Apparently, "I don't want to be a fucking camp counselor" is not a valid objection because of the language.
Apparently, "I don't want to be a camp counselor" is also not a valid objection because there's no "reason" provided. (I don't want to doesn't count.)
Apparently, "I have so many better things to do" is also not a valid objection. Because it isn't. It just isn't Jared. No, you don't, Jared.
But that's fine. It's all fine. Because the thing is: Jared's mom still thinks Jared's friends with Evan Hansen.
Yes, yes, the one and only, Mr. Turn Jared's Whole World Upside Down When He Walks Into The Room. (It's a long name, Mr. Turn Jared's Whole World Upside Down When He Walks Into The Room, but Jared would put it into his phone if it didn't fit. Evan stripped down to his bare essentials.)
Anyway. So Jared's mom still thinks they're best buds, maybe because she never checks in with her one and only son, and she mentioned cheerfully that Evan was going to be a camp counselor too. Or, technically, a junior camp counselor.
And he'd thought: Evan will be there. It will all be bearable, because Evan's stupid pretty face will be there too.
But Evan. Evan.
He forgot how unbearable it is to be around Evan.
"Your mom didn't tell you I'd be here?" Jared whispers out of the corner of his mouth, because Evan is looking at him weird.
They're standing around in one of those summer camp circles, like a cult, all the kids looking vaguely uncomfortable and all the junior camp counselors looking acutely uncomfortable.
Especially Evan.
Evan looks like he's going to throw up.
Jared has the urge to pretend he needs to go to the emergency room—for whatever fucking reason; he would use some random sickness he read about in morbid fascination on the internet. And he would get Evan to "drive" him.
And they would just sit in the car, him and Evan, Jared pretending he doesn't care by scrolling through his phone as Evan sits beside him, breathing deeper.
But Jared doesn't do any of that.
"Yeah, no, my mom told me," Evan murmurs beside him, rubbing his hands nervously on his jeans.
The camp counselor—the real one, not the ones that are here for money and to get their parents off their backs, but the one person who seems to be excited (concerningly so) to be here—is saying something. Evan's watching her raptly, as if missing a single word will spell complete and utter disaster.
"Dude, why are you even here? This has to be your version of hell," Jared says. Even though he shouldn't. Even though clearly the two people talking to him at once is making Evan even more anxious.
Stop, Jared, he tells himself, but Jared doesn't really know how. He's been trying. He's been trying since the day he started.
"I'll tell you later," Evan says, apologetic and annoyed and urgent. He's good at fitting many emotions into the same voice, Evan. He's always got at least three bubbling out.
Jared, it's hard for him to get a real emotion into his voice once in a blue moon. You have to pound it out of him.
"Do you know anyone here?" the camp counselor asks, looking around at everybody with extreme cheer. "Do any of you have friends here?"
It's obvious that they do: people are grouped up tight, awkward and shy, shoulders touching, scuffing the grass with their heels.
A ripple of nervous laughter and yesses spread through the circle. Evan glances at Jared. Jared raises an eyebrow.
"Raise your hands!" the camp counselor chirps.
Hands raise.
"Alright, go find that person or those people, and take their hand. Hold hands: that's right, we're all family here."
Oh my god, Jared thinks but doesn't say. All around the circle, people are linking their hands, interlacing their fingers.
Jared looks at Evan and Evan looks back and they're both waiting for the other person to offer their hand. Evan's the only person Jared knows, and Jared's the only person Evan knows, Jared is pretty sure.
There are only five other counselors—a cheerful looking girl Evan would have a seizure trying to talk to, a boy in all black that has a thin beard going and is probably a couple of years older than them at least, two girls who look like sisters or fraternal twins or something, already holding hands, and a boy who is definitely high, which disqualifies him from any potential acquaintance with Evan then and there. Unless Evan is unexpectedly friends with one of the forty ten-year-olds around them, Jared's it.
Evan rubs his hand hard over his jeans again, and then over his bright turquoise T-shirt that says Junior Camp Counselor in big, white letters. It's hot outside—summer sun and no clouds at 2 pm will be—but Evan's hands are sweaty in the dead middle of winter.
"Just give me your hand," Jared says impatiently, "It's not like I don't know your hands are sweaty."
Evan huffs, his cheeks coloring—he's so fucking pretty—and he sticks his hand over Jared's way, not really looking. "Fine," Evan says to the grass at the toes of his sneakers.
Jared winds their fingers together.
Fuck if he isn't going to take advantage of this situation.
He feels inexplicably nervous. How does one mess up hand-holding? Especially if the other person is the one whose hand is sweaty?
But he's oddly worried he'll find a way.
In any case, he hasn't messed it up yet.
