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She had been flirting with me all summer. Gently, persistently, with none of Alvin’s… sparkle. She had invited me to her cabin after the campers went to bed more than once.

I had always found a reason not to go. Tonight, I decided I would. It was the sensible thing. The kind thing. The thing a man did when he wanted to stop confusing a boy he’d loved since childhood with the future he was supposed to have.

“Mr. D’Angelo?” Pastor Carter cleared his throat, letting me know he’d said my name more than once.

“I’m fine.”

He nodded as though he’d accomplished something. And I walked away before I could say what I really thought of him.

By dinner, I had accepted Cindy’s invitation. By lights-out, I had nearly convinced myself it was a good idea.

She met me outside her cabin wearing her usual short-shorts and an oversized camp t-shirt. Her smile lit up when she saw me. “You came.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad.” She stepped aside to let me in.

Her cabin smelled like citrus shampoo and mosquito repellent. A string of battery-powered lights hung around the window, casting everything in a soft yellow glow. It was comfortable. Normal. Safe. Just like Cindy.

She sat on the edge of her bed and patted the space beside her. I dropped down on the mattress, my eyes on the open door in front of us. On the distant lake, the twinkling stars, and the dock that held most of my secrets.

She looked at me. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Maybe I’m committed to the bit.”

“That sounds like something Alvin would say.”

I looked down at my hands at the mention of his name.

Cindy’s expression softened. “Sorry.”

“No. It’s fine.” Fine. Yeah, I was beginning to hate that word.

She reached for my hand. Her fingers were warm. Her touch was familiar and oddly comforting. I’d held her hand before. During our hikes in the woods with the kids. She insisted it was to help her keep her balance. And I secretly hoped it made me look more normal. I’d kissed her cheek after walking her to her door most every night and then immediately walking back to my cabin. To Alvin. And I’d imagined kissing her mouth because it was what I was supposed to imagine.

She was beautiful. Funny. Patient. Kind. She liked the same music I did and never made fun of me when I talked about swimming as if it were the most important thing in my world. She knew how to shoot a bow and could identify at least three constellations.

My ma would love her. The thought should have helped. Instead, my stomach rolled.

Cindy moved closer. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Dee.”

“I know.” I cleared my throat. My face felt hot, and somehow the room seemed stuffier even with the door wide open.

“I mean it,” she said.

“I know.”

Cindy studied my face for a moment. “Then why are you staring at me like you’re about to apologize?”

Because I was. Because I had spent the entire day watching Alvin look at somebody else and decided the cure was looking at somebody else too.

I turned towards her anyway. She tilted her chin up. And I honestly thought I could do it. I had done it before. Not with Cindy. But with a dozen girls just like her.

I leaned in, rested a palm on her cheek, lowered my mouth to hers, and kissed her. It was quick—goddamn chaste compared to the way I’d kissed girls before. My body rejected it almost immediately. And then the nausea rose so fast I jerked back and covered my mouth.