A/N: This chapter turned out slightly different than I expected, but I'm pretty happy with it - let me know what you think! Thanks so much for the feedback on this so far. I've really enjoyed talking about this story and appreciate the notes! Next chapter the weird sex stuff begins, fyi :B
The rest of Kyle's first week at camp is comparatively normal, but he's still on guard at all times, waiting for the next jarring surprise. He has learned, at least, to knock before entering any door that's even semi-closed, and to lock the bathroom door when he showers. By his sixth day at camp he's also feeling slightly different: not thinner but less heavy, not constantly in the wake of his most recent binge. He can't see any difference in his physique in the mirror, and no one else is visibly lighter, but there's already more of a sense of optimism among most of the campers. There's also less complaining at meal times, with the exception of Henrietta and Eric, who continue to complain about everything.
Kyle still looks forward to his visits to the nurse's station, though he's been less talkative with Stan since that strange campfire performance. Craig hasn't made an example of Kyle or singled him out again, and he hasn't yet taught the lesson he threatened to give on why Kyle was wrong about Eric's request for extra calories. Kyle wonders if Stan had a talk with Craig about being nicer to him, but he doesn't ask. He also doesn't ask if Stan and Craig are still fucking, and he's not sure how he feels about the fact that Stan hasn't brought up Craig at all since their initial discussion about him. It's good, in a way, because Kyle had fooled himself into believing he could be a real friend to Stan, which was of course ridiculous. But it's also awful, because they see each other at least three times a day, and Kyle feels like there's an awkward tension hovering between them.
"The end of your first week," Stan says on Sunday as he watches Kyle do his injection. Kyle's hands have healed for the most part, though the cuts are still visible. He's dreading discussing the shrub-killing incident with Mackey during his next individual therapy session, and has been considering sitting on his hands, though that will probably make them more conspicuous.
"It's been an okay week," Kyle says, handing Stan the syringe when he's finished. They exchange a glance, and Kyle smiles apologetically when he sees how concerned Stan looks. In the mornings, Stan is usually pale-faced and tired, with bags under his eyes, and today is no exception. "I mean, it's been good," Kyle says. "It's nice to be away from home. Away from my mom."
"She's pretty hard on you?"
"Nah, well - yes, but only about school. I guess I'd have a curfew if I ever went out, but I don't. She's hard on me about the food stuff. She didn't used to be, until I started getting really, uh, big. I guess she feels guilty about that."
"Sure, yeah." Stan goes to the refrigerated cabinet to put Kyle's supplies away, and Kyle's heart sinks. He'd thought for a moment there that they were going to have a real conversation, the way they had during Kyle's first few days here. Kyle isn't sure what he did wrong. Did Craig tell Stan to be careful, not to get close to the kid who has dirt on them? Kyle is still tempted to blame everything on Craig.
"Stan?" he says, not wanting to be ushered off to breakfast yet.
"Yeah?"
"Um." Kyle was going to ask about Craig, but he can't bring himself to do it. "I was just, uh. Remember how I told you I wanted to sort of mentor one of my bunkmates? Or inspire him, kinda?"
"Oh, yeah." Stan brightens a little and walks closer. "How's that going?"
"Well, fine." Kyle kicks his feet, still seated on the examining table. Part of him wants to tell Stan about how things have really been going with Eric, especially since it might be a good opportunity to allow Stan to discuss his own weirdness with Craig, but he can't work up the nerve. "He's, um. He's difficult, though. Resistant to change. And he's always bragging about the dumbest shit, like how he's been to juvenile detention, like that makes him all tough." And sexually experienced, apparently, but Kyle doesn't feel like he can mention that either. Stan raises his eyebrows.
"A boy in your cabin says he's been to juvenile detention? Um, I really doubt that's true. Mackey is super selective about who he accepts here, according to Wendy. Especially the scholarship students."
"So you do know I'm talking about Eric."
"I just sort of figured." Stan comes over to the examining table and leans beside Kyle, who makes his back a little straighter, thrilled by this sudden closeness. Stan looks so tired, and Kyle elbows him when he yawns.
"You okay?" Kyle asks, keeping his voice low, though they're alone in the nurse's station as usual. Stan smiles, and Kyle feels it in his gut, a prick of warmth that spreads outward.
"I'm alright," Stan says, mumbling this in an unconvincing way. "There's this-" He pauses and looks down at his left hand, picking at a hangnail. If Eric picks at himself Kyle will snap at him for being disgusting, but with Stan it's pretty cute. "Wendy's a little annoyed with me," he says.
"Yeah? How come?"
"It's just - we're stuck in this town all summer, right? And there's nothing to do at night but hang out with Craig or go to this bar in town." He looks up at Kyle. "It's a biker bar."
"Oh, Jesus. A gay one?"