Evan's hand is hot, probably because of the friction of rubbing them so hard against his jeans, and still sweaty.
And still ridiculously, uselessly meaningful to Jared. They're holding hands! He feels like a second-grader. They're holding hands!
But they are. Holding hands.
"Hold them up!" the camp counselor calls, "Let me see!"
And then everyone realizes they've been played.
"Wonderful!" the counselor says with absolute glee.
"Now, I want you to let go of each other. I know you want to be with them, I know, but let go—"
People look at each other, awkwardly extract their hands, embarrassed smiles and laughs and a few grounds filling the air.
"Walk across the circle. Just one of you!"
And there it is.
Jared's slightly gratified to see Evan seems a little disappointed to see Jared go. (Obviously, Jared's the one who goes; he's not going to make Evan walk all the way across the circle). He knows Evan's upset his anchor is leaving, and that just happens to be Jared, but it's kind of cool nonetheless.
They go around the circle. Favorite color. One thing you're excited about, one thing you're nervous about, one important or interesting thing about you.
I hooked up with an Israeli girl, Jared wants to say, just to get the reaction. Even though, obviously, it's not true. He suspects even Evan knows it's not true.
The obvious answer, of course, is I was part of the Connor Project, but Evan would legitimately die. "I, uh, I like computers," he ends up saying. "Which is pretty useless, since there's no technology here. Right guys?"
Disgruntled muttering.
Evan says he likes trees. "I was a junior ranger last year," he says. He's so quiet, the only reason Jared hears him from across the circle is that he's looking for those words. "At Ellison Park. I broke my arm there.
The kids don't really know how to respond to that.
"Sorry," Evan says. "Anyway."
Evan's hands turn in the pocket of his jeans. Jared wants to hold them again.
They move on.
"Should I drive you home?" Jared asks at the end of the day as they leave. It took him a stupid amount of time to decide whether he should offer, but he wanders Evan's way as if he just thought to say it. A drive home? he thinks, it's a ride home, you idiot.
"My mom's picking me up," Evan says. He's looking at Jared kind of sideways, his head ducked low.
"Hey come on, keep your head up, today wasn't so bad." Jared wants to knock Evan's shoulder like normal people do, but he just stands semi-close to Evan by the curb and puts his hands in his pockets. "You spilled your milk all over the floor. It was epic."
Why can't he keep his mouth shut?
"It's going down in the camp history books."
"Just shut up, Jared."
"Sorry. They probably all think you're super cool now. For spilling your lunch."
"I didn't even want it."
"Does anybody?"
"I should've just brought my own."
"Yeah." Jared's honestly kind of surprised Evan didn't think of it in the first place. "So what kind of dirt does your mom have on you to get you to come here?"
"Dirt—" Evan turns. The sunset colors of the sky—pollution, Jared's brain supplies—reflect just so on his blond hair. "She doesn't have dirt on me, she's my mother."
"And I'm your family friend. Which means I'm basically family. You heard Katie." Katie is the camp leader.
"So?" Evan's eyes search the parking lot, like he can't wait to get out of this conversation. The kids leave before the counselors, even, yes, the Junior Counselors, and it's just the two of them now. Jared drove himself. Evan's waiting, so Jared is also waiting.
"So? And I have some dirt on you. I have so much shit on you, Evan, up to your chin in shit that's how much shit I have."
Evan turns and stares at Jared. "Are you going to tell them?" he asks, very seriously.
"Tell who?"
"I don't know." Gesturing. "Anybody. Are you going to tell them."
"No, relax. I wasn't even talking about Connor." Jared wasn't talking about anything. He just said that.
"Oh." Evan shifts. "So what dirt?"
"Shit," Jared corrects, because he's still thinking.
"What shit?"
"You jack off to Zoe Murphy." Why is it always Zoe? Why is that always where Jared's mind goes?
Why is that a question? He knows why.
Predictably, Evan goes pink and irritated and denies, "I don't know how many times I have to tell you—I don't jerk off to Zoe."
"Eh, keep telling me, maybe it'll stick."
Evan lights up. "Oh—there's my mom."
"Yeah, good talking to you too, shithead." Jared's careful to say shithead as inoffensively as possible. "Bye."
He spots the exact moment Evan realizes Jared was waiting for Evan, because his car is already here. He did offer a ride, but he doesn't think Evan thought about that too much.
And then he leaves before he can wait for Evan to find a way to say thank you without making it weird.
Spoiler alert: he would've made it weird.
So that's the first day.
Or, at least, all the parts of the first day that matter—the Evan parts.
The second day is better. On the second day, Jared and Evan are tasked with managing lanyard-making—real important stuff—with this plastic-elastic stuff they call "string" which is not string.
