A/N: So sorry for the delay in updating! I'm usually much better with my WIPs, and I plan to be better with this story going forward. This chapter was very difficult for me, partly because it's still establishing the routine of the camp and the pacing kept feeling boxy, and partly for reasons unknown...? So I'd really love to hear from you guys if you have suggestions, questions, etc.! Julads helped a lot with my revisions on this, for which I am very grateful. I'm also grateful to you guys who are still reading for waiting for this chapter, and I hope to update much more quickly next time. Please let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!
Kyle is not accustomed to waking before dawn, and based on the groans and curses coming from the other beds, he assumes that Clyde and Eric aren't either. Butters, however, hops out of bed like a soldier ready for his morning drills. Wendy has entered the cabin to wake them, and she's holding an actual lantern with a candle inside. The thing makes her look like she should be wearing a hooded initiation robe, but she's dressed in a pine green MACKEY YOUTH CENTER tank and tight black pants. Kyle blinks at the wall clock as his eyes adjust. It's two minutes after six in the morning, still dark outside and uncomfortably cool in the room.
"I've got a special surprise for you guys!" Wendy says.
"What the hell is this?" Eric asks when he sits up in bed, his hair impressively disordered.
"It's a surprise," Wendy says, more flatly. "And you guys are going to love it. You need to get used to waking up this early, because we start our workouts at sunrise. Aren't you excited to watch the sunrise?" she asks, turning to Kyle, who can't even comprehend what she's talking about, still groggy and confused by this woman's sudden presence in the middle of their cabin. Kyle didn't sleep well, restless with anxiety about this whole experience and irritated by the various sounds of the other boys, and by the very knowledge of their too-close presence. He's never shared a room with anyone before.
"Are you going to watch us get dressed?" Clyde asks Wendy, pulling his blankets up to his chin.
"Of course not," she says. "I'll step out. Put on the uniforms in the top drawer of your wardrobe." She indicates Kyle's, which is under the desk surface, three drawers built in on the right side. "They should fit you perfectly, since your parents sent your measurements ahead of time. But in a couple of weeks I think you'll find that they're pretty loose! Alright, meet me outside in five minutes."
As Wendy exits, Butters is already rifling through his camp wardrobe. Kyle hasn't examined his yet, and he slumps over to the top drawer to do so. Today's getup is similar to what Wendy was wearing: a green t-shirt with the Mackey logo and a pair of stretchy black pants that look like they'll fit tightly. They're allowed to wear their own socks and sneakers. Kyle is shivering as he changes in the dark, glad that no one has put the lights on. Eric is still in bed, and Clyde is in the bathroom. Butters is doing up the laces on his sneakers.
"What do you think the surprise will be?" Butters asks when Kyle searches his bag for his own shoes, yawning.
"Probably some total bullshit," Eric says. "Like a spinach smoothie."
"You'd better get ready," Kyle says to him. Eric snorts as if this is ridiculous, but he throws his blankets off and goes to his drawer, groaning as if he's in agony and scratching at himself. Clyde emerges from the bathroom and closes the door behind him, looking nervous. Kyle has to pee, and he braces himself for whatever remnants of Clyde's morning routine are lingering in there.
When they're all dressed they file outside, where the hills that surround the valley have begun to glow faintly with the promise of daybreak. Wendy is still carrying the lantern, though the path is illuminated by in-ground lights that are placed among the landscaped cacti. Kyle has been too overwhelmed to fully take in the landscape until now, and as he wakes fully he surveys the surrounding hills and the peaceful quiet of the grounds. It's nice, he has to admit, spa-like. He wonders how much his parents are paying, then worries that they'll feel they didn't get their money's worth if he doesn't come back chiseled and strong, or at least significantly thinner.
He's disappointed when they arrive at their destination: not the indoor gym or even the pool, but a circular clearing at the edge of the camp's property, looking out toward the pristine golf course and the nature preserve that abuts the dusty little town. Some soft, soothing music is playing, but Kyle can't locate its source. There are mats spread out on the sandy floor of the clearing, four of them already occupied by the girls from Cabin Ten. Henrietta is lying down on hers, and she appears to be asleep, her arms crossed over her sizable chest. Bebe and Tammy wave, and Rebecca doesn't seem to notice or care about their approach. She's bent over a book, reading it by the light of kind of miner's head lamp device.
"The surprise," Wendy says, smiling as she walks to a mat that faces the other eight. "Is sunrise yoga!"
Some among the group groan. Kyle isn't too thrilled himself. Balance and flexibility are not among his talents.
"Guys, really," Wendy says. "Open your hearts to this experience. Look around you – boys, take a mat. Notice how the desert is beautiful at sunrise. It's glowing, see, coming to life? Just take a minute to sit quietly and breathe. Rebecca, please put that away. The light, too. Thank you."
Kyle tries to mimic the positions that Wendy demonstrates as much as possible, but his balance is not very good. The energy required seems minimal, and he's surprised when he starts to sweat. Butters and Bebe are the most successful at contorting themselves and holding the poses. Kyle tries not to resent this, focusing instead on his own work, and sometimes glancing over at Eric, who is hopelessly unwieldy and impatient with Wendy when she tries to direct his movements. Kyle feels almost bad for him, but he does enjoy it when Eric topples over in a shaky heap after trying to balance on one foot.
The group heads to breakfast afterward, red-faced and sweaty, their limbs still trembling. Kyle falls into step beside Rebecca, trying to avoid Eric, who always seems to zero in on him.
"What are you reading?" he asks, nodding to her book and head lamp, which she's carrying now. The sun has come up; it's already getting hot, though it can't be later than seven AM.
"It's a silly little thing," Rebecca says, passing him the book. "A summertime diversion."
