Camp, page 23
“If I get to him first there won’t be anything left,” Ashleigh says, already on her feet.
“No,” I say, pulling them both back down by their arms. “No, don’t do that. That’s why I don’t want to tell anyone.”
“Fine,” Ashleigh sighs.
“And really, he said his mom would call me a faggot. But… he was saying it, you know?”
“His whole family sounds messed up, then,” Ashleigh says.
“Yeah, they are. I feel bad for him. They really made him hate himself, I think.”
“That’s all straight people ever make queer people do,” Mark says suddenly as he steps into our sun, hovering over us. “You’re late for lunch.”
“Sorry,” I say as we stand up. “Sorry. And you didn’t hear all that, did you?”
“More than you wanted me to,” Mark says. “George, Ashleigh, why don’t you get to the dining hall? Randy and I need to talk about the show.”
George and Ashleigh nod, and start walking away.
“You did a good job today,” Mark says when they’re out of earshot, walking slowly toward lunch. “I’m very proud.”
“Thank you.” I look down at my feet. “You won’t tell anyone what you heard, right? I shouldn’t even have told George and Ashleigh.”
“You had to tell someone. You can’t keep that sort of thing buried. My therapist would say trauma like that needs to be shared.”
“It wasn’t trauma,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It was just a fight. He said something mean. I was the crazy one. Cutting my hair, treating this like a role.”
“Don’t do that,” Mark says. “Don’t say the thing that happened to you wasn’t a big deal, or you deserved it. Someone you loved said something terrible to you. That’s trauma.”
“He said it because of what his parents have said to him for years, though.”
“That’s not an excuse,” Mark says. “Terrible things happening to you are never an excuse to do them to someone else. But maybe it’s a reason to forgive him… if he’s willing to apologize. And change.”
“I don’t know if I want to.”
“Because then you’ll still be in love with him and he’ll still be mad at you for your playing out a rom-com for the entire camp without telling him?”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“Sounds like you need to apologize, too.”
We’re at the dining hall, and Mark pulls the door open so we can walk inside. It’s crowded and I glance over at where Hudson has been sitting. He’s staring right at me, and our eyes meet, and I feel a thousand things rise up inside me like a zombie horde clawing its way out of the graveyard. I’m hurt and angry and guilty and sad and still so in love with him. All I want to do is go to him and hold him, because I can see he’s feeling his own zombie horde of emotions.
But I can’t. So I look away instead, and the emotions quiet. Not gone. Just easier to ignore.
“What do you think of Paz’s costume for ‘Spanish Rose’?” Mark asks, not noticing the little war that was just fought inside me. “I feel like we should make it more Afro-Brazilian, but I don’t know what that is, honestly.”
“Ask Paz,” I say. “She’ll know.”
“You do it,” Mark says. “And then get Charity to do adjustments, if needed. I trust you.”
“Thanks.” I smile, but I feel Hudson’s eyes on my back and it’s like everything else is quiet because of that. I smile and laugh through lunch, but it’s all just acting again.
I talk to Paz about her costuming during lunch and take her suggestions to Charity during A&C. Charity, blissfully, does not give me the same pitying look the rest of the camp does. Instead, she wants to focus on the work, adding stripes of red-and-gold-patterned fabric and red feathers to Paz’s dress for the number.
After A&C, I go back to the drama cabin instead of going to sports. Technically, it’s not theater elective now, but everyone still comes and goes, doing optional dance rehearsals with Crystal, or blocking scenes with Mark. The second half of the summer is crunch time for the show, and everyone crams in as much rehearsal as they can to get it right. It’s good to feel like I have a purpose. Every moment I’m working on the costume with Charity or watching scenes with Mark, I forget about Hudson. There’s still a hollow part of me, a place that used to be filled with stars that I can feel like an ache, but I don’t notice it as much when I have so many other things to focus on. So many new stars to add, like Mark nodding with approval when I tell him about the changes to Paz’s costume, or Jordan saying, “Yes, I get that, I love that,” when I suggest they think of “A Lot of Livin’ to Do” as not just about going out and partying, but about going to the one queer club in this small town. It changes their whole performance, too, from a dance number to a real scene, and Mark squeezes my shoulder and says, “I am so smart for making you an AD.” Each moment like that is a star, and they start to fill me up.
When pool time comes around, Mark sends me out to go play in the water. “You need to relax after a long day,” he says to me, and to all the other campers who are backstage. “Go swim.”
Hopping into the pool, I realize how right he is, too. The water and sun feel amazing, and I don’t even mind Brad and George flirtatiously splashing each other, or Ashleigh and Paz standing shoulder to shoulder against the wall. I don’t even know where Hudson is anymore.
That’s a lie. He’s by the diving board. I don’t look.
Instead I try to relax. I sink under the water and let it surround me, let myself float in a little cocoon where the rest of the world is far-off splashes. When I pop back up, George splashes me and I splash him back and soon all of us are chasing each other around the pool trying to splash each other.
