club needed a name.” He thumped my shoulder and headed out the door. “Hurry up, bud. Don’t want to be late. Miss all the good fish, plus we need to pitch tents and . . .” He clomped down the stairs, still yammering about starting fires by banging rocks, and catching trout with his bare hands. Or maybe it was his teeth.

  I dropped the hideous shirt on the floor. This had gone too far. I could get into the whole reconnecting-with-Dad thing. That was fine. But this? Dad had mentioned doing “a few things” together, but it had quickly spiraled into something else. Soon he was in touch with his old college buddies who had kids the same age; next there were conference calls. Apparently they’d visited Bear Falls themselves their freshman year and had a blast.

  It was like I’d stumbled into some sort of midlife crisis mindscape and there was no way to wake up.

  “There is no club,” I muttered. “And even if there was, I’m not joining.” I hoisted my backpack over my shoulders and shuffled after Dad into the hallway.

  “See you later, Grizzly Man!” my sister yelled.

  “Yeah, you’d better get back to the lab,” I hollered back. “I heard Dr. Frankenstein was missing his latest experiment.”

  I trudged down the stairs. Dad was waiting by the front door, still grinning. We stepped into the bright morning sunlight. I squinted, took a deep breath—and something hit me with a thud on the back of the head.

  “You forget something?” I turned to see Jeanie standing at the base of the stairs, grinning maniacally, face mask shot to pieces. She pointed down at my feet.

  I rolled my eyes and slapped my forehead, then grabbed the ridiculous T-shirt from the stoop and jammed it in my backpack. Dad was already climbing into the front seat of the SUV.

  “C’mon, Paul!” he yelled. For good measure, Mr. Lopez honked three times.

  I jogged halfheartedly to the car and cracked open the back door on the passenger side, only to be greeted by the wall that was Jack. He looked pretty much like I remembered from the last, and only, time I saw him: an oversize thug in a hockey jersey capped off with a mop of reddish-blond hair and a set of earphones. I stood there, tapping my foot, waiting for Jack to slide over. Instead, he popped off his right headphone.

  “Not a chance,” he said with a grunt. “I’m not sitting next to the puker.” He jerked his head toward Hector, who sat on the opposite end of the bench seat. Hector smile
d sheepishly, exposing a row of oversize teeth tangled in silver braces, and shrugged his bony shoulders.

  “I get carsick sometimes,” he said, swiping a clump of stringy black hair from his forehead.

  “Oh, whatever.” I climbed over Jack and sat down on the little hump in the middle while Dad and Mr. Lopez fiddled with the car’s navigation system.

  “I think it’s this button here,” Dad said, jamming something with his finger. The car beeped.

  “No, no,” Mr. Lopez said. He poked another button and the sunroof above my head slid open. The next push popped the trunk. It’s hard to believe sometimes that Mr. Lopez is actually some sort of computer genius. He’s always got this perplexed look about him, like he’s not quite sure where he left his own feet.

  “So where’s your dad, anyway?” I asked Jack. He lifted an earphone.

  “He’s got a game this afternoon,” Jack said quietly. “He’ll meet us later.”

  “A game?” I asked.

  “Baseball,” said Jack. He didn’t offer any further explanation, so I didn’t ask what team. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember his dad from the Feinsteins’ either. But I’d done my best to wipe the whole event from memory, so that wasn’t surprising. All I knew was that he was named Jack as well, which suggested a pretty poor imagination. I guessed it had to be a fairly important game for him to get out of the reunion with his college buddies.

  Jack Junior snapped the earphone back on his head and started playing a game on his cell phone. I turned my attention to Hector, who was picking a scab on his scrawny knee. He and I had actually attended the same kindergarten, but as far as I can remember, we weren’t really friends then, either. His family moved across town later, so now we went to different schools.

  “Hey, Hector,” I said. He sat up, and I noticed he was actually wearing his Wild Bunch T-shirt, which was about six sizes too big and hung off him like a baggy dress.

  “Hi, Paul.” Hector nodded, then sniffled, sucked in a breath, and sneezed violently. Something green that looked disgustingly similar to the glop on Jeanie’s face shot from his nose. I cringed and slid closer to Jack, who immediately elbowed me back toward Hector, without glancing up from his phone.