Stan laughs hard, his smile turning big and genuine. Kyle feels stupid, but he grins anyway, shoving Stan's shoulder.
"No, not a gay one." Stan shoves Kyle back, lightly, and it fills Kyle with a jittery energy that makes him feel like a wind-up toy, like he might bounce right over the edge of the examining table with self-contained excitement. "It's just a bar for people passing through town, mostly bikers," Stan says. "It's not as hardcore as it sounds. Shit, I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"Well, I asked. And I like it when you tell me things," Kyle adds, more quietly.
"That's-" Stan sighs and looks away, tossing his hand out and letting it flop back against his thigh. "Well, I'm glad. And look, don't let that Eric kid intimidate you. There's no way he's been to juvenile detention. Mackey doesn't want those kinds of kids here, it's too much of a risk. They'd bully the other kids when they're vulnerable, during the process. And if Eric's not responding to your efforts to help him, well, that's his loss. Don't waste too much energy on it."
"I won't," Kyle says, though there's really nothing else here to spend his mental energy on, other than endless wondering about Stan's whereabouts. "So Wendy doesn't want you going to this bar?"
"I'm underage," Stan says, and Kyle flushes with embarrassed pleasure when he remembers that Stan is only nineteen. Something about Stan seems so world-weary and grown up, and his arms are hairy, strong-looking like a man's. He has stubble, too, some mornings, mostly along his jaw.
"They don't card you?" Kyle says.
"Nah. This place - they don't care."
"Or they just think you look old enough." That's Kyle's theory. Stan shrugs.
"I shouldn't go back. I could get in big trouble. Lose this job, for one thing."
"Do you like this job?" Kyle's heart pounds after the question is out. He feels like he's asking if Stan likes him, which is absurd, but of course that's exactly what he wants to know.
"I love it," Stan says, surprising him. They hold each other's gaze for a moment, and Kyle feels himself beginning to overheat, the red on his cheeks spreading back to his ears.
"That's good," Kyle says when he finds his voice.
"It's just so real, you know? Helping kids? As opposed to like, helping them win fucking football games. That's so - I know it builds character or whatever, but this feels more important, or more direct. I just want to be good at this." Stan pushes off the examining table and moves away, still facing Kyle. "So please, like. Please tell me if I'm screwing up. I know it's not your job to know, but - ah. I feel like I already messed up your experience."
"Stan! What! I told you-"
"Yeah, I know, you told me, but it's not right. What you saw, and how. How you're telling me about the other stuff, and not telling Mackey. I mean, it's your choice, but I'm not exactly qualified. Just because I'm, uh. You know."
"Gay?" Kyle says this a little sharply, annoyed with Stan's waffling, and his inability to trust Kyle to know who he wants to share certain information with. He must view Kyle as very young, incapable of really knowing himself. Stan nods glumly.
"Yep," he says. "I'm not just the least qualified counselor to help you with like, anything. I'm also the least qualified gay guy."
"You looked pretty qualified in the laundry room," Kyle says without thinking, and he's so horrified when he hears this that he actually slaps his hand over his mouth. Eric has been an awful influence on him, always blurting whatever pops into his head. Stan looks horrified, too, but only for a moment, and when he starts laughing Kyle does, too, his hand still pressed over his mouth.
"Alright, smart ass," Stan says. He's grinning, backing toward the door and beckoning for Kyle to follow. "You're late for breakfast."
It's hot outside, the sky cloudless as usual. Kyle has actually begun to remember his sunscreen, so he doesn't hurry his steps under the glare of the morning sun, and he walks as close as he can to Stan without being obvious. Or maybe he is being obvious: would it really matter? If he's just a young kid in Stan's eyes, confused and unsure of himself, how much could Kyle's crush really bother him? He might just take it as a compliment. Kyle's flirtations with Eric have made him realize that he's not just a passive lump waiting for someone desperate to come along. He can do things: he can have an affect on people. It won't always be positive - he's not delusional enough to think he's capable of enticing a near-man like Stan - but experimenting with boundaries has been interesting, and it was so nice to give Stan a playful shove and get one in return.
"Token's leading our workout later," Kyle says as they come to the main building. "When are you gonna lead one?"
"They're working me up to that," Stan says. "I'm gonna take you guys on a hike next week. I mean, Wendy will be there, too, but I'm gonna lead."
"Will we see sheep?" Kyle asks. Stan has mentioned that there are bighorn sheep in the mountains, elusive and majestic. He seems slightly obsessed with them, and his eyes light up when Kyle mentions them.
"I hope so," he says. "I picked a trail where there's lots of sage growing, and we're going early in the morning, so maybe we'll get lucky."
