It was period two Geography class when Jason remembered the unfinished Math assignment. Sprawled across his graffiti etched desk, Jason pressed his nose into his forearm. The classroom air was tainted with the piney, hormonal stench of Johnnie Trevett who was declining to use deodorant due to the aluminum.

Mr. Scholz, the Geography teacher was exhausted from a night in with Ms. Daw, the Biology teacher. Scrambling in the morning with no lesson plan, Mr. Scholz had thrown on a documentary about acid rain and Jason was bored out of his mind. Instead of watching the screen Jason's eyes followed the blue light from the television up onto the ceiling tile where he eyed ancient spitballs with suspicion. The spitballs stuck there tenuously, like stunted stalactites in a cave.

Jason was stressed about his math assignment because Ms. Larabie, the Math teacher was scary. He couldn't help thinking she looked like Bette Davis in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane with her drawn in lips, lopsided years ago from a mini-stroke, and the matte red lipstick that melted down her chin like wax. Also, she was pitiless toward slackers who did not do back flips over the beauty of mathematics and Jason was a math slacker.

Maybe I can sneak out and get the assignment and finish it here?

He considered this as the documentary droned on about acidic lakes that looked crystal clean. Deception, deception, the scientist said. It was easy to be tricked by the clear, clean-looking water but with acid rain it became vinegar to lake life.

Sliding back his chair, Jason stood up and walked to Mr. Scholz.

-- Can I go to the bathroom?

He danced a little to make it look urgent. Mr. Scholz sighed but rose and opened the classroom door for him. Jason glanced backwards to see Mr. Scholz waving the door back and forth, trying to fan out Trevett's stink.

Once clear Jason hustled. The high school band played disharmoniously down the hall drowning out his footsteps. He rushed up the staircase to his locker on the second floor.

Fiddling with the lock, Jason glanced at the sound of a click from the east end doorway. Two people entered the corridor. One was tall and one quite small and in seconds Jason recognized them.

-- Shit.

Sighing into his locker he was filled with agitation. Jason hadn't spoken to Chris Wells in over four years and there he was, recently transferred from another high school. Chris's arms were wrapped around Tara McCullough's abnormal twenty-two inch waist. Jason wasn't in the headspace for this.

He became self-conscious of his hair, questioning his morning decision to spray it up like a shark fin. Deep wrinkles formed between his brows as he searched through his math binder. Can't find the damned assignment, Jesus!

Armpits sweating through his white t-shirt, Jason slipped his hands in and out of binder pockets and in the frenzy he knocked a Joy Division cassette tape into the air. It skidded across the hallway right to Chris's foot.

Point A to point B. There was no escaping the reunion now.

Chris picked up the tape and looked at it and then at Jason. A smile unfolded across his face like a theatre curtain opening. Chris patted the cassette against his hand. The sound of the hard plastic and the ribbon wheels of the cassette filled the hallway.

-- You don't listen to this shit, do you?

Chris's Van Halen t-shirt advertised his distinct musical preference. He tossed the cassette to Jason who turned and reacted quickly to catch it.

Jason knew seeing Chris would be awkward, but now he felt it was like science fiction, as if Chris and him had once inhabited a naïve, peaceful planet far, far away and now they had time traveled to this planet which was potentially lethal.

Jason noted the plastic grin on Chris's face. It was like a salesman's and his eyes were calculating. They seemed intelligent but devoid. Jason couldn't think of what they were devoid of. He couldn't think of anything to say either except,

-- Hey Chris, how's it going?

-- Are you skipping class Jason? I'll tell your mother on you.

It was a shove. Jason felt a surge of heat rush through his body. He turned away and continued to rifle through his locker.

-- No, not skipping class. Forgot an assignment and I'm late. Good to see you though Chris.

Giving up on finding it, Jason grabbed any piece of paper. He closed the locker door and waved at Chris and Tara as he went back to class.

Once in his seat Jason felt defeated. The documentary was still playing and the classroom reeked of B.O. A scientist was about to dissect a rock bass fished from Lake Ontario. Jason was sure he saw the tail flip as the white-coated guy pressed the scalpel into its gill.

* * *

Later that night Jason felt pissed and ashamed. Had he actually hoped to re-bond with Chris Wells? What a stupid idea.

He was remembering how he used to run across their street, Hamilton Ave., to pound on Chris's door. Wanna play? he'd ask. Eventually the year and half age difference put a death sentence on their friendship. When Chris turned twelve, ten-year-old Jason became someone to avoid.

Jason rolled over to the sound of a knock on his bedroom door.

-- What!?

-- Are you going to come for dinner?

His mother opened the door and switched on the light.

-- Mom, no. I'm not feeling great.

-- I'll heat it up later if you feel hungry, love.

-- Thanks Mom.