"Neither Brain nor Ghost," Kyle reads from the cover. "A Non-Dualist Alternative to the Mind-Brain Identity Theory."
"I like to read this kind of garbage when I'm not in school," Rebecca says, reclaiming the book with a shrug. "To give myself a holiday from more serious thinking."
"That's garbage?" Kyle says, not even sure what the subject matter is.
"Well, yes. I think most modern psychological larks like this are, don't you?"
"Sure." Kyle is beginning to regret asking. He's either embarrassingly out of his depth or she's slightly nuts; possibly both. "What, uh. Where do you go to school?"
"I'm home schooled," she says, apparently without shame.
"Ah. Cool."
"Kyle!" Wendy calls, rescuing him from the conversation. She points to the nurse's station, which is up ahead. "This is your pit stop. Go take your medicine before we eat."
Kyle obeys eagerly, hoping to find Stan inside. Instead there is a willowy older woman in pine green scrubs and Craig, the nutritionist. He's leaning against the examining table and frowning.
"Are you Kyle Broflovski?" he asks. Kyle wants to say that he's not. He glances at the nurse, who seems equally humorless.
"Yeah," Kyle says. "That's me."
"Good. I'm going to oversee your insulin intake this summer. Not personally, not every day, but generally I'm going to monitor what you take. I've got my most trusted intern on the job."
"Stan?" Kyle says, surprised that Craig trusts him, considering that Stan said that Craig could suck his dick. Perhaps Kyle misinterpreted that remark.
"He's late," Craig says, glancing at a watch that looks expensive. He's again wearing clothing much too heavy for the desert in summer: a blazer over black jeans and a t-shirt. "Nurse, will you get the supplies? I have a consultation in five minutes."
Kyle wonders if this woman is offended that Craig refers to her as 'nurse,' which implies that he doesn't know or care to know her name. He takes his insulin and listens to Craig's promises that regulating it strictly might be the key to his weight loss problems. Kyle nods politely, half wanting to tell Craig that he ate a full size bag of Cheetos in one sitting a couple of weeks before he came here. It's possible, he supposes, that his insulin intake is affecting his appetite, but his drive to get to the bottom of a Cheetos bag has never felt like hunger so much as miserable boredom and pervasive despair.
Stan enters while Craig is still talking, Kyle barely listening. Stan looks half asleep, bags under his eyes and his hair still wet. Kyle smiles at him hopefully, but Stan is looking at Craig.
"You're late," Craig says.
"Sorry. My alarm-"
"Mr. Marsh, the entire premise of this organization is predicated upon order. That's what these children lack, and what they need. I've selected you to oversee this particular special needs child because the more - demanding one is being overseen by Mr. Black, and, as you know, your friend Wendy and I don't exactly get along."
"Yeah, I know that."
"Please assure me that this won't happen again. I don't have time to personally stand and watch every injection."
"You won't have to." Stan glances at Kyle, looking guilty. "It won't happen again. I'll get Wendy to fix my alarm."
Kyle wonders if Stan and Wendy are sleeping together. Probably. They have a sibling-like resemblance but they look good together nonetheless.
Craig breezes out to go to his appointment and the nurse steps into the little office adjacent to the front room, leaving Stan and Kyle alone together. Stan shakes his head slowly, holding Kyle's gaze.
"That guy," Stan says, quietly, because the nurse's office door is open.
"He said you're his most trusted intern," Kyle says. Stan snorts.
"I'm the only intern. Token and Wendy are actual employees. They get benefits and everything."
"Oh. Craig said Token was in charge of the other special needs kid?"
"Yeah." Stan moves closer to the examining table, where Kyle is still sitting, swinging his legs. "Apparently there's a kid here who has, like. Some real issues."
"Really?" Kyle immediately thinks of Eric.
"I don't know the specifics, but he has, like. Bathroom issues."
"Oh! Clyde. Yeah, he's in my cabin. He told me about his colostomy bag when we first met. It was like the second thing he said to me, after his name."
"Wow." Stan looks kind of queasy. "Poor guy. I guess he wanted to get it out of the way, uh. Since you'll be living together. How do you like your cabin mates?"
"I don't," Kyle says, and he's glad when Stan smiles instead of giving him a lecture about positivity. He almost mentions the weirdness with Eric, then decides that would be too much information at this juncture. "Do I need to go to breakfast or something?"
"Oh - shit, yeah. I'll walk you."
It's gotten hotter outside since Kyle entered the nurse's station ten minutes ago. He wonders if Stan would accompany back to his cabin and keep him company while he applied sunscreen, and decides not to push it.
"Did Wendy make you do yoga this morning?" Stan asks as they walk, Kyle keeping an eye out for the lizards that occasionally hop from the path into the sagebrush.
"Yeah," Kyle says. "It was - okay. I'll probably be sore."
"I love yoga," Stan says, which surprises Kyle, though he's not sure why.
"Really?"
"It's like, peaceful? I don't know. It's like the inverse of football."
He keeps bringing up football, and Kyle wonders if he should inquire further, but he's afraid it will be like asking Rebecca about her book. He'd be clearly out of his depth before the conversation could really begin.
"What's up with that lantern?" Kyle asks after a stretch of silence that feels awkward.
"Huh?"
"Wendy had a lantern this morning, um. She came into our cabin with it and brought it to yoga."
"Oh, yeah. She does stuff like that. She was telling me last night about how she wants this to be a 'total experience' for you guys. Not just working out and eating right but, like, rediscovering the positivity of the world, or something."
"Jesus," Kyle mutters, fixating on the last night part. He imagines Stan playing with Wendy's hair in bed while she pontificates about how to help the poor fat kids, and suddenly the way she corrected his footwork during the yoga session seems much more annoying and condescending.
