Arnav lost his team. Now he has to decide who he is without them.
Meet the Kids Who Will Change Everything: Origin Stories from the Young Adult Novel The Great American Eagle Hunt. Before there was a team, there were five kids with five very different stories. Over the next several weeks, we’re telling them, one by one. Meet with Arnav Patel.
Meet the Kids Who Will Change Everything: Origin Stories from the Young Adult Novel The Great American Eagle Hunt. Before there was a team, there were five kids with five very different stories. Over the next several weeks, we’re telling them, one by one. Meet with Arnav Patel.
What started as a personal high for Arnav quickly marks the beginning of a dark three weeks. Instead of a joyful last few weeks of summer filled with new beginnings, it turns into a time filled with uncertainty, confusion and even a few threats. At the next Troop 904 meeting, Arnav and his friends arrive early. They are willing to help set up for the meeting. They arrive again wearing their Bharat uniforms. They know they will eventually have to switch over to the U.S. Boy Scouts official uniform. But for now, they are proud of their patrol and their identity. Arnav remembers the advice from his friend Rohan: “Don’t make yourself small.” At this meeting, he feels tall.
But Arnav immediately feels something is off at this meeting. The other boys, Kamal, Ashwin and Deepak, feel it too. The air is heavy and the tone is serious. The first thing Arnav notices is that Danny, the bald boy who welcomed them to the open house, wasn’t here.
“It is late summer,” he thinks to himself. “He must be on vacation with his family.”
He sits with Kamal and Deepak, and Ashwin in the back row of the assembly hall. Much like he did on the Cricket pitch, Arnav scans the room.
“Who’s in charge?” He thinks to himself. Always strategizing. “Who are the other teammates we can join up with?”
An older boy emerges from the side office of the Scoutmaster. He looks at the crowd of boys milling around the old gymnasium. Then he confidently climbs the steps up the stage at the front of the room.
“Form up!” He announces confidently and firmly.
All the scouts line up in perfect rows five across and ten deep. Arnav and his crew fill one of the last spaces in the back of the middle row.
The older boy on stage begins to address the troop. He is taller than Danny. His face is stern, almost like a military Drill Sergeant. His style is more polished, more rehearsed, more guarded…less fun. Behind him stands a row of assistants. Arnav instantly recognizes Kyle and the Delvechio twins, Tommy and Bobby. Tommy has a smirk that never fully leaves his face. Bobby is quieter, and harder to read. Kyle stands tall with his chest puffed out. But Arnav can tell it’s an act. The over projecting an image of confidence reveals Kyle’s true insecurity and nervousness.
The older boy begins to address the troop.
“My name is Kevin Kelly,” the boy starts. “I am your new interim Senior Patrol Leader.”
“They were right,” Arnav says to the others. “Their Red Devil patrol is now running the troop.”
“That’s bad news. I don’t like that,” says Ashwin.
#
The next week, the second meeting is the same, without Danny. Kevin runs the meeting as though it had always been his. But now, Kyle’s voice appears more frequently in the running of the meeting. It’s clear Kyle is trying to establish his authority by barking like a military drill sergeant, instead of a leader with true experience.
Kevin and Kyle’s mom, Mrs. Kelly, hovers in the scoutmaster’s office like she is in charge. When walking on the floor, she never addresses Arnav or any of the boys directly. She never looks at them in the eyes when speaking with them. A sure sign of weakness and hiding something. Arnav frequently asks about the status of their paperwork and rank designation.
“It’s under review,” Kyle’s mom replies, turns and walks off, leaving no room for further discussion.
Arnav also notices that the boy he met at the games; the boy they carried on the stretcher, Sawyer, doesn’t come to the meetings either.
That’s a shame,” Arnav thinks to himself. “He must have decided not to join. We could have been in the same patrol.”
#
By the third meeting, the new order of how meetings were running is clear. Kevin gives the assignments and Kyle, and his Red Devil patrol executes them…poorly. Arnav’s patrol, which had no official name, no patrol flag, and no patrol leader position recognized in any paperwork, is always assigned the grunt work, take out the trash, clean the equipment, sweep the floor. They are never given any fun or interesting tasks like running navigation exercises or fire-building demonstrations. The tasks they are clearly qualified for.
Every week they are assigned the task of sweeping the floor at the end of the meeting. Kamal swept without complaint and kept his eyes down. Ashwin swept and said nothing. Deepak swept and swept and swept, his face blank. Arnav knew this was wrong, and he had no idea how to fix it.
As they finished sweeping after the meeting, the boys worked together to put the brooms and dust pans back in the storage room. As they finished putting all the cleaning tools away, the large wooden door to the storage room swings shut. The boys find themselves in complete darkness.
“What the hell?” Kamal asks.
