by Steve Berman
I wasn’t sure if or what Will would do the next time we were all together, so I tried to be casual when I went down to the dock with my cereal. The three of them were already there, and the only space was beside Will. I managed not to barf when I sat down beside him. Will bumped shoulders with me and smiled, and I grinned back, all my worries draining out of me in a rush.
God, he was cute.
Angie was grinning at me, smug.
“I’ll bring you the bottle later,” I said, when Will and Barb were talking.
After that, the four of us settled into the same routine the three of us had always had, except it was four of us now. We swam a lot, and Will watched us do the leap a couple of times, still convinced we were all a little crazy. At night, we’d light campfires, and we introduced Will to spider dogs and s’mores. Barb told a great ghost story that made Angie swear she wouldn’t sleep at night, and Will brought out his guitar and playing for us, while we sang along very, very badly. He had a good voice on his own, though.
*
On the first rainy morning we had, I went for a miserable run, dried off, and made myself an omelette for breakfast before my parents got up. On rainy mornings the parents generally gathered in cabin two—Barb’s cabin this year—and we’d hang out in one of the other cabins. My mother had sleepily offered to do the dishes if I made omelettes for her and my dad. They were on the couch having coffee in their robes while I stood at the stove.
“Ryan seems to getting on well with Will,” my mother said.
I turned to look at them. They did realize I was in the same room, right?
My father glanced at my mother over his mug. “He is?”
“You know,” she said, “I thought having a boy meant I’d be spared that anxiety of my child getting their first boyfriend.”
“Oh Jesus,” my father said. He took a swallow of coffee. “Are they dating?”
“I’m standing right here,” I said. “I can hear you.”
“Will seems to tell his parents a lot more than our son does,” she said. “Lorraine tells me he’s very open with her and Martin. That’d be lovely, don’t you think?”
“Okay, enough,” I said, embarrassed. I sliced the first omelette in half and flipped it onto two plates, bringing them over to my parents. “We’re just hanging out.”
“Uh-huh.” My mother’s eyes sparkled.
“You guys do know I’m seventeen, right?”
“Honey, we were seventeen once,” my mother said, and smiled at my father. “Remember what we were like at seventeen?”
“Oh Jesus,” my father said again, grinning at her. Then he pointed at me with his fork. “You’re being careful, right?” He frowned. “Wait.” Watching him realize that no one was going to end up pregnant was painful. Also, humiliating.
“I am not having this conversation with you two,” I said.
“Will’s parents are very nice,” my mother said. “She said I shouldn’t worry. Ryan is in good hands.”
“Oh my God,” I said. “I’m going to Angie’s.”
“Have fun, honey,” my mother said. I snuck a bottle of my dad’s beer from the fridge to pay Angie and pretended I couldn’t hear my parents laughing as I jogged across to her family’s cabin.
*
It didn’t stop raining, so we spent the day in Angie’s cabin and played Scrabble and cards, and eventually, Barb and Will teamed up to do the “take that” dance when they beat Angie and me at euchre. Will taught us Texas Hold ’em, and he came up with using the Scrabble tiles as poker chips, which was pretty smart. After losing all my tiles round after round, I had to admit I couldn’t bluff to save my life.
“It’s a good trait,” Barb said. “Means you’re honest.”
“Or a sucker,” Angie added, raking the large pile of tiles toward herself. She’d taken the beer without comment—thankfully—and tucked it in her backpack.
Will turned to me and said, “My parents have been talking to your parents.”
I nodded. “I know. Apparently I have a lot to learn from you.”
Will raised an eyebrow, and I realized what I’d just said. Angie and Barb burst out laughing. Will was grinning. If I was lucky, maybe the earth would open up and swallow me whole.
“I meant my mom thinks you’re better about sharing stuff with your folks,” I said, while the girls calmed down. Will’s grin quirked. “She thinks I need to tell them more.”
