Hawk

Will picked his way along the rocks at the edge of the silent lake. The moon was full, and it silvered the water with its light. The gleaming surface was still, and its smoothness stretched to the pine-edged shores. Will felt no such calm inside himself. He was already breaking the promise, he knew, and it had been less than two months since he'd made it.

Will jammed his hand into the right pocket of his jeans, and wrapped his fingers around the "offering." That was what Max had called it, explaining the rules as he lounged against the locker doors, flashing his famous smile. The truth was that it had almost been too easy. Mr. Henley trusted all of his students—he constantly left his flash drive out, right on the desk at the front of the room, where anyone could pilfer it. Henley was old—almost as old as Grand had been when everything started to go downhill. At the thought of that, Will's eyes swept out to the lake again. He released the drive, and it fell back into the pocket's depth, clinking dully against a dime.

Deeper in the woods, dry twigs and leaves crunched beneath his sneakered feet. Kindling, he thought, remembering his Cub Scout days when they'd foraged for firewood like this. He'd had to leave that Cub Scout troop when, once again, his family moved for what seemed to Will like the hundredth time. He and Grand had formed a troop of their own back then. They'd called themselves the Wigloos, and their simple motto was "Be True." Will snapped back to the moment at hand as he stumbled suddenly on a branch. He caught his breath and then stomped his heel on the fallen wood, snapping it in two. A promise was a promise, but had Grand been "true" when, little by little, he'd disappeared—when he’d grown unsure of words and faces, leaving Will to fend for himself in yet another new school and town?

Moving along the rugged path, Will began to see bits of trash here and there. First there were just some paper scraps, but as Will drew close to the meeting place, broken bottles and twisted cans glittered darkly in the fallen leaves. Grand had hated litter, especially any he found in the woods. Whenever they'd come across some, Grand had insisted on stopping to clean it up.

Will, for sure, wasn't stopping tonight. Up ahead, he could see the glimmer of a fire, its orange glow radiating through the trees. They were waiting for him in the crater-like encampment where they always did the swearing in. Tonight was Will's night; he was joining the ranks. From here on in, he'd be one of those slick, slow-moving boys whom everyone admired and never dared to cross. They'd give him a secret name. In that other club those years ago, Grand's name had been Hawk, and his had been Wolf. On the very last day, Grand had called him by that name. "Just remember, Wolf: Be true." Will shook his head, flinging off all thoughts of Hawk with his rules and names and extracted promises no one could keep.

He was starting to hear their voices now and vaguely wicked laughter that rose to the pines like wisps of smoke. He could picture them all, their faces tinted by the flames. There was Jason with his thick, blond curls, a boy so handsome he fooled the world. There were Tom and Mark, who could fence like knights, but were cut from the team for dirty play. Michael had stolen an uncle's car, and Max, the leader of the group, had almost been sent to juvenile hall. Almost was the crucial word. Somehow they managed to break all the rules and still avoid the slightest consequence.

Will inhaled and swallowed hard as he sprinted up the short, steep rise. On the other side, the earth was like a basin, and in its center the fire blazed. Around the rim sat the group of boys who called themselves the Anarchists.

"We've been waiting for you," Max called as Will came skidding down the slope. "We wondered if you'd lost your nerve."

"Fat chance," said Will with a sneering bravado he didn't feel.

His gaze moved slowly from face to face, trying to take in exactly who was there. It was hard to recognize anyone. In the flicker of the firelight, their features were grotesque and blurred, and they all wore dark red sweatshirts, the hoods drawn up, concealing their hair.

"First," announced Max, "we need to see the offering, and after that you can take the oath."

"What did he bring?" a disembodied voice yelled out.

"Everyone's A in Chemistry," Max replied triumphantly as if he'd done the deed himself. "Mr Henley's flash drive containing all the ninth grade tests."

The Anarchists burst into boisterous cheers. Everyone laughed and someone shouted a biting remark about Mr. Henley's forgetfulness. Grand had started forgetting too, Will remembered bitterly. That had been the start of it, and then he'd fallen on the stairs.

"Let's have it then," demanded Max.

Will looked again at the shadowy figures ringing the fire, members of this special club that would, in just minutes, welcome him in. On Monday at school, he'd swagger through the halls with them, no longer an outsider. He slid his hand into the pocket of his jeans, enclosing the flash drive in his palm.

"He doesn't have it," Jason suddenly declared. He took a step forward, dropping his hood, his golden curls obscuring one eye. "I told you he wouldn't do it. I told you he didn't have the guts." Will flinched at the words, stunned as some of the other boys seconded the affront.

In the silence that followed Will could hear the embers, crackling sharply in the fire. Something stirred in a branch above, and a strange thought skittered across his mind. He raised his gaze to the quivering limb, half expecting to see it there: a sharp-eyed hawk, gazing down from a great, dark height.

He heard his own voice, rising up from a place that did not seem part of him. "Jason's right. I couldn't do it. I lost my nerve."

"I don't believe you. You need us too much." Max's voice seemed to ooze with scorn. To Jason he barked, "Turn his pockets inside out."

Will jumped out of Jason's reach, but Tom was there on the other side, and a few of the boys sprang from their seats around the fire, scrambling to help. Will clutched the flash drive tightly in his palm as they yanked his arms and pawed through the pockets of his jeans. It was Max who noticed his balled up fist.

"Look!" he shouted. "It's in his hand!"

Together the whole group charged, faces hidden in the dark, an ominous blur in their blood-red hoods. As they drew in close, Will could hear them panting. He thought he could smell his own cold fear through the pungent smoke. Just before he felt the first grappling hands, he filled his lungs with a gasping breath. Then, summoning every ounce of strength, he hurled the flash drive through the air, into the roaring flames. Immediately, a hush fell over the crater, the whole mob frozen in place for one long second. Seizing this moment, Will spun around and bolted up the littered slope.

For a while the boys pursued him, thrashing noisily through the woods, but by the time Will reached the lake, they seemed to have given up on him. His pace slowed now as he moved along the moonlit bank, thinking of Mr. Henley and how he would have to explain to him the stupid, pointless thing he'd done. It would not be fun, and he would certainly be assigned some sort of punishment. The Anarchists, too, would take their sweet revenge, and life at school would be even harder than it had been. Yet the lake was calm and beautiful—not a ripple stirred its silver sheen—and the peace of the night was deep and vast.