“Is there a light?” Ashwin asks.
“I can’t see anything,” Deepak says.
Arnav searches with his arms outstretched and finds the door. After a few seconds of searching, he finds the door handle and tries to open the door.
“Is it stuck?” Kamal asks.
“The handle is moving, but the door won’t open,” Arnav states.
Kamal finds his way over to the door and joins Arnav. “Let’s push,” he says
The two boys place their shoulders against the door and start to push.
“Something is blocking the door on the other side,” Kamal says.
Then they hear it. The low volume laughing. The snickering. The whispers.
“The Gandhi tribe is stuck in the closet,” someone taunts from the other side of the door.
Inside, the boys can barely see each other’s faces. But they realized what was happening. If they could see each other’s faces, they would see fear, resentment, disappointment, anger, rejection, embarrassment.
Arnav lifts his hand and signals to the others.
“On three we all push together. We can push harder than them,” he whispers to his team.
He signals:
One!
Two!
Three!
The boys surge and push against the door with all their might. Arnav grabs the door handle and makes sure it unlatches the door open. The door moves one inch in their favor. Then the force on the other side pushes back. They lost half an inch.
“Push!” Arnav rallies his team. They surge again. The door moves in their favor. This time the door opens enough for Arnav to stick his foot in the gap. The force on the other side surges with a counter surge, smashing Arnav’s foot. Arnav screams in pain.
The sound of their leader’s pain rallies Kamal, Deepak, Ashwin, and Kamal. They band together and give one more counter surge. But this time there is no resistance. The force on the other side of the door stops. The door swings wildly open, and the five boys tumble out of the dark storage room onto the old gymnasium floor. The five boys are stunned and stay lying on the floor in a pile of arms, legs, dirty uniforms and embarrassment.
As they look up, they see the force that was blocking the door. The three key members of the Red Devils, Kyle Kelly, Tommy and Bobby Delvechio.
“You guys have to watch that door,” Kyle Kelly says.
“Yeah,” Bobby Delvechio says. “It tends to slam shut and get stuck… a lot” The three laugh at their own joke.
“Don’t do that,” Arnav says.
“What’s your problem?” Kyle asks.
“Don’t do that,” Arnav repeats himself. “Don’t mock them.”
“Or what?” Bobby Delvechio says taking a step forward and squaring off in front of Arnav.
“Nothing,” Arnav replies. “I’m not going to fight you. But don’t do that. You are supposed to be leaders. You are supposed to set an example. The troop is supposed to be great because of you, not despite you.”
“Fuck off,” Tommy snaps back.
“Jesus, can’t you guys take a joke?” Kyle asks. “Every new kid gets a little razzing when they join. It makes them prove they want to be here. It makes them one of us.”
But Arnav doesn’t back down. “I’d rather build the new kids up, not tear them down.”
Kyle doesn’t respond. Perhaps he knows he is wrong and Arnav is right. But at this moment they are on a standoff. Who will back down first? How will this end? Kyle needs to end this and still save face to his crew.
At that moment Scoutmaster Miltner steps out of his office and closes his office door.
“Time to lock up boys,” he says. “Let’s go.”
“Yes,” Arnav says. “Let’s go” Arnav steps around Kyle and the twins. The others follow him out the main door of the old gymnasium.
The two groups, the Red Devils, Arnav’s crew and Mr. Miltner exit the building, Kyle attempts to on a positive face in front of Mr. Miltner.
“How do you like the troop so far?” He asks, trying to show Miltner that he is an inclusive leader.
“It’s been interesting,” Arnav replies.
“Good night boys,” Scoutmaster Miltner says as he peels off towards the parking lot.
Kyle turns on Arnav.
“You guys did well at the open house.” Kyle says. “For your first time.” He smiles. “My guys and the Red Devils have been training for this stuff for two years. You got lucky, but that won’t happen again.”
Arnav looks at him. “We look forward to it.”
Kyle’s smile doesn’t waver. “Good. Just so you know, my mom has been in touch with the BSA District office. The verification process for your paperwork is longer than it was thought. It could be a few more months.” He shrugs. “Nothing personal. Just procedure.”
“Of course,” Arnav says. “We understand.”
They walk in silence for a moment. Then Kyle says, “See you next week,” and turns down a side street toward his house.
#
At the next meeting, a camping trip was announced.
“We’ll be camping at Olympic State Park,” Kevin announced. “Duty assignments will be posted on the bulletin board by the end of this meeting.”
At the end of the meeting Arnav and the boys checked the bulletin board for Patrol assignments.
“Hopefully we can assist with a map reading course,” Ashwin said.
The boys read the assignment flyer. Their hearts and enthusiasm for this trip drained away simultaneously.