"It's string, Jared." Evan has blue and white. He seems partial to the blue and white, even though everything is neon, so it doesn't exactly have the same calming vibe his favorite shirt does.
Not that Jared spends a lot of brainpower thinking about the effect of Evan's shirt on Evan's state of mind via color vibes.
"It's not string."
"What else would you call it?"
They're lucky the kids clearly understand this better than Evan and Jared themselves, or they'd actually have to—shudder—engage with the little fuckers.
"Plastic lacing," one of the kids says.
"Plastic-elastic," Jared counters. His is better.
"No, it's literally called plastic lacing." The kid would know—they're doing this very impressive corkscrew thing with colors that match their outfit. They obviously have experience, because they're not even watching their fingers.
"Ah." Jared nods. "I like plastic-elastic better."
"Be kind to the ten-year-olds, Jared," Evan mutters. Jared likes the way Evan says his name. Evan says Jared the way one might say asshole. It gives Jared a stupid skip in his chest. Who else would Evan be so rude to?
"I like yours," the same kid says matter of factly. They push thick brown curls behind their ear, pointing at Evan's wobbly little neon blue-and-white lanyard, and then to Evan's shirt. "It matches."
So it does. Since the blue is so neon, it lands somewhere pretty close to the turquoise of Evan's shirt. "Oh. Thank you." Evan's throat bobs nervously. "You too. I mean, I like yours too."
"Don't be so afraid of the ten-year-olds, Evan," Jared murmurs, leaning over to grab the blue himself. He'll make one that matches his shirt, too. And coincidentally matches Evan's lanyard. Which is the kind of thing that would be cute if they were both ten and is instead kind of pathetic that Jared's even thinking about it. But you have to fish for scraps in summer camp, unless there's somewhere cool to make out with someone—namely, not the bathroom.
"We can hear you from across the table," the kid says.
"Sorry." Evan stomps deliberately on Jared's toes. "We're sorry. That was, that was rude. We're sorry."
This effort causes him to be rather close to Jared, close enough that Jared can feel his body heat—not a pleasant thing to feel in the already hot summer sun, but surprisingly nice because it's Evan even though it's actually not nice at all. Jared has given up trying to figure out how his body makes decisions about how to make him feel, since it obviously can't make up its mind either.
He smells like deodorant and sweat. Jared doesn't know if Evan wears cologne, but he suspects not.
He wants to make out with Evan in the bathroom.
"Yeah sorry," Jared agrees.
The pressure on his toes eases. The proximity to Evan decreases as Evan steps away, apparently mollified. It feels nice, the decreasing amount of heat from Evan's skin that reaches Jared's skin. It feels not very nice, the decreasing amount of heat from Evan's skin that reaches Jared's skin.
"Um," says Evan. "Jared, do you—Jared, could you help—do you know how to end it? I mean, how to, like, close it?"
Jared does not. "Yeah," says Jared. "Let me look it up."
"That's not," says Evan. "Technology-free summer camp, Jared."
Jared, Jared, Jared. Evan says his name a lot. To Jared, it never gets old. "Eh."
"Jared." Evan hisses. He's stepped closer now—score!—as Jared reaches into his back pocket. They were literally so dumb about it, at the beginning of the day. They said no phones, please put your phones away in your lockers and then just left it at that. Jared has had his phone in his back pocket and his sweatshirt tied around his waist all day. Technology at his fingertips. Even if he doesn't use it. "You're going to get in trouble."
"Ooooh," one of the kids says. A couple of others join in. "Ooooh!"
Evan looks legitimately concerned they could be crucified for pulling out phones when they aren't supposed to—they are technically supposed to keep their partners in check, so Evan would also come under fire, technically.
"I'm kidding," Jared says, "I'm kidding. I don't have my phone."
"Liar," the curly brown-haired one accuses, but they're soon distracted by someone taking the spool that they had lined up. "Hey! I had that one first—I just need to cut a piece—hey!"
"Don't fight with the scissors," Jared says. It looks like it could happen. "Those are sharp."
"Those are sharp," Evan echoes under his breath, and Jared can't help a grin.
"Hey, whatever, shut up."
The spool is relinquished, no thanks to Evan or Jared's intervention.
"We're going to get fired," Jared says matter-of-factly, and Evan grimaces. "But that's okay, you hate this already."
"That doesn't mean I want to get fired." Evan's still turning the lanyard this way and that, trying to figure out how to tie it off without looking like he's lost. He's lost. It's obvious.
The little frown he has is making Jared's hands go tight around his own plastic-elastic, overwhelmed with the urge to touch Evan. It's so stupid. Touch Evan and do what? What, Jared? Touch his elbow and show him how to tie it off? Jared doesn't even know how to tie it off. Touch Evan's little frown and tell him to smile? That's way out of Jared's capacity for courage.