"Yeah, she's into it," Stan says. He shrugs and steps in front of Kyle as they come to the main building, pulling the door open for him. "I guess I am, too. But the lantern is sort of a weird touch, yeah."
The rest of the kids are done with their breakfast, empty trays littering the tables as they talk amongst themselves. Kyle feels self conscious when he collects his tray, and from the corner of his eye he sees Stan taking his place with Token and Wendy at the counselors' table. He must have already eaten.
"Mr. Diabetes," Kenny says, smiling stupidly when Kyle walks up to the counter.
"Please don't call me that."
"Oh, sorry, dude. Craig just filled me in on what's ailing you, that's all. He's gonna adjust your diet if necessary, he says. For now, have some whole wheat pancakes, fruit compote, and a side of turkey bacon!" He gives Kyle three pieces of turkey bacon, which seems excessive, but Kyle doesn't question the portion, his stomach growling as he heads toward the table where the rest of his age group is sitting, some of them still pink-cheeked from the recent exertion.
"Isn't this fucked up?" Eric asks when Kyle sits beside him, not by choice but because it's the only empty seat.
"What?" Kyle mutters, and he hurries to eat some bacon, pinching two pieces together so it will look like one.
"Pancakes?" Eric says. "They call these pancakes? And no syrup, no butter? We're supposed to use fucking fruit as a topping?"
"I don't understand how you continue to be surprised by the selection of foods," Rebecca says. "Did you think they were lying to our parents when they said they would feed us a healthy diet?"
"No, bitch, but butter is not unhealthy! It's fucking dairy!"
"Butter is fat," Kyle says."It's like, pure fat. Did you seriously not know that?"
"He's not wrong about it also being dairy," Rebecca says, and Kyle has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at her.
"I know butter is fattening, no shit," Eric says. "But a little, after that brutal fucking workout? That's too much to ask?"
"I liked the yoga," Bebe says. "I feel energized."
"Me too!" Butters says, beaming at her. "And the sunrise was real pretty."
"God." Henrietta raises her lip at them. Sweating has caused her mascara to smear into dark rings under her eyes, making her look pathetic but also slightly frightening. "You two are so fucking – blond."
After breakfast, Wendy passes out the itinerary for the rest of the day. Kyle is embarrassed to see that he's up first for individual therapy with Dr. Mackey, and he's almost queasy with dread, the wheat pancakes sitting uncomfortably on his stomach. They were a bit heavy, glue-like when chewed.
"Shit," Henrietta says. "Psychotherapy. Like that fucking quack who weighs two pounds can tell me anything about real life."
"That does sound tiring," Rebecca says. "Though I suppose I'm curious about his approach. Not that I truly respect any approach in that field."
"Kyle?" Wendy says, and she places her hand on his shoulder. "May I walk you to the doctor's office?"
"Good luck!" Butters calls as Kyle is lead away, feeling weaponless.
Wendy doesn't seem interested in making small talk, so they walk down the hallway to Mackey's office in silence. Kyle is nervous; he's never been analyzed, and he doesn't want to talk about his sexual orientation. He's afraid he'll blurt something about it or get tricked into admitting it. They come to a door at the end of the main hallway that's slightly ajar, and Wendy nudges it open.
"Dr. M?" she says, peeking inside. "I've got your first appointment here."
Kyle doesn't appreciate being referred to as an 'appointment,' and isn't sure how this gels with Wendy's vaguely spiritual appeals to make him appreciate the sunrise. He allows her to usher him into Mackey's office, bracing himself for the x-ray vision of a professional psychologist.
"We'll see you in the games room when you're done," Wendy says, and she gives Kyle's shoulder a pat before leaving.
"Have a seat, Kyle," Mackey says, gesturing to a couch across from his arm chair. Mackey's office is smaller than Kyle expected, sparsely decorated in pastel tones. There's a large window on the back wall, looking out on the desert, and to Kyle this seems odd, as if the emotional nakedness he might display will be exposed to the elements and potential onlookers.
"I'd just like to personally welcome you to camp," Mackey says. His impossibly long legs are crossed, the raised foot bouncing. Kyle is slumped on the couch, which smells like it's recently been vacuumed. "How do you feel about the experience so far?" Mackey asks.
"It's good," Kyle says. "I like the staff." He thinks of Stan, glancing away from Mackey's stare and focusing on a watercolor of a howling coyote that's hanging on the wall. "They're nice."
"Yeah, they're a great group of kids. So this is just kind of an informal session, mmkay, for me and you to talk about some things you might like to work on this summer. Why don't you tell me a little bit about your life at home?"
"Umm, well. I'm a pretty good student. I don't have a lot of friends. Most of the time I just hang out with my little brother, but. I'm not depressed or anything. I just want to lose some weight. And I'm gonna try. I will."
"Well, that's great to hear, Kyle. I appreciate your enthusiasm. Why is it, do you think, that you don't have a lot of friends?"
"Because most of the people at my high school are dumb hicks."
"Mmkay, and how would you characterize a dumb hick?"
"Someone who doesn't read. Who - who doesn't question anything unless it's different from him, and in that case he attacks it relentlessly because he's terrified by anything he doesn't understand. You know, like. Homophobes."
"You've encountered some homophobia in your hometown?" Mackey says, scribbling something on the notepad he's balanced on his knee.
"Not against me!" Kyle regrets speaking so loudly when Mackey looks up at him, and he sinks back into the couch cushions, his face blazing now. "I'm not gay."
"Mmmkay," Mackey says, slowly, which is irritating. Kyle's eyebrows twitch, but he refuses to glower at this man like a child, which is surely what Eric and Henrietta will do in their sessions. "Would you like to talk about your feelings for the opposite sex?"
"No." Kyle feels as if he's already confessed by protesting too much, but this guy can't make him tell the truth. Not yet, anyway. Probably not ever.