Indian patrol: kitchen duty for the entire camp. Two nights. All three meals per day.
They weren’t even given the courtesy of being given a patrol name.
Kamal read the board, then walked away without saying anything.
That night, Arnav got a message from Deepak: I’m out. I’m sorry.
He sat with that for a while. He opened his desk drawer. He looked at Rohan’s letter. He closed the drawer.
#
Ashwin left the week after Deepak. A single message was left at his house.
It’s not worth it. They won’t let us advance anyway.
That left Kamal.
Kamal lasted two more meetings, quiet and precise and dignified at every one of them, carrying his end of whatever thankless task they were assigned without complaint. Then one Wednesday evening, not even a meeting night, he knocked on Arnav’s door.
Arnav’s mother let him in. They sat in the kitchen.
“I’m not afraid of them,” Kamal said. It was important to him to say this first. “I want you to know that. I’m not leaving because I’m afraid.”
“I know,” Arnav said.
“I’m just tired,” Kamal said. “This isn’t what scouting is supposed to be.”
Arnav didn’t argue. He walked Kamal to the door. They shook hands, left-handed, in the old Bharat way, and Arnav watched him ride his bicycle down the hill.
Seattle, Washington, Queen Anne High School, Late September 1999, Saturday morning, 10:00am.
For the next eight weeks, Arnav never goes back to another scout meeting, and depression sets in.
“For the second time in six months, I lost my team,” he repeats to himself. The phrase stings him. “I am a failure,” he convinces himself.
This Saturday morning, Arnav finds himself back at the old gymnasium at Queen Anne High school. He isn’t here because he wants to be here. He’s here because his father made him leave the house. He too has noticed Arnav’s depression. In an act of desperation, his father told him:
“You cannot lie in bed all day. You can do whatever you want, but it can’t be here.” Hopefully his father’s tough love will clear Arnav’s head.
So, Arnav finds himself here, back at the brick wall behind the old gymnasium. His bag of Cricket gear lays open, training gear spilling out.
He sets the first cone, places a ball on top, and takes his stance. Left hip forward, shoulders angled. He runs the hitting drill exactly how he ran it in India, where things were simple, safe and better.
“Form first. If the form is right, everything else follows,” he reminds himself.
But he doesn’t feel it today. His form is stiff and mechanical. It’s obvious he hasn’t trained in weeks. He runs the drill anyway. Ten times. Twenty times. His arms ache. But he still pushes on. Fifty reps later; he decides it’s time for a break before he starts his running drills. He sits back against the brick wall of the gym. He grabs his water bottle from his equipment bags and starts to chug the cool water down.
In the silence of the morning, he hears it before he sees it. He hears the rattle of an old bicycle with a chain that needs oil. He looks down the length of the wall and sees a kid on a bicycle. But the kid doesn’t see Arnav. The rider’s head is down, staring at the asphalt parking lot as he does large loops, circles and figure eights around the lot. There is no direction or energy in the boy’s riding. Just endless listless loops.
As Arnav watches the boy riding the bike, it hits him. He recognizes that bike. It’s the same bike. There is no mistaking this bike, covered in stickers. The Clash, The New York Dolls, The Replacements, The Ramones, The Dead Boys. He still doesn’t know what these stickers mean. But he knows that’s the same bike as the bald head boy Danny rode when they first met.
“Hello,” Arnav stands up and calls to the boy. But he keeps riding in large listless circles, barely lifting his head to look at Arnav.
“I remember you,” the boy says, not lifting his head still circling. “Did you join?” He asks.
“Yes,” Arnav answers. “But then I left.”
“Why?” Sawyer asks still circling.
“My friends left,” Arnav says. “All of them. One by one. I don’t blame them. The hazing, the paperwork that never moves, the grunt work every single meeting. It wasn’t worth it for them.” He picks up a ball and sets it back on the cone. “Maybe it’s not worth it for me either.”
Sawyer is quiet for a moment.
Arnav looks at him.
“Kyle Kelly and the Red Devils pushed you out. That’s what they wanted. If you don’t kiss their ass, they want you out.”
“It’s not about Kyle Kelly or the Red Devils.”
“It’s exactly about them. That’s their whole way of operating.” Sawyer shifts his weight on the handlebars.
“So why aren’t you in?” Arnav asks.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sawyer says. “I’m in. I admit, it took a while to convince me. But I’m in, all the way. Fuck Kyle Kelly. Fuck the Red Devils. It’s not the way that the group is supposed to be run. I can’t change things from the outside. So, look out Troop 904, I’m ready for a fight.”
Arnav sets down his bat. “You sound like someone I know.”
“Yeah? What did they say?” Sawyer asks.
“Don’t make yourself small,” Arnav replies.
