Devices

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"But Mr. Phillips?" Stevie held up his own compass, a birthday present from his parents. "I think -- "

"Bob," the scoutmaster replied, still wearing the little smile he'd had on for almost this entire trip. "Call me Bob, sport, remember?"

"Um. Bob." Stevie looked again at his compass. "I think actually camp is south of here."

"What, sport?" the scoutmaster smiled. "Let me see that." He snatched the compass away and glanced at it briefly. "Nope, you're mistaken." The compass disappeared into his pocket.

"Hey -- " Stevie cried.

"Your compass must be broken, sport," Phillips replied cheerily. "Come on, boys! We've got maybe an hour before we get back to camp, so let's keep at it!"

"He said that an hour ago," Jed muttered, and several of the other boys nodded. None of them had any idea where they were, though -- especially now that Stevie's compass was gone -- so they pushed on.

Their usual scoutmaster was Kevin Lee's dad, a wisecracking used-car salesman who they all deeply admired for his ready willingness to use the word "fuck". Mr. Lee had gotten sick right before the camping trip, but rather than calling the whole thing off (thereby crushing the months-long dreams of a dozen ten-year-old boys), somehow a substitute scoutmaster had been procured. Nobody was sure how that had worked -- Kevin said he thought maybe his dad had asked around some of the other troops in the area -- but they did know that when they'd arrived at the state park Saturday morning, a cheerfully smiling stranger had been waiting for them. The smiling stranger had greeted them all, introduced himself as "Bob Phillips -- just call me Bob", chatted with their parents; then he had gathered up the boys and led them all into the woods. They'd quickly set up their tents at the campsite, and then "Bob" had announced that it was time for a hike.

Now it was Saturday night coming on, and they had been walking in what felt like circles for a couple of hours.

"'Just a little farther, boys,'" Matt said from his place near the back of the troop, mocking the scoutmaster's voice and constant smile. "'I got no idea where I am, but I figure you're too stupid to know that, so I'll just keep saying that it's -- '"

"Just a bit more now, boys," the scoutmaster's voice floated back to them. "The place we're going is just... over... this hill."

Kevin and Matt looked at each other. "The place we're going?" Kevin asked. "Weren't we heading back to the campsite?" Matt shrugged uneasily, looking up at the sky. It was nearly dark in the forest by now.

By the time "Bob" led them into a clearing and announced that they had reached their destination, most of the boys were too exhausted to argue. They all set to work putting down their sleeping bags, except for Wally, who had left his in his tent back at the campsite; Wally limped over to the scoutmaster, explaining the problem and trying his tired ten-year-old best not to cry.

The scoutmaster's calm little smile never faltered as he put a heavy arm around the boy's shoulders. "That's all right, sport," he replied cheerfully. "You can bunk with me."

Fireside

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"Daddy? Did you like to go camping when you were little?"

Mike chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't really call this camping," he answered, glancing back maybe twenty feet at the house. "But yeah, I loved camping. I wanted to be in the Scouts, but I never did get to join, so most of the time it was just me and your uncle Steve."

Angie was sitting on a rock by the fire he had built for them, swinging her legs back and forth. The marshmallow on the end of her stick was looking pretty blackened by this point, but she looked more interested in his stories than in marshmallows. "Did you get to go far away from your house, daddy?"

"Oh yeah." He sat down next to her on the rock and stirred the fire with a branch. "Steve's house was right by some woods that his parents owned, and we would go out there and set up our tent and tell each other ghost stories. The woods weren't too big, but once or twice we probably went nearly a half-mile before finding a good spot." He gazed into the fire for a few seconds. "It made us feel grown-up, being out there all alone like that."

"Weren't your mommies worried you'd get hurt?" Angie asked. "Mommy won't let me go where she can't watch me, ever!"

Mike smiled. "They were worried some, I guess. But I think it's different with little boys. They're meant to go play rough and get scratched up a little bit sometimes."

Angie put down her stick (the marshmallow at the end now reduced to a lump of carbon) and looked at him with wide eyes. "But I like going out in the backyard and playing and camping, too! I don't want to stop just because I'm not a boy!"

"Well, sweetie, I don't know," he answered slowly. "I guess when you get older you'll just... kind of stop wanting to play in the woods."

She pouted. "But you never did. You still like playing in the woods with me, even if you do tell mommy that you're just here to make sure I'm okay." Mike laughed at that, and she frowned. "It's true!"

"It is true, and that's why it's funny. And," he added in a lower voice, "you probably shouldn't tell your mom about it, okay, Angie?" She looked confused for a second, then understanding flashed across her face and she giggled. "Most little girls just stop wanting to sit around campfires with their dads when they get older. That's just how it is, I think."

"Well, I'm never going to stop. I'm going to play camping with you in the backyard forever, daddy. Right?"

He smiled again, but much more briefly this time. "Sure, honey. Forever."