xxx Keith’s POV xxx

We say our goodbyes and I hang up. While still not feeling one hundred percent okay about this, I feel better about myself. If Brandon is willing to risk so much to be with me, then I can’t be as bad as I think I am, or as Cam thinks I am. I guess I was just being a drama mama, I decide as I sit up, holding the cellphone in my hand, and feeling as if I’ve just woken up from a dream. Coy’s still right next to me, a concerned look all over his face. I lean up and give him a quick peck on the lips to make it go away.

“So ... You’re okay, right?” he asks. “Don’t listen to a thing Cam said, you know he’s just jealous.”

“Mmmhhmm ...” I murmur, not entirely believing that jealousy was the cause, just his bitterness and hatred of me. Maybe his clear sexual attraction to Coy had some play in it, so Coy may be right in his jealousy claim ... Who knows. It doesn’t matter now.

“So,” Coy wraps his arms around me. “What did Brandon say?”

I give him another quick kiss to shut him up. “It’s private business,” I answer honestly. Casting a glance over Coy’s shoulder, I see Phil leaning back against the wall on the bed, chewing four dentist-pop sticks at once. He smiles at me. “What were YOU guys talking about?” I ask.

Coy shifts around, pulling his legs up onto the bed, running his hands down my back. “Well ... I hope you don’t mind, but I filled Phil in on what happened between you and Brandon. He was curious as to how it started, and -”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Phil cuts him off, deciding to speak for himself. “I don’t have any friends that know either of you, anyways. Besides,” he looks down. “I think it’s kind of romantic.”

I rest my back on Coy’s chest, turning around to look at Phil. “Really?” I say. “It doesn’t repulse you?”

“Not at all,” he takes the used sticks out of his mouth and lobs them into the trash can next to the chest of drawers. “It’s like a story book, or something. Conquering all for the sake of your love.” He’s blushing now.

I smile, finding him so cute that I can’t stand it. He’s so naive, but in the best of ways. “Thank you, then,” I tell him. “At least someone thinks that.”

“I think that!” Coy huffs indignantly. “I’ve been telling you that since it happened! You never take my word for things.”

I tip my head back to look at him. I don’t quite succeed, and end up pressing my nose to his throat. “You don’t think it’s romantic,” I argue. “You just think it’s sexy.”

He lowers his head, kissing my jaw. “I can think it’s both!”

I give a fake snort of disgust, secretly pleased. While I was talking to Brandon, I realized that I really really kind of sort of wouldn’t mind getting both of them. Like, at the same time. On the same bed. Oh jesus, I’m saying a lot of things. This is a dangerous thought path. “You and Jeff are both perverts,” I say, having to struggle to stop myself from spewing some of my own less-than-clean thoughts out. I sit up again, looking at Phil. “Toss me a lollipop, will you?”

Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep.

“Huh?”

As Phil tosses me a sucker, a loud mechanical beeping noise fills the motel room. The three of us look around like confused birds for the source of the noise, puzzled until Phil lifts Cam’s backpack from where it was left at the foot of the bed. It’s obviously the source of the noise and a hesitant Phil unzips it and rifles through. It must be pretty empty because after only a few seconds, he produces a small grey and white digital clock no bigger than my palm. The time flashes four o’clock and a little bell icon pulses on the screen.

“Four o’clock?” Coy wonders out loud. “What happens at four o’clock?”

I shrug. “Turn it off, Phil, it’s way too loud.” After fumbling around with some buttons, he makes it stop. “And shut his backpack, he’ll go ape-shit if he knew we went through it.”

“It wasn’t like I snooped through anything, the clock was on top,” Phil points out. “Would he really get mad?”

Five knocks sound at the door.

I motion for Phil to get it, but he shies away, so I leap up and run to the door. When I swing it open it reveals Cam standing there, soaking wet from the chest up, surrounded by a second beeping noise. He’s glaring up at me and I say what comes to mind first. “Why are you all wet?”

Beeping still loud, he brushes by me, making a bee-line for his bag. “A clown hit me with a water balloon,” he informs us.

“So, you stayed at the carnival?” Coy asks.

“Not really. When the clown got me with the balloon, I punched him in the nose. They sort of kicked me out.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

He shrugs, sitting on the right hand bed with his backpack in his lap. Phil, by this time, has retreated farther back to the confines of the pillows. We watch Cam begin digging through his bag, but he soon stops and pulls something out of his pocket and suddenly the beeping is gone. I realize it’s a mini little clock, smaller than the one in the bag, but the same kind. What are all these alarms for? He goes back to his backpack and with apparent effort, he pulls an ... Archie and the Gang lunch kit out. And when I say lunch kit, I mean lunch kit. One of the metal ones with the clinkity handle, portraying everyone’s favorite teens from Riverdale High. I don’t say a word to him, too curious.

He lets the backpack fall to the ground after getting a red water bottle from its depths. In one practiced motion, he flicks the lid of the kit open and turns it upside down. More than five pill bottles clatter out, bouncing off each other, soon settling on the flowered quilt. From where I sit, I see the name ‘Cameron Z Fath” labeled on each one along with ‘Take Daily’ in very large red letters. I wonder what the Z stands for.

“Antiretroviral drugs?” Coy says, sounding a little hoarse. Five, I count. Five bottles. Three are white, one is orange and one is grey. Two are wide. Three are tall. That’s a lot of pills.

“Yeah,” Cam says, brushing the sticky wet hair out of his eyes before unscrewing the first bottle. A small, yellow pill falls onto his palm when he taps it. He glares at Coy and I now, pausing. “What’re you looking at? This show ain’t free.”

Coy has his arms around me and when Cam says this, his grip tightens. “How many do you have to take per day?” he asks Cam, who scowls. After a second, he ends up answering.

“Six. For now.” He takes a swig of water and pops the first pill in his mouth, swallowing.

“For now?” I ask.

“Yeah, for now.” He unscrews the second bottle, the orange one, and knocks two big beige capsule-shaped pills too. He swallows the first one with water. “They say I could have to take more or less, depending on what the virus does. It teaches itself to become immune to some of the drugs, and then I’ll have to take different ones. It’s a clever little bitch of a thing.” He swallows the second one with a little difficulty, a pained expression crossing his face.

“It could get worse?” Coy’s voice has taken on its gentle speaking-to-a-toddler tone.