Sawyer stops his bike and stares directly at Arnav. “Your friend is right. You should bring him to a meeting.”
“I wish I could,” Arnav replies. He’s still in India.
“You’re lucky,” Sawyer says.
“Lucky?”
“You still have someone looking out for you. It doesn’t matter that he’s on the other side of the world. He’s still there cheering for you.” Sawyer lowers his head again and stares at the gray asphalt. “It sucks when you lose it,” he mutters. After an awkward moment of silence, Sawyer lifts his head again and looks right at Arnav.
“Here’s the thing. The hazing, the grunt work, the paperwork that never gets processed, that’s exactly the reason to go back. Not despite all of it. Because of it. I’m going back and I’m manning up for a fight. Because I know they’re wrong. I’ve seen it better before they took over. I’m taking it back. Fuck what they think,” Sawyer says simply. “Seriously. Go back because you want to. Not for your friends who left. Not against Kyle Kelly. For you. Because you decide what you do. Not them.”
“Don’t make myself small,” Arnav reminds himself.
Sawyer pushes off and starts one last large loop before he leaves.
“Make the change you want to see,” Sawyer calls.
“What’s that mean?” Arnav asks.
“It’s from a song by a band called Rumspringa.”
“I don’t know them, Arnav says.
“Look em up. They’ve got good stuff.” Sawyer starts pedaling away. Just before he is out of ear shot, he looks over his shoulder and yells back to Arnav:
“You’ve got this.”
Arnav stands alone on the pavement. He starts to run two more drills. But his mind is racing. Then he picks up his cones one by one and puts them back in his equipment bag.
Seattle, Washington, Queen Anne High School, Early October 1999, Tuesday evening, 6:00pm
On Tuesday evening Arnav stands in his room watching the sun set on Eliot Bay. The ferries that he sees leaving in the morning are now returning to their docks. Back where they started.
Arnav turns and looks down at his bed. Tonight, two uniforms are laid out. His Bharat Scout uniform on the left. Blue shirt. Every patch earned over three years, sewn in its proper place before he left Bangalore. His Tritiya Sopan badge pressed into his palm on the last day of school. On the right, a new BSA uniform he and his father purchased last weekend. Every patch position on the crisp new tan shirt is empty. He stands at the edge of his bed and looks at them for a long time.
He vows to himself, “This is who I want to be. I am here now, but I will never again be embarrassed for who I was. Rohan, my friend, you are right. I will no longer be small.”
Then he goes to his desk and finds his needle and thread.
He starts with the World Crest first. The purple and white globe that both organizations share. Same badge. Same world body. He places it on the BSA shirt exactly where it sat on the Bharat shirt and begins to sew.
He works slowly. He is not good at this yet. The thread bunches. He pulls it loose and starts again. He is not good at this yet, but he will get better.
By the time he finishes it is late. He holds up the BSA shirt and looks at it in the light. His Bharat patrol badge sits alongside the American troop numbers. The Tritiya Sopan advancement marker on the sleeve, and beside it the empty space where the BSA equivalent will go once Mrs. Kelly finishes her verification, if she ever does. Two different languages. Two different uniforms. One shirt. He puts on his new uniform pants, shirt and shoes.
“I am not starting over,” he says to himself. “It’s time to move forward.”
He crosses his desk and opens the top drawer. He takes out Rohan’s letter. He doesn’t need to read it. He knows every word.
“Thank you, Rohan,” he says. He holds it for a moment, then puts it back.
He turns off the light.
Downstairs, his parents sitting at the kitchen table stop and look up from their evening tea. They are surprised, stunned, and proud to see their son in his new uniform.
“Do you want me to sew the patches on your shirt?” His mother asks.
“Do you need a ride to the meeting?” His father asks.
Arnav turns at the front door and looks at them. He feels good. This is who he is.
“No. But thank you,” he says. “I’ve got this.
You’re Reading: The Road to the Eagle Hunt: Origin Stories from The Great American Eagle Hunt. Arnav didn’t know it yet, but the team he was looking for was already being built.
While he was finding his footing in Seattle, other kids across the country were going through their own defining moments. Each of them would eventually find their way to the same troop, the same challenge, and the same impossible mission.
This is a five-part origin story series. Each installment stands alone, but together they tell you everything you need to know about the young man part of The Great American Eagle Hunt, before the adventure even begins.
More origin stories are here. Over the coming weeks and months, meet the other young men whose paths are about to collide, each one carrying a story that shaped who they became when it mattered most.
The Great American Eagle Hunt, the novel these characters call home, is available soon.
If this story moved you, share it with someone who may enjoy it. Forward this post. Send the link. Tag a Scout, a parent, a teacher, or anyone who still believes the right story finds you at the right time.— Joe Paul, Author
