HIDING - every scar has a story

22. Gazebo park.

{Jon}

The next day at lunch, Jon joined the circle of smokers at the north doors. He wasn't hungry, and there was something about standing shoulder to shoulder with Mike and his friends and smoking a borrowed cigarette, that covered up the stuff that was hurting so bad.

When the class bell rang, Mike nudged him and said, "We're heading downtown to hang in Gazebo park. Coming?"

Jon turned from the school doors, feeling interested in something for the first time that day. "Yeah. Heck yeah."

They piled onto the city bus: Mike, Fierce Girl and her friend, a skinny kid with a beanbag, and Jon. It felt good to be in a crowd, kind of like he belonged.

Gazebo Park was a lush, grassy space flanked by old buildings whose worn sandstone still retained some dignity. There was, in fact, a gazebo as well as some picnic tables—all with flaking brown paint and fresh graffiti scrawl. The girls spread themselves out on the grass, exposing as much skin to the sun as possible. Mike and the skinny kid started to kick the bean bag, taking turns getting as many hits as they could before the bag hit the ground.

Jon watched until Mike hucked the bean bag into his chest with a ricey 'thunk.'

"Quit spectating," Mike said.

Jon tossed the bag back and joined them, a smile tugging at his lips. He had quick hands and feet; he picked the game up fast.

When they took a break, sprawling on the grass, the skinny kid dug into his backpack and brought out a hand-rolled cigarette to share. Jon passed it to Fierce Girl without putting it to his lips. He wasn't sure that was tobacco inside the twist of paper.

Mike kept the cigarette, lying back in the grass to finish it. Jon drew his knees up, uncomfortable for the first time. A couple months ago he had never even seen a joint up close. Looking up, he saw another kid sitting on the steps of the church. He recognized Cary's jacket.

Getting to his feet, Jon crossed the grass towards the steps, feeling lighter already. Cary was hunched over his drawing book, working intently.

"Hey, Cary."

Cary looked up and his face relaxed when he saw Jon. It was almost a smile.

"What are you doing here?" Jon asked.

Cary turned his notebook around and showed it to Jon. "Our project."His friend's voice was soft and frayed, like he'd had a cold.

Jon took it in his hands, sitting on the step below Cary to look more closely. It was a drawing of the side of their house. A child was running in the foreground laughing. Jon's mouth curved in a smile. "Is that Bea?"

Cary ducked his head, his face colouring. "No."

The house was completed in dark, sure pencil-strokes against a clear sky. "Wow, this is beautiful."

Cary took the sketchbook back, frowning at it. "I've been thinking about it a bit."

Jon sat next to him, putting his back against the stone banister. "They searched our lockers yesterday. Yours and mine."

Cary frowned. "Why did they search your locker?"

Jon shrugged to cover how mad he was about it. "Looking for drugs."

"That's stupid."

"Yup," Jon said. He picked a stone up off the step and held it in his fist. "This you serving your at-home suspension?"

"Yup."

Cary's blank, innocent expression made Jon laugh. "Huh." He looked at Cary again. There was nothing to tell where Cary's dad hit him—except Jon was in his shirtsleeves and the sun was warm on his skin, while Cary still had his jacket on. Jon hucked the stone, made it 'ping' on the wooden bench a few feet away. "You get in trouble when you got home?"