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One of the boys raised his hand. “So like… they messed up and then God punished them, right?”

“Choices and consequences,” I repeated. “But also redemption. You can correct yourself.”

I sounded like I was preaching. I sounded like Alvin’s dad. That’s what people wanted. Preaching meant I was “normal.” Preaching meant I was the kind of person you could look up to. It also meant that I was confident enough to know what I was doing and instruct you how to do it too.

The activity required pairs. The kids needed to come up with a scenario of their own, make a choice, and then share whether that choice was good or bad based on the potential consequences. It was the camp’s way of making them think about the choices they made that got them here.

I separated the campers into groups and tried not to think too hard about how much the whole scenario resembled being handed a choice and then being judged for the response when it wasn’t what someone else thought it should be.

Adam and Eve’s names sat in the center of everything. Two people. A beginning. A fall. The camp loved symmetry. Man/woman, right/wrong, saved/unsaved. I could almost hear Pastor Carter’s Sunday sermon ringing in my ears. He went especially hard on the days he knew Alvin was in attendance.

Every time I said “Adam and Eve,” I felt the weird pinch of those Sunday memories, like my body recognized the pattern of being watched before my brain could catch up. My mom scrambling to put on her church best, then making sure we got their early and secured ourselves a seat at the front. Little Alvin kicking his feet back and forth and rolling his eyes whenever his old man said something he clearly didn’t agree with, and me trying to stifle my laughter…

My grip tightened around my whistle. I told myself not to think about Alvin. I told myself I couldn’t afford to.

Then the rec room doors opened, and the air changed. Not colder exactly. Just… heavier, like someone had brought a storm in with them and decided to walk straight through it. Alvin was both the storm and the one who’d conjured it.

His eyes landed on mine without flinching. And for a second, I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

Cindy’s voice slid in beside me. “Oh. Alvy, you’re here! Thank God!”

She said his nickname as though it wasn’t sacred. As though it wasn’t something only he and I shared. And my eyes immediately cut in her direction. She smiled. I frowned.

“Pretty sure God has nothing to do with it,” I grumbled under my breath. But Alvin heard it. Or he knew me well enough to not have to hear it and know what I was gonna say anyway.

She ran up and hugged him, while I hung back watching. Since when did these two become friends?

The kids spotted Alvin fast. That was no surprise. And it was clear they weren’t happy. If Alvin noticed, he didn’t mention it. If Cindy noticed, she was good at pretending she didn’t.

“What’s the queer doing here?” one of the kids grumbled, clearly forgetting that this was supposed to be a lesson on making good choices.

“Hey,” I barked out at him. “Focus on your activity.”

“Pretty sure it’s Adam and Eve. Not Adam and Steve,” the little fucker added under his breath.

Alvin didn’t look at him. He looked at me. And he smiled while quirking a single brow.

Cindy clapped her hands together. “Okay! Mr. Carter is going to take over from here while I bring all the letters home we wrote and drop them off at the post office. By the time I get back, we should be ready for the campfire!”

She was cheerful. Alvin seemed impassive. I was neither.

“Do you have any questions before I step out?” Cindy glanced between me and my co-counselor but I could tell she wasn’t asking. She was telling me this was how things were gonna go.

Alvin glanced at the Adam and Eve cutouts on the table. “No questions,” he said.

“I’ve got a question…” I pointed to Alvin. “Don’t you have your own kids to watch?”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Chow hall duty.”

“Doesn’t that mean you should have chow hall duty with them?”

Another shrug. This time accompanied by a smirk as he eyed his freshly-polished nails. “Usually… but not today. Today Miss Cindy Lou Who needed my help so the little heathens will have to ward off the evils of dishpan hands without me.”

That made more sense. These two weren’t suddenly friends. Alvy was just an opportunist, looking for any excuse to avoid manual labor with the added bonus of irritating me while he did it.

I huffed out an annoyed breath. I could feel the kids watching us. Leaning in like they had by the lake. I could also feel my own pulse trying to sprint out of my body.

The worst part? Alvin knew. He knew I was trying to perform. And he knew why it was so important to me.