"Alright, okay, that's fine. Let's talk about your parents, then. You're pretty close to your mom?"
"I guess. She's really nosy. And then my dad is just like, so oblivious. It was her idea to send me here. He does whatever she says."
"That's interesting," Mackey says, and he writes more on his notepad. "So you feel like maybe your mom is more invested in your, um, daily activities? Maybe too invested?"
"Yeah, too invested. She's a homemaker, and I wish she wasn't there all the time. I wish I had more privacy."
"Can you give me an example of how she invades your privacy?"
"Looking for snack foods in my room. Which, okay, they're there. And I know it's against the rules. I know I need to stop doing that. But it's almost like – when she comes down on me for it – that just makes me more determined to go behind her back and do what I want."
Kyle talks about his mother for the rest of the hour-long session, which is a relief, because he doesn't have to come back around to the subject of his sexual development, and also because he has a lot to say on the subject and hasn't been able to talk about it before, aside from the occasional mutual grumbling with Ike. He loves his mother, but he feels like she knows everything about him, too much, almost like she's spying on his soul. He rolls his eyes at himself when he hears this out loud, but Mackey nods as if it's an astute observation. When the session is over, Kyle is surprised to realize that the time passed quickly.
As he heads away from Mackey's office he feels lighter, relieved, and also a little guilty, as if his mother will hear a report on what he said. Mackey assured him multiple times that their sessions will remain entirely confidential. Kyle passes Eric and Wendy in the hall, and he has to hold in a laugh when he sees the look on Eric's face. It's petulant but frightened.
"It's not so bad," Kyle says.
"What?" Eric snaps.
"Please go to the game room," Wendy says to Kyle, pointing down the hall. "Just take a left at the water fountains. Have you still got your itinerary?"
"It's in my pocket."
"Good – you've got a free hour to play games or read, whatever you want. Nutrition class is at noon."
"He just said he's still got his itinerary," Eric says, and Wendy gives him a look before ushering him away. Kyle heads toward the game room and wonders what Eric might tell Mackey. Will he trust the doctor enough to discuss his experiences in juvenile hall and their supposed affect on his sexuality? He certainly discussed it easily enough with Kyle, and last night he made 'jerk off rules' for the cabin: in the shower only, unless they happen to be alone in the cabin. Kyle wishes he would have let it go unsaid. Now every time he showers he'll know that the other boys are aware he's jerking his cock, and he'll have to imagine that they're doing the same when it's their turn.
The game room is a sprawling lounge with colorful sofas and several round tables where kids have gathered to play board games and cards. There are no video game machines, to Kyle's dismay. He finds Clyde and Butters playing Monopoly with some younger kids and watches with disinterest, wondering where Rebecca is, though he doesn't particularly want to talk to her, either. He startles when someone lays a hand on his shoulder, and makes an effort not to beam gladly when he sees that it's Stan.
"We're supposed to do an injection before you start nutrition class," he says. "Eating lunch is part of the class."
"Seriously?" Kyle isn't sure how he feels about that.
"Yeah, you guys are going to cook your own food, apparently. So let's head over to the nurse's station and juice you up first."
Heat spreads through Kyle's chest at the thought of being juiced up by Stan, whose large, masculine hands featured in Kyle's shower jerk off fantasies last night. They walk outside together, into the already blistering heat of the early afternoon, and Kyle feels uncomfortably warm within a few steps away from the main building.
"I forgot to put on sunscreen," he says.
"Oh, shit," Stan says. He halts as if maybe they need to run back inside. "Well, they've got it at the nurse's station, if you can make it that far."
"I can make it," Kyle says, offended. "I'm not, like. Sickly, or whatever."
"I know, dude. Just don't want you to get burned." Stan touches his back, and Kyle forgives him immediately. "How was your thing with Mackey?"
"My thing?" Kyle grins, and Stan smiles sheepishly. There's something cowed and apologetic about him that Kyle wants to climb on top of and caress. "It was fine. He's not as bad as I thought he'd be."
"Yeah, he's a pretty nice guy. Craig's the one you've got to look out for."
"You really hate him, huh?"
"Nah, just." Stan goes quiet and shrugs. "Anyway, um. I'm glad you liked talking to Mackey."
The nurse's station is empty, and Kyle is very glad for this. Again, Stan doesn't bother to put on a light, as there's enough natural illumination from the window. Kyle sits on the examining table while Stan fetches his supplies, including a big bottle of SPF 50. They're both silent while Kyle injects his insulin, and Kyle doesn't mind the pause in conversation. It's nice, a respectful quiet.
"Do you wear it every day at home?" Stan asks when Kyle puts on sunscreen.
"In summer, yeah. Being a redhead sucks."
"Ah, don't say that. Redheads are cool. They're even rarer than blonds, right?"
"I guess so."
"It sucks to be average," Stan says, and Kyle looks up from his sunscreen application. Stan is staring at Kyle's arm. "I feel like I'm so ordinary."
"I'd love to be ordinary. I'm not normal in any way. I'm fat, I've got this diabetes shit to deal with, the fucking hair, and—" Kyle nearly chokes when he realizes he was about to say he's gay. After being so paranoid about his talk with Mackey, he's totally forgotten himself in this much more dangerous situation. Stan peers at him curiously. "And I'm Jewish," Kyle says, recovering swiftly. "Only Jewish family in our shitty little town."
"Wow, seriously? Are people jerks about it?"
"Usually not intentionally. Sometimes, though, yeah. Eric said something nasty to me yesterday."
"That huge kid? What'd he say? Did you tell Mackey?"
"Oh – no, it was just some oblivious hick thing." It actually wasn't, and Kyle has no idea why he's defending Eric, except that he doesn't want to be a snitch, generally. "I doubt he pays much attention to what comes out of his mouth."
