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“You’ve been staring at Omar for ten minutes.”
“I have not,” I lied.
“You’re doing it right now.”
“I’m looking at the trail.” I gestured a hand in front of us, away from the back of Omar’s head. Which I now had the urge to crack open with the large branch he was kind enough to move to the side so Alvin and I didn’t have to step over it.
Omar smiled and waved—Alvin waved back—and then he kept walking with the group of campers in front of us.
“Omar is standing on the trail,” Alvin whispered out of the side of his mouth, drawing my attention back to him.
“I’m looking past him,” I replied out the side of mine.
“Into his soul?”
“Into the woods.”
“His soul is in the woods?”
I stopped walking and glared at Alvin. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“No. It’s one of my more attractive qualities,” he said, pointing to his chest.
“It’s not attractive.”
“It is on me.” He smiled, and I looked away before he could see how badly that smile made me want to smile too.
The group reached a clearing near the creek that ran adjacent to the lake. The kids immediately began arguing about whether a suspicious pile of leaves contained a snake. It did not. It contained a stick, two acorns, and the collective intelligence of the entire group.
“Let’s play hide-and-seek!” one of the kids announced.
“No,” I said at the same time Alvin jumped up and down on the spot.
“That’s a brilliant idea!” he insisted.
I glared at him.
He beamed at me. “Democracy.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why? Afraid someone will find you?”
“I’m afraid they won’t find you and decide to leave you out here.”
“Aw. You do care, DeeDee!”
“I care about the paperwork I’ll be forced to do when we have to report your ass missing.”
Omar clapped his hands. “All right. Boundaries are the creek, the old fence, and the big rock near the trail. Nobody goes beyond them.”
Alvin raised a hand.
Omar pointed at him. “Yes, counselor?”
“What if someone is emotionally beyond the boundaries?”
“Then we call you.”
