There Will Be Bears by Ryan Gebhart

paper back. And there it is, an eighty-eight written in her bubbly handwriting. Next to a smiley cat face. I’m trying to act all normal, but my brain is tingling and my hands are warm. This is the first time in forever that my grade isn’t accompanied by a grumpy cat face.
    The bell rings for first period, and I hurry to the auditorium, where Karen sits on the far end. With my test stuffed into my back pocket, I take the chair one row behind her, my closest so far.
    Don’t be myself. Don’t be the psycho Internet stalker she met at Brighton’s. Be cool and/or funny and have one of those hot half smiles and slightly narrowed eyes.
    I got this.
    I poke her neck with my pencil eraser. “Hey.”
    “Ow.” Karen turns. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she’s rubbing her neck. “What was that for?”
    “What
wasn’t
it for?”
    She smirks. I can work with that. She says, “Didn’t really get a chance to talk to you the other night. Not too often I meet another hunter.”
    “Yeah, well, you know. I don’t like to brag.”
    “What kind of animals do you hunt?”
    I force back a stutter. “Elk, mostly.”
    “Oh, yeah, my granddad told me this area has some of the largest elk herds. I see ’em all over the place. What’s your largest one?”
    “Oh, well, there was this one time last season I shot a buck with six points.”
    “Bull.”
    How can she see right through me? “I’m not lying.”
    “No, no. You said you shot a buck, but bucks are male deer.
Bulls
are male elk.”
    “Oh, yeah. I shoot so many, sometimes I get confused.”
    She nods, and I can only pray she believes me. “So you just go out in your backyard and shoot one?”
    “We don’t hunt the elk here. We go to the Grand Tetons.”
    “Fun! My granddad says Wyoming’s got a lot of regulations. You don’t have to prove the animal’s sex in Texas.”
    “That’s weird.” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
    “What’s it like?”
    “Huh?”
    “I’ve never field-dressed an animal. The hunting guides on the ranch always did the dirty work. What’s it like cutting open an elk?”
    “Like breaking open a piñata, I guess. But instead of candy falling out, there’s like . . . intestines.”
    “Ew!” The sound of her laughter is so rewarding. I have to keep this up. She says, “You gotta show me pictures. Are there any online?”
    “We didn’t take pictures. But we will this year, I bear swear.”
    “What’s bear swear?”
    Just like Gene showed me, and just like how I showed Mom, I have her make her hands into bear claws. Her fingers interlock with mine. Her hands are so soft, and she’s got this amazing smile.
    Looking her dead in the eyes, I shake our hands violently with a growl. She bursts into a honking laugh. It’s so unexpected and dorky.
    “I love bears,” she says.
    “Me, too.”
    Mr. Cavner enters the room and tells the class to be quiet. Karen turns around and she’s choking back a fit of laughter.
    Today we sing “I Wanna Be Loved by You.”
    There’s no question about it — I’m getting the bear costume. And the hunting trip is so on.

I post an ad on Craigslist.
    Aquarium and all the stuff for it. 75 dollars
.
    But that’s not going to be enough for the bear costume. I need three hundred. And there’s only one valuable thing that I have.
    I look at my Taylor Swift tickets. It’s a concert that I’ve wanted to see since fifth grade. But I’m the only guy in my grade who admits to liking her.
    I mean, I don’t
have
to see her. And besides, the bear costume is so cool. The fur looks like it was skinned from an actual bear, and it’s got the meanest face you can imagine. This costume would make a statement — I am strong like bear. I make eating berries and grazing look fierce.
    Karen is going to love it.
    There’s a pile of clean laundry on my bed. I fold my Taylor Swift T, then tuck it into the bottom dresser drawer beneath a stack of shirts that smell like the back rack at Goodwill. And then I