Kyle feels himself grinning stupidly and waves, heading for the dining room. When Stan heads down the hallway instead of following him in, Kyle hopes he's not going to see Craig. Does Craig appreciate Stan's love of bighorn sheep, or does he tell Stan they're stupid pack animals that will probably be extinct in twenty years? It seems like the kind of asshole remark Craig might make, in bed, after fucking Stan. Kyle pictures Craig smoking a cigarette in this scenario, though he's a health freak who probably wouldn't allow tobacco within a forty mile radius of his bedroom.
"Hey, dude, you awake?" Kenny says, and Kyle looks up from his lurid daydream. He's the only one at the cafeteria counter, as usual, everyone else nearly finished with their breakfast, loud conversations taking place at every table. Kyle can hear Eric's voice over the rabble, and he wonders if Eric is watching him from across the room. As usual, he can't decide if he wants that or not.
"Sorry," he says to Kenny, who is sliding whole wheat toast and chicken sausage patties onto his tray. "I was just thinking about, um. Hiking."
"Hiking, that's cool." Kenny winks and gives Kyle an extra cup of fruit salad. "You can pass some of that to Andre the Giant if you don't want it," he says, glancing at the counselors' table. Wendy is writing furiously on a notepad and Token is examining his phone.
"Andre the Giant?" Kyle says.
"Monsieur Cartman. He's your buddy, right?"
"I don't know." Kyle raises his lip a little, wondering how Kenny noticed that. He sort of blends in with the scenery; Kyle supposes that might make him a particularly observant employee.
"Enjoy your breakfast, señor." Kenny winks again, and Kyle gives him an uncertain smile, still not sure what his deal is.
"Fucking finally!" Eric says when Kyle takes the seat beside him that Eric always saves. Kyle wonders if this is what having a boyfriend is like, then feels pathetic for likening Eric to one. It's not as if they've even touched, aside from the occasional coy brush of Kyle's arm against Eric's, but Eric is always sort of circling him, and Kyle hasn't discouraged it. "Was that drunken hippie late or something?" Eric asks when Kyle ignores him, eating half a sausage patty in one bite.
"He was on time," Kyle says after he's chewed and swallowed. "I just wasn't in a particular hurry. Not all of us break into a frantic run at the prospect of a meal."
"As if he's ever voluntarily run anywhere," Henrietta says, and Eric glowers at her. They're always ripping on each other, and Kyle isn't sure why, but suspects it's something to do with the fact that they both have the most weight to lose.
"What's with the extra fruit cup?" Clyde asks, eying it.
"I got it for Eric." Kyle places it on Eric's tray, not bothering to return his bewildered stare. "The cafeteria guy agrees with me. Bigger bodies require more calories. I mean, duh."
"Try explaining that to Craig a second time," Rebecca says. "I dare you." She smiles when Kyle gives her an irritated look.
"He knew I was right," Kyle says. "He's so unpleasant."
"I'm scared to make eye contact with him," Butters says, nodding. "Like he's gonna slap me or something." This makes Bebe and Tammy giggle, and Butters beams at them appreciatively, as if he meant for that to be funny.
Their morning workout was step aerobics with Wendy, and Kyle is too exhausted to bother with the game room during free hour. He's a little nervous about allowing Eric to trail him back to the cabin, however. Clyde and Tammy have already begun to tease them about all the time they spend there together, and Kyle isn't sure how much longer he can hold Eric at an arm's length, enjoying his attention but unsure about what to do with it.
"You really have to put that shit on again?" Eric asks when they're in the cabin, Kyle slathering on sunscreen while Eric watches, reclining in his bed. Sometimes Kyle does this in the bathroom, and sometimes he likes the feeling of being admired while he rubs the stuff onto his skin.
"Every two to three hours," Kyle says, quoting his mother. "You're burned. You want some?"
"Nah, I prefer not to look like a lily white lady, thanks."
"So much better to look like a lobster."
Kyle is glad he caught himself before he could say 'over-sized lobster.' He didn't even mean it the sense that Eric is fat, but the group therapy sessions have taught him to be careful about the size-related language he uses.
"I don't look like a lobster," Eric says. "I look like a man who's not afraid of a little sunlight. Check it out, my arms are tanned."
He says so like he's never had a tan before, and Kyle would bet he hasn't. Though Eric makes lots of claims about his fantastic life at home, Kyle has gotten the impression that he actually spends a lot of time alone in the dark of his basement, playing video games or trolling Reddit. He glances up from his sunscreen application when Eric sits on his bed, thrusting out his arm to show Kyle his tan. It's true: he's taken on a golden hue that makes his arms look slightly less blubbery. Or maybe he's actually lost some weight.
"Do you think they'll weigh us tomorrow?" Kyle asks, nervous about this. "At the one week mark?"
"I don't know." Eric curls his arm, admiring his bicep, which is big but not particularly firm-looking. "Maybe I gained weight. Muscle, I mean."
"You feel stronger?"
