by Annie Harper
Ruth bit her lip, terrified. She knew Constance was talented, magical even, but this was something she had never seen. Her heart pounding all the while, she watched Constance rotate the flaming hoop around her hips. The crowd cheered wildly. Ruth’s mother took her hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Krasavitse!” her mother whispered.
“She’s incredible,” Ruth replied, agreeing. She too thought Constance a great beauty.
When Ruth finally found Constance after her performance, she didn’t look like someone who had just been dancing with flames around her body. Ruth knew that she would have been sweating up a nervous storm herself, but Constance appeared almost serene, and there wasn’t a single singe on the pristine white costume.
Suddenly, her demeanor changed. The serenity vanished as her eyes widened and she raced toward Ruth. “I thought you had changed your mind!” she exclaimed, embracing her. “When you didn’t come—”
“I…” Ruth found herself unable to explain as Constance pressed her lips to hers. They were warmer than ever. Part of Ruth assumed they must have absorbed some of the fire.
Her mother’s light cough interrupted them. “You must be Constance,” she said easily in accented English. Ruth felt as if the floor had fallen out from under her.
Constance, a faint blush still on her cheeks, nodded slowly. “I am—”
“And I am Hannah. Ruth’s mother.”
Constance looked to Ruth immediately. Her eyes and nose wrinkled into a confused, concerned expression. Ruth didn’t like the situation at all. She suddenly felt as though she had betrayed Constance by bringing her mother here. That hadn’t been her intention.
“I want her to come with us,” Ruth said quickly.
“Come with us?” Constance said, her voice crackling like kindling as she did so.
Ruth’s heart hurt. This wasn’t what she wanted. “She needs this,” she pleaded. “Not… for the same reasons… but… I can’t leave her. Not here. Not alone. Not in this town. Not after everything.”
“Ruth… I thought we talked about this—”
“We did,” Ruth stood firm, and it surprised her.
“Young lady,” Ruth’s mother interjected, her voice revealing none of the surprise Ruth was certain she must have felt. “I know you see before you a frail old woman wearing a shawl in July, but I can assure you, there is more to me than meets the eye.”
A quizzical expression passed over Constance’s face. “Ma’am?”
“When I was a little girl, I often dreamed of the trapeze, or the high wire, or even, oh this is going to sound quite silly, training cats…”
Try as she may, Ruth couldn’t imagine her delicate mother on the trapeze. Once she had dropped a glass when her hands went numb; surely hanging in the air was out of the question. Constance knew none of this, though. Ruth had spoken very little with her about her mother. When she glanced over at her, she saw an amused, yet impressed, expression. Ruth appreciated it. Something about the look on Constance’s face said she saw her mother as worthy of respect just as Ruth did.
“Cats?” Constance asked, her eyes sparkling.
Ruth’s mother laughed, nodding. “I had several growing up. I taught them to stand and shake on command.”
“Your mother has magic too!” Constance said. Ruth wasn’t sure if she was teasing or being serious.
The thought that this all might have been a mistake still nagged at Ruth’s mind. She looked from Constance to her mother and back again, unsure what was happening or what to do about it. A sort of understanding seemed to have passed between the two most important women of Ruth’s life, but she, herself, did not seem to be privy to it.
Her mother approached and placed both hands firmly and solidly on Constance’s shoulders. “Take care of my little girl.”
“Mama?” Ruth asked, still not understanding.
Turning to her daughter now, Ruth’s mother smiled: a sad, but hopeful, smile. “This is your adventure, Ruth. You’re young. Go and take it.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You could train cats.”
Her mother laughed. “Ruth—Go. Live.”
“Not without you.”
Taking a deep breath and pulling her daughter into a close hug, she whispered. “I’m not half so weak as you think I am. I will make it, little one. I want you to do the same.”
Ruth pulled away, tears in her eyes. Her mother touched her cheek. “I suppose I did all right by you after all.” She took Ruth’s hand and placed it in Constance’s. “Go. Live.”
Constance and Ruth looked at one another. Warm tears were leaking out of Ruth’s eyes. Tears she didn’t understand. Joy or sadness, she wasn’t sure. Constance touched her face, about to wipe the tears away, and then Ruth knew: They were tears for all that had been and all that was about to be.