On the couch, Angie wiped tears from her eyes and said, “My mother thinks you’re both adorable.”
“So does Stuart,” Barb added, shuffling the cards.
“Oh Jesus,” I said, echoing my father.
Will laughed and wrapped one arm around me. I leaned back on his chest. He kissed the top of my head, and my entire body shivered.
“That’s probably why,” Angie said, holding up her phone and snapping a picture of us before we could protest. We both laughed when she turned the phone around and showed us, and Barb dealt another round.
This time, I won.
*
We were swimming in the lake the next morning when Will caught me treading water, just watching him. His dark hair was wet, and his tanned arms were strong as he stroked his way through the water.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re hot.”
He laughed and splashed me. I splashed back, and we got into a water fight. When he grabbed me and dunked me, I managed to get my arms around him and push off from the bottom enough to toss him away from me, where he made a huge splash and went under. He came up sputtering and laughing, and we bobbed in the water together.
He leaned in and kissed me. It was sudden and awkward—both of us treading water, and neither of us steady—but his lips hit mine and we were kissing. I had no time to prepare, and that whole thing about time slowing down turned out to be complete bull. His lips were soft, but the kiss itself had some pressure to it. By the time I realized I was having my first kiss—my first kiss!—it was over, and I was bobbing in the water and staring at him with my jaw open like some sort of yokel. I hoped I wasn’t drooling.
When I didn’t say anything, he raised one eyebrow. He looked a little nervous.
“You taste like coffee,” I blurted.
“Sorry.” He smiled. “You taste like toothpaste.”
Was toothpaste bad? I didn’t know. My heart was pounding—did that just happen? I couldn’t look away from him.
“It turns out I like coffee,” I said, and kissed him. His tongue slipped between my lips, just a little, and I struggled to stay in place in the water. It lasted a bit longer, and when it ended, we were very close to each other. His eyes were so dark.
“You okay?” Will asked.
“I am having the best day of my life,” I said.
He laughed. It was true what they said—the third time really is the charm. My tongue even had some courage, it turned out, and although keeping us both afloat and maintaining the kiss took a bit of effort, the challenge was worth it. He was good at this, I decided, feeling my body sort of loosen and tighten up all at the same time. I put one hand on his chest—he felt solid, and warm, even in the water.
“Oh Lord.” Angie’s voice was loud from the dock. “They’re being adorable again.”
I jumped and tried to push back, but Will wrapped both arms around me and tugged me back against his chest.
“Nuh-uh,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Oh wow. It was a good thing we were in the water, because I was pretty sure my knees weren’t capable of working properly. I waved at the dock, then looked back at Will.
“More coffee?” I asked.
He laughed.
Days passed like that. Mostly, we hung out, and laughed, and then—at night when the girls had gone to bed—Will and I would lean on each other and look at the stars, making out a little bit. Whenever we got particularly energetic, Will would always stop and ask me if I was okay. It was perfect. I never wanted it to end.
So, of course,
it did.
*
“We leave tomorrow, later in the morning,” Will said. He poked at the dying fire. “That way my dad says we can miss some of the traffic.”
I nodded. That was pretty much the same story for us, too. We always drove back on Labour Day.
“At least I’ll see you at school on Tuesday,” I said. “It’s only one day.” I wasn’t convincing myself. Otherwise, why would I be so miserable?
He nodded. I knew him well enough now to know he was worried.
“It’ll be fine,” I said.
“It’s not like at my old school,” he said. “I mean…Chad Donovan.”
“He graduated,” I reminded him. It was weird to see Will act nervous.
“At my old school, we had a group. At your school, there’s just you.”
“I like to think I can fill a room all by myself.”
He smiled. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “But you’re forgetting someone. You.” I leaned forward. “So at my school, by my count, that makes two.”
He put down the stick and opened his arms. I smiled and slid over. He wrapped himself around me and squeezed, shaking me. He needed to never stop doing that. “You? Awesome,” he said. He kissed the top of my head.