She looked at him and shut the door gently.

Jason turned onto his back, hands behind his head. Memories of his friendship with Chris played away. He remembered the summer he learned the hard way to wear shoes. For years his mom would be remembered for her yelling, "Put your shoes onnnnn Jason!"

But Jason ignored his mother as he ran out the door that day. He was trying to catch up with Chris. He had seen him through the front window riding down his driveway toward the park. Booting it down the front steps to the park, Jason's legs pumped like pistons, straight over a mass of purple clover until one bare foot hit a tiny little landmine called a honeybee.

Jason sunk to the ground.

-- Ouch! OUCH!

Chris dropped his bike and trotted over.

Moaning in agony, Jason stared up at Chris from below. He still remembered how Chris's blond hair shimmered golden like the Jesus figures in the paintings Jason had seen at the ROM. Chris's expression looked concerned. Light sprung out of Chris's head, his eyes, his hands.

-- Did you twist your ankle?

-- No, a bee stung me!

The honeybee vibrated and buzzed beside him as it died. Chris plunked himself down, scrutinizing the wound on Jason's foot that was beginning to swell.

-- My brother told me that mud helps the pain of bee stings.

Chris jumped up, scanned the horizon and raced down to the ditch along the edge of the park. There was a stream from the previous nights rainfall. Chris crouched and started digging. He ran back carrying two handfuls of muck, splatting it onto Jason's foot, squeezing into the swelling. The mud squelched out from between his fingers.

They were close for minutes as Jason held in his crying. Soon the throbbing sting began to fade and Jason associated this peace with Chris.

* * *

Months after the run in at high school with Chris, Jason was happily astray in Maggie Hughe's freckles.

Maggie lay on the vintage gold couch that had been downgraded to Jason's family rec room. The TV was on, volume low. The wood stove blazed filling the basement room with warmth. Jason's parents were out for the evening and Maggie, Jason's girlfriend for nearly seven months, lay on her stomach, her body long on the couch as Jason leaned over her undoing her bra. He pulled her panties down her hips and paused, marveling over her skin that was so freckled on her shoulders and upper back, but faded to pristine white below her bra line and the cheeks of her ass.

-- Are you going to George's party? Maggie's head leaned on her forearm as she spoke.

It was one of the parties everyone was talking about. One of the few so-called rich kids in school, George was the son of the town psychiatrist. The kid who need therapy more than anyone was throwing a New Year's Eve party.

-- Yeah, I guess so. Derrick and Rob are going.

Maggie turned to look at Jason, eyebrows furrowed.

-- You're not going to cheat on me are you?

Jason laughed and tilted his head.

-- Okay, let's make a deal. You don't cheat on me with those Florida beach boys and I'll stay away from Katherine Brooks.

Maggie was leaving the next day for a holiday in Florida. She rolled over and sat up, a pretend frown on her face.

Her bra was undone and hung down her arms; her panties were stuck at the top of her thighs. Wavy auburn hair pressed messily against the back of the gold sofa and the sight of her sent blood racing from Jason's brain right to his heart and his groin. She was fucking beautiful and smart and the only girl who would listen to The Smiths with him who honestly liked them.

Like she was reading his mind, she said, Katherine listens to Quiet Riot, Jason.

-- Oh well.

He smiled at her.

Maggie stuck out her impish chin and smiled back.

-- I promise I'll stay away from the beach boys, you asshole.

He couldn't stand it anymore. He grabbed Maggie by her shoulders and slowly pushed her back down onto the couch.

-- You're mine. He said into her ear.

Maggie sighed.

* * *

Later on Jason would recall the New Year's party had a Peter Sellers feel. Maybe it was the 1960's bungalow, the brown leather furniture, the layers and levels that overlooked the main living room, the large plate glass windows and the pool in the backyard, plus the lamp-on-head antics of the kids and their drunken laughter.

Just as it began to devolve into that seedy evilness, when everyone wants to fight, fuck or get self-destructive, it ended, broken up by the police who had been alerted by an annoyed neighbour.

But before that, Jason ran into Chris Wells.

Set on acres of land, the party house backed on to a small forest of meandering trails. Billy Idol was blasting out the rear window when Jason walked out back carrying a beer. Chris was heading away from a group of his loyal, leather- jacketed friends when he and Jason crossed paths.

-- Hey Jason! Did you ace that math assignment?

Chris's face looked warm and Jason was struck that he remembered.

-- Oh hey Chris! Nope, failed it actually. How's it going?

Chris was holding a cigarette. He took a long drag of it and let it drop, exhaling into the black night. He ignored the small red ember that sizzled on the patio.

-- Hey, you feel like smoking a joint with me? I mean, we should catch up on old times.

Jason felt privileged. Chris was a popular senior.

-- Sure, okay, why not?