"Why for the money or to avoid the deep disappointment on your mother's face when you tell her you couldn't even talk to children."
"We can hear you."
"Sorry," Evan and Jared both say. And they look at each other, and something happens—they laugh. Both of them. At themselves. Together.
It's weird. It's insane.
It's really nice.
"Here." Jared touches Evan's elbow. "I'll show you how to tie it off."
"Your lanyards are matching," Heidi says when she picks them up at the front of camp—they are once again the last ones left. "They're even both coming apart! Is that on purpose? Is that the cool thing to do with lanyards now?"
They've agreed to carpool, which meant Jared actually had to take the bus here so he didn't leave his car, but he didn't mind. A bus full of children louder and more immature than maybe even Jared himself for a ride with Evan? (And his mom.) It's worth it.
"No, mom," Evan says, as if it's a chore to even get the words out. "Lanyards aren't cool."
"Lanyards are not cool in any form," Jared agrees. "I'm wearing mine forever."
It's actually not, like, a wearing thing. Apparently, these chunky… lines… go on backpacks and keyrings and things. Which, yes, Jared knew that, but he's surprised that people actually did that, and it wasn't, like, a thing that only people in Google Images did. In any case, it's the wrong decision. He's looped a string through his and hung it around his neck.
"And they're coming apart because Jared said he knew how to end it," Evan goes on. "But, I mean, obviously he did not. I mean, as you can see."
"Dishonor to me, for I am a liar," Jared agrees again. "But it made us matching, Evan, aren't we adorable?"
"No, Jared." He says it the way he says no, mom.
Jared grins. "You totally think we're adorable."
Evan has obediently put his lanyard around his neck as well, on Jared's insistence that they match. He didn't know how to attach it to a key ring or his backpack. He's adorable like that, definitely, for sure, with the tips of his ears pink and the ends of his plastic-elastic sticking out as if it's an unfinished project, fiddling with the string around his neck.
"I think you're adorable," Heidi says. "Both of you. I need a picture of this."
Evan shoots a look at Jared that clearly says look what you've done.
Jared agrees: this has gone too far. Photos are not it. No. He's got a pimple somewhere on his face, definitely, and he's probably a little flushed from the sun and a lot flushed from being around Evan, and his glasses are sweaty and they keep sliding down his nose. His hair is likely to be a mess, based on how much the rest of him seems to be a mess.
But more than that, photos taken by mothers are objectively the worst thing to happen, ever, to anyone.
Except, like, falling in love with the wrong person and happening to be an asshole to them on occasion. Common occasion. Like, that's also pretty bad.
"Ms. Hansen," Jared says. "I would love to take a photo with your son."
Evan sighs.
"Closer!" Heidi says, as Evan wanders reluctantly over to the big, plastic stand-up sign that bears the camp name and logo and stands by it. "Jared! You have to get closer, or I won't be able to fit you both in the frame."
Jared's only like a foot away. But then there is the sign, by Evan's right foot, which must be half the frame. It'll be a very uneven picture.
"Alright…" Heidi's holding up her phone with one hand and holding out the pointer finger of her other. "Put your arm around him, Evan."
Evan takes a breath beside Jared—such a big breath that their arms brush. And then he lifts his arm, all halfhearted and unenthusiastic and shit, and wraps it loosely around Jared's shoulders. His hand can barely be said to be on Jared's shoulder.
"Evan, honey…"
Jared laughs. He can feel Evan's awkward energy like an aura, but it kind of makes him giddy. Evan could be throwing up and Jared would be giddy. "She's asking you to take a nice picture, Evan, not have sex," he says, pushing up closer under Evan's arm, like he's playing around. He's not really. Playing around.
They're both sweaty and hot and their feet probably both hurt—Jared's definitely do—but Jared would stay here forever and ever and ever.
Evan pulls his arm more firmly around Jared's shoulders so his bare arm brushes the back of Jared's neck. It's so fucking not a big deal. Jared's dying.
"Okay," Evan says. "Take the picture, mom."
"Aw, honey, you have to smile…"
Jared's terrible at smiling on command; he looks like a maniac. But that's fine—right now he doesn't have to fake the smile. If anything, he probably looks really happy. Like way too happy, because that is not Jared Kleinman's usual LookTM.
But whatever. He's happy. Fucking sue him.
"Okay!"
Heidi Hansen is one of those moms who takes the picture with the other hand. Who hits the picture button with the index finger.
She is so deeply uncool.
Evan removes his arm from Jared's shoulders, and the back of Jared's neck is both happy and sad. "Okay," Evan says back, taking the front seat.
"You don't want to sit in the back with your friend?" Heidi asks, like Jared isn't right there.