Eric glances at Kyle, giving him the salacious look that Kyle has come to expect if he says anything remotely complimentary. Kyle rolls his eyes.
"I bet I could bench press you," Eric says.
"Uh-huh. I kinda doubt it."
"You're like half my size."
Kyle looks down at the sunscreen bottle, taken off guard by how much he likes hearing that. It's not exactly true, but Eric is significantly bigger. Kyle isn't used to this feeling when it comes other boys. There are plenty at school who are taller than him, but those guys tend to be thin, lanky, and Kyle feels like a melting dollop of sour cream when he has to stand next to them in a lineup during gym class.
"But don't worry," Eric says, putting his meaty hand on Kyle's shoulder. "My dick still fits easily in the average mouth."
"Oh, I was so worried about that, thank you."
Kyle can feel his face going red, and he keeps his eyes down on his ankle, where he's painstakingly applying a small amount of sunscreen. He could shrug Eric's hand off, but he's not sure he wants to. Even through his shirt, he can feel the moistness of Eric's palm, and it makes him think of Stan's hands. Stan has smoothly calloused fingers from years of gripping footballs, and his palms have always felt dry, even when his hands shook as he gave Kyle his injections.
"Seriously," Eric says, and Kyle moves away when Eric squeezes his shoulder. Eric huffs and stands, then sits back down again. "Alright, fine," he says sharply. "I'll suck you off. You don't even have to reciprocate."
"Why would you offer that?" Kyle asks, beginning to feel uncomfortable. Their size difference isn't strictly appealing; Kyle would have a hard time fighting Eric off if it came to that, and he doesn't know Eric well enough to be sure that he won't try to overpower him when they're alone together. Even so, he keeps getting himself into these situations during free hour.
"I just want to see what you're packing," Eric says. "And your ginger pubes."
"Well, you can't. So how's that?"
"What do you mean, 'how's that?' You're practically in heat, Kyle, I can smell it. Don't bullshit me."
"Don't bullshit you? Okay, right. How about you don't bullshit me with your juvenile detention crap. I bet you've never even sucked cock."
This seems to take the wind out of Eric's sails more effectively than Kyle expected. The color drains from Eric's face, leaving only the sunburn that's streaked from the high points of his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. He stands with a grunt and goes over to his bed, standing over it with his back to Kyle.
"Shows how much you know," Eric says. His voice sounds suddenly different, ragged. Kyle gets up, unable to stand being alone with him any longer. It's starting to feel too weird, like always.
"I'm going to the pool," Kyle says, confident that Eric won't follow him there. Only Butters has voluntarily bared his pudgy chest in daylight. "Look, whatever. Maybe you've sucked the cocks of every junior convict in Nebraska. What the hell do I know? Just stop telling me about it. If I want you to suck my dick, I'll ask."
Just saying that makes his heart beat fast, and he hurries to grab his swim trunks, forgetting his flip flops when he bolts from the cabin. Outside, the sun is glaring, and Kyle knows his fresh layer of sunscreen hasn't had time to sink in yet. He hurries along the stone path and even considers running, but he's too tired and sore from the morning's workout. Something weird just happened in the cabin, beyond the usual dick sucking banter, but he doesn't really want to know why. He hopes that the pool will be empty, but of course it isn't: the girls are there, minus Henrietta, and Butters is doggy-paddling across the pool. Clyde is sitting in the shade of the gazebo, looking miserable and hot.
"Hey, Kyle!" Tammy calls before he can decide if he wants to turn back. He waves, feeling stupid and wondering if they've all been gossiping about what he and Eric might have been up to in the cabin.
"Heya!" Butters says when Kyle walks in through the pool gate. "Good to see you outside during the afternoon!"
"We were theorizing that you were a vampire," Rebecca says. She's wading in the shallow end, her bathing suit a surprisingly frilly red one-piece. "We thought maybe Eric was hunting you or something. He has a Van Helsing-ish quality."
"I doubt there are many red haired vampires," Kyle says, not even sure why he said that and beginning to wish he had just stayed in the cabin with Eric and his weirdness, where at least it was shady and cool. "I, uh. I'm gonna change." He holds up his swim trunks, wondering if he should leave his shirt on when he gets in the pool. It's such an obvious fat kid move, but he doesn't want them looking at his flabby white chest.
The boys' locker room that adjoins the pool deck is damp and shadowy, and it doesn't seem to be air conditioned. Kyle is sweating as he changes into his trunks. Unlike the rest of their camp wardrobe, they were allowed to bring their own bathing suits from home. Kyle's trunks are knee-length, dark green and slightly over-sized, which hopefully makes his bulging waist look smaller, but probably not. He stands in front of the mirror in the locker room for a long time, examining himself. He doesn't look that bad in the dim lighting, just puffy and too pale. He tells himself there are worse things and takes a deep breath, leaving his shirt behind in one of the day lockers, along with his underwear and shorts.
