Lake Burntshore by Aaron Kreuter

Author:Aaron Kreuter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2025-04-22T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

The night before they were given their placements, the CITs gathered in the CIT rec hall to watch a movie. Barry Blum stood in front of the television with a DVD in each hand. “Alright, gang, what should it be? Night of the Living Dead or Titanic?” He held up one DVD, then the other. The response to Titanic—carried by the girls—was the clear and obvious winner.

Barry popped the DVD in and pressed play, went to sit in the back with the other two CIT staff. The CITs, on their pillows and blankets, in their sweatshirts and sweatpants, sitting or lying on their stomachs with their heads in their hands, heads in laps, girls braiding hair or knotting string bracelets, eating candy from home and chocolate bars from the tuck shop, settled into the luscious, exposed-cedar smell of the building for the three-hour movie. “Show us your tits!” Scharfy yelled at the old Rose in the opening segment. “Shut up!” “You’re disgusting!” The girls swooned—half ironically, half earnestly—when Leonardo DiCaprio first appeared on screen. For the first ninety minutes, while Jack and Rose fell in love, while Billy Zane scowled, while the lower-class berths and the upper-class splendour were crudely juxtaposed, the boys—mostly Scharfy and Josh—booed and threw candy at the television, only momentarily switching registers to catcalls and hooting when Kate Winslet’s breasts appeared, when Rose and Jack fucked in the sweaty carriage. “Shut the fuck up, you pervs!” Becca yelled. And then, on a cold, breath-fogged night, the ship slammed into the iconic iceberg, and the movie turned inside out. Now the boys roared and cheered as carnage visited the boat, as the ship cracked in half, as extras died their gruesome deaths. By the end, Rose and Jack floating on that once-stately door, there was very little noise at all from the audience, except for some quiet sobbing.

The movie was over. The sleepy CITs rose, gathered their blankets and pillows, filed out of the rec hall into the treed, solid world of CIT Town. Ayelet and Martin were holding hands, Martin’s sleeping bag draped over his shoulders. She pulled him behind the building, kissed him. Her face was wet with tears.

“Draw me like one of your Jewish girls, Martin.” Ayelet was pushing herself against him. He could feel himself getting hard.

“Come by my cabin tonight,” he whispered in her ear.

“I’ll try. Maybe Becca will come with me.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” They pulled apart. It was Jeremy Kraftchuk, their counselor, walking past. Ayelet blushed. “You’re one to talk!” Martin shot back. Jeremy was from the famed 2005 CIT year—hot, cool guys and gorgeous, cool girls. Martin and Ayelet were eight years old in 2005, but still, they knew the stories, the myths, filled with wonder when they saw Kraftchuk’s name scrawled on a cabin wall. It was unreal that he was now both of their counselors, this larger-than-life figure from Burntshore’s deep history.

“I’ll see you later,” Ayelet said, pecking Martin on the cheek and running to catch up to her girls.

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