“Loads worse,” he sighs, looking at the myriad of bottles on the flowered quilt in front of him. “Well, if I get sick, bad shit happens. These kind of help my immune system, but nothing works. Even with this junk -” he gestures weakly to the pills. “- I’ll be gone before I’m thirty. Maybe, maybe not.” He unscrews another cap. “It all depends.”

I swallow hard, watching him take more pills. The poor, poor boy. Christ. I didn’t really grasp the fact that he was sick until now. It’s one of those disasters that isn’t real until it’s brought to clarity. Like now, with those pills. They’re toxic, setting off these little deadly bombs inside him, full of side affects. I know nothing of medics or diseases or HIV or AIDS or what’s happening, but I know that it isn’t good. I strain to see the bruises on his throat that are still there, dark yellows and purples. Cam is proof that god doesn’t exist because he isn’t a bad kid, just mislead and horny, and I’ve decided that any god that could exist would not make something so horrid happen to a boy that doesn’t deserve it.

“... What’s it like?” I ask, quiet and shaky. I could never ever pretend to know what he’s going through. Nothing can compare. A bad mother, a lost leg, a complicated brother. Nothing compared to Cam’s situation. I’ll live.

He looks at me, not angry this time. He looks ... fed up. “You wanna know?” he clarifies, weakly raising an eyebrow. He packs the pill bottles back into the Archie Comics lunch kit and closes the lid. “Be honest.”

I nod, clinging to Coy, feeling his reassuring breathing tousle my bangs. Cam hangs his head, shoving everything back into his backpack. “I just feel ... off. All the time.” He plucks at a bit of yellowing grass clinging to the cloth of his green converse. “It’s side effects from the drugs, but if I don’t take the drugs, I die quicker. But the side effects ... I feel tired all the time, I have to nap, it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. I’m dizzy and sick and it’s like having a head cold for days. I throw up, sometimes.” He puts his head in his hands, hair falling around him, ringlets brushing his arms and knees. “A-and the drugs will eventually not be enough because the virus will keep learning and I’ll die, I never thought I’d ever ... ever die like this. Never. Most people are healthy for years after they get infected, they have HIV but not AIDS because their immune systems are decent, but ... God, I just have bad luck. Horrible, horrible, horrible luck and a bad immune system to begin with.” He makes a choking, coughing noise. “I just want it to go away ...”

The three of us just stop moving. Cam dry heaves and I look at Phil, who is clearly just as distraught as Coy and I. Coy bites my ear to get my attention. “What do we do?” he whispers.

I don’t know how to answer, so I sit passively, little daggers of pity stinging when they hit my heart. Cam wouldn’t like me feeling bad for him, but I can’t help it. A movement in the room: Phil is crawling on the bed, not towards Cam, but past him to his own duffle bag. He goes through it and opens a side pocket. “Unhook the smoke detectors,” Phil tells me, pulling a plastic baggie into view, kind of trying to hide it.

“Wait, no no no ...” Coy goes to stop him, but Phil doesn’t take that.

“Do it,” he hisses more forcefully than I’ve ever heard him speak, even if he ruins it a second later by saying, “Please.”

He takes a joint out of the bag, nestled among loose marijuana and packs of papers, and I leap up, standing on the bed. The little white smoke detector is directly above our bed and well in reach, so I take the plastic cover off and flick the switch. I flop down, making the bed nearly leap off the box frame, and snuggle up under Coy’s chin like a kitty. He pets my back and we watch Phil pull a lighter out of his pocket, the same one we saw him use earlier, and he flicks it. Flames spark out the end. He lights it. “Are you okay with this, mom?” I tease Coy.

“No,” he grumbles, but makes no move to stop anything.

“Well, don’t be a wet blanket,” I dig my fingers into his side, not too hard. “This is important to them.”

Phil puts the lighter away, taking a deep drag on the ‘illegal narcotics’ between his fingers, as Coy would so bluntly put it. He really isn’t a big fan of drugs or alcohol. If he wasn’t so very gay and so very into sex, he would be such a prude. My opinion is that I’d rather have them smoking dope than cigarettes. Marijuana is all natural, at least, while cigarettes are packed full of chemicals and god knows what else.

“Here,” Phil whispers, holding it out to Cam. Smoke from the tip curls whimsically up to the ceiling, floating gently in the stagnant air. Phil puts his hand on Cam’s bare shoulder, still slightly damp from being hit with that water balloon. Cam doesn’t but move but Coy and I hold our breath, squeezing each other tighter. He still has his face buried in his hands, hair hiding his face, but soon after Phil touches him, he sits up, putting hair behind his ear. He stares at Phil and his tired, red, cried-out eyes say that he’s human like the rest of us. I think he’s going to hit Phil, though. It’s a surprise when he takes the joint from him, letting their hands brush for just a moment. Phil looks like he’s trembling, being allowed to touch him like this.

He smokes, keeping Phil’s hand on his shoulder. This is weird, I think to myself. They aren’t fighting. Phil seems frozen, eyes almost closed, watching as a look of something that resembled post-orgasmic bliss crosses Cam’s face. The hand on his shoulder slides under his hair to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, so contrasting with the milky white of Cam’s skin. Phil’s is more coffee colored. Coffee with cream in it. And sugar. Cam doesn’t look at Phil, he just smokes, cheeks turning a nice pink. Maybe he’s trying to pretend it’s someone else’s hand starting to rub his neck and brush his hair. Or maybe he knows it’s Phil and is trying not to enjoy it.

“We should go ...” I murmur to Coy, low enough that they can’t hear us.

“Yeah,” Coy agrees just as quietly. “This is up to them.”

xxx Coy’s POV xxx

Sooner or later, we all fall asleep. I don’t exactly remember what time it was at, but I’m sure it must have happened. Sleep is usually inevitable. It’s cold in the morning when I wake up with my shirt and shorts still on and the scratchy motel blanket pulled up to my chin. There’s no breathing coming from the space next to me on the bed. Is Cameron awake? I hear very hushed voices, now that I listen.

“And you aren’t going to say a word to those retards, capisce?”

“Okay.”

Cam? Phil? I think so.

“It wasn’t you, don’t let your goddamn ego tell you otherwise.”

“O-okay ...”

“Don’t try to pet me like a damn cat unless you’ve got more weed. Are you gonna give me any more?”

“No.”
“Why the fuck not?!” Anger flares in his voice like a wildfire, so suddenly.

Then, just silence. I keep my eyes shut, lying on my side, pretending to be asleep. The voices are coming from my right, making me think they’re sitting on the edges of their respective beds. “Because,” Phil’s voice is small, shy. No different than usual. “If ... I were to do that again .. I’d want it to be because you wanted me to ... not because of drugs.”