As soon as he leaves the locker room and walks out into the sunlight he regrets his decision to expose himself, but they've already seen him and he can't run back in. At least he's braver than Clyde, though Clyde's reluctance to enter the pool may have more to do with his colostomy bag than his physique. Kyle approaches warily, not sure where to put his hands. When he reaches the deep end of the pool he jumps in, eager to hide, and shrieks at the temperature just before he goes under. There is no way a desert pool should be this cold. Everyone is laughing when he surfaces, even Clyde.
"It's fucking cold!" Kyle says angrily, treading water and wanting to flick them all off.
"You'll warm up quick!" Rebecca says.
"Oh my god," Tammy says, still laughing. Bebe and Butters are, too, but they're trying to be discreet about it. Clyde's laugh is an annoying nasal 'heh heh heh,' unsurprisingly. "The way you screamed!" Tammy says when Kyle swims toward the group in the shallow end. "That was so cute."
"Very endearing," Rebecca says, as if this will make him feel better.
"Now we can play chicken!" Tammy says. She swims over to Kyle and grabs his arm. He wants to shake her off, instantly intimidated. She seems much bigger up close, particularly in the chest area, her boobs floating near Kyle's arm. "I get Kyle," she says. "Bebe, you can have Butters."
"Oh boy!" Butters says, swimming over to Bebe, who throws her arms around his shoulders like they're the best of friends. They could be siblings, blond and smiley, plump only in a ripe-looking way. Kyle glances at Tammy, who is grinning at him expectantly.
"What is chicken?" he asks, dreading the answer.
"It's like this," Bebe says, clambering onto Butters when he ducks down into the water. When he stands again he lifts Bebe up onto his shoulders. Bebe has her thighs pressed tightly to Butters' neck, her hands on top of his head. Butters' whole head is essentially cradled in Bebe's vagina-area, horrifyingly. Butters is blushing; he looks very pleased with himself. Kyle really doesn't want Tammy sitting on him like that.
"See," she says, tugging on Kyle's arm. "You guys hold us up and we fight with our arms, and whoever knocks the other girl off first wins!"
"Ugh," Kyle says, unable to conceal his complete lack of interest in doing any of that. He glances at Rebecca, who is giving him a knowing smile that also annoys him. "Clyde, can't you do this?" Kyle calls. "I'm not very, uh. Good at balance."
"I can't swim right now," Clyde says sourly.
"I'll hoist you," Rebecca says to Tammy. "If you don't mind a female platform."
"Oh - that's fine!" Tammy gives Kyle a sad smile as she moves away from him. He feels cruel, but also relieved when she gets up on Rebecca's shoulders instead. Kyle swims back into the deep end, not wanting to get embroiled in this game in any way. He's surprised to see Eric coming up the walk, headed toward the pool. He's wearing red shorts with a white tropical flower pattern - swim trunks? Kyle hovers in the deep end, wondering if Eric is actually going to get in the pool, and if he'll remove his Mackey t-shirt when he does. He's not sure if he's impressed or irritated by Eric's determination to be near him. It's transparent in a refreshing way, and also embarrassing.
Eric enters the pool area and pretends not to notice Kyle hanging on to the side in the deep end. He stands near the gate and frowns at the game of chicken as it plays out: Tammy and Bebe are laughing, trying to fling each other of off their partners' shoulders. Kyle thinks it looks much more fun to be the person on top, although Rebecca and Butters appear to be having a good time, too, cheering their partners on. Kyle lifts his hand from the water in a listless greeting when Eric finally looks at him, and feels pathetically rejected when Eric goes to sit with Clyde in the gazebo.
Determined not to fixate on Eric's presence, Kyle does underwater flips in the deep end of the pool. They were his favorite thing as a kid: he likes the disoriented feeling at the tipping point, when his stomach turns over, and the relief of breaking the surface without getting water up his nose. He used to be able to flip into the water from the diving board and the rim of the pool, used to spend hours diving through inner tubes with his brother. It's been a long time since he went anywhere near a pool; at least three years. Even the heat of the sun is nice, finally more than just a menace to flee from, and the water now feels perfectly cool instead of icy. He surges up to grab the end of the diving board and hangs there for a while, his back to everyone else. He always loved this as a kid, and it still feels good: like he's weightless and strong at the same time. He sees something out of the corner of his eye and lets go of the board when he realizes it's Eric, barefoot in his swim trunks and Mackey shirt, approaching the deep end.
Kyle is rather buoyant, and when he slips underwater he fights to stay below the surface, holding his breath and watching the shadow of Eric from above. Eric climbs onto the diving board, which bends under his weight. Kyle moves away in case it snaps in half, and he has to gasp for air when he finally surfaces, his lungs burning. Eric is staring down at him, his expression uncharacteristically stony.