"Do you, I mean. Should I? Jared do you want me in the back?"
That's a very clever checkmate because no, Jared cannot be honest and say he wants Evan in the back, and Evan knows that. It would be pathetic.
"You're good," Jared assures him.
Evan looks at his mom. Heidi sighs, long and drawn out, and turns the key.
Jared loves Evan's family. He loves seeing Evan's family at work, all the gears turning in their dysfunctional, loving ways. He kind of likes being a family friend.
But like that's not the kind of thing you say, ever, so he gets into the backseat and watches them not talk, and then start talking at the same time. Evan messes with the station until he finds some classical jazz—fucking Zoe Murphy shit—and Heidi turns the volume up to an unacceptable level for classical jazz.
Evan puts his lanyard over the rearview mirror hesitantly, after Heidi tells him to a couple of times.
"That's a safety hazard," Jared says from the back.
"Oh, it's alright," Heidi says, waving Jared off and smiling at him. "I can manage. I like the colors."
"Mom," Evan says suddenly, "the road."
Heidi brakes hard.
Evan and Jared both laugh.
The second day. Very good.
Day three sucks. Jared and Evan aren't put together in anything. This is because they rotate partners, technically, but it is also because the universe hates Jared and likes to do deeply vexing things, like pairing Evan up with the kid who's wearing all black yet again and him turning out not only to be attractive, but particularly charmed by Evan. Possibly because he would like to be frightening, and Evan's general anxiety makes it appear that Evan is nervous because of him… possibly because Evan's cute as fuck…
In any case, Jared's not in the same place as Evan except for the group activities: icebreaker in the morning, lunch in the middle of it all, scattered across the fields.
Lunch is nice. He sits with Evan. He eats food. He tries very hard not to chew loudly, even though it seems like the volume of the children around them should make it unnecessary to worry about gross chewing sounds. Who knows? Not Jared. Better safe than sorry.
"You brought your own lunch this time," Jared comments. "Wise choice, my Padawan."
"Yeah, well. My mom packed it for me."
"Your mom packed you a lunch?" Jared laughs. He's got, like, a handful of crackers in a plastic bag with some cheese, but Evan has a full-on sandwich. Then again, Evan genuinely eats lunch, and Jared doesn't really, except when it isn't socially acceptable to decline lunch. "Aren't you, like, going to college soon?"
Evan shrugs, picking at the crust of his whitebread PB&J. "Um, no. I mean. No. I am going, but, like, to community college? So it's not like I'm going to be far from home."
"Ah." Jared nods. This is so not cool. Evan should come with him to UC Santa Cruz and Jared can continue to get his fix of Evan—what's he going to do now? At least, he thinks, he'll come back to his hometown for summer and winter and spring break, and Evan will be here.
How gay is that? Coming back home and seeing this boy for like an hour a day for five days—or less—and then going back to college and pining like he's making money for it? And not even being together? Just being a sad gay? So gay.
Jared is so gay.
It's fine. Someone had to be the stereotype.
"Ah?" Evan echoes, his brow creasing. "Whatever, Jared, I can't, like, we don't have the funds to send me to a nice college. And it's not like I really have the grades for it anyway, you know?"
"Mmm, neither do I." Jared offers Evan the plastic bag of crackers.
"But you 'showed promise.'" Evan declines the crackers.
"Yeah. Well. Shit means nothing, you know? Whatever." Jared puts the bag in his lap anyway. "Just take the dead guy's money, man. Come on."
"Jared, that would be so, so, so wrong." Evan looks deeply disturbed by even the mention of the idea. "How can you even say that? God."
"You're the one who did the shit!" Jared doesn't have to specify which shit. All the shit. Every single shitty piece of it. "And somehow the Murphys still love you? That's their mistake, man."
"Oh my god."
"Take the money, go to college, wala! Evan Hansen is a made man."
"What does that mean? A made man."
"Dunno."
"Mm."
A moment.
Two.
"So, like, that's it?"
Jared glances at Evan. He can't look at Evan too much; he has to take Evan in small doses. If he overdoses it's all over. Something will explode. Either Jared's dick (exploding in the form of getting hard, which is perhaps a flattering way to describe it) or his brain (exploding and leaving Jared to his kiss-Evan impulses) or his heart (leaving Jared to die. Metaphorically? Literally? World is full of mysteries.)
"That's it, what?"
"You're not going to, uh, you know." Evan tears at the soft sandwich bread. He's wrecking it. At least he's also eating it. "Like. Give me, you know, crap for the whole Connor thing?"
"Crap is a swear word for cowards," Jared says mildly.
"You've said crap. You say crap all the time."
