“So we’re good?” he asks. This would be the moment to tell him. He just told me about his secret identity, maybe it’s time to unveil mine. I take a deep breath.
“We’re great,” I say. Not yet. It’s not time yet, that’s not the plan. It’s too soon, I haven’t shown him enough of Randy yet; it would ruin everything if I told him now. Stick to the plan.
“’Cause I just said a lot of things I’ve never said before.”
“That’s why we’re great.” I kiss him again. He puts his hands one the small of my back and pulls me into a hug.
“Your pajamas are really cute,” he says softly.
“Thanks,” I say.
Everything is good again. Better than.
“You want to come dance?” I ask. Maybe now I can start showing him more of Randy, not just Del.
He grimaces and shakes his head. “Not my scene. But I’ll see you at breakfast.” He kisses me again before going back to his cabin. I walk back into mine. New music is playing.
Mark raises an eyebrow at me. “Everything okay?”
“Everything is perfect,” I tell him. I start dancing with everyone else again, floating light as air as I brush my teeth and get dressed. Everything is better than perfect. I don’t know why I felt so down last night.
At breakfast, Hudson and I are back to how we were, sitting close, a hum of something unnameable between us, like we’re passing one heart back and forth faster than light so we can both use it. Maybe it’s even better than before. I’m aware of every slight glance in my direction, how even when he smiles at a joke someone else told, he looks at me, so we can share the smile. We’re our own little universe.
There’s a big game of soccer that we join in for the morning, and after lunch, we go to the pool and spend the afternoon splashing each other and stealing underwater kisses. We talk, too, all day, when we can. About stupid stuff—comic book movies and hot actors, and books we have to read over the summer for school.
We duck out of the pool early and go to my cabin, where we make out on my bed until we hear voices about to come inside and quickly separate as Montgomery and Jordan walk in to me pulling my shirt back on. Montgomery stops in the doorway and puts his hand on his hip, staring at us.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he says. “I like to watch.”
Jordan snorts a laugh and heads over to their bunk, ignoring me.
“I’m gonna go,” Hudson says, eyeing Montgomery nervously before pecking me on the cheek and heading for the door. Montgomery doesn’t move, so Hudson slips past him. Montgomery turns to watch him go.
“Can you not scare him?” I ask.
“But I like watching him run away,” Montgomery smirks.
“Really?”
“Oh, come on,” Montgomery says, rolling his eyes and going over to his cubby. “You used to have a sense of humor.”
“Used to?” I ask.
“Well, maybe you still do, but you’re too busy sticking your tongue down Hudson’s throat to say anything funny anymore.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I know I’m being that bitch again,” Montgomery says from his cubby, where he’s toweling his hair dry. “But it’s fair.”
“What do you mean? I thought you weren’t really mad at me.”
“I said I wasn’t sure yet. And then you spent all of today with him again. It just feels like there’s us, the theater gays,” Montgomery says, taking shampoo and conditioner down, “and there’s them, the …” He waves a hand. “Jocks or whatever. And now you’re one of them.”
“C’mon, we’re all queer. It’s not like we’re in West Side Story.” I turn to Jordan. “It’s a rom-com, right? I’m in a rom-com.”
Jordan shrugs. “Sure! But I told you, no one likes being an extra … and like Montgomery said, after we told you that … you just went right back to him. We went back to being extras in your life.”
I sigh. I was never as close with either of them as with George and Ashleigh, but I’ve always thought of them as my friends. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just really happy. Can’t you be happy for me?”
“Sure, fine, whatever,” Montgomery says, heading for the bathroom. “I’m sorry I said anything, just relax.” He doesn’t even look at me before he leaves. I hear the shower turn on a moment later.
“I’m still your friend,” I tell Jordan.
“I know,” they say. “Don’t worry, he’s probably just jealous he’s not getting any yet.”
“Yeah,” I say. “And you?”
“I’m happy for you,” they say with a shrug. “Just maybe a little sad for me.”
“We’ll hang out tonight, then,” I say.
“Cool.” Jordan smiles, then goes into the bathroom with a change of clothes.
So maybe I’m a little caught up in Hudson. But that’s because it’s all part of a plan. And that means work. They understand. They just miss me is all.
I make it a point to sit with them at dinner (Hudson on my other side), asking them about their parts—Jordan is exhausted from the running up walls but loves their costume, Montgomery was “born for this.” Everything is much better afterward, I think.
That night is the camp-wide water-gun fight. We each have to wear white shirts and are given water guns and balloons and access to blue-colored water. If your shirt gets stained, you’re a ghost, able to walk around and shout at people but not shoot anymore. Hudson and I make it pretty far before ghost Ashleigh leaps out of nowhere and Paz shoots us both. But we get her back by being ghosts who warn her targets early.
When Hudson kisses me good night, it’s around the side of the cabin, so people can only see us if they’re looking. We make out against the wall of the cabin and my hands slide up the back of his shirt and pull him closer to me. I want to consume him, I want to join with him and never stop feeling the heat of his body wrapped around mine, his hips against mine. We only stop when I hear Mark, in the cabin, say, “Ten minutes to lights-out.”
“That’s my cue,” I say.
“Cue?”
“To exit,” I say. Does he really not know what a cue is? Is that just a theater person word? It can’t be just a theater person word.
“Oh, right.” He frowns. “I didn’t want to understand.”
“Sorry,” I say, kissing him once more before walking for the cabin door. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he says. I watch from the window as he walks back to his cabin. I think I might even sigh. Thank god no one notices.
“Del, darling, could you be Randy for a minute and help me show Paz how to properly snap open a fan?” George asks from his bed.
“Crystal has me doing it a lot for ‘Spanish Rose,’” Paz explains. “But she says I’m not doing it with the right oomph.”
She demonstrates, wildly gesticulating while she opens her fan, which only opens about halfway. It’s an American flag pattern on one side and the Pride flag on the other.
I sit down next to her and reach for George’s fan. He hands it to me and immediately produces another from under his pillow.