Wendy climbs into the back seat this time, giving Oakley the passenger spot with more leg room. “Who’s looking after Bell?”
“My parents,” Oakley answers, buckling in. “And you know my mom will spoil her rotten. She’s in good hands.”
Wendy appears happy with that, settling into her seat with her phone already out in front of her.
“We ready?” I ask my companions.
Oakley shoots me a wicked grin. “Ready.”
It takes forty-five minutes to drive to the campsite geared toward middle- and high-school-aged groups. Several of Wendy’s classmates are already here, and she makes animpatient sound as I look for a parking spot. The moment the truck stops, she’s out the door.
“Kids,” Oakley mutters. “Guess we’re the pack mules, then, huh?”
I don’t argue it, only grab Wendy’s bag from the back and shove it at Oakley’s chest. He huffs a laugh, taking it with him out the door, the two of us grabbing what we can of our supplies. Arms full, I check in with the group leader who’s been running this summer camping trip for years.
“Liv,” I greet.
“Lawson,” she says in turn, giving Oakley a nod. “Good to see you outside the classroom. And hey there, Oakley. I hear you’ve returned to us?”
“Sure have,” he says, smile in place. “Still running these kids ragged?”
“Whenever I can,” Liv says gamely. As our high school’s PE teacher, it’s in Liv’s job description to keep the kids active. “We’re in campsite B this year. Remember where it is?”
“I do,” I confirm. “All right if we get our tent pitched?”
I ignore Oakley’s snort.
“Sure thing,” Liv says, marking something on her clipboard as another set of students joins the group. “I’ll be following with the kids as soon as the stragglers arrive. Head on back.”
With that, I catch Wendy’s eye, getting a quick nod in return before she goes back to talking with her friend Chloe. Oakley keeps pace with me as we walk through the short wooded trail toward campsite B. Another of the adult chaperones, a parent named Dan, gives us a wave from where he’s readying the boys’ cabin. There are two side by side, one for the girls and one for the boys. Usually, a parent or two stays in each, and the rest of us chaperones sleep in tents.
I don’t mind that. It’s quieter, at least.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that we’re still so stuck on gender?” I ask Oakley.
He drops one of the bags in his possession to the ground, an eyebrow raised. “I’m gonna need more info.”
“The cabins,” I explain, waving a hand that way. “For all the strides we’ve made, we still split kids up into boys and girls. Our society has such a deeply ingrained gender dichotomy, we don’t even think about it half the time. And what about the folks who fall between or outside of it? It’s isolating.”
Oakley nods slowly. “I don’t disagree with you. Stevie struggled with that often. Which bathroom to use. How and when to safely present themself. Not everyone in the world is understanding. Or kind.”
I let out a quiet breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Bring up my ex?” Oakley asks, an amused lilt to his voice. “You didn’t. I did. And it’s fine, Law. I can talk about them, you know.”
I eye my friend as I unroll our tent. “Does it still hurt?”
He takes a moment to answer that, and my chest feels tight as I wait. I busy myself with the tent prep as Oakley kicks rocks and sticks away from the patch of grass we’ve chosen. Finally, he says, “Not really. It did for a while, but now… Now it’s like the memory of a bruise. Not really there at all.”
I nod. Thinking about Stevie isn’t something I particularly enjoy.
“You’re still pissed at them,” Oakley observes.
“Yes,” I admit.
He stops what he’s doing, hands loosely on his hips as he gives me his full attention. “Why, Law?”
“Because…”God, how do I even explain it to him? “Because they hurt you to begin with. In big ways and in small ones. And that’s not something I can ever forgive.”