More silence. No shuffling at all. Cam’s response takes a long time. I can’t believe Phil was so forward, putting himself out like that. That’s so unlike him. I’m so proud and so frightened for him, like a parent watching their child ride a bike for the first time, and if Cam does anything rash in the next few minutes, I’m bolting up and strangling him.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Cam snaps angrily. The bedsprings creak as he stands, and I hear his footsteps move across the room to my left. “If the dorks need me, I’ll be on the porch.”

He slams the door.

Barely a second later, the door swings open again, revealing not Cam, but Keith.

“Wakey wakey, beauties, rise and shine, today is the day it all turns around!!” he shouts.

I’m jolted out of bed in shock and Phil screams. Keith’s yelling in a ringmaster-announcer’s voice, most likely waking the people sleeping in the rooms next to ours, while waving something around in his left hand.

“- the fuck ... KEITH!” I yell over his shouting and he pauses mid-word, mid-stride, to look at me. Clean, fresh, dressed in clean clothes, he smiles at me from near the dresser.

“Good morning, starshine! Pepsi or coffee for you this morning?”

I sit up, letting the covers fall and pool around my waist. I rub my head. “Neither ... what are you yelling about this early in the morning, freak?”

A wide grin breaks out on his face. “It’s noon, lazybones. We’ve been waiting for you for hours.”

I throw the covers off and swing my feet over the side of the bed, glaring at Keith. “Sorry about that, but did it really warrant yelling?”

He pouts and slumps his shoulders. In his hand is four pieces of paper, which he waves limply. “But I bought lottery tickets ...”

I can’t help but laugh as I get up and walk on shaky, sleepy legs over to him. I give him a quick good morning kiss, then take the tickets from between his fingers where he’s holding them like a cigarette. Before I look at them, I lick my lips. Raising an eyebrow, I give him an odd look. "How many of those cherry suckers have you had? You taste like them.”

This makes him smile. “I’ve had a few ...”

“He’s been chain smoking them,” Phil says from behind us, holding the significantly smaller bag of lollipops in the air.

“He’s lying!” Keith instantly cries out, clutching at my chest in ‘desperation.’

“Am not. You tasted it for yourself.” Phil makes a point, dropping the bag.

“Well, slow down! You’ll get more cavities. Over half your teeth have them already ... You’ve gotta stop getting them, I hate that dentist taste.”

He rolls his eyes at me, snatching the tickets from my hand, putting that hand on one of his skinny hips. “I’ll get as many cavities as I want. Just keep your tongue out of my mouth for a day after I get them filled, it’s not gonna kill you.”

“Will too.” I pout.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

We leave a little while later after an uneventful breakfast of vending machine food. Cam’s mood has taken on a sullen, quiet tone, not even talking back to us when we say something stupid. After packing our bags, I carry Keith’s suitcase and my own to the van while Phil and Cam carry theirs.

The sky is the clearest blue it’s been in ages, perfect and pristine, stretching as far as the eye can see. It’s beautiful. It takes us about twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes to leave Altamont, traveling somewhat west to Madison. The yellow scenery with sagebrush and barbwire fences fades slowly but surely to lush green fields over rolling hills. Pine trees begin to pop up around the highway like marmots, casting shadows over the concrete as we drive through forests.

“Shame to think of all the wildlife they plowed down to get this highway made,” Keith comments, head resting on the closed window. He has his bare feet up on the dashboard, suntanned leg(s) disappearing just above the knee into tight plaid shorts.

“I guess,” I agree. The obnoxious music coming from Cameron’s gameboy in the back is distracting. “But transportation is far more important that wildlife if it’s a necessity. This highway is used every day and is well taken care of. Look there, a guy picking up trash, so it isn’t like -”

Keith laughs. “You’re really into the environment lately, huh?”

“Global warming isn’t getting any less threatening,” I huff haughtily, hoping he doesn’t think of me as a pussy for caring. In all honesty, I just don’t want to die any sooner than I have to.

“Global warming occurs naturally. We’re just helping it along.”

“Is that why you won’t turn the air conditioning on?” Phil pops up from behind Keith’s seat, kneeling on the floor, cheek pressed to the upholstery near Keith’s shoulder. His hair sticks to his forehead in places and he looks generally displeased. For the past few hours he’s been talkative, sitting behind Keith’s seat, joining in on our conversations with merry input. Turns out, he has a kind of cute sense of humor. He reminds me of a younger, untainted Keith.

“Yes,” I answer him demandingly and firmly like a mother. “It’s all dangerous for the environment. Open the windows more, if you have to.”

With a groan, Phil moves back and creaks the back windows open, though they don’t roll down – they just pop back a little. Keith rolls his window down too, sighing as hard wind blows into his face. He sticks his tongue out and pretends to bite at the air like a dog. A few seconds of that makes him decide that he needs to roll it back up a little, lest he get a headache. “Don’t sound so suave, Coy,” he smiles cheekily, looking at me. “I know you’re sweating buckets in all those clothes. Get your window down.”

“Get your pants down and we’ll talk.”

“Not on your life.” He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Fine,” he says with a tone of finality. “I’ll get it.”

“Keith, no, my hair -”

He ignores my protests and gets out of his seat. “Quiet, you. It’s too hot in here to argue.”

He begins to crawl into my seat.

“No, c’mon, fuck - I’m driving here!”

A knee between my legs and one thrown over the armrest, he shimmies over and under my arms with hands holding the steering wheel. I struggle to keep the van straight as he sits in my lap and clicks the switch to lower my window. Loud wind rushes in, throwing my hair all over the place. I growl, but Keith curls up, toes gripping the edge of the seat, knees at his chest, and he squirms around in my lap like a content cat.

“Mmmmm ... you’re very soft,” he mumbles, nuzzling his cheek to my silk-ish blue-ish tie. “How you’re wearing a sweatervest in this heat, I’ll never know. You must be dying.”

“Hard to die when you look this good.”

“Well, no matter. The wind’ll cool you off. You’re welcome. Y’know, I think I’ll stay here. Can you still drive?”

I shift around, resting my elbows on the arm rests. If I use just my fingers, I can comfortably reach the wheel and have enough control to make wide turns. His feet are up against the door, his butt between my legs, his head resting on my bicep. He looks adorable, like a sleepy, snuggly child. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I pause, looking down at him as he looks up at me, big eyes inquisitive. “You look painfully cute right now.”

