I nod. She’s a good friend.
Hudson doesn’t try to approach me at breakfast, so maybe he figured something out with the tents and George won’t have to trade. Maybe Hudson found someone to trade with and I’ll be in a tent with Sam or someone whom I wouldn’t mind sharing with. Even a stranger. That would be fine.
Maybe he burned the photos of us from the pool.
I try not to think of any of it as I go into the drama cabin. I push aside guesses as to where Ashleigh could have hidden the photos—why do I want them anyway? I can see myself sobbing over them in bed, and I still want them. I shake my head. I could ask Mark if he can make someone trade tents with me, but that would be stupid and childish and he would roll his eyes and tell me to deal with it. And he would be right. I shouldn’t even have asked George. I can get through it. I don’t want those photos. I can do without.
The first run-through goes really well. The show is Mark’s best I’ve seen. It’s gay and funny and campy and filled with real love in a way that shines above the source material—which was already one of the best musicals of all time. But Mark has made it his own. No, our own. Everyone does an amazing job. A few cues are missed, some costume changes go wrong, but nothing we can’t work out. After lunch, Mark gives notes on everything and we run a few more scenes before he lets us go swim.
The moment I get into the pool, Brad is there, glaring.
“I am not giving up a night of eating that hairy ass just so you don’t feel weird sharing a tent with Hudson,” he says.
“Hi,” I say. “That’s a lot of information.”
“Come on, Randy. Tell George he doesn’t have to trade.”
I know he’s right. “Did Hudson find someone to trade with?”
Brad rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “You’re so … You really need to talk to him. Just … don’t trade, okay? I really want to—”
“You’ve already explained.”
“Hey, don’t kink-shame me.”
“Sorry, you’re right. I will … share the tent with Hudson. And I hope you have fun with George.”
“Oh, I will. He is so my type and I cannot wait for him to have my legs in the air while he pounds—”
“You really like to share, don’t you?”
“Sorry.” Brad shrugs. “Just looking forward to it.”
I laugh. “It’s fine, but George is like my brother.”
“Oh,” he says, eyes wide. “Yeah, sorry. But thanks for being cool about it. And just … look, Hudson is upset, too, y’know? He’s not a bad guy. You really kind of messed with his head, the way he sees the world. But … I think he needed it. But now he’s feeling unbalanced and you left, and …” He leans against the side of the pool, next to me.
“I’m not going to help him,” I say. “He doesn’t want me to.”
“Are you sure?”
“He said something—”
“He told me. And I told him that wasn’t okay, even though he already knew. And he wants to apologize. For real. You should let him.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not the one on the high ground, Del,” he says, raising an eyebrow at the name. “You both screwed up.”
I cross my arms. Maybe he’s right, but I did what I did for love. Hudson can’t say that. “So what good will talking about it do?”
“What will it hurt?”
“What will what hurt?” George asks, hopping into the water next to Brad.
“Apparently, Brad’s ass will hurt after the pounding you’ll be giving him—”
“Hey!” Brad says. “Come on, you just said I shouldn’t talk about him that way ’cause he’s like your brother.”
“Oh, you absolutely shouldn’t. But I’m going to tease you about it anyway. George, he has both nights of the canoe trip planned out. There’s going to be twenty-three minutes of sixty-nineing—”
Brad splashes me as I laugh and swim away. They chase me, still splashing, until Ashleigh comes to my aid, cannonballing in front of them, and then it becomes an all-out splash war until the lifeguard blows the whistle at us.
“So I don’t have to trade with you?” George asks when we’re sitting on the edge of the pool.
“No. I’ll be fine. You should get to … see what Brad has planned.”
“Oh, I intend to. What do you think you and Hudson will do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we’ll try to talk. Maybe we’ll just fight. Maybe we’ll lie there in silence and sleep. Or maybe he swapped with someone at the last minute. But it’s not the end of the world, and I shouldn’t take something away from you just so I don’t feel awkward.”
“Thank you, darling. You know I’d trade if you need me to.”
“I know. Thank you.”
George hops back into the pool, and I watch him and Brad dive underwater to sneak a kiss. I spot Hudson watching them, too, and then looking up at me. He tries to smile, but looks frightened. I look down at my nails. The nail polish I put on for color wars is chipped now. I should put on a new coat.
I dive into the pool.
Very few of us actually enjoy the canoe trip. It tends to be more busywork than fun. After lunch, we all go down to the boathouse and get in canoes and then we paddle upriver for about an hour to a small island where we set up tents and camp out for two nights before heading back. Rowing, fire building, tent-setting-upping, cooking (barely). It’s more survivalist than entertainment. Maybe Joan thinks it’ll serve us well if ever have to run away and hide in the woods because we flee a conversion camp or because we escape a heterosexual society where conversion camps have become mandatory. Or maybe she just wants a weekend off—she doesn’t come with us. Connie takes over as boss, leading us all in songs (Mark, begrudgingly, comes along, and Crystal plays guitar), showing us how to set up tents, dig firepits. Karl takes us foraging in the woods for berries and mushrooms. We swim in the river. It’s all VERY dirty. Not in the fun way. Well … the sharing tents without counselors certainly makes it dirty in the fun way, too. But only if you’re sharing your tent with the right person, which I, obviously, will not be.
Connie says a weekend in the woods is what camp is all about. I say the point of camp is to be able to be near enough to the woods to appreciate them, but not live in them.
“I do not like the look of those clouds,” Ashleigh says as we row downriver. It’s three to a canoe, so naturally George and Ashleigh and I are sharing one. George is at the back steering, and I’m at the front. I look up at the clouds she’s talking about, and I don’t like the look of them, either. They’re thick and there’s no end in sight.
“I thought we were done with rain,” George says, swatting at a mosquito on his neck.
“I think we’re following it,” Ashleigh says. “It’s the same rain.”
We all groan in unison. We’ve only had one other summer when it rained on the canoe trip, but it made the whole thing that much worse. A ramshackle awning over the fire that means the smoke gets everywhere, and no hiking in the woods, foraging, or swimming. Just hiding out in your tents or getting blasted with smoke as Crystal has a coughing fit trying to sing the next verse of “The Rainbow Connection.” At least that’s how it was last time.