We stop when Janice blows her whistle at us and shakes her head. I laugh and swim back toward the side of the pool with George. Paz and Brad keep chasing each other, with less splashing, and Ashleigh goes over to Janice.
“Should we worry about that?” George asks, looking at Ashleigh, popping out of the water onto the side of the pool like a mermaid to talk to Janice.
“Nah,” I say. “She’s got Paz now, right?”
“That doesn’t mean the old crush is gone.”
“She hasn’t said anything about Janice in weeks.” As I say it, I look over at them. Ashleigh laughs at something.
“I don’t know, darling. This worries me.”
“They can be friends, maybe.”
“Like you and Hudson?”
“That’s different,” I say, my voice a little too quick and flat. “They’re not exes. It’s just a former crush.”
“Former might be overstating it,” George says as Ashleigh swims over to us.
“She hooked up with a girl,” Ashleigh says in an excited whisper when she’s next to us.
“What?” George asks, his voice monotone. He looks at me like I should have known better.
“Janice. She went to some party this weekend and she ended up making out with a girl, and she says it was cool! She might be bi!”
“Might?” I ask.
“Heteroflexible, three-beer queer,” George says, “whatever. But none of them are relationship material, darling.”
“Why not?” Ashleigh asks. “We click so well, and now she might want to make out a little, like I’ve always wanted. I should tell her, right? I should ask her to hang around when she’s off duty and we can go somewhere private.”
George and I exchange a worried look. “First,” I say, “that would get her fired.”
“How do you know that?” Ashleigh asks. “She’s a lifeguard, not a counselor.”
“Darling, don’t you have Paz now?”
Ashleigh sighs and looks at her reflection in the water. “I like Paz. I do. Enough that I’ve been getting a little… friendlier with her.”
“We know,” George says with a smirk.
Ashleigh glares at him. “And she’s pretty. And funny, and really smart. But Janice is…” She looks behind her at Janice. “She’s the dream.”
“But she’s a real person, too,” I say. “And when you meet one, the other goes away.”
“Just because you and Hudson didn’t work out—” Ashleigh starts, and I shake my head so violently, she stops.
“Yes,” I say after a moment. “That’s part of it. But, sweetie, I’m just saying. You don’t know how it could go. You could give up Paz for her, and lose them both. That’s what happened to me, with the musical, kind of. Do you want to risk that?”
“You did,” Ashleigh says. “Wouldn’t you do it again?”
I sigh.
“It’s not the same,” George says. “She will reject you, Ashleigh. She has to keep her job. And then you’ll be awkward together. Just… keep being friends. And see where it is when she’s not a lifeguard anymore. If you and Paz aren’t together, I mean.”
Ashleigh sighs. “I just…”
“I get it,” I say. “She seems in reach. But George is right. You can’t force it. You can wait a week and a half to talk to her about this, right?”
“But then she’ll be here and I’ll be back in Boston.”
“Not so far, really,” George says.
“Yeah, okay.” She nods, looking sad. “And I shouldn’t do that to Paz anyway. I should see where it goes. And she’s a great kisser. I bet she’s good with her mouth other places, too.…” She smirks as George and I roll our eyes. “But I am going to invite Janice to the show.”
“Oh yes.” I nod. “Do that for sure.”
Ashleigh takes off, swimming back to Janice. Across the pool, I see Paz watching, too. I frown a little in sympathy.
“You know, just because Hudson wasn’t what you thought he’d be doesn’t mean you can’t have a dream guy,” George says.
“I know,” I say. “I just have no idea who that would be.”
“Hudson in nail polish?” George asks.
I laugh. “Something like that.”
It starts raining during dinner, so for the evening activity we all go to the meeting hall and Joan puts on The Miseducation of Cameron Post so we can all sob for a while. George and Brad sit on one side of me, and Ashleigh and Paz sit on the other, and sometimes I catch all of them giving these worried “Are we being too cute next to him?” looks to each other and me, but I just watch the movie and think about what was missing in the “Honestly Sincere” number today. I’m actually pretty impressed with how well I’m handling it all. I mean, sure, I’m not happy, but I’m putting on a good show of it—I’m not spending the day in the infirmary bawling my eyes out over a broken heart, or being betrayed or anything.
I’m sad. But I’m happy, too.
After the movie it’s still pouring outside, so we all run to our cabins, T-shirts lifted over our heads in a futile attempt to keep our hair dry (also—why? We’re going in the pool tomorrow, right?), screaming and laughing as we get soaked anyway.
Except Hudson is standing at the door to my cabin. He’s already soaked, his white T-shirt plastered to his body, hair falling over his forehead in rivers, eyes squinting against the fury of the raindrops. He waves, sheepish, when he sees me, and I know I can’t just walk away, not when he’s getting soaked, some romantic puppy dog gesture or preamble to a speech in the rain about how I “done him wrong” maybe? Some kind of monologue in the rain, surely. And I thought I was supposed to be the drama queen.
