No. Of course Hudson was worth it. Is worth it. I just feel like suddenly, with Hudson being distant and not being in the show, I have nothing. Like it’s all slipped through my hands like glitter. I stare at my hands in the dark. I miss my nail polish. I miss Hudson. And for the first time this summer, I don’t have a plan for getting back either.
SEVENTEEN
“Astrud Gilberto, ‘Fly Me to the Moon,’” Mark announces by way of waking us up. “Technically it was written in the fifties, but Gilberto recorded it in 1964, the same year as Sinatra, though they’d both been performing it for a while. Of course, Sinatra’s version became the famous one. People associated it with the Space Race. Couldn’t do that with a Brazilian woman, I guess. I find her version to be much more romantic, and frankly, superior.”
He presses PLAY as we all begin getting out of bed, barely having listened to his lecture. The music, though. The music is … amazing. I’ve heard the song before—Sinatra, I guess—but this version is flowing and rhythmic, and makes me think of posing in silky robes that flow out like wings. And apparently I’m not the only one. George is up, already making wings with his nightgown, and everyone else is following him, throwing their sheets over their shoulders and using them as capes. I hold back for a moment, wanting to join but also knowing it doesn’t fit the Del character. But I don’t have to play Del here. Here I can be Randy. And besides, maybe Del was a failure. Maybe Del is about to get dumped. I grab my sheet and start dancing with the rest of them, the smooth music moving me and making me feel like some sixties starlet.
The screen door creaks open and I turn dramatically to see who it is. And there’s Hudson, staring at me, confused.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I say, in my matching pajamas and with a sheet around my shoulders like a dressing gown. This is probably very bad, but I keep smiling.
“What are you doing?” he asks. Everyone around me is still dancing, but I can see Mark watching us with a raised eyebrow. I drop the sheet on my bed and walk to the door, then outside. Hudson follows.
“I was just dancing. We start the day with music,” I say, hoping I sound nonchalant.
“Like that?” Hudson asks.
“Actually, that kind of dancing is great for flexibility,” I say. “My soccer coach taught me some of those moves.” He stares at me for a moment, and I can’t tell if he buys it. Change the subject, Randy. “So why did you stop by so early?” I smile up at him. His hair is wet. He must have been up early and showered.
“I wanted to see you,” he says, shrugging. He grins for a second but it falls. “You know, just because you share a bunk with them doesn’t mean you have to act like them.”
“Them?” I say.
“I mean …” He frowns and we walk around to the side of the cabin. I can still hear the music from inside. “Sorry, that sounded bad. I just mean, you know, you don’t have to be a stereotype.”
“Stereotype?” I ask, my body feeling chilly. Inside, the music stops. A new song comes on.
“Like, all girly and stuff. I know plenty of queer people do that, but … that’s the thing everyone expects us to do, right?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “As opposed to what?”
“Showing people that you’re more than just gay, you know?”
“I don’t,” I say, genuinely confused. “You’re being weird.”
“Sorry,” he says. He takes both my hands in his. “I’m nervous.”
“Why?” I ask. Is he about to break up with me? Is that why he’d been weird last night? What did I do wrong?
“So, I wanted to tell you something. And … I’m afraid of what you’ll say.”
“Okaaaay …,” I say, clutching his hands now, not minding that my palms are sweating. “Now I’m nervous.”
“So …” He takes a deep breath, looks up, looks back at me. “So, okay. You know that first night? When we went to the tree?”
Oh.
“Yes,” I say carefully.
“I lied.” He lets it hang there, and I do my best performance of serious/concerned/confused because inside I am jumping up and down. He’s telling me the truth? Already? This is going SO well.
“About what?” I ask, a slight, Oscar-worthy tremor in my voice.
“I … I am HAL. Hudson Aaronson-Lim. So, all those hearts on the tree, those were me and my previous boyfriends.”
“Oh,” I say, all stunned silence. “Why did you lie?”
“Because.” He drops my hands and turns away. “I liked you, like a lot, right away. You are so hot, and I felt like we had a thing, like, immediately.” He turns back, and I nod a little so he can keep going. “And you said you wanted it slow, and so, I guess I just wanted you to think I wasn’t some … slut. I mean, like a romantic slut. I’ve had a lot of boyfriends. But they never last long. I always liked the … fun parts, but then that’s all it was, and I would get bored, and, I mean, I liked them, we stayed friends, but I never clicked with them. And I was worried maybe that was me. ’Cause I really wanted to click with someone. And then you were there and I thought it could be you, but I didn’t want to ruin my chances before they started, so …”
“You lied.”
He nods. “I’m really sorry,” he says, reaching for my hands again. I let him take them. “I know it was a terrible thing to do, but the thing is, the reason I’m telling you is that yesterday, on our hike, with any other guy, I would have just given you a few lines and then coaxed you into making out some more—hopefully sex. But with you, it was different. I told you about my grandma. I mean, I cried in front of you! That’s crazy! I’ve never done that … and I thought I’d feel stupid after, like I’d shown you something I shouldn’t have, and you were going to leave me. But I didn’t. I felt … really happy. And at lunch, sitting next to you, I looked at you, and it was like I knew I could be my best self with you. Like … there were stars inside me, galaxies like the ones we saw in the leaves. And I realized you did all that for me, and, so, I just … couldn’t stand that I was lying to you anymore. It felt gross.” He takes a deep breath. “So … that’s why I’m telling you. I’m sorry. But I also think I might be really … falling for you.”
I let the silence hang for a moment, and look down at my feet.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Are you angry?”
I look up at him, now not hiding my grin or the giggles starting in me.
“You knew,” he says, his mouth falling open in shock.
“I mean …” I shrug. “Ashleigh’s laughing that night told me something was probably up.”
“So she told you?”
“I asked. They didn’t, like, offer it up,” I say, raising an eyebrow before he gets mad at them.
“So, why did you keep … seeing me, then?”
“Like you said,” I say, stepping forward and wrapping my arms around his waist. “I felt like there was a thing between us … and you’re really hot.” I kiss him.