Page 25 of The Falcon and the Foe

“And why not? I’m a ray of sunshine.”

“In that I shouldn’t stand in your path lest I want my skin to burn?”

“Did you just use the word lest in casual conversation?”

“Yes.”

“That was a rhetorical question.”

“It didn’t sound rhetorical.”

“Oh, that’s right. Robots can’t detect sarcasm. I need to reread your manual.” I pulled the black witch’s hat from the shelf and handed it over, pointy end first. “I think you need this.”

“What am I? A witch or a robot?” He swiped the hat from my hands and replaced it on the top shelf. His eyes blazed into me with smugness, and sarcasm, and a dash of heat. Why the fuck was I feeling any heat from Russ?

Sweet homosexual Jesus. Was I flirting with him?

I reminded myself that this man was an uptight control freak who was trying to push me out of the Falcons, just as he did with the Parent Teacher Association. My brain unfurled the laundry list of reasons why he was repugnant. Whatever moment I thought we shared in this closet only existed in my head.

“Grab some tents,” I said. “Let’s get back.”

* * *

All of ourscouts showed up by six, the latest scurrying inside by five fifty-eight. Russ had successfully scared them into being punctual. He led the group in what I called a goody-two-shoes prayer circle: the scouts had to go around and say a good deed they did for others or the community. It was as if Russ was begging a bunch of teenagers to come in and give us all wedgies.

It was no surprise that none of the kids spoke up, except Quentin whom Russ put an uncomfortable spotlight on and recited an anecdote about spontaneously cleaning up a local park that I was sure Russ rehearsed with him. Josh shared how he lent a classmate a pencil for a quiz, and I couldn’t help but feel proud of that small gesture.

But overall, this seemed like a drab way to start off a meeting. Yet another sign of Russ’s preternatural ability to suck the fun out of anything. Awkward clouds of silence hung over the room as the scouts avoided eye contact with Russ so they wouldn’t be picked. The energy could not be lower. Even Ambien tablets would be like, “This meeting is too sleepy for us.” I couldn’t stand the torture.

I stepped forward, ready to deal with Russ’s wrath. “Hey, why don’t we play Steal the Bacon?”

“What?” Russ whipped his head to me, his eyes telling me to zip it. “We have a busy meeting ahead of us.”

“It can be a short game. It’ll get the blood flowing and pick things up.” I jogged in place to show my excitement to give this meeting a pulse.

“That’s okay, Scout Leader Cal.”

“What’s Steal the Bacon?” Chase asked.

“I’m vegan,” Emmaline said, a lovely little girl with pigtails.

“I’m glad you asked. Tons of other troops do it. It’s like capture the flag, but it takes place entirely in this room.” I ignored whatever face Russ was making and explained the rules of the game. The troop split into two teams and gathered at opposite ends of the room.

“We really don’t have time for this,” Russ said.

“But we have time to fall asleep listing off our good deeds?” I whispered back. “These kids have energy to burn. Just give me five minutes. Then we can all learn to pitch tents like we’re flipping through an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog.”

Russ motioned for me to keep quiet. I waved off the concern.

“Please, like these kids know what a catalog is,” I said.

“For the record, I never did that.”

“Sure, Russ.” He was a closeted teen in the late ’90s without access to internet porn. He did that.

I used my scout leader hat as the titular bacon and plunked it in the center of the room. On each team, a scout was given a number one through five. When I called their number, they had to grab the hat first and run it back to their team without getting tagged.

The five minutes flew by. The scouts ran and laughed, and the energy levels pumped up considerably. You could’ve heard the noise from the entrance to the building. The teams cheered on their teammates as they dove for the hat each time. Russ started off silent and watchful, but soon he began cheering on both teams, a neutral observer who couldn’t help getting wrapped in the excitement.

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