“I’m also told I’m adorable.”
*
I ran early on the last day and went down to the dock to watch the sun while I walked it off. Dragonflies were zooming about, and the day promised to be warm and clear.
“Hey.”
I turned. Will smiled at me from the edge of the trees. “You’re up early,” I said.
“You, too.”
I nodded. “Went running. It occurred to me that next year I’ll be getting ready for university. This might be my last year here—or maybe next year.”
“Next year,” he said, firmly.
I looked at him. He was smiling, but he looked nervous.
“So, come on,” he said, gesturing.
I started up the dock. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He led me up the path toward the cabins but veered off at the trail that led up to the outcropping. He started dragging his heels a little after that, looking ahead with a tight expression on his face. He was tapping his fingers against his thumbs.
“You need to say something,” he said.
“What?”
“Distract me.”
Easily done. I kissed him, and we spent a few moments against a tree. His hands were a little shaky. When I pushed away, he made a grab for my shoulders, but I took a few steps farther up the path. He sighed and started walking again. I didn’t say anything, just following, until we got to the rise. He lingered a few steps behind me. I turned and saw him peering out over the outcrop, arms crossed.
“It’s pretty freaking high,” he said.
“Yep.” I was grinning. I held out my hand.
He laughed—that wonderful deep laugh—and then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He tugged his shirt over his head and dropped it on the trail. I would never get tired of that particular view—tanned and smooth, except for a little bit of hair on his stomach, Will was so much fun to look at. He breathed again, opening his eyes and looking at me. I walked back down the trail to him, taking my shirt off and adding it to the pile. I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my socks. Will slid out of his sandals.
Then he took my hand, and squeezed.
“On three?” I said.
He gave a shaky laugh, but nodded.
I counted down, letting go of his hand, and then we ran. His long legs ate up the short path, and I actually had to put a bit of effort into keeping up with him. He started yelling before we even made it to the edge, and I joined him, laughing and feeling the familiar drop in my stomach as the edge approached.
At the edge, Will launched himself off with a bellow, arms pinwheeling, and I cleared the edge a half second later, pushing myself off to the left. His yell echoed over the lake, and the sun and the sky had us both for that heartbeat. Then we dropped downward. I heard his splash moments before I hit the water, and when I came up, he was already bobbing in the lake, his hair wet and grinning from ear to ear. He was breathing heavily.
The water was warm. Will swam toward me with strong strokes that drove him through the water. I waited for him.
“See?” I said. “Epic.”
“Holy crap,” he said.
I looked at him. There were beads of water on his face and shoulder, and the morning sun made them glow with little bursts of light. My chest felt tight.
“Thanks,” I said.
He shook his head, sending spray everywhere. “Well, I figure…If I can do that…” He shrugged.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I gotta go pack,” he said, but he didn’t move.
“Me too,” I said.
“Ryan?” he said.
I looked at him. “Yeah?”
“Will this be okay, at school tomorrow?” He kissed me. I wrapped my arms around him and he did the same, both of us kicking to keep afloat. Then we tipped our foreheads together while we treaded water.
I smiled. “It will be great,” I said. “Promise.”
Bark if You Like Boys
Sam Cameron
Sean Garrity: millionaire jet-setter, world’s most eligible gay teen, regularly voted Sexiest Sixteen-Year-Old on the Planet. Here he stood in the crowded stacks of the Florida Keys Bookmine, shelving historical romances not because he needed the money but because he was a nice guy with a good heart. Charity work. Noblesse oblige. Every teenage millionaire had a charity cause to fill their Saturday afternoons—
An elbow poked him in the ribs.
“Stop daydreaming,” said Robin McGee, his compadre in shelving. She wiped her dusty hand on the hem of her black T-shirt and frowned at the smudges. “You’re getting your Ps in your Qs.”
