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“I just don’t think there should be two gay counselors canoodling in secret is all.”

I laughed. “What? You think we’ll unionize against you, ass-jacks?”

One of his friends snorted, and the kid’s cheeks reddened. “I’m just saying… it’s weird.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Would you just stop?” Darius muttered from where he’d stepped up beside me.

I looked at him. “What?”

“Stop antagonizing him.”

“He’s antagonizing me.”

“He’s a child, Alvin.”

“He’s old enough to know what he’s saying.”

“And you’re supposed to be the adult.”

“There he is!” I beamed. Darius D’Angelo, the reasonable one. Darius, the quiet one. Darius, who could blend in until nobody noticed anything different about him.

And then there was me. Alvin. Fucking. Carter. Too loud. Too gay. Too much. Same fucking story. Different decade.

I didn’t say the quiet part out loud. Instead, I stepped back from the little fucks. “Right. I get it.”

Darius’s brows furrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure.”

“Alvin.”

The campers looked between us and then made the catastrophic mistake of laughing.

Darius turned towards them. “Cabin.”

The kids blinked. “What?”

“All four of you. Go.”

“But we’re not fucking⁠—”

“Now.”

They left with their threats and grumbles and so many gay slurs thrown at us I made a mental note of the new ones I heard.

I squeezed out my shirt as Darius watched my hands. “You’re pissed at me,” he said.

“Very astute.”

“I wasn’t defending them.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I moved on to squeezing the lake water from my shorts. “You’re very good at hearing what I don’t say, aren’t you, Dee.”

“And you’re very good at twisting what I do say, Alvin.”