“So we can be boyfriends,” he says. “We’re ready for that, right? I mean, really, we haven’t done enough making out, considering we’re on date five. I mean, that’s a good date to get naked on, right?” His hand slips up my shorts—farther than it’s ever been, and I gasp as he finds my briefs. His thumb slips under those and touches my hip bone. I never realized before what a pleasure center the hip bone is, but it’s like he just pressed a button and I’m flooded with joy and lust and color—pink, mostly—and I can feel my eyes rolling back in my head. He pulls me forward and kisses my neck, his other hand roaming up the front of my shirt. I want to be naked with him so badly. I’ve wanted it for years. I want to do everything with him, but this is too easy, too smooth. This is Hal, and I want Hudson. I take a deep breath and roll off him so I’m sitting next to him again.
“That’s all true,” I say, looking into his eyes. They’re gray with flecks of blue, and in the light of just the one bulb over the porch, they glow. “It is like five dates, and I really like you.”
“I like you, too,” he says, grinning and putting his hand on my leg, creeping it up my thigh again. “I’ve actually never felt so connected to someone so quickly.”
Every part of me wants to believe that’s true. And maybe it is. I’m sure it is. That’s why my plan will work. Because we have this connection—one that goes through Del, and gets right to Randy—I know we do. But I don’t know if he really believes it yet, or it’s just a line from Hal. So I put my hand over his, interlacing our fingers and stopping its roaming.
“But we also would have talked more. Gotten to know each other,” I say.
“Okay,” he says, squeezing my hand. “So … what do you want to know?”
“I don’t know … about parents, coming out, your favorite movies or music?”
He nods, thinking about it. “Let’s start with those last two, then. I really like the John Wick movies, and before we got here, I was listening to a lot of the new Walk the Moon album. You?”
“Oh,” I say, surprised, for some reason, that he’s so willing to just talk. And a little disappointed. I was hoping he’d push for more making out. Also, I don’t know Walk the Moon, and I’m concerned I will be tested now. “Well, I …” Damn. My favorite movies are all musicals, my favorite music is all show tunes … But I don’t want to lie, either. “Do you know Audra McDonald?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “She a pop singer?”
“She does a lot of genres,” I say. Not lying.
“See, the thing that sucks about camp is no phones. I can’t look her up to play some. At the end of the summer, when you have your phone back, you’ll play her for me?”
I grin. He just said end of the summer. Like we’ll still be together at the end of the summer. Everything is working.
“Yeah,” I say. “So now you come up with a question.”
He smiles and squeezes my hand in his. “Okay … what do you want to be when you grow up?”
The words an actor almost come dancing out of my mouth from sheer muscle memory of that being the answer I’ve given to this question since I was six. I laugh instead, to give myself time. What does Del want to be? I shouldn’t say athlete. I shouldn’t lie that much.
“I’m not sure,” I say instead. “I think …” Don’t lie too much. “I want to tell stories.”
“Like a writer?”
“No, I don’t think I’m good enough at writing for that. I like to read, but … I don’t know. I’m hoping I’ll figure it out later.”
He nods. “I get that. And I like to read, too! My favorite book is Shoeless Joe. It’s like … older than I am. By a lot. But my dad gave it to me when I was little and I just loved it.”
“What’s it about?”
“Baseball … America. The way sports can sort of live on, I guess? Or players can, and plays and games?”
“That’s cool.” I grin. Sports can live on the way good theater does, I think but don’t say. “I think my favorite book is probably Finishing the Hat. It’s an autobiography by Stephen Sondheim.”
“Who’s that?”
I do my best acting to date by not slapping him. He’ll learn, I remind myself. I’ll teach him.
“He’s a storyteller,” I say, though that’s barely scratching the surface. “But you never answered your own question—what do you want to do after school?”
“So, I don’t know exactly,” he says with a shrug. “I want to try to be an Olympian, maybe, like Connie was. Track and field. But I know that’s a long shot, and I know it wouldn’t be, like, a career. But maybe I could coach after or be a trainer in a gym? I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I like encouraging people.”
I nod. That sounds perfect for him. “Like when you encouraged me on the obstacle course,” I say.
“Yeah.” He grins. “I like doing stuff like that. I like helping people … be better. Making people feel like they can do stuff. And I like being physical. So training, coaching … I think I’d like that.”
“Well,” I say, “since you answered some questions, I think maybe we can get a little more physical ourselves now.” I lean closer to him.
“Oh yeah?” He does that thing where he smiles and the tip of his tongue finds the space between his teeth.
“You said we had to do more of both, right?”
“Okay,” he says, wrapping his arm around my waist, his finger sliding under my shirt. “A kiss per question.”
“We’ll work out the exchange rate,” I say, leaning in.
FOURTEEN
We’re late to the meeting hall for Joan’s queer history lesson. Not just a few minutes, either, but ten minutes, and she’s already showing a PowerPoint presentation. But at least I feel like we’re bonding a little more. Yes, we did more kissing and question asking, but we kept our pants on (though not our shirts) and we did talk some. His mom’s name is Lois, and she’s a real estate broker, and his dad is Sam, a foreman. His mom’s parents both came over from Korea when they were kids and met and got married here; his dad’s great-grandparents fled pogroms in the Ukraine. He has a dog named Rufus. His favorite TV show, when he’s not watching “the game” (I didn’t ask what sport this meant, so possibly it means all of them?), is The Simpsons. I didn’t have to lie about anything—I told him I liked watching old Parks and Rec episodes on Netflix, and that seemed butch enough, and I definitely didn’t make up parents or anything. So all still on track—but with bonus make-out sessions! And I think we’re boyfriends now? We never clarified that point, but it feels like we were agreeing to it. I should have asked about that and done less kissing.
And also paid attention to the time. Joan sighs as we sneak in and take a seat in the back.
“As I was saying.” She clicks something and the screen behind her, the only light in the otherwise dark amphitheater of a cabin, changes to show people in suits and dressed from the 1950s or maybe 1960s. It’s a black-and-white photo and everyone is well dressed, wearing sunglasses, and holding up signs that say things like HOMOSEXUALS ARE AMERICAN CITIZENS TOO and GOVERNMENT POLICY CREATES SECURITY RISKS.