"Gonna dive?" Kyle asks, feeling stupid. He swims to the edge of the pool, fearing the massive cannonball splash that Eric's impact will send up.
Eric doesn't answer. He looks uncertain on the diving board, like he shares Kyle's fear that it might buckle and break under his weight. He lingers a few feet back from the very edge, watching as Tammy successfully dislodges Bebe from Butters' shoulders. Kyle keeps his eyes on Eric, awaiting a comment about the fact that his pasty white tits are bobbing in the water. Or maybe they're not bobbing, exactly, not the way Tammy's do; Kyle's just sort of waft.
"What's Clyde's problem?" Kyle says, and he feels cruel but doesn't know what else to say. Eric appears to be waiting for something, and he's exuding a troubling energy that makes Kyle wonder if Eric's classmates back home are ever afraid that the fat loner with the beauty queen mom will burn down the school.
"Fine, asshole," Eric says, and Kyle is relieved when Eric finally looks at him, because he doesn't seem angry, exactly. "I never actually got busted for anything. I'm too smart for the juvenile court system. But that doesn't mean I don't know how to suck dick. I just didn't think you could handle the truth about how hardcore I really am."
"Okay." Kyle scoffs and hangs on to the edge of the pool, raising his eyebrows when Eric just stares at him.
"My mom's boyfriend taught me," Eric says. He gives Kyle a phony smirk and flings himself forward, bouncing hard on the end of the diving board. He doesn't get very high, but his splash is massive anyway, earthquaking the whole deep end and soaking Kyle. Eric swims away from him, underwater, looking like the Loch Ness monster as he moves toward the other kids. Kyle stays in place, trying to process what Eric just said. It didn't seem like another lie, but what does that mean? Eric had an affair with his mother's boyfriend? It seems unlikely, and Kyle's stomach curdles when he considers the other scenarios in which this could be true, like a bedroom door opening late at night, some pervert tiptoeing toward a sleeping kid who was Eric two hundred pounds ago. Kyle shudders and climbs out of the pool. He sits on the edge, not even thinking about his jelly rolls. Nobody is looking at him, anyway. Eric is pointedly ignoring him again, allowing Tammy to climb onto his massive shoulders for another round of chicken.
They stay at the pool until Wendy shows up and tells them to get ready for nutrition class and lunch. Kyle dresses alone in the boys' locker room while the others head back to the cabin. He feels shaky and strange, and he's glad he'll see Stan soon, though what Eric said is not something that Kyle can share with him. It's too potentially terrible, and too personal, and he doesn't want to sell Eric out, though maybe he needs help? Is his mother still with this guy? How old was he when this happened? Kyle will have to be delicate with his questions if he gets the nerve to ask them, but he's not sure that he wants to know more. It's just a glimpse of what's beneath the surface of Eric's defensive posturing, and already worse than Kyle expected, though not in the way he feared.
"What's wrong?" Stan asks when Kyle lingers on the examining table after doing his injection. It takes Kyle a moment to really hear the question; his mind was wandering. He shakes his head.
"I just hate Nutrition class," he says, blurting the first thing that comes to mind. "And Craig."
"Oh, yeah." Stan looks down at the spent syringe, turning it over in his hands. "Is he, uh. Still being rude to you?"
"No. Did you tell him to be nice?"
"No!" Stan looks up as if Kyle has accused him of something dastardly. "No, I. Me and Craig don't talk that much."
"How do you get from not talking to - laundry machines?"
Kyle regrets this as soon as he's said it; it's not a fun joke like the one he accidentally made about the laundry room this morning. Stan turns away from him and starts putting supplies away.
"Sorry," Kyle says. "I had - I swam. For the first time in forever. I'm kinda. It's been another weird day."
"Another weird day." Stan laughs and shuts the cabinet. He's smiling when he turns back to Kyle. "I can smell it on you," he says. "Chlorine – the pool."
"Yeah." Kyle likes this smell. It makes him feel like an outdoorsman, or at least a regular boy who's doing something with his summer. "Anyway. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, dude. I just don't know how to explain it. Sometimes you just - fall into something. Like - some people can knock you on your ass with one look, you know? Craig does that, to me."
Kyle goes to class in a bad mood, hating Craig more than ever. He can't get that phrase out of his head as he enters the classroom and takes his seat beside Eric. Some people can knock you on your ass with one look. Craig is kind of good looking, in an angular way, and certainly intense. He's thin, tall, mature. So that's the type of guy who can knock Stan over without even needing to speak. Bend him over, more like, Kyle thinks bitterly. He glances over at Eric, who is sitting with his elbows on their workstation and staring at the front of the classroom, his chin in his hand.
"What do you think we're making today?" Kyle asks, surveying the ingredients that have been set out: chicken, cherry tomatoes, yellow bell pepper and a few other things. Eric shrugs and looks down at the whisk he's rolling against the countertop.