"If he gives you a hard time, just let me know," Stan says, looking so serious that Kyle almost laughs, though he's actually touched. Stan is incredibly sweet, which means he's not ordinary at all. It's a rare quality, and especially in someone so good looking. "I mean it," Stan says when Kyle sits there smiling at him moonily. "You don't have to put up with that shit."
"Kay. Thanks."
Stan walks him back to the main building and drops him off at the Nutrition Lab that is presided over by Craig. It looks like Kyle's chemistry classroom, everyone paired off at individual cooking stations. By the time Kyle arrives, the only person without a partner is Eric. Clyde and Tammy have paired up, and Butters and Bebe are sharing a station. Henrietta seems irritated to be stuck with Rebecca, but it's still preferable to Eric, who smirks at Kyle as he approaches.
"How was your therapy?" Kyle asks, not impressed with the smirk.
"Eh, it was stupid. That guy's a hippie douchebag."
"Do you actually like anybody?" Kyle mutters, not really interested. He's examining the supplies at their station: stainless steel bowls, measuring cups and spoons, a whisk. It's exciting, having new equipment to work with, or what looks new, anyway. Craig's lab and all of the instruments laid out on their cook top are pristine.
"I don't like people," Eric says when Kyle looks at him. "I respect them, if they can earn my respect, which they usually can't."
"Okay." Kyle looks back to the cookware, eager for class to start. He wants to tell Eric that all his glowering and smirking makes him seem like a child, despite his size.
"Good afternoon," Craig says when he comes into the room, walking to the front of the class with his uncannily perfect posture, a bunch of bananas clutched in his right hand. It's an inauspicious sight: Kyle hates bananas. "Welcome to your first nutrition class," Craig says. He sets the bananas on the cook station that faces the classroom. "As you can see, I favor a hands-on approach. Some of you may come from homes where the family meal choices are part of your weight problem. You need to be able to create your own meals, independently, with a firm knowledge of how what you eat will affect your weight. Half of our class time here will be instructive, and the other half will be the actual practice of meal preparation."
"What are we making today?" Butters asks, bouncing with excitement on his stool. Craig's eyes slide to him in an icy way that makes Butters go still, shoulders hunching.
"Although this is a workshop," Craig says. "I expect to see hands raised for questions."
"Sorry, sir," Butters says.
"Stan says this guy is a jerk," Kyle whispers when Craig has his back turned to them, writing basic nutrition facts on the board. It's nothing Kyle doesn't already know. Eric frowns at him.
"Who the hell is Stan?"
"The counselor." Kyle wishes he hadn't said anything when Eric's attention seems to narrow on him too precisely. "The black haired one."
"They all have black hair. You mean the white guy."
"Well, yeah, the white guy."
"Your personal nurse," Eric says. He chortles when Kyle looks away, embarrassed. "That's so pathetic. Does he put a little band aid over your boo boo after you shoot up?"
"I'd happily do it myself, okay, but they won't—"
"Boys!" Craig says, and Kyle feels like he's taken a spear in the chest, his eyes snapping to Craig, who stares at Kyle and Eric in for a few angry, unblinking seconds before turning back to the board, message delivered. Eric is still laughing under his breath, quiet enough for only Kyle to hear.
Despite Craig's demeanor, Eric's partnership and the presence of bananas – which turn out to be optional – Kyle enjoys the class. He realizes partway through that, while he doesn't like Craig, he respects him. Craig seems smart, stern but fair, and sure of himself in a way that Kyle envies. Meanwhile, while he has zero respect for Eric and certainly doesn't like him, he's kind of an interesting character, and surprisingly willing to follow Kyle's lead once they start cooking, passing ingredients and fetching utensils. The first recipes they learn are easy: turkey pinwheel sandwiches and fruit salad with a small portion of dried coconut shavings. Craig measures everything out for them so that they can't use too much of the good stuff, like the herbed low fat cream cheese on the pinwheels.
"I assume all the clean plates mean that you found the meal satisfying?" Craig says when they've eaten their creations, seated on the stools at their cook stations. No one is bold enough to dare a response, but Craig seems pleased anyway, smiling smugly at the front of the class.
When class is over, there's another free hour while Butters takes his turn with Mackey. Kyle is glad he got his session over with early, and he skips the game room, heading back to his cabin with permission from Wendy. He's annoyed when Eric follows him, though not surprised.
"I'm still hungry," Eric says as they walk to the cabin.
"I could eat," Kyle says. "But like he said, it takes a few weeks to get your appetite down to normal levels."
"Bitch, whatever. My appetite is already normal. Fucking look at me. Do I look like someone who needs the same amount of little tea sandwiches that Butters does? Or you, for that matter?"
Kyle shrugs. One thing he does enjoy about Eric's company is feeling lithe in comparison. He wouldn't mind being taller, however.
"Is your dad really a pro football player?" Kyle asks when they enter the cabin, which is so efficiently air-conditioned that Kyle shivers. His sweat cools instantly, coating his skin with a chilly film.
"Retired," Eric says. He sits on his bed, his back to Kyle, and rifles through his duffel bag. "What the fuck?" He picks the bag up and empties it onto his bed, breathing audibly. "Where the hell is my candy?" he asks, shouting this at Kyle, who feels suddenly in danger of being thrown across the room.
"I don't know." Kyle sits on his bed, trying to remain calm while Eric breathes in huffs through his nose. "Maybe Token found it and did you the favor of getting rid of it instead of reporting you to Craig."
"Yeah, right. Or maybe one of you devious little fuckers stole it."
"Well, it wasn't me! I don't want that crap."