“Oh? Good kind of painfully?” he asks innocently, making a point of rubbing his hip into my groin. I take a sharp breath in, stinging my lungs. He’s a cheap little bastard, snuggly child my ass.

“The best kind,” I smile and murmur. He sits up a little at this, just enough to kiss me. He breathes shallowly into my mouth and he still tastes like cherries. His tiny hands snake between my arms and hold my face, pulling it down towards him, making sure my attention is on nothing but him. I close my eyes and melt into him with a satisfied groan.

“WATCH THE FRIGGIN ROAD!” Phil yells at us from his new perch in the passenger seat, saying his R’s sort of like W’s. Does he always do that? It’s surprising that I didn’t notice. Maybe it’s only when he yells.

Keith looks sullen when I shake him off, looking back at the highway and the cars in front of me. He squirms some more, sitting sideways with his head against my arm.

“Sorry,” Phil apologizes for yelling. “I didn’t want you to kill us, that’s all.”

I smile, keeping my eyes diligently on the road now. “It’s okay, our mistake.” Sometimes, I hate to admit, I forget where I am when I’m being kissed. He has this talent or hypnosis or whatever you want to call it, and it draws me in like a moth to a flame. You could actually just call it being horny and easy. Yeah, that works. It’s like those movies, where a couple rolls around unnecessarily in the grass. That kind of stupidity, that’s what his kisses are.

I drive for another hour, but then ...

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

Cameron’s alarm sounds from the back seat. I turn in my own seat, mindful of traffic, in time to see him fishing through his backpack, gameboy lying forgotten on the floor. Keith continues to sleep soundly in my arms and the shrill beeping soon stops.

“Find a fast food place at the next stop,” Cam says, not posing it as any kind of a question. “I need a drink to take these.”

“What happened to your water bottle?” I ask as quietly as I can so not to wake the sleeping beauty using my arm as a pillow. Cam moves to the front of the van on his knees and I watch Phil stiffen uncomfortably.

“I drank what was in it,” he says, and his eyes flick down to Keith’s sleeping face. He raises his eyebrows and puts his mouth down in a face that says ‘well, then.’ “There,” he points a hand to something appearing around a bend, a rest stop. “There’s an A&W behind that gas station, pull over!”

I barely have time, but I pull into the right hand lane and turn off into the parking lot. I park the an near the outdoor tables of A&W and then look at Phil, then Cam.

“I’m the only one who has money, and if you want anything, one of you is going to have to get Keith off me.”

Cam gives him a look of disgust, wrinkling his nose. Phil does nothing at first – I’ve gathered that he doesn’t like being in the same conversation as Cam – but then he takes his seatbelt off and stoops over to me. He slides a hand under Keith’s shoulders and another one under his knees, blushing scarlet red when his hand touches my crotch by accident. He hoists Keith into his arms with an awkward sort of movement, Keith’s head falling against his shoulder, still soundly asleep. Phil almost buckles under his weight, being at least four inches shorter than Keith, but he manages to rest him in the passenger seat.

“Christ, he’s heavy for someone so skinny.” Phil whispers, opening the door as I open mine.

“He’s secretly a fat girl, that’s why.” I smile. “That’s why we should get him a milkshake. Cam? You aren’t coming?” I ask him when I notice that he’s gone back to his gameboy.

“Nah. Just get me a 7up.” He treats me like a butler but this time I don’t really mind. I could use a drink anyways.

“Sure. Uh, don’t wake up Keith, okay?” I try to ask, unsure if he’ll listen. Maybe he’ll even go out of his way to wake him up now that I’ve asked him not to.

“I’m not promising anything.”

I grumble and climb out of the van. Phil gets out too, probably glad to stretch his legs. It’s still crisp outside but the clear sky says it’s going to be boiling hot today. “Do you want anything to eat?” I ask Phil as I hold the door open for him. He nods in thanks and steps inside.

“Sure,” he says offhandedly, watching the garish orange menu boards up behind the counter. “If you want to buy me something, I could go for fries.”

“No prob.”

We’re silent for a minute or so, waiting for our turn a the counter. I look at the girl taking orders on the left-hand till and for a moment I’m sad because she reminds me of someone. I must look sad too, because Phil asks me a question. “Something wrong?”

I sigh, scratching my head. “No ... yes ... sort of. That girl behind the counter reminds me of my sister.”
“The one on the left?”

“Yup.”

“And her looking like your sister is bad? Why? What happened to her?”

I shrug. “Nah, nothing happened, she just ... didn’t turn out how I would have liked,” I admit.

“How old is she? How’d she turn out?” he pauses. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yeah, a little sister. Sasha. She’s ...” I have to think about it. “... eighteen now. And she’s just ... one of those girls.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. “I don’t think I get it.”

“She’s ... you know the kind. Gum chewing, laughing, clique-forming, American Eagle shopping, Puma wearing teenage girl. I know for a fact that your school is covered in them.”

“Oh,” he says simply. “Yeah, I definitely know the type. I’m ... sorry she’s like that.”

“Me too,” I say sadly. “I always wanted a cool sister ... one I could be proud of, y’know? Like ... an artist. Something cool and off-beat.”

“Of course,” he says very understandingly. “Every parent wants their kid to turn out like that.”

I laugh. “She’s not my kid, Phil ... and does that mean you think I’m cool and off-beat?”

He looks at his shoes, going silent. I grin and ruffle his hair in a distant-dad way. “Why, thank you, that’s very sweet of you.” I move my hand down his neck to his arm where I take it off. “I feel better already.”

“Next, please.” The girl taking orders gets our attention and we step up to the counter. We order fries, a sprite for Cameron (they never have 7up) and a milkshake for Keith, which he can drink once he wakes up. He’ll kick my ass to the moon if he knows we had access to good food and got him nothing.

When we get back to the van, Keith’s awake. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, eying the milkshake in my hand with frightening concentration. When I climb into the van – Phil slides one of the back doors open to get in since Keith’s manning the passenger side door – he leaps on it like a hyena on an African child, not even giving me a than you. I take it as a given, handing Cam his sprite, and he at least gives me a nod of appreciation.

As I get back on the road, I hear the clinking of his lunch kit pills, which now that I think about it is horribly ironic. Such a very trademark child-like thing filled with the most non-childlike things, ie, drugs. It’s sort of cute what he’s done there. Does he know that’s irony? Or is the lunch kit just for convenience?