Surface Tension
Ella J. Ash
Logan jumps into the cool lake water. The sun is setting—blues and oranges and pinks—and the icy water startles his body. He’s here for his first night of pre-camp in the Catskills at Camp Sandy Hills, a traditional summer camp with a creative arts flair. He did not make that up—that’s what it says on the sign. When he saw it, he knew he wasn’t in Allentown anymore. In fact, he’s as far from Allentown as he can get until he leaves for San Francisco after he graduates from high school next year. It’s perfect: Everyone at the camp dances and sings and comes from places that are distinctly not Backwardville, Pennsylvania.
Not only that, but he’s swim staff, the football team of summer camp. No one will bat an eye at him. And yeah, he’s gay. Even though he gets taunted at school based on assumptions, he’s only told his best friend, Sarah Silverberg. He is so looking forward to a summer as just one of the swim guys.
Logan knows he’s an enigma. As goes the cliché, he likes musical theater, singing and fashion. But he’s also athletic, a swimmer and a straight-A student, despite his disdain for high school: he wants to get out of Cowtown and is totally uninterested in teenage dramas—girls buying boyfriends Hallmark cards to celebrate three-week anniversaries only to break up four days later. It is a real-life sitcom of ordinariness, a place he simply does not belong. It’s no wonder he doesn’t fit in.
But this summer, he will have a taste of escape. He’s anonymous in a place where he can appreciate theater without sticking out. It’s going to be bliss. The water curls around his body, the stars are bright in the sky, and the air is summer-night cool.
* * *
Pre-camp training sessions are less than enthralling. Fire safety and equipment storage are only so gripping, and the food so far has been… well, what do you call hotdogs baked into a cheese soufflé? Yeah, no surprises there. But Sarah’s with him at camp and the other staff are nice, fun even. Logan shares a cabin with the other male swim staff: a relaxed blond guy named Stuart Keele, whose biggest flaw appears to be a penchant for parading around in a towel while speaking Klingon; an oafish, kindhearted guy named Matt Smith; and a dancer named Kevin Shyam, who, Logan secretly acknowledges to himself, has the best six-pack he’s ever seen. He doesn’t usually let himself think such thoughts, but some things are impossible not to notice.
So far, these guys are certainly less offensive than many of the other people he’s had the displeasure of encountering in high school. Even though it’s summer camp, they haven’t batted an eye at his coordinated duvet and throw. How is he supposed to feel at home without a throw pillow or two? The cabin itself is clean but entirely basic—bunk beds and small cots, itchy yellow wool blankets and green rafters above. Logan’s bit of flair didn’t stop the swim guys from inviting him to play volleyball with them against the other staff last night, so he figures it’s okay.
Logan’s not used to being an asset in a team sport, but he was. He’s tall and broad and apparently can spike a ball right in front of the short, athletic head of canoe instruction—a spike that won the game. Pats on the back, high fives—he’s definitely not in Allentown anymo
re. Even the hot canoe guy—Dave, Logan thinks his name was—turned to him with a smile and a wink and said, “Next time, I think I want you on my team, freshman.” Cocky.
* * *
“Hey Logan, wanna come throw the ball around with us?” Stuart is holding his mitt as he and Matt head out the cabin door.
“No thanks. Baseball isn’t really my thing.” Logan sighs and he takes out his novel. Few things are less appealing than standing in the beating sun, waiting for a hard, small object to be thrown at his face. Besides, he is about to solve the mystery in the latest Mary Higgins Clark novel.
“All right. Suit yourself. Matt, will you grab Dave, meet me at the baseball diamond? He’s in the cabin beside the waterfront.”
“On my way.” Matt stops at the door; a goofy grin creeps over his face. “The female swim staff should be just about finished with their workout, right? Lucky bastard in that cabin—”
Stuart shrugs. “Dude, don’t think Dave really cares about girls in swimsuits.”
“Yeah, totally. That’s probably why they put him there. Lucky bastard,” Matt repeats. “Head of his section and near the hot girls.”
