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“Duh. Every five minutes.”
His face broke just slightly. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“He say when he’s coming back?”
“No...”
Mason swallowed, and Darius stepped closer. “Did they say how long he might be there?”
I looked directly at Mason, ignoring someone else’s existence entirely, and Mason glanced between he who shan’t be named and me.
“Uh. Alvin. Did they tell you if Trev can come back soon?”
“Oh, what a great question, Mason. Camp is a no-go… but home could be another couple of days to the end of the week.”
Mason’s eyes flicked behind me, then back. “What did Trevor say happened?”
“Not much. But we all know.”
“Alvin,” Darius tried again.
I adjusted the strap of my bag, and Mason’s expression shifted. He clocked what was going on. Everybody with functioning eyes had probably noticed the fact that I hadn’t looked at Darius once since stepping out of that van.
Mason cleared his throat. “Did the police talk to him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Nothing useful.”
That answer wasn’t technically true. The police had been perfectly useful if your goal was discovering exactly how ineffective everyone became once the phrase “minors were involved” got into the mix. There would be interviews. Statements. Parents and lawyers. “Possible consequences.” School involvement. Camp involvement.
A whole orchestra of grown adults discussing accountability in measured voices while Trevor had bruises around his wrists and permanent nightmares about water.
Nobody could tell me what I actually wanted to know. Which was how badly I was legally allowed to ruin the fuck-boys’ sad little lives.
Apparently the answer was not very. Society had rules. Tragic, I know.
“Alvin,” Darius said, quieter this time. “Can we talk?”
“No.” First word I’d given him directly, and then I walked past them.
“Where are you going?” Mason called.
I turned around and walked backwards. “To save the camp spirit.”
Mason stared. Darius stared harder.
“What?” Mason asked.
I smiled. “Trevor would hate everybody sitting around miserable because of him, now wouldn’t he?”
“He would,” Mason admitted but was obviously wary of my tone.
“Exactly.” I pointed at him. “Meet me at the rec hall in twenty minutes.”