“What?” I ask him.
“Can we talk?”
“Not now. It’s pouring.”
“So maybe tomorrow?”
“I’m getting wet,” I say, and then immediately flinch at the flirtiness of it. Nice job being cool and aloof, Randy. “I’m going inside.”
“But—”
I don’t let him finish, I just open the door to my cabin and go in. I want to peek out the window, see if he’s waiting, looking up at me, getting wetter and wetter, hoping I’ll come back out, but I shouldn’t, and besides, George is doing it for me.
“He’s leaving,” George says after a minute. “You didn’t want to talk to him?”
“In this weather?”
“It would make quite the scene,” George says.
“I’ve dealt with enough scenes today,” I say. “I’m going to sleep.”
George shrugs and I only glance out the window once as I’m getting ready for bed. Hudson isn’t there. Why would he be?
I fall asleep to the sound of the rain on the roof. It has a rhythm to it, somewhere in between a heartbeat and the overture to a show.
TWENTY-FOUR
It rains all the next day, too, which is fine, because it gives us an excuse to spend all day in the drama cabin, working on scenes, costumes, dancing. We’re having our first run-through of the entire show tomorrow: a full performance with costume changes and lighting cues and a million other things that can go deeply, horribly wrong. Two years ago, during the first run, a sandbag fell and almost literally killed a chorus boy. Not me. But that kid never came back to camp after that. Probably for the best. He was unlucky.
But I don’t want any sandbags this year, and as few mistakes as possible, so I go around asking people what they need, and making a list, which I give to Mark, so we can practice all the bits that feel off. We spend the whole day doing that, breaking only for lunch. It’s busy and exciting and frustrating. And I don’t think about Hudson even once.
Thursday morning, though, I realize I have to.
“This one is cheating a little,” Mark says as he wakes us all up. “The song itself—‘It’s in His Kiss,’ sometimes called ‘The Shoop Shoop Song,’ was released in 1963, first sung by Merry Clayton… but this cover is from 1990. It’s Cher! How can I not use Cher? I won’t apologize! In fact, I will say that Joan not letting me show Mermaids during movie night is a gay travesty!” He nods as if having made his point, and hits PLAY.
The music starts playing as we get out of bed, and it’s impossible not to dance to. Or sing into a comb or hairbrush to. Or do little coordinated backup dances to, as George and I quickly start doing, tossing our heads and lip-synching to the backup singers. Montgomery takes it upon himself to lip-synch to Cher until Mark comes back out of his room and takes over. It doesn’t take long for the entire cabin to have a dance routine worked out, a virtual music video, and it feels so good to be dancing and shooping and being myself, and not caring if Hudson is going to walk in and see me like this. George grabs our fans and when the song goes on to another (another Cher, definitely not from the 1960s, but we’ll give Mark a break) we start voguing and catwalking down the cabin.
Mark hops in the shower, and when he comes out we’re all still dancing.
“Get ready! Come on! Don’t make me turn Cher off!” He laughs as we all scramble to get dressed and brush our teeth. “And don’t forget to pack up what you need for the canoe trip. We leave tomorrow.”
The canoe trip. Right. Oh.
Oh no.
I turn to George, wide-eyed, no longer dancing. George is lost in the song, flapping his fan in one hand, brushing his teeth with another, still dancing to the music.
“Trade tents with me?” I ask him.
He turns to me, his eyes going wide. “Oh…,” he says, toothpaste dripping from his open mouth. “Fuh.”
I nod in agreement. “So you’ll trade?”
He shakes his head and spits the toothpaste out. “Sorry, darling, but Brad is really excited for this. We haven’t really had a chance to…” He wiggles his fingers. “Perform a duet. The kind with a climactic high note.” He tilts his head. “Actually, he’s a bass, so it won’t be that high. But it’ll be loud and long, so help me.”
“Okay, but I can’t share a tent with Hudson,” I say.
“Sorry, darling, I feel for you, I do, but you’ll survive a couple of nights of sleeping next to the boy. You can ignore him up close.”
“Please?” I beg.
He gives me sad eyes. “Do you really need this? Because if I say yes, it’ll break Brad’s heart.”
“I…”
“I’ll talk to Brad about it,” he says, but he looks sad. And now I feel terrible. I should have remembered this earlier. What if this is what Hudson wanted to talk about the other night and I acted like it was some big weird emotional thing and did the cold walk away. I was the drama queen after all.
“Oh!” Mark says. “And I forgot to give these out last night.” I pop my head back into the cabin and see Mark putting little packets of photos on each of our beds. “From pool night. Printed photos. There’s a link where you can download them on the package, too.”
As if today didn’t have enough unpleasant reminders.
Mark throws a pack of photos on my bed and Ashleigh swiftly grabs it and puts it on hers.
When she sees me watching her she shakes her head. “You don’t need those right now.”
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.