"Some health food shit," he says.
"Yeah." Kyle fidgets, glances at Eric again, and wishes he knew what to say. He feels like he's being accused of something, of not caring, or of not being equipped to care properly. His plan to help Eric become a better person seems increasingly idiotic.
He's again able to get through Nutrition class without being the victim of Craig's cool condescension, and he does most of the work on the chicken kabobs that they grill for lunch. He doesn't season them well and they're not very good, dry and excessively bland, but Eric doesn't complain. He doesn't even try to eat some of Kyle's portion as usual, just sits there looking like a vaguely irritated zombie. Kyle wants to ask him if he's alright, but it feels like such a loaded question, and he's afraid to know the answer.
After class, Eric goes to the game room, which hurts Kyle's feelings but is also a relief. Kyle goes back to the cabin with plans to masturbate in the shower, but he can't get hard, too preoccupied with what Eric said, trying to envision the man who preyed on him. He wishes Eric hadn't told him, tries to convince himself it's just another lie, and feels terribly guilty. After his shower, he crawls into bed and tosses and turns until Butters comes to fetch him for group activity hour.
Eric is distant for the rest of the day, though he acts normal around the others, loud at dinner and complaining about the unholy deliciousness of Taco Bell during group therapy. Kyle stays mostly silent during group, feeling increasingly ill and not sure if it's because he needs insulin or if it's some other kind of imbalance. He checks his blood sugar and asks to go to the nurse's station when he sees that he needs an injection.
"Alright," Mackey says, "Go wait for Stan in the front lobby. I'll tell him to meet you there." He digs out his cell phone, and Kyle thrills at the thought that Stan has a phone number which might be acquired, though campers aren't allowed to have phones, and he's not delusional enough to think Stan wants to exchange texts with him.
He waits in the lobby, chilly in the air conditioning and increasingly worried about how soon he needs an injection and how long it's taking Stan to arrive. When Stan finally shows he's running toward the building from the direction of the front gates. Kyle slips out to meet him, wishing it was still warm. It's dark outside the flood of the building's lights, the sun long gone and the evening chill settled over the desert. Stan is audibly short of breath, and he takes Kyle off guard by grabbing both his arms when he reaches him.
"You alright?" Stan asks, staring down at Kyle like he might have a bullet wound. Stan's face is red, maybe from exertion, and there's a fuzzy panic in his eyes. Kyle figures it out when he smells Stan's breath: he can't tell if it's whiskey or bourbon or rum, but it's one of those things, heavy and unpleasantly warm.
"I'm - fine, I just need my insulin."
"Oh, shit, yeah." Stan steps back, a bit unsteadily, and pushes his hair off his forehead. "Sorry, like. I thought I was off duty. You're usually, uh. You usually don't need one after dinner."
He's slurring a little, but only on the word 'usually.' Kyle shrugs, his eyes burning as they walk together toward the nurse's station, though he knows he has no right to feel betrayed. It's not like Stan stood him up for a date. It takes Stan a few tries to get the key to the nurse's station to work, and he curses under his breath, his hands shaking. For the first time since they started this routine, he flips the lights on when they walk inside. Kyle doesn't like the way the room looks when it's illuminated impersonally. It's not their shadowy little cave, just a generic examining room that smells like bandages and ointment.
"You okay?" Stan asks after Kyle has done his injection. Stan is hovering, bouncing nervously on his the balls of his feet.
"I'm fine," Kyle says. He watches Stan put everything away, wanting to escape this unsteady, compromised version of Stan, though he did like it when Stan grabbed his arms like he was desperately worried about Kyle's well-being. It occurs to Kyle that maybe he could sneak in other touches while Stan is like this. The thought is both appealing and awful. He thinks of Eric, and the dizzying back and forth of wanting to float into his orbit and also stay just out of reach, how suddenly nothing is just one flat plane of joy or dread like most of his life has been so far.
"You went to the biker bar?" Kyle says when Stan finally meets his eyes.
"Wha - no." Stan laughs and looks away. "Nah, I. Me and Kenny. You know Kenny?"
"Uh, yeah. He serves me three meals a day."
"Right, yeah, him. He was - we were just hanging out. You okay?"
"Yeah. You keep asking me that."
"Sorry, dude. Just. Should I walk you to your cabin?"
"I can walk myself."
Kyle pushes out of the nurse's station, feeling childish but unable to suppress his annoyance. He heads toward the cabins, listening as Stan locks up behind him.
"Kyle!" Stan calls, too loud, and Kyle turns back. Stan waves. "'Night," he says. He looks worried, but only in a drunken, lopsided way.
"Does Craig know you drink?" Kyle asks, because maybe Stan won't remember this, anyway. He laughs.