We soon get back on the highway, windows down though we’re all still sticky and hot. Keeping to small, light conversation, Keith and I talk, sometimes with input from Phil, back at his base behind Keith’s seat. Cam generally stays to himself and I always forget he’s there. The only sound I hear from him is the tapping scrape of his nails against the door once in a while ... He’s being a good boy for now; he even answers a question of mine, which is very surprising.

“Cam?”

“Hm?”

“When was the last time you had sex?”

He laughs almost right away, that gravelly clown noise of his. “You serious?”

“Yeah,” I answer honestly, a smile he can’t see blooming on my lips. “I’m curious. You’re a very intriguing boy, you know.”

“Well,” he takes a deep breath that I can hear even from the driver’s seat. “When I got this, then.” He says ‘this’ with disdain, and I know he means AIDS.

“Wow. And how long ago was that?”

“Aaaaaaaages.” He says that like a dying man, and I snicker, because taking sex away from him is like taking wind away from sails.

“That sucks,” I pause, then grin, looking at him in the rear view mirror. “You must be jerking off constantly, huh?”

He grins back, furthering the banter. “Maybe.”

“Have you been doing it for the past few days?” I ask cheekily, expecting him not to answer something so personal.

“When I’ve been around you guys? Yeah.”

I go to give Keith a look, but instead my eye catches the completely red, mortified face of Phil. I can’t tell if this is making him horny or upset, so I don’t say a word to him, not wanting to give Cam an opening to poke fun at him. When I finally look at Keith, he’s grinning just as I am.

“Not because of us, though?”

Another laugh reaches our ears from the back of the van, and that nail scratching continues. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

I’d like to bring up the fact that he more or less said just that our first night in Altamont, saying he wanted to fuck me. I, again, say nothing for Phil’s benefit (and Keith’s too). I still don’t know him too well – Phil, I mean – but I know that he inexplicably loves Cameron and telling him that the boy he loves wants to fuck someone else may not be the best idea. Though I think he knows. The scratching continues. Keith mouths ‘what is it?’ to me but says nothing to Cam, too scared, maybe, to talk to him after his carnival rant. I decide to ask.

“What’re you doing?”

“Look.”

I turn around in my seat, being a bad driver, to look. It turns out that the scratching wasn’t his nails, but a pencil on paper. He’s holding up a big sketchbook with a pencil drawing of a boy, strikingly realistic. The shading on his face isn’t quite done, but it’s so real anyways. It’s a boy. Well, no, a man. With wavy-ish short hair and a light beard ... he looks a little like Brandon, but manlier with a stronger jaw and larger eyes. I don’t know exactly what to think.

“That’s ... incredible,” I say, but am forced to look back at the road. I had no idea that he was such an artist. “Who is he?”

In my rear view mirror, I can see only Cam’s nose and upwards, but I see him blush for the first time in a long time. “None of your business.”

I have a hunch anyways. “You’re a very talented artist.”

“Thanks.”

“Why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

He shrugs. “It didn’t come up.”

“Hmmm. You should draw me something sometime,” I chuckle.

After that, we’re silent. At the pinnacle of the day, the heat is at it’s worst. I get distracted from the road because I’m mesmerized by Keith. He’s all sweaty, hair stuck to his cheeks, teal t-shirt stuck to his torso, shorts pushed up, showing acres of leg. He’s nearly half asleep or just relaxed, listening to the music quietly playing from the stereo. Cows in fields pass us by and he smiles a little whenever he sees one. That boy loves his cattle. He’s being all warm and soft and slick and fuck, it’s getting me going. We’d better stop somewhere soon.

Phil, a fucking angel, comes up behind my seat. I know without looking that it’s him and not Cam because Cam would just yell and I can feel Phil’s headphones around his neck bang into my shoulder.

“I hate to be a bother,” he speaks quietly “but tere’s a lake not far from here that my family goes to in the summer ... it’s clean and usually deserted ... Can we stop for a swim? It’s fucking boiling.”

“YES!” I basically yell. “YES, fuck yes, where do I turn off?”

He blinks, visibly surprised at my excitement. “Uh, exit 346.”

“Awesome, that’s just up ahead, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,”

“I don’t have swim trunks,” Cam calls abruptly from the back seat.

“What sort of panties are you wearing?” I ask, half kidding, half just wanting to know.

“‘Panties?’” he snickers.

I sigh. “Underwear.”

He laughs. “Ones that are too inappropriate for you guys to see.”

“What? What’re you wearing, a thong?”

“Not quite.” He smiles. “Red ‘panties’, as you so faggishly called them.”

I see exit 346 and turn off, laughing the whole way. A Small green sign says ‘Edith Lake’ and points to the right, so I assume that’s it and swerve off.

“Aren’t those a little girly, Cam? I thought you said you weren’t gay.” I giggle.

“I’m not, I’m ... an opportunist,” he says so dignified and sure. “Underpants don’t determine sexuality.”

I laugh all the way up the winding dirt road leading to this Edith Lake. It’s rocky and unused and the van bounces along, tipping Keith’s empty milkshake cup over onto the floor. There’s a little creek running alongside the road, and beyond that, a big fenced in pasture dotted with cattle. By now, Keith has moved out of his relaxed feet-on-the-dashboard pose and is twisted in his seat, nose pressed to the window, feet on the ground.

“Heehee,” he giggles. “They’re so square ...” He laughs at them. One large cow close to the fence looks at the van as it passes, grass hanging out of it’s mouth. Keith waves at it. “Who’s a big cow? You are! Yes you are!” he coos at it. I’d think this was adorable if I wasn’t so preoccupied with staring at the tanned strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waist of his shorts. His bright green froggy underwear are showing just a quarter of an inch. God, he’s killing me. Look back at the road. Concentrate. Hands at ten and two, ten and two. Think about spiders. Rhubarb. Intestines. Loud, smelly, ugly people. Women. Aunt Phyllis. Ohgod, get your hands back on the wheel, no, don’t ... Aw, fuck it.

My right hand reaches between our seats and I hook the tip of my index finger in his panties and I pull upwards just a little. This catches his attention and he diverts said attention from the cows to me, a bewildered expression on his too damn innocent face. I draw my hand back and bite at my bottom lip a bit, raising my eyebrows. He blushes at this, realizing what him and his damn legs and bare feet have been doing to me for the past few hours.

