“There’s a betting pool over if you’ll pull it off,” Ashleigh adds.
“What?”
“Darling, she’s kidding.”
“George bet two packs of Junior Mints on you messing it up.”
“I did not. She’s making that up.” George’s eyes are wide with horror.
I look at Ashleigh. She’s stone-faced, weaving her thin string over the sticks. We’re silent for a minute and then she cracks a smile.
I laugh.
“That was so mean,” George says, throwing a ball of yarn at Ashleigh, who laughs and throws it back.
“Art shouldn’t be violent,” Marguerite says calmly but loudly. We all turn our attention back to our God’s Eyes in silence for a moment.
“So what’s the plan, anyway?” George asks in a low voice. “If you’re already holding each other’s hands and kissing?”
“Boyfriends next,” I say definitively. “Then we talk more—get to really know each other. Parents, music, coming out. Everything. Then maybe more kissing. No sex, though. Not yet. Soon, though. Soon.”
“You really want to get naked with him, don’t you?” Ashleigh asks.
“So badly,” I say.
“Four years of built-up sexual desire,” George says. “Darling, I’d be impressed if you make it past tomorrow.”
“Better grab some condoms from Cosmo tonight,” Ashleigh says, smirking.
“And lube,” George says. “More than you think you need, if you want to do anal. And clean up beforehand. In the shower, you know?”
“Unless you want to top,” Ashleigh says. “Does he bottom, though?”
“He made a joke about being vers,” I say. “I don’t know. I’m up for anything.”
Ashleigh rolls her eyes. “No erection puns, please.”
I chuckle. “Whatever we do, it’ll be next Wednesday. Not tomorrow.” I realize my voice has become regular volume again and Marguerite is staring at me.
“What does a God’s Eye see, Del?” she asks. “And what does your counselor hear that she really doesn’t want to?”
“Sorry,” I say.
We spend the rest of the period making our God’s Eyes. George’s is purple and red with bright pink sequins dotting it like stars. Mine is pink and blue, but with the glittery yarn, and Ashleigh’s is tiny, made with thin string for bracelets, in every available color. Marguerite compliments our work before hanging them all from the ceiling at different heights, some low enough for her to hit her head on. “See you tomorrow,” she says. “We’ll be dyeing silk scarves with plants!”
After A&C, I have sports as George and Ashleigh head to the boathouse for their nature elective.
I show up just as Ryan, the sports counselor, is blowing his whistle and barely have time to say hi to Hudson before we’re divided into opposite teams.
“Capture the flag, boys! And girls! And non-binary folks!” Ryan says, handing out bandannas in red and blue for us to wear to show what team we’re on. Ryan thinks his baby face lets him get away with trying to be “cool” and “on our level.” It’s tragic. “Camp classic. You all know the rules?” He doesn’t wait for anyone to answer. “Good. Let’s play!” He blows the whistle again, and I scramble away from him, wondering where the border is. I watch the other campers, clearly used to Ryan’s rules, and figure out it’s the center of the soccer field we’re on. Hudson stands on the other side of it, smirking at me, far too sexy.
“Hey,” he says. “So, you gonna try stealing my flag, babe?”
I walk up to the border. “With the way you’re watching me, I’m not brainless enough to try now,” I say.
“But if you come over here, I can tackle you,” he says, winking.
“If you want to get physical, why don’t you come over to my side?” I ask. Flirting is getting easier. Maybe because, like Ashleigh said, I know he’s into me, so it’s not like I’m risking anything.
“It’s hot,” he says, and starts peeling off his shirt. His bandanna is hanging from his waist, and I try to stare at it, instead of the way his shirt peels away from his abs like it was vacuum sealed. I’m definitely licking my lips and doing that cartoonish loud swallow. He has just a little hair on his chest, and his chest and arms are defined, but still soft looking. They’d be nice to push up against.
“That’s cheating,” I say, when his shirt is off.
“What?”
“Causing a distraction.”
“That’s not a distraction,” he says with a grin. “This is,” he says at the exact same moment he tosses his shirt at me, covering my face as he runs by me. I laugh, but it works. I take the shirt off my face, trying not to obviously inhale his sweat, and drop it on the ground before taking off after him, but he has too big a lead. Then one of my teammates—a girl from the obstacle course—comes at him and Hudson swerves. I take a sharp turn and gain a little ground. He looks back once, both me and my teammate chasing him now, and smiles, before veering to the left, toward where our flag is lying unceremoniously in the goalie net. But even once he has the flag, he has to get it back to his side, so I go wide, anticipating where he’ll have to run once he has it.
And I’m right—he grabs the flag off the ground in one swoop and turns, heading now right for me. He sees me and tries to turn, but I pounce and tackle him. He falls backward, with me on top of him.
“Ooof,” he says. “Rough.”
“You said there’d be tackling,” I say with a shrug, sitting up so I’m straddling him, and plucking the flag from his hand. “Isn’t this how the game works?” I should get up. But I don’t. Hudson puts his hands on my thighs, his fingers creeping just up inside my shorts, and I can feel his body press upward between my legs.
Then Ryan whistles. “Save that for your private time, boys,” he shouts at us. “And this is a touch game. No need for tackling, Kapplehoff.”
“Sorry,” I say, blushing furiously as I get off Hudson. A few of the other campers are staring at us.
“I need some water,” I tell Hudson. “You’re in jail.” I point to where caught campers are waiting for a teammate to free them.
“Yes, sir,” he says with a smile. “So, where’s my shirt?”
“Back over there. You can come get it later.”
“I will,” he says, walking to the jail. I walk off the field and go over to the nearest water fountain, where I let the water spray on my face before actually drinking. I was ready to pull down his shorts right there. No wonder he always gets laid by the end of the first week. I shake my head. I can’t do that. I can’t be just another conquest. I didn’t give up the show for a lay, no matter how pretty he is. I gave it up for love. And that means no sex. For … at least two weeks? That seems a long time. Maybe ten days. That sounds fair.
I know I should be more nervous about losing my virginity, too, but if I’m losing it to Hudson, I don’t feel nervous at all. It feels right.
Once my face has cooled down, I head back to the field, where Hudson waves at me from the other side, having apparently already escaped. I smile back.