Chris nodded and pointed to the direction of the forest. They walked there seeking a small clearing. Chris stopped and lit the joint. Sucking in, he held the smoke in his lungs and handed it to Jason. Jason looked at it and put it to his lips. He had smoked pot once before and felt nothing. He figured it didn't affect him. They passed the joint back and forth three more times.

-- Imagine our mother's seeing us now? Chris said with a smirk.

Thoughts of their mothers and the rectangular bungalows of their street where they grew up, where every second house had the same layout overcame Jason.

-- Every second house is the same on our street except for the brick colour, Jason said.

-- That's true.

-- Oh Jesus! Remember our mothers and their Crazy Bertha card game!

Jason leaned over he was laughing so hard.

Chris laughed a bit and then lifted a branch to peek out to the backyard. He saw people running out the side gate and then Chris saw a police officer.

-- Fuck! We better get out of here.

Throwing the joint over his back shoulder, Chris rifled through his pockets until he found a small baggy of pot. He placed it at the base of an oak and covered it with leaves.

They made their way out of the forest. Twenty minutes later Jason caught up with Derrick and Rob who were waiting for him a block away.

-- Where were you? Rob said.

-- Smoking a joint with Chris Wells.

-- You loser.

Derrick hit him on the side of the head.

They took off into the night.

* * *

Maggie was home from Florida but she had not called. A day and a half passed and Jason was dying to see her but he didn't want to seem needy so he waited. Every time the phone rang he ran like a maniac and each time it was for someone else. His mood grew monstrous.

On the second day he couldn't wait. He phoned her and he found her father unusually curt.

-- She's not here, her father said. He hung up with no good bye.

Jason paced his bedroom. His body was tight with tension. This was not like Maggie. Throwing his coat on he trekked across the soccer field on a – 26 Celsius evening. The air was so cold that the inside of his nose stuck together on each inhale.

When he got to her house, he banged and banged on her door until her father answered.

-- I'm freezing. Please let me talk to Maggie.

Jason could see her peeking from the hallway. Her father shook his head at her.

-- Dad, just give us a minute.

She pulled her sweater down over her hands and went to the entrance, standing amid the snow boots.

-- Aren't you going to invite me in?

Jason's face was strangled with worry.

-- No Jason. Listen. I have to say this and then you have to go.

-- What Maggie? Come on.

-- I don't want to see you anymore. It's over between us.

Jason stared at her under the tacky brass entrance light. He imagined her having sex with some tanned Florida dude on the beach.

-- What happened?

Then she raised her voice.

-- DON'T YOU KNOW?

She started to cry, covering her mouth and gasping.

-- What is it? Jesus Maggie, just tell me.

-- I got home yesterday and the phone was ringing off the hook Jason! In about forty minutes I had three different people telling me what you did.

Jason shook his head.

-- What I did? I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know what I did Maggie!

She stared at him.

-- Chris Wells.

-- Yeah, what Maggie?

Jason lowered his voice, It was just a joint Maggie. It was no big deal.

She glared at him, trying to extract truth from his face. Then she whispered in his ear, Jason, Chris told everybody at school that you asked him, you asked him to give him a blowjob.

Jason's knees gave out, his body slumped back against the wall. He felt like he had no bones. His brain went back to the forest. He scanned the scene in his mind. Nothing like that had happened but he thought,

How many of the kids at that party had seen them go into the forest?

-- Why would Chris say that? Jason whispered to himself. Then he looked at Maggie. I wouldn't. I would never do that.

-- But why would Chris lie?

Tears poured down her face and Jason couldn't stop thinking about her hair that night on the gold couch, how her bra had fallen down her arms, her un self-conscious awareness of her beauty. He loved her. He loved her and desired only her.

But he'd never get her back after this.

-- You believe him over me?

-- I don't know. God damn it, Jason. I don't know!

Jason turned away. He grabbed the handle of the door, focusing briefly on the patterns of frost that had grown there as they spoke and then he pushed the door open as hard as he could, not caring if he broke it off the hinges.

Racing into the jaws of the January night he ran for the lake. For hours Jason believed the only choice he had was to die. But as he breathed in and out, focusing on the white vapor of his breath, Jason knew. He knew this was exactly what Chris wanted. He would not give him that.

* * *

Years later, Jason visited his mom and the shore of the lake where he had nearly ended his life. He thought about Chris Wells and how he had met people like him again and again over the years. Poisonous people, always charming, some beautiful, but Jason always knew who was deadly. Living though the experience with Chris had somehow inoculated him.

The sky was a deep, cold blue as Jason watched two mallards fly in and land on the lake. Strangely he thought about the documentary in Geography class that day, the one about acid rain and a sorrow moved through him that made him decide. He knew in that moment that he'd use his life to fight till his dying breath to save the lake and every thing that depended on it.