“Am not,” he said automatically, but there was the proof: Rosamunde Pilcher wedged between Amanda Quick and Julia Quinn.
Robin gave the book in her hand a disgusted look. “Look at these abs! Definitely Photoshopped. Completely sexist. Don’t you get angry when some publisher’s marketing division perpetuates ridiculous masculine stereotypes?”
Sean glanced at the shirtless model. Another historical romance set in the Scottish highlands, so of course the guy had long hair, a flawless body, and improbably perfect shining teeth. Inside the book, the hero fit every single cliché of romance writing: dark, brooding, courageous, tormented, and absolutely ferocious in bed. Sean knew that for sure because he’d read every previous book in the series and substituted his own name for the vapid heroine’s.
“Yes, I’m completely furious,” Sean said, and made a note to grab the book when Robin wasn’t looking.
A middle-aged tourist with a floppy straw hat stopped in the aisle. She asked, “Can you tell me where to find the NASCAR romance section?”
NASCAR romance. Where the cars went fast but the sex was strictly G rated. Sean refrained from scoffing out loud and showed her the way. The Bookmine was the only decent-sized bookstore between Miami and Key West. And it was more than decent: Mrs. Anderson, the owner, had linked three separate buildings on the Overseas Highway and connected them with corridors, courtyards, and gazebos. According to the computer inventory, they had almost half a million books crammed into the shelves. Sean thought they probably had twice that many if you counted the stuff in boxes or in the warehouse out back. Tourists stopped by all the time, sometimes looking for stuff easy to find, other times on a treasure hunt.
Sean was on his own treasure hunt, every single day, but sadly frustrated. Fisher Key was a tropical paradise but it had a severe shortage of cute gay boys. Of gay boys at all, actually. Counting himself and Mrs. Anderson’s son Denny, there were two. Total. And Denny was so far into the closet he couldn’t even find the doorknob.
Sean Garrity: Only Gay Kid in Town.
El Solo Gay-o.
Lone Twee in
the jungle.
And usually he could deal with it, he could totally cope and pretend that it didn’t matter, but last night his sister Louanne had brought home a whole new boyfriend, a cute guy named John Love (no kidding) who lived down in Marathon. How fair was that? She batted her big blue eyes and boys flocked to her like seagulls to bread crumbs. Sean could throw crumbs all day, and all he’d get was bird crap on his head while the birds flew on by overhead.
Worse than John Love was that Monday was the first day of the new school year. It was sad enough to be going back to school before the end of August. It was positively tragic to be returning without a single anecdote of romantic kisses, groping in the moonlight, or making out on the beach while the pounding surf rolled over the boy of his dreams.
“Sean,” Mrs. Anderson said from the front counter, where she was bagging a customer’s purchases. She was a short woman, dressed as always in bright tropical dress with her dark hair piled on her head. “Will you check out the bathrooms? Something smells fishy.”
Another glamorous part of his job: bathroom duty. And “fishy” wasn’t quite the word for what he found there. “Hazardous toxic waste dump” was more like it. Honestly, did some people just save it up for days so they could deliver a big, nasty gift to the book-loving world? Sean donned plastic gloves and the paint mask he kept for especially maladorous situations. He averted his eyes as best he could and pretended he was a famous teen actor sentenced to community service for too many speeding tickets in his Ferrari. As soon as he left the building he’d be swarmed by fans, paparazzi, and handsome boys who wanted to take him home…
The toxic waste eradicated, his hands thoroughly disinfected, Sean stopped by the community bulletin board near the bathrooms. One corner was reserved for the business cards of local dive shops, real estate agents, handymen, and computer geeks. Another had postings for yard sales and the big flea market up in Islamorada. Three local girls had notices up for babysitting, someone else was selling a man’s bicycle, the church was having a bake sale on Saturday, and in the middle of it all was Sean’s own notice:
Free to Good Home, 3 puppies, mixed breed, good health, need love.