“Coy, turn here!” Phil calls out, kneeling next to my seat, a hand on my arm rest as his other one points out to where the road forks. He’s pointing to the left, so I desperately try to go that way. Two tires roll off the road and thump-thump-thump through the weeds, but all is well soon. The dirt road starts sloping down and the pastures turn into pine tree forests, dark and thick, lichen hanging ominously off branches. The forest acts as a fence around a small, crystal blue lake. It’s a little bigger than a pond, but not by much. It looks very clean, save for the back side of it, which is inhabited by sticks and marsh and bull rushes. A small, rickety dock is floating near the clear area used for parking. It’s deserted.

“This place is amazing, Phil!” Keith gushes. “It’s like a private little utopia! This is great!”

I park the van on the left edge of the dirt patch for parking. Almost before I’ve turned the engine off, Keith’s leaped outside. When he slides the back door open, Cam shields his eyes from the light streaming in. He groans.

“Calm down,” he mutters. “The water will still be there in five minutes.”

Keith crawls back in and grabs his suitcase. He rummages through it and quickly comes up with his bright yellow and cyan swim trunks. By this time I’ve gotten out of the van and walked around to lean against the door of the van. Then – this shocks me, though I don’t know why – he, very unashamed, yanks his shorts down around his ankles, then flicks them up with his toe and catches them. He’s standing there in just green panties, smooth legs twiggy and so evenly tanned. Well, except for the bottom part of his left leg. His prosthetic looks like something he’s just put over his normal leg. I never think about it, his ‘disability,’ I suppose I’d call it. He’s gotten over that funny walk of his, basically, and it just ... isn’t a big deal. He’s a strong little boy.

But I’m certainly not, because right now my will power is at zilch, seeing him sweaty and so close to naked. We didn’t have sex last night. Am I so horny that I can’t go a single night without fucking? Pretty much. I’m not above hauling him into the back of the van, stringing some clothes up to block out the windows, then throwing him onto his stomach and fucking him raw. I am seriously so close to doing this, when Cam cuts in.

“Nice ass,” he says nonchalantly, appearing in the gaping door-space of the back of the van. He tilts his head with a look of amused appraisal, and smiles maliciously. Keith turns towards him, hiding his butt, lips turned up in an indignant kind of way. I can’t tell if he’s flattered or not; there’s always been a fine line between Keith’s humiliation and happiness.

“That’s not yours to look at,” he says coldly and that makes me realize that these are the only words they’ve spoken since the horrible incident. I’m glad Keith’s mad at him. Backbone is good.

“Then stop parading it around,” Cam says just as coldly. He stands and walks by us to the water’s edge.

Keith gives me a frustrated look and clenches his fingers. I smile and rub his back. “Don’t let him get to you,” I whisper.

“I was parading it around for you,” he grumbles, crossing his arms.

“And I appreciated it.” I kiss the top of his head and grab his ass, which ends up being a bad idea. Instead of flustering him, it’s flustering me. He’s so damn warm ... I step away from him. “Phil,” I look at the little boy perched on the edge of the van. He looks back up at me when I say his name. “Did you bring swim trunks?”

He looks at his duffle bag just behind him. “Yeah, but I dunno if I’ll go in.” He pauses. “I look like a rat when I’m wet, and my tits show.”

I pat him on the shoulder, frowning. “You don’t have tits, for fuck’s sake. You aren’t fat.”

“I’m fatter than HIM,” he says forlornly, jerking his head in the direction of the twiggy-limbed boy by the lake.

“Phil, please. Toothpicks are fatter than him. You’re the perfect weight for your height, where he’s undernourished and bony. You can see his ribs, he looks like a sick fish.”

Phil gives me a pointed look, and I bite my tongue. Right, no calling Cam ugly, which comparing him to a sick fish seems to be doing. I change the subject. “C’mon, you’ve gotta swim, it’s boiling out! You’ll fry if you don’t swim.”

“I brought sunscreen,” he replies defiantly, pouting, which is just too cute.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t go!” I attempt to convince him, but I’m sort of the worst debater ever. “You said it yourself, this place is great.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, you meant it.”

“Says who?”

“Says me! Why else would you bring us here?”

“’Kay, it’s great. I’ll consider swimming.”

“Okay, that was the lamest conversation ever.” Keith laughs, leaping out of the van. He throws my trunks at me. “Get dressed, I wanna gooooo!”

“Don’t you mean ‘strip?’ Not dress?”

He looks unamused. Stepping forwards, he grabs my tie and shakes it hard. I jerk back and forth and try to pry him off.

“Don’t be difficult!” he pushes me back, grinning from ear to ear. “Just get into them, don’t make me ask again.”

I stick my tongue out at him, waggling my butt as I walk around the front of the van. I toe my slip-ons off before yanking my pants off, having to pull at them around my ankles. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I see Cam watching me. When he meets my gaze, he turns away lighting quick, over sized white t-shirt swirling around him as he does so. I smile to myself and tug my trunks on over my black boxer briefs. The board shorts are too big and my underwear shows about two inches above the waist. They’re red and black and go to just above my knee, unlike Keith’s, which are mid-thigh and show way too much skin for me to consider wearing. Seeing him in them, on the other hand, is a different story because he’s been tanning on the roof of our building between flash floods and his leg(s) are looking nothing short of fantastic.

I take my tie, sweatervest, oxford, arm cuffs, and several un-waterproof bracelets and rings off and for morbid curiosity's sake, I turn back to Cam. He’s still looking and this time, I shoot him a big grin. He scowls and looks back at the lake again. I walk aback around the van to see Phil dressed as he was, simply barefoot now. Keith’s shirtless and smiling.

“Phil, you said you had sunscreen? Can I borrow some? I forgot mine,” I ask.

Keith chuckles, so I shoot him a dirty look. “Excuse me? Is there something you’d like to say about me wearing sunscreen?”

He takes his glasses off, somehow causing him to look a lot younger, and he puts them on the dashboard of the van. “You’re pale enough that the sun is blinding me when it bounces off you, I think you need to tan.”

“The sun isn’t blinding you, blindy, you’re blinding you. How many fingers am I holding up?” I take a step back (long distances are tougher) and thrust four fingers into the air. He frowns and squints.

“... Three?”

“Wrong again. Four. We need to get you one of those white blindy poles.”

“What does me being blind have to do with anything?” he says exasperatedly. “Bottom line is that you have to tan.”

“I don’t tan,” I reply, grabbing the bottle of sunscreen Phil’s holding out to me. I look at it: little cartoon sun, SPF 50. Good. I squeeze some out and start rubbing it onto my left arm. “I turn bright pink. Like an embarrassed lobster.”