"Bullshit." Eric slings the empty duffel off his bed, pawing through the personal effects that he's dumped there. Among them is a stuffed animal, a tattered green frog with a lolling tongue. It looks homemade. When Eric notices that Kyle has spotted it, he grunts and stuffs it under his pillow. "Well, this is just fucking great," he says. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
"Uh, lose weight? I mean, I know you think you're like, all beefy and strong and shit, but you could be really fucking scary if you actually worked at it."
"Scary?" Eric says, still glaring at him.
"Yeah, like— dude. If I was tall like you I'd be really excited about getting all ripped. Don't you want people to fear your raw physical power?" Kyle is kind of joking, maybe at Eric's expense. Eric calms somewhat and scratches at the back of his neck.
"I guess that would be cool," he says. "But look at me, okay? I'm fucking big. I need fuel."
"So tell Craig to give you an extra protein shake or something. I bet he would, if you asked nicely."
"You think you're really smart, huh?" Eric picks up one of the two books that fell out of his duffel bag. He whips it at Kyle, who was expecting that and catches it. "Ever read it?" Eric asks.
"The Fountainhead?" Kyle laughs and tosses the book back onto Eric's bed. "Yeah, no thanks."
"Why not? It's brilliant."
"Yeah, I'll bet. Wasn't she some kind of Nazi?"
"Uh, no? Are you kidding? She was a fucking Jew!"
"Oh. The self-hating kind?"
"No. The smart kind."
"I thought you hated Jews?"
"That's just a figure of speech," Eric says, and Kyle wishes he had something in reach to throw at him. He rolls his eyes and looks up at the ceiling, feeling tired. He came back here to read, but maybe he'll just take a nap, if Eric will shut up for a few minutes.
"Anyway, she was some kind of racist, I heard," Kyle says when Eric has been silent for a while, slumped onto his bed among his scattered belongings. "What's that other book you have?"
"Nothing."
"Tell me!"
Eric throws the second book at Kyle. This time it takes him by surprise, landing hard on his stomach. Kyle laughs when he picks it up.
"Old Yeller?" he says. "Seriously?"
"My mom read it to me when we had to put our cat down," Eric says, muttering. "She packed it, not me. Like the stupid frog."
"Your mom is pretty," Kyle says. He opens the worn paperback and flips through the pages. "I saw her at the assembly. I guess your dad couldn't make it? Mine had to stay home and watch my brother."
"Why the hell are you asking me about my dad? You and that quack doctor. Fuck off, it's not your problem."
Kyle puts Old Yeller on the desk beside his bed and rolls onto his side, facing away from Eric. He tries to sleep, but he's distracted by Eric's heavy breathing. He seems agitated again. There's no way his dad is anything but a huge asshole who created the problem that is Eric by being awful. That, or he was never there in the first place.
"I can see your butt crack," Eric says after Kyle has almost drifted to sleep. Kyle jerks awake and pulls his pants up higher, glaring at Eric from over his shoulder.
"Why were you looking at my ass?"
"Oh, Jesus, I wasn't even. I was just looking in your general direction, okay, and when there's an exposed butt crack in the vicinity you're going to spot it easily. I am, anyway."
"Just don't look at me! Turn around!" Kyle keeps yanking up his pants, though they're well over the butt crack area at this point.
"Man, we've got three months ahead of us in this hell," Eric says. "Let's not waste time pretending we're not both into dick."
"What?" Kyle glares at Eric and rolls onto his back, hiding his butt entirely. "What are you talking about? You don't know anything about me."
"Bullshit, you're easy to read. You're going to turn down a free blow job? I'm good at it, I've been told."
"Are you serious right now?" Kyle sits up, wondering why he doesn't feel more threatened. Maybe it's because Eric is flopped onto his bed among his embarrassing personal possessions, one of the stuffed frog's legs poking out from under his pillow.
"Yeah, I'm serious," Eric says. He shrugs. "What else is there to do for fun around here?"
"I'm taking a nap," Kyle says, though he's wide awake now. "And you'd better stop saying this weird shit to me, or I'm going to tell someone." Stan would run Eric out of camp on a rail, but Kyle hopes it won't come to that. It would be depressing to see someone as clearly in need of help as Eric go home over something that seems more like a pathetic cry for help than anything else. Eric shrugs, picks up The Fountainhead and opens it to a random page, pretending to read.
"Your loss," he mutters.
"Fine, my loss. Just shut up about it, please."
When the sun begins to go down, their group of boys and girls reassembles for an evening workout with Token. It's a leisurely bike ride around the property, but in the lingering heat they all work up a sweat, even Token, who occasionally turns back to shout encouragement at them as they ride. He's more hands-off than Wendy, and Kyle enjoys himself, despite being soaked in sweat. It's nice not to have constant instruction on how to perfect his posture, and they all ride in a single file line, which means there's no small talk necessary, or further conversation with Eric. Kyle has never had anyone even subtly express a sexual interest in him before, and he's pretty sure this is not normal behavior between recently acquainted gay boys, though he really wouldn't know. He wants to ask how Eric figured out the truth about him, but doing so would be admitting that he's gay, and Eric is the last person Kyle wants to confess to.
After their workout, Kyle takes the first shower, zipping into the bathroom before Clyde can stink up the place again. He touches himself under the water, imagining himself sitting on the examining table in the nurse's station, coyly unbuttoning the front of Stan's khakis and rubbing Stan's big, stiffening dick through the fabric of his boxer shorts. He comes with a grunt, confident that he hasn't been overheard, and makes certain that all of the evidence is washed down the drain. He's grateful to his mother for packing flip flops to use in the shower, because there's no way he could get off while standing barefoot in the tub where the other three have unloaded. He wonders what Eric thinks about when he touches himself here, and can't decide if it's flattering or vile to imagine someone like that fantasizing about him.