"Look at you, using it even more. Coward, coward." Jared shakes his head exaggeratedly. "No. I am not going to give you more crap for the Connor Project. But you just wait for me to start giving you shit, Evan Hansen, then you'll wish I was giving you crap."
"You think you're funny, Jared, but you're really not." Evan Hansen, always chewing on his bottom lip after he gives one of his rare insults, completely ruining the effect.
Jared wants to be the one biting Evan's lip.
Stupid thought.
"You think I'm funny," Jared accuses lamely. Because Evan's lip is deeply distracting and there's nothing better to say.
"Anyway, I'm not taking the Murphy's money," Evan says, like Jared didn't just talk. That's fair enough. "I don't even know if it's on the table and we're, like, definitely not going to ask, because of course, it's not on the table."
"You don't know if it's on the table, but of course it's on the table," Jared repeats. "Anyway. Your loss, man, but you're making bank here to get on your way to that degree."
"I am making. The tiniest bank, Jared. I'm making, like, local credit union."
Jared laughs. He points at Evan. "You're funny."
Evan bites his lip. He looks like he's going to smile, like he's trying not to, his cheeks flushed. "Shut up." It's a very sweet shut up.
They're so stupid, the both of them. Jared loves it. God fucking dammit he's so stupid and it's so stupid that he loves that they're stupid. It would be different if they were cute stupid or together stupid but Evan doesn't even like him that way—they're just awkward stupid.
And Jared wouldn't want it any other way.
Obviously, the next step is to mess it all up.
"So how was it working with Connor Murphy two-point-oh?" he asks, gesturing across the meadow to the guy in black. He's got short hair, but he does have the black nails. "Seems gay."
Evan frowns. "I don't think he is."
"Gaydar. Broken."
"Yeah, well, I don't, I mean. It wasn't like—is it because he has painted nails?" Evan's looking at the guy a little too closely now, considering, and then looking away and considering again, the way he does when he's staring but he doesn't want to get caught.
"No, I think he is because he was flirting with you," Jared says, "He was, like, making you smile and shit."
He only realizes after he says this that it reveals that he's been watching Evan, taking note of whether he's been smiling.
Good god.
"He wasn't," Evan says. "He was telling me about a cute girl."
"That's what gay guys do all the time," Jared declares. "Make up cute girls to like."
Like the Israeli girl. Who was a spur of the moment line, and then a picture off the internet, which fooled nobody. Especially since Evan already knew he was gay. But he was in the middle of the hallway; what was he supposed to say? My summer was good because I thought about you?
No.
And anyway, gay guys cop feels now and again, probably, because plenty of them are much cooler than Jared.
"Like the Israeli girl from the military?" Evan says. Mindreader.
"Yup."
"Why'd you send me a photo anyway? We both knew she was fake."
"Keeping up appearances."
"Have you ever been with anyone?"
"Shit kinda question is that, Hansen? You think if I got my dick in someone I wouldn't have come pounding on your door to brag?"
Evan shrugs. "Okay. He's not gay, though."
"Eh." Jared waves his hand. "Gay, straight, it's all gay."
"That's my cue to leave the conversation."
And talk to who? They both know Evan isn't leaving—he's not even pretending to pick up his things. "Yes, do," Jared says, and then, "But he's cute, though, right? Your bi ass has to have been looking."
And so the rest of lunch consists of evaluating an attractive probably male-liking guy who Evan worked with all morning. Because Jared. Has no brain.
Day three: not super fun.
Evan and Jared are setting up bread baking.
It's such a weird, weird thing to do, Jared thinks, bread-baking at summer camp. But he likes it—the soft, pillowy risen dough in the plastic bags, warmed by the sun, the smell of yeast around them. They had different stations earlier that day, in separation, but they've paired up again for the afternoon. After all, with five junior camp counselors, there aren't many different combinations you can make, especially when the fraternal twins/sisters (Jared still hasn't figured it out) pair off.
It's been nearly a week. About time.
"Been a while," says Jared. That isn't really true; Jared's been driving Evan home after they realized they could remove Heidi from the equation, and conspired immediately to do so. Not in a gay way, just in a get-rid-of-the-awkward-mom-please way.
Evan hums. Since they're the afternoon, they don't have to deal with many of the kids, except those who ask when their bread is going to be ready. The answer: not yet.
Their dough, which they made and added things to—raisins, cinnamon, whatever other things were here in the morning—has been set in the summer sun to rise, and it rises well. It's very, very soft.
"Jared, stop squishing them," Evan says from beside him, pulling the bag Jared has in his hands gently away. "You can't ruin a child's bread because you like poking it."
"I can and I will," Jared says, "but I won't."