Keith snickers and if I’m not mistaken, Phil does too. My so-called boyfriend yanks the bottle from my hands and pours some out on the tip of his finger. He reaches up and starts doing something with it on my neck.

“What? What are you doing?” I panic, but not a lot because I guess I trust him. Plus, it’s just sunscreen.

“Don’t move, I’m making a heart.” His finger messes around my neck for a few moments longer because he backs off. “You’ll have a nice little heart there now. Don’t touch it or it’ll smudge.”

Ah, the old sunscreen drawings. He does this to me every summer, writing something on me with sunscreen, making it so that I’ll only burn in certain areas, leaving a shape or words burned into me while the rest is white, or vice versa. Last year, I fell asleep at the beach and woke up with ‘Keith is awesome’ written across my back. At least this time he’s doing something nice. We close the van up, but we leave it unlocked because we’re the only ones here. It’s around five now, I think, but it’s still as hot as ever, sun still bright.

“Thank god for long summer days, huh?” Keith comments as we walk down to the lake. There’s no beach, just grass slumping into the water.

“You read my mind.”

The dock has been warmed by the sun. Keith and I walk onto it, gingerly at first, worried it’ll break. When we realize it’s fine, we walk normally with Phil trailing behind, looking nervous, and he doesn’t make it far. He sits down on the thick wooden planks, feet making a delightful ‘sploosh!’ noise when he dunks them in the water.

“Is it cold?” Keith smiles at him, standing with me at the end of the dock, close enough for our arms to be touching.

Phil just shakes his head. “It’s nice.”

I look back at Cam, behind us at the water’s edge. He’s barefoot now, ripped green converse lying in a tangled pile behind him. The black tank top he’s been wearing for the past few days, I notice, has been traded in for a big white faded summer camp t-shirt that hangs off him like a potato sack. Keeping in line with what’s been happening today, he catches me looking at him. He pulls his pants down around his feet, then falls backwards, bends his knees, and wiggles out of his jeans. He has the skinniest legs I’ve ever seen. They’re like my arms. From between his legs, I see a glimpse of bright red panties. Hmm. He wasn’t lying. He throws his pants in a heap by his shoes and he stands, those red panties hidden under the big white tee. Only his long, bare, white legs poke out, undefined and muscle-less, just two smooth straight pegs that turn into tiny bony feet at his ankles. Even his legs have freckles in places. His feet are freckled, as are his knees, and even his thighs, though not as wholly.

His freckled face smiles at me, but it isn’t a real smile, it’s one of his malicious evil ones. Maybe he likes me watching him. That thought is just too scary and I turn back to the lake. Unfortunately, I looked at Cam too long and Keith pushes me into the water when I’m not paying attention. The lake is relatively deep, thank god, because I hate lake weed. It’s pretty cold too, but GOD, is it refreshing. I flounder around for a while before surfacing, gasping for air, slicking my hair back.

Keith’s laughing up on the dock a few feet away, behind himself with his apparent sense of humor. I snarl and swim closer, up to the edge of the floating dock and with a triumphant ‘ha!’ I grab his plastic leg and pull him in. He makes a bigger splash than he should and clings to me like a little girl, legs kicking and floundering. He’s really bad at swimming.

“You’re a bastard,” he sniffs, pushing his hair off his face. He doesn’t let the water slick it back like I do because his bangs are a thousand times longer than the rest of his hair and it looks stupid, so he pushes it away from his face and just pouts. I wrap my arms around him and float, letting him straddle my thigh to keep him afloat too.

“You’re very buoyant,” he notes, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “You’re like an in-water arm chair.” and he bounces on my leg a little for emphasis.

I smile at him and pull him closer with my hands, sliding him along my leg. I start running my hands up his back. “And you’re very wet,” I tell him in the same matter-of-fact voice he was talking to me in. “I like that. Very much.”

He turns a cute shade of pink and looks embarrassed. He squirms a little, then puts his arms under mine and flattens his hands out on my back, rubbing over my shoulder blades. He looks at me again. He doesn’t know what to say, so I kiss him, checking over his shoulder for where the boy’s eyes are. Neither are looking at us. We don’t so much kiss as it is me sucking on his bottom lip. I like doing that. It makes me feel in control. I remember the second time I kissed him, when we were sixteen and he was passed out and bloody in my bedroom. That was the first time I got to taste him and his bottom lip, the first time my tongue was on him. To think back then I never would have even imagined that my tongue would be on him so many times after that. Five, almost six years worth of tongue. I never stop loving it.

Come to think of it, does Keith know that I kissed him that day, in my bedroom? Did I ever tell him?

“Do you remember ...” I let his bottom lip fall from mine, staying in close, keeping my cheek pressed to his. “That day Dylan and Tharen beat you up? In tenth grade?”

He chuckles. “I kind of have to remember.” He taps his cheek and I lean back to look. Here in the sunlight, I can just make out the faded white letters. FAG. How horrid.

“Do you remember waking up in my room later that day?” I can’t help but smile. “All drowsy and sick and cuddly?”

“Yeah ... You and Laur were playing video games. Yeah, I remember.”

“Well ... Did you know that I kissed you that day?”

“Yes,” he smiles serenely, hands curling around the back of his neck. “That was our first kiss, for science.” And he gives me another peck on the mouth just like that one.

“No, I mean after that.” Thinking about this is getting me all happy and nostalgic. The water around us makes me feel light.

He looks puzzled for a moment. “We didn’t kiss again that day ... did we? I’m sorry for forgetting.”

“No no no, don’t be sorry.” I pet his shoulder. “You didn’t know we did.” My voice drops. “I kissed you when you were passed out on my bed.”

For the first time in a long time, he looks genuinely shocked. “You’re kidding! That was before we started dating and everything!”

“Mmmhhmmm. That ‘science’ kiss had me scared pretty bad ... I felt something for you, even if you didn’t -”

“I did! I lied!”

“- even if you didn’t feel anything for me. And I just really. Really. Really had to make sure. And you looked so cute and vulnerable lying there ...” I’m remembering it so clearly and the longer I speak, the bigger Keith’s smile gets. “... and I kissed you for a really long time even though you were all bloody and it felt so right but I didn’t want to admit it but now that I think back, I should have just told you because you loved me too and we could have -”

He makes me stop talking by kissing me, just a short, sweet kiss that tastes like lake water and milkshake. He’s grinning so cutely, arms tightening around my neck. “You are the cutest, sweetest man in the world and you always will be forever and always.”