He's embarrassed to recall his own fantasies as he makes his way to the nurse's station before dinner. He's never vividly fantasized about a real person before, only compilations of fantasy men or fictional characters. The nurse's station is locked when he gets there, and he sits on the cement stairs watching lizards darting along the cement pathways. The sun is going down and the temperature is leveling off. Kyle is tired, but it's nice, his muscles loosened by exhaustion. He lets his head tip back onto the front door of the nurse's station and closes his eyes for a moment, feeling like he could fall asleep.
"Sorry!" Stan shouts, and Kyle sits up straight. Stan is jogging toward the station, his keys in his hand. "Sorry, dude," he says. "It was my first day with the laundry."
"Laundry?" Kyle stands, uncomfortable with the idea that Stan might be handling his sweat-soaked clothes. "Our laundry?"
"Yeah, it's part of my job." Stan unlocks the nurse's station, and Kyle catches a whiff of detergent. It's not the expensive kind his mom uses, with rosemary. This is more like bleach.
"Does anyone help you?" Kyle asks as he follows Stan into the station.
"Kenny said he would," Stan says. "But he's making dinner. You okay?" He turns from the medicine cabinet to look at Kyle as he takes his seat on the examining table.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Kyle shifts, wrinkling the sanitary paper. "Why?"
"Nothing, just. Had a good first day?"
"Sure, I guess. We have to do group therapy after dinner, though. That sounds like hell."
"Shit," Stan mutters. He gets Kyle's kit and brings it to him. "That does sound rough. Never been in therapy myself. Group or otherwise."
"This is my first time," Kyle says, defensively. Again, they're both quiet while Kyle does his injection. Kyle makes a soft noise under his breath as he withdraws the needle, unintentionally. There's a thrilling jab low in his gut when he looks up at Stan and meets his eyes.
"You okay?" Stan asks again, and Kyle laughs.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Nothing - just. Here." Stan takes the supplies from him and takes his time putting them away. Kyle remains on the examining table, not in a hurry to get dinner, though he is hungry.
"It must suck," Kyle says. "Doing the laundry."
"I don't really mind. I mean, yeah, it's not great, but it's kind of zen."
Kyle wrinkles his nose at that word and Stan laughs.
"It is, though," he says. "Like, just focusing on this simple task, cleaning something, and the machines make this soothing hum."
"You're pretty weird," Kyle says. He's smiling, feeling as if he has permission to be flirtatious, since it's not like he could be perceived as having an actual chance with this guy. Stan grins and shrugs.
"It's good to hear someone say that," he says. "I've always felt weird, but nobody seems to notice."
"You totally are," Kyle says, and he hops off the examining table. "But it's good. Not ordinary."
They walk to dinner together, the sky darkening as the sun disappears entirely behind the hills. Kyle stops walking and gapes at Stan when he hears a coyote howl in the distance.
"There you go," Stan says, nodding. "They're out there every night. But don't worry, you're safe."
Kyle gets that jabbing feeling in his stomach again, warmth spreading outward from the place of impact.
"I wasn't scared," he says. It's true, but he's glad to head into the main building with Stan all the same.
Dinner is an unremarkable baked chicken breast served with a side of broccoli and quinoa. Kyle is so hungry that he devours every grain of quinoa, though he hates the texture. He notices that Bebe again eats only half of her meal, dividing the rest between Henrietta and Rebecca, who reach for it like opportunistic vultures.
"It's no fair that we have to do therapy twice in one day," Clyde says when Wendy beckons them to follow her to the group therapy room.
"This is different," Wendy says. "It's more laid back. You can talk as much or as little as you want to - though I'd encourage you to talk a lot! Your peers can help and support you in ways that even Dr. Mackey can't."
"Everything she says sounds like a fucking brochure snippet," Henrietta mutters. Kyle nods and thinks about how different Stan is from Wendy and even Token. Stan is a real person, humble, and the kind of counselor the campers could actually talk to, though Kyle would be jealous if anyone else realized this and confided in him.
He's still in a Stan-related haze as he takes his seat in the circle of chairs arranged in the game room, near the foosball table. Mackey is seated already, holding his clipboard, and Kyle ends up between Eric and Henrietta. He feels this is strategically wise: with the two biggest, surliest kids flanking him, he should be able to fly under the radar.
"I'd like to welcome you all to our first group session," Mackey says when everyone is seated. "I know the boys already had some individual therapy this morning, but this is more of an informal discussion to help you talk openly about the process, mmkay? So let's begin by going around the circle and hearing how the first day at camp went so far. Butters, why don't you start?"
"Well," Butters says. He knocks his fists together and peers around at everyone in the circle uncertainly. "I liked my first day a whole lot! I kinda miss my mom, though."
Eric snickers. Mackey gives him a humorless stare until he stops.
"The sharing circle is not a place of judgment, mmkay?" Mackey says, and Kyle almost loses it himself when he hears Eric's barely contained laughter. Mackey frowns and looks back to Butters. "Please continue, Butters."
"Oh, I'm done," Butters says, wilting.
"Alright, that's fine. How about you write your mom a letter, hmm? That would be a nice way to let her know you're thinking of her. Okay, Bebe? Thoughts after the first day?"
"It was good," Bebe says. "I liked the yoga, and the biking. And the girls in my cabin are super sweet." Kyle hears Henrietta make a kind of gargling sound in disbelief.
"Well, that's great to hear, Bebe. Tammy, how about you?"
"I just want to say that Bebe is the cutest," Tammy says, bouncing with enthusiasm. Eric moans under his breath and tips his head back to give the ceiling a suffering stare. "And I totally can't wait until I look like you," Tammy says, speaking to Bebe. "You're my thinspiration, girl!"