"You kidding me? How'dya think he got me in the sack the first time? Shit. Here they come."
Kyle looks down the pathway to see his bunkmates and the girls coming toward them. Stan gives Kyle a weird little salute and darts off into the darkness, taking an alternate route back to wherever he came from. Kyle walks back to the cabin ahead of the others, comforted by their chatter behind him. He'd been nervous about encountering coyotes. Was Stan really going to let him walk back alone? He has no idea; maybe Stan is the kind of guy who's capable of anything while drinking. The fact that he let Craig fuck him while under the influence speaks volumes, Kyle thinks.
Back in the cabin, he isn't in the mood for socializing, and apparently neither is Eric, who climbs into bed before the others and pulls the blankets over his head. Kyle feels badly, almost responsible, but it's not as if he was hounding Eric for personal details. Eric was just offering them, but Kyle has a hard time falling asleep anyway, feeling guilty about Stan's condition, too, as if Kyle set that in motion by witnessing his laundry room activities with Craig. When the cabin goes quiet and he finally begins to drift off, he realizes they had no week one weigh-in. He's glad, though also wondering what he's shed so far. It mostly feels like he's taken things on: accessories and appendages both good and bad.
The following morning, Stan mentions nothing about the night before when they're together in the nurse's station. Kyle didn't expect him to, but he still feels disappointed, and he gets his feelings hurt again when Eric barely looks at him at breakfast. Kyle has his individual session with Mackey afterward, and he's glad to go, fleeing the inane conversations at the breakfast table and Eric's silent judgment, as if Kyle should actually know what to do with what he said. He's planning to vaguely allude to the situation when he's with Mackey, but once he gets there he can't manage to actually bring it up; it seems too dangerous, since he knows so little himself.
"I have this friend," he says when Mackey studies him for too long, making him nervous. "I think he has a drinking problem."
"Oh?" Mackey wags his foot a little, his pen poised over his notebook. "This is somebody from home? We talked before about how you don't have many friends there."
Kyle immediately regrets saying anything: is Mackey trying to figure out who he's talking about, assuming it's someone from camp? Kyle will never forgive himself if Mackey realizes that he's really talking about Stan.
"It's my little brother," Kyle blurts. "Ike. He's very, uh. Mature for his age. He's gotten into drinking, but – but. He doesn't think he has a problem."
"Mhmmkay, well. As far as I remember from your file, your little brother is only, um, ten years old?"
"Yeah, well, like I said, he's really – mature. He's always been like that. But I was just wondering – should I stay out of it? Is there anything I can do? It's really stressing me out."
Mackey studies him for a while, and Kyle's heart pounds. He feels so transparent that he's almost ready to shout that he's gay, just as a distraction, when Mackey finally speaks.
"What about your brother's, uh, drinking stresses you out, particularly?"
"Nothing – well, everything. Why is he so sad? Wha – it just seemed to happen all of a sudden, but maybe it's been going on for a while. I mean, I don't really know him. Uh, we're not close." That's true, recently. Ike is popular and active, beanpole thin. He looks at Kyle like he's worried about him, and, increasingly, like he doesn't want to be associated with whatever he's going through.
"I see. Have you talked to your mother about this?"
"No, she doesn't know – I don't want to tell her. Or anybody. It's his, like, business."
"Mhmm. Aren't you worried about your little brother's health?"
"I'm – yeah, but it's more like. Why does he feel like has to do this?"
"Well, Kyle, that's a very complicated question. People tend to turn to drugs and alcohol when they want to escape something. Is there something going on at home, or in your brother's personal life, something bad?"
"I don't know – if there was, he wouldn't tell me. I mean, he wouldn't want to, uh, upset me." Kyle groans and tips his head back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Talking about this was a bad idea; there's no way he can correlate Stan and his ten-year-old brother and get helpful advice. "You know what, never mind."
"Never mind?"
"Yeah, can we, like, come back to that? Some other time?"
"Well, sure, Kyle. Is there something you'd prefer to discuss?"
Kyle thinks about it: does he want to talk about the gay thing? The thing Eric said? The fact that he wants to rescue both Stan and Eric and is also afraid of getting any closer to whatever problems they might have?
"How'd you decide to become a therapist?" Kyle asks.
"Well. To be honest with you, Kyle, I had some difficult experiences during my childhood, mmkay, and I didn't get much help at that age. I wanted to become the kind of adult I needed back then, if that makes sense. Do you have any particular career aspirations?"
"I feel like I'm not good at anything."
"That's not an uncommon feeling at your age, so don't despair. Hopefully we can get you to a place, this summer, where you feel like you can explore your talents. Can I ask what happened to your hands?"
"Oh." Kyle was so preoccupied with Stan's and Eric's situations that he forgot to dread this discussion. "I, uh. Killed one of your shrubs when I