"You're contradictory," Evan says unhelpfully, arranging the bread bags into nice rows. They have the kids names in sharpie. When the kid comes by and says their name, Evan and Jared are supposed to just take their word for it.
Sure.
Whoever organized this didn't understand kids.
The thing about the afternoon bread shift: there's barely anything to do at all but sit and wait for the dough to rise. And rise. And rise.
Evan pulls up a chair.
Jared sits in it.
Evan pulls up another chair.
Jared props his feet up on it.
Evan pushes Jared's feet off.
"You know," Jared says, relinquishing the chair with grace and generosity and a roll of his eyes, "You never told me why you're here. Clearly wasn't your idea, and your mom's never gone to these extremes before."
Evan's mouth becomes an unhappy line.
Interesting.
Also, sad. Jared doesn't want to make Evan sad; it tugs at his heart. This is a very unfortunate thing for Jared, all the tugging at his heart, because Evan looks sad for about half the time he's conscious and in Jared's presence (otherwise, he's vaguely pissed off and/or annoyed, completely because of Jared's inability to shut is mouth).
"My therapist," he says. "Actually. There's like, kind of several reasons."
"List," Jared orders.
Evan looks around, as if he's wondering if he should go into this apparent epic tale, or if someone's going to come and interrupt him and cause him to feel awkward about not finishing his story. Which is something he does a lot.
"One," he says, when it's obvious no one is coming. After a week, people have kind of begun to understand that bread dough does not rise immediately. "I'm supposed to, you know, interact. Participate."
Yikes, how many times has Jared heard that from his parents? It's all he hears. Mostly, kind of. "Not bad advice for the great Evan Hansen."
"Yeah, well. And I'm going to college and everything, and so my mom's working extra long at her job so she can save, you know?"
"Yeah, I'll bet she got some more shifts when she realized she didn't have to pick you up," Jared says. Heidi had seemed relieved to see that Jared had a car and also a little disappointed. Like it meant something she was trying to avoid happened.
Evan nods. "Yeah. And so. Stop poking the bread. And so. She wanted me to do something over the summer, since she wouldn't be home and I don't, like, go out, so she thought, you know, this would be a good job for me to kind of… talk to people who are less intimidating."
"Who knew you'd be talking to me more than anybody!" Jared laughs. "Always backfiring."
"Is it?" Evan taps on the edge of the table, sitting back in his chair. "Backfiring, I mean. I've made a friend."
"You've got a friend in me, la la la," Jared agrees, pretending hearing those words isn't making him absolutely implode.
"Connor two-point-oh," Evan says, and then, immediately afterward, as if he can't bear to actually be mean, "I'm kidding, it's you."
"Son of a bitch," Jared grumbles, kicking Evan's shin. "I thought you were having gay sex already."
Evan's cheeks flush pink. "Not with anything but my hand."
"Uh—?" Jared almost falls out of his chair.
"Sorry, I don't know why I said that. Sorry. That's not—nobody says that—"
"If you were going for the shock factor, Hansen, it worked. But I think the yeast is getting you high." Jared. Is speaking words. After Evan Hansen made a reference to masturbating. After Evan Hansen made a reference to Evan Hansen masturbating.
And hey, Jared is a youth.
And youth, as they say, have such vivid imaginations.
But anyway.
Evan with his shirt all bunched up to his stomach and his hand down low—
But anyway.
And his hand is moving.
But anyway.
"You were just talking about sex," Evan splutters, "Like you do every time you want to, like, trip me up. I wanted to, like—nevermind."
"If you were trying to return the favor, it backfired onto you," Jared says.
Untrue.
Evan's hand is moving under his shorts. His mouth is open.
Jared's imagination is going to give Jared a very bad situation.
"Anyway," Evan says, as if they just. Didn't have that conversation at all. "Now I'm here and I have had, um, some social interaction with, with you and some ten-year-olds, so like. Social butterfly of our year, right?"
"I thought you were a Junior Park Ranger or something last year?" Jared asks. "Why didn't she just sign you up there again?"
"I broke my arm," Evan says flatly. There's something else in his voice. A guard. A shadow. "She doesn't want a repeat."
"Huh." Jared wants to know what the shadow is of. Is that weird? To want to know a guy's problems? Probably most people want to know each other's successes, what makes them cool or whatever. He doesn't know. "So just don't climb trees."
"Yeah, well, I think she wants me to have supervision," Evan says. "I mean, be watched at all times, you know?"
"Like you're a camper, not a counselor," Jared jokes. "Still a child, aww, little baby Evan. Would you like to make some lanyards out of plastic-elastic? Come on, that's mean of her. It's not like you fell out of the tree on purpose."
Evan laughs.
It's not a funny laugh. It is not in any way a humorous laugh.
It's a hollow laugh.
It chills Jared to the bone.