"Okay, Tammy, I'm gonna stop you right there," Mackey says. "We try not to use words like 'thinspiration' here at camp. Unfortunately, they can be associated with disorders like anorexia."
"Oh, sorry." Tammy grabs Bebe's wrist, looking chastened. "I was not trying to say that Bebe is anorexic. She's totally not!"
"Let's move on," Mackey says, jotting something on clipboard while Bebe turns bright red and gives Tammy a forgiving smile. "Clyde, how about you? Thoughts after the first day?"
"I'm hungry," Clyde says. He's got his arms folded over his sizable stomach, his shoulders slumped.
"Well, that's normal, Clyde, in the first couple of days especially. We're giving you enough calories to get you through the day with your exercising and whatnot, and I might as well spoil the surprise – we'll be having some pineapple slices after group, as a special kind of treat."
"Oh, boy!" Eric says, loudly. "How fucking delightful."
"Eric, I think we've already talked about your language use? Mmkay? Henrietta, do you have any thoughts about your first day?"
"No."
"Nothing at all?" Mackey shifts in his seat, his mouth tightening. "You know, you're free to express your negative feelings here, it doesn't have to be all positive."
"You want to hear how I feel?" Henrietta shouts, and Kyle presses back against his chair, abruptly less confident about his choice to sit beside her. "I feel like all this bullshit weight loss rhetoric is unfair! You think I want to be fat? Fuck no! But these are just the cards I got dealt, alright, and I'm never gonna be the kind of dumb bitch who wants to run around a track in circles or on some treadmill torture machine, so if I can accept how I look while I'm fucking living in this body that everyone is ridiculing and judging all the time, why can't my mother get the fuck over it?"
She comes to a halt with a shriek, falling back into her chair and breathing audibly. Kyle glances at Eric, expecting to find him snickering, but he looks as nervous as Kyle feels after hearing that outburst.
"Mmmkay," Mackey says slowly, and Kyle is afraid that Henrietta will pitch her chair at him, but now she's crossed her arms over her chest and is staring at the floor. "I want to thank you for being so open and honest with your feelings, Henrietta. That is really useful stuff for the group to discuss. You and I can talk more in private, too, of course, if you'd like."
"Whatever," Henrietta says, still looking at the floor.
"How about we move on to Kyle," Mackey says. "Kyle, do you have anything to add in response to Henrietta's feelings?" Mackey looks at Kyle meaningfully, as if to prompt him to talk about his own mother, and Kyle frowns. It's a totally different thing.
"I sympathize with the not wanting to run in circles part," Kyle says. "And that's what it feels like when you start out at a disadvantage, out of shape. It feels hopeless, and you feel like a joke for trying." He hadn't planned to be candid in the group, but it's nice not to just blurt out some lie about how much he loved yoga.
"Yeah!" Eric says before Mackey can make a placating statement. "And it's just so fucking dumb. Why would I spend my time doing something I hate for an hour every day? Just 'cause some people can't deal with the fact that I've outsmarted the system by doing whatever I want all the time?"
"But you haven't," Kyle says, remembering their discussion in the cabin and Eric's nascent willingness to consider this experience an opportunity to become a big, scary behemoth as opposed to a big fat one. "Look, I get what you're saying, but the fact is, we have to play by everybody else's rules. And they're never going to understand the reasons why we're kind of handicapped or whatever, and they're not going to accept that as an excuse. If you want to get ahead in any system, you have to try to fit in with that system, at least a little, or you're always going to be left on the outside."
"I really resent that," Rebecca says. "Though I accept the reality. We didn't volunteer to start on the outside of this system and work our way in – we didn't even earn it through our mistakes, necessarily! My brother and I are fed the exact same diet. I inherited my mother's lumpiness, and he's rail thin like our father. But I'm the one who's expected to amend myself or give up any hope of achieving respect through other venues. I'm complaining in vain because I know Kyle's right, but I don't think Eric is wrong to be frustrated by this."
Like his experience with individual therapy, Kyle is surprised to find himself quickly engaged in the discussion and impatient for his next turn to talk. Even Eric continues to pipe up without just laughing at everybody. Butters and Bebe stay pretty quiet, and Henrietta refuses to speak again. By the time their hour of group therapy is over, Kyle feels like he does at school, in gifted class, on the rare occasion when the discussion is lively and he's confident enough to argue his points. He's starting to suspect that he might actually enjoy his time here, his dread of the next three months lessening considerably.
"I'd better check my blood sugar first," Kyle says when Mackey passes out the pineapple slices.
"Oh, sure, that's right," Mackey says. "Why don't you go find Stan? I think he's still in the laundry room."
Kyle has his kit and could check it himself, but he's glad for the excuse to find Stan among his zen-like laundry machines. Maybe he'll even help Stan fold towels or something.
He heads down the hallway, the distant smell of dryer sheets leading him toward the laundry room. Though the group session was worthwhile, he's glad to have a moment alone, and happily anticipating being alone with Stan. He can hear the machines as he gets closer: the rhythmic tumble of industrial size dryers. There is something kind of soothing about it, Kyle decides. He pushes open the laundry room door.
For a moment he thinks he's looking at two half-dressed strangers, both with black hair, one bent over a laundry machine while the man behind him fucks him in the ass, the noises they're making concealed by the machines. Only when the guy who's getting fucked looks up and meets Kyle's eyes does he realize that it's Stan. The man behind him - inside him - is Craig, whose eyes pierce through Kyle like icicles when he turns to see what Stan is looking at.
"Kyle!" Stan says, breathless. His elbows are on the machine, pants around his ankles, cheeks bright pink. "It's – it's okay—"
"Get out!" Craig roars.
Kyle bolts down the hall, getting away from what he just saw as quickly as he can. He never thought he would voluntarily run anywhere, but right now it's all he wants to do.