“What -”

He kisses me again, wringing the water out of my hair. “Don’t talk,” he orders. “Just be cute.”

“But -”

“Ah! Shhshhshh, that’s talking. Just float and be cute.”

I nod and kiss him again before sliding him into my lap a little more so I can float on my back. He giggles in glee and balances on me as I swim.

“You’re like a raft,” he laughs, swishing water over my bare chest. I wave my arms and we slowly drift closer to the middle of the lake.

“What’re the boys doing?” I ask. I can’t look around too much or I’ll lose concentration and sink. I feel him turn around, shifting his weight. After a moment, he answers.

“They’re ... being civil ... I think ... I can’t see.”

“Where are they?”

“Look.”

I hold Keith and let my legs fall, no longer floating on my back. He wraps his legs around me and clings tight so he doesn’t have to float on his own, the lazy bastard. I squint through the bright light and see the two of them on the dock, facing away from each other. Their backs are a foot or so apart and from here it doesn’t look like they’re talking ... but they’re civil. They aren’t talking, but they aren’t fighting.

“Look closer ...” I whisper to Keith. “Look what they’re doing ...”

The longer I look, the more I notice. They’re looking at each other, but neither of them know it. When Phil’s back is turned, Cam turns and looks at him. When Cam’s back is turned, Phil looks at him. From here, it seems choreographed. I tell this to Keith.

“I can’t see!” Keith cries. “They’re too far away!”

“If we go closer, they’ll see us ... Dang.” I sigh, smoothing water over his back. “They’re so sweet. I feel bad that all this junk had to happen.”

“I don’t!” Keith huffs. “Well, I feel a little bad for Phil, but this is all Cam’s fault!”

“I suppose.” I kiss his wet little shoulder, just because I really like him when he’s slippery. I kiss him again, up the side of his wet neck, warm from the sun. He makes a shocked sort of noise, very quiet, and he wrings more water out of my hair, trailing thick down my back. “I’m glad we haven’t turned out like them ...” He arches his neck back, asking me without words to kiss his throat. What an odd time to be intimate, I think to myself. I’m obedient and kiss a path up his throat to the hollow under his chin. At this point, he turns his head back down and nuzzles my cheek with his. “I’d hate to be as unhappy as them ...”

“We aren’t though, right?” I ask for clarification because my insecurities are always there. “We’re good, right?”

He leans back, water level of the lake just below his perky nipples. His unfocused eyes twinkle brightly. “We’re the best, if that isn’t too arrogant of me to say.”

I kiss him, hands protectively around his neck, circling it like a necklace or a noose. “It’s arrogant,” I mumble against his mouth. “But it’s okay ‘cause I’ll be arrogant right along with you.”

He laughs, hugging me, knees tightening at my sides. He talks into my shoulder. “We’re perfect for each other, huh? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave you.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever try.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

We swim until the sun dips behind the pine trees and our fingers and toes prune with moisture. Cam and Phil never do go swimming and instead opt to sit on the dock, swishing their feet in the water while pretending they aren’t looking at each other. Keith and I lope out of the lake and flop down in the wide, steep field on the east side to watch the sunset. I nearly fall asleep here in the warm grass, Keith’s heartbeat against mine a gentle reminder of love lulling me into a state of relaxation. His quickly drying frizzy hair tickles my face with his head on my shoulder. I don’t mind that, nor do I mind the fact that my arm under his cheek is going numb. We talk quietly, senseless sappy murmurs of love, careful not to let Cam and Phil hear for their own benefit. They are a yard or so away, lying on their backs next to each other, watching stars break through the blanket of the sky. They’re still so ... civil.

“What time is it?” I whisper to Keith, stroking the jagged peaks of his ribcage. By now, the sun has disappeared completely.

“Does it matter?” he says just as quietly, pressing a small kiss to my bicep. “Time is useless.”

“Pardon me?”

“It’s man made,” he tells me, sounding so confident in this statement. “It’s an organizational tool. Dinosaurs didn’t really have time. It’s a little human quirk. Sixty minutes in an hour, twenty four hours in a day, and so on and so forth. It’s unnecessary. What if I were to decide that there were nine days in a week? It would work, wouldn’t it? Physically, nothing would be different.”

I could correct him, but I hold my tongue. “Are you high?”

“And this time we’ve come up with – it’s always uniform. You can’t speed it up, you can’t slow it down. It’s always the same. So uniform ... every year will have twelve months, always and forever. What’s the word for that? There’s a word for it. Uniform? Equal? Increments?”

“Isochronal?” I offer blindly.

“That’s the one.” He snuggles into my chest. “S’weird.”

I run my fingers through his hair, sorting out tangles. “Only to you, babe. Everyone else deals.”

“Only cause they’re too pansy to change it. You’ll see, I’ll add another month to the year before I die. You just wait.”

“I will.”

We’re quiet for a moment, basking in each other and the starry sky. It’s then that we hear it: the boys talking.

I look over, as does Keith, with very little movement. Cam’s sitting up on his elbows, hair shielding his face once more. He’s talking, but we can’t hear a thing even though we’re so close. It’s like he’s moving his mouth, but making no sound. He starts to shuffle closer to Phil, hair brushing his chest. His legs are drawn up, glowing bright white when everything else is dim. We can see up his shirt, a glimpse of the alleged red panties stretched tight over his tiny little butt. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s exposed. He just keeps whispering, edging closer to Phil.

“I can’t hear you,” Phil says clearly, attempting for a moment to sit up before he realizes that Cam’s too close and he has no room. “I can’t hear you,” he says again. Cam shakes his head and talks furiously quickly and silently. I’m beginning to doubt he’s making any sound at all. “I can’t hear you!” Phil tries again, voice tired, loud, and frustrated. Cam goes quiet now. He throws his hair out of his face and the three of us can see him. He’s paying no mind to Keith or I, simply looking down between Phil’s body and his to the small strip of grass below. He looks pained, mouth limp and sad, eyes half-closed. His chest rises and falls quickly beneath the tent of his t-shirt.

Then, he puts his hand in the grass on the other side of Phil. It’s leaning over him now, though his legs are still to one side. Phil’s eyes are wide and scared as he just stares at the meanest boy he knows with his mouth open, shallowly breathing, barely breathing at all. Then, Cam kisses him. Keith’s hand finds it way to mine and he squeezes it tight enough to burn.







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