"Whatever, Jared," Evan says, in a voice that suggests his mind far too preoccupied with something else to come up with a response.
"It's not like," Jared says more slowly, stretching the words like balloons, hoping Evan will pop them. "You fell out. Of the tree. On purpose. Evan."
Evan excuses himself to the bathroom.
Jared feels the ground beneath his feet beginning to crumble. Jesus, he thinks, Jesus fuck, JESUS FUCK.
"You good?" he says in the car, like an idiot, as Evan climbs into the passenger seat.
Evan doesn't look quite as shaken as he did earlier in the afternoon. He looks like he's gotten over it a little, settled back into the day enough to do the closing all-camper gathering.
Jared hasn't recovered.
Evan's the one who dropped himself from a forty-foot tree, but Jared hasn't recovered.
"Yeah," says Evan.
"You're great, you know," says Jared. It's easier to say when he's driving. When he's looking at the road and he can keep staring at the road and it won't be a weird thing to do. "I mean, you're a fucking loser, and you're weird and you're definitely not cool, but you're great in your own way."
"Yeah, thanks for the clarification," Evan says. He's looking out of his side window.
"I mean, like." Jared doesn't know how to say this. Jared has no idea, no idea how to say this. "I mean. Like don't kill yourself."
"Fuck," Evan says. His voice wobbles. "Shut up, Jared."
"No, I mean." Jared can't stop. He can never shut the fuck up. "Like, please. Like, I just—I—Fuck, you know? I mean, you're like, it, you know? It's not about me, like clearly this is about you, but—I mean—"
The words.
Will.
Not.
Stop.
Now he knows what it feels like to be Evan.
What a stupid, ugly thought.
"Shut up, Jared."
"I just mean, like, I love you or whatever, okay?"
"Just stop talking, Jared!"
"Yeah." That's a good idea. Jared has fucked literally everything. Everything. Is fucked. Why did he even say that? Shutting up. A genius, genius idea. "Shutting up. Yes."
Evan is spluttering.
The road traffic. Fascinating stuff. There's a blue car that just cut in front of Jared without signaling, and it's darting ahead, changing lanes again without signaling, and it's deeply interesting to see how it leaves all the other cars behind by sheer force of its assholery.
"I love you or whatever?" Evan finally echoes loudly. "What the fuck is that, Jared? I mean, really, what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I love you!" Jared says back, just as loud. "What the fuck does it sound like it means?"
"It sounds like a lie Jared, like a really bad lie."
"It's not a fucking lie!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! I'm sure!"
"Well—I'm—not sure!"
"Who fucking cares?"
They're so stupid. Both of them. They're so, so stupid. Jared loves them both. The two of them. Evan slightly more.
But like Jesus fucking Christ, they're both such idiots, what are they doing? What are they saying?
How is this—this!—the way Jared finally says I love you?
He hasn't even specified it's romantic.
Maybe because that's not what matters most. What matters first is the love. What matters second is the nature of it.
"Whatever," Jared says. "I don't even know why I said that. Just don't fucking—whatever. Shit."
Silence. Or, at least, human silence; Evan does not say a single word. After the bearing of Jared's heart! Jared supposes Evan's heart has also been bared, in a way. In the worst of all possible ways, except the obvious one. Except the one where Evan's stupid, terrible plan worked.
Traffic! Continues to fascinate him. They're almost to Evan's place, and people are honking kind of a lot. It's that kind of area.
Jared pulls into the driveway.
"Have something," Evan says suddenly from the passenger's.
Jared blinks. "What?"
"Come… in. And have something."
"...what do you have?"
"Jared, oh my god, just come."
Jared looks at Evan. He's so pretty. Jared put his own lanyard on his own car in honor of Heidi's (Evan-and-Heidi's?) car, and Evan took it off, and now he's wearing Jared's lanyard.
He looks emotionally exhausted and the kind of hopeful that Jared has never, ever felt.
The romantic kind of hopeful. The kind they see in movies.
The kind where they know, really, what's going to happen, and they know, really, how the other person feels.
And, traditionally, they happen to feel the same way.
That kind of romantic hope.
So Jared goes into Evan's house, and he orders them both some food because Evan doesn't like the phone and goddammit, Evan's had a fucking day today, and they both eat it and argue half-heartedly about pineapple, because neither of them have any real effort in them.
And they don't kiss or say they like each other, or whatever sort of thing romantic hopefuls usually do. But they will.
Because when Jared's leaving, he turns at the door and he says, "I'm glad it's Summer Camp Couselor for you. And not Junior Park Ranger."
And Evan knows what he means. He reaches out, touches Jared's shoulder, swallows. "See you at camp tomorrow," he says.
And Jared knows what he means.