“Wait, what?” The question is out of Logan’s mouth before he catches himself.
“Dave’s into dudes,” Stuart answers. He seems pleased with himself. Logan looks from Stuart to Matt, trying to figure out if he’s more surprised by the information or their nonchalance about it.
“He is?” Logan can feel his face flush.
“Yeah, why? You’ve got a problem with that? Not cool, dude.” Stuart shakes his head as he walks out the door behind Matt.
Logan bites his lip as he picks up his book. He feels dizzy. What exactly just happened?
At dinner, Matt sits at Logan’s table with a tray of chicken nuggets and fries and not a green vegetable in sight. He is followed first by Stuart and then Dave, who puts down his tray and excuses himself to talk to the camp director.
Stuart, sitting across from Logan, looks at him sternly. “Dave’s my best friend, Logan. If you’re not okay with the gay thing, then—”
Logan can’t help it; he lets out a high-pitched “ha!” and, “I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone,” before quickly excusing himself to use the washroom. When he returns, composure regained, Dave is seated across from Matt and beside Stuart, Logan turns to Stuart and whispers, “Don’t worry about it, okay?”
After experiencing a dinner with David Westin—Dave—gay Dave, out Dave, head of canoe instruction, everybody’s best friend Dave—Logan can only conclude that this guy is perfect, and in the most infuriating way. Yes, he is a good-looking guy; Logan can appreciate that without being raunchy . He is on the short side, but has a nice body: strong legs, dark curly hair and, yes, really quite striking brown eyes that, impossibly, seem to twinkle. Logan is not sure what rose-colored world Dave comes from, but he clearly hasn’t had to struggle much. It’s kind of nauseating. And he’s so nice, to, like, everyone.
“Do you sing, Logan?” Dave asks.
“I’m at creative arts camp. What do you think?”
“That’s great. I’m organizing a staff Sing-Off for the evening program. Hope you’ll join us.”
“Dave, you totally won that game for us!” Stuart is effusive.
Dave shakes his head. “No, guys. It was a team effort. Seriously.”
“I’ll clear the table and get the dessert tray. First brownie for the new guy?” Dave grins at Logan.
Dave is the outtest boy Logan has ever met. And, camp veteran; athlete by day, performer by night; every camper’s crush, every staff member’s confidant. He’s only Logan’s age, but he’s in charge of his section. And also, it seems, proudly and nonchalantly gay. Not a hint of a scratch on him. Honestly, Logan’s not sure it could get more irritating.
After dinner, Logan drops Sarah off at her cabin; Stuart and Dave are talking outside of what he guesses is Dave’s cabin—a solo staff cabin, because he’s section head. Yippee. As he debates approaching them to walk back to his cabin with Stuart, he overhears his name. And he can’t help it; he sneaks behind a tree to listen. Who wouldn’t?
“You know, man, I think Logan, the new guy, he might be uncomfortable with the gay thing.” Stuart’s voice is all genuine concern and Logan bites his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.
“Logan? You mean Mr. Of-Course-I-Can-Sing, with the sass and the searing blue eyes and the incredible swimmer’s build?”
Dave sighs and smirks at Stuart. Logan’s eyes bug out. He’s pretty sure that was a compliment. About his body. Though Logan is almost beach-boy handsome—blue eyes, thick auburn hair, athletic build—he’s never been a stud. There was always too much swish in his swagger, even if he can outswim all the jocks who refuse to let him forget it.
“Oh no, dude. Don’t tell me you’re—no, dude. He was really weird when I told him you’re gay.”
“Really?” Dave looks more amused more than perturbed. “What did he say?”
“He was just really surprised and, like, I don’t know—when I told him that if he’s not okay with it, that you’re my dude—” Dave smiles affectionately. Stuart is a sweetheart, if not the sharpest knife in the drawer. “He gave me the weirdest look and said that he feels like he’s in the Twilight Zone.”
“He did, did he? Where’s he from again? Hick town, Pennsylvania, right?”
“I think so, why?”
“I mean, I don’t really know. But I kind of think—already thought—and now maybe really think that he actually—”
“What?”
“You know, plays for my team.” Dave shrugs. Like it’s no biggie. Man, Stuart is clueless. And apparently Dave, well, isn’t.
“No way.” Stuart is clearly surprised. Dave just nods. “No man. I know you think he’s hot and all. But—”
“Mmm, he is.” And with that, Dave walks into his cabin.
* * *
It’s the evening before the campers arrive, the evening of the Dave-led staff Sing-Off. In other words, karaoke, and you choose a duet partner to “battle” with. There’s no real point, Logan muses, other than an excuse to sing, but okay. He and Sarah have an excellent duet planned, if he does say so himself. “Popular” from Wicked does have the perfect self-deprecatingly humorous tone to suit his summer of bliss and fitting in. Last night he had in a not-ironic discussion about the best musical theater productions with three straight guys, and no one gave a hint of being fazed. So what if Tony from West Side Story or Danny Zuko from Grease are their dream roles? At least they know the songs.
“And it’s Sing-Off time!” Dave croons into the mic. His minions respond with rousing whoops and woohoos and Logan has to admit the energy is infectious. Dave and Stuart start off the night with a well-rehearsed rendition of “Summer of ’69.” They’re pretty good. Dave has an undeniably magnetic stage presence; even without his bum-shaking, which Logan is absolutely not letting himself notice.
“Look at his body, Logan. He can move!” Sarah whispers.
“You have such a one-track mind.”
“Like you don’t.”
“I don’t,” Logan says. He doesn’t, not really . He’d never let himself.
“So who is going to help me do the next duet?” Dave then sing-songs the terrible, terrible Beatles’ song pun: “Won’t you please, please help me… Logan?”
He did not just—he did. Ignoring his red cheeks, Sarah pushes him toward the stage to sing a duet with Everybody-Loves-Dave.
“How about some classic Temptations?” Dave says. And before he has a chance to voice objection, Logan finds himself center stage, mic in hand, singing “Under the Boardwalk” with a guy. A guy who seems not to feel one ounce of concern about singing an undeniably flirty duet with him in front of the entire staff.
Logan can rise to the occasion—and he does. He is certainly not going to undermine an opportunity to perform, and he can easily pull off a little Temptations. And from the sound of the applause as the song ends, he—fine,
they—sounded great. But that doesn’t mean he wanted to be there.
Once the applause dies down and his adrenaline high ebbs as he steps off the stage, he’s shaking.
Sarah tries to get his attention. “Logan, it’s your turn to choose a partner.”
“I need to get some air,” he says. “Dave can go again.” He frowns as he walks into the cool night air.
“He’s not feeling well,” Sarah covers for him as he walks out, and a minute later the music starts again with an unquestionably Sarah version of “A Heart Full of Love,” paired with a voice that sounds like Matt’s.
Logan’s heart slows down as the cool breeze hits his skin. He’s not even sure what he feels, except overwhelmed. He leans against a tree on the way back to his cabin and takes a few breaths. The still beauty of the leafy, tree-lined path calms him slightly. And then he hears footsteps coming toward him in the otherwise perfectly quiet night.
Dave. Of course. Logan faces him..
Dave walks toward him. “Logan?”
“What was that?”
“What?” Dave looks genuinely concerned.
“Why did you ask me to sing that duet?”
“Because you said you liked to sing,” Dave answers. Of course he’d come up with that. Of course.
“Are you trying to make things more difficult for me?”
“Excuse me, what?” A flash of irritation moves across Dave’s face.
“Where I come from, two boys get beaten up for singing a duet together. Or rather, two boys just don’t do that.”
“Yeah, where I come from too.”
Oh. “Really?”
“Yes, really. But this isn’t that place.”
“So you’re just assuming that I’m gay, that I would want to do something like that?” Logan’s not sure why he says that. Why he puts Dave on the defensive. But apparently raw emotion doesn’t always make sense.
“Logan, I could have sung that duet with Stuart. No one cares.”
Logan has to admit, at least to himself, that this may be true. “You could have,” Logan agrees, relaxing slightly. “He has the biggest guy crush on you I’ve ever seen.” Logan rolls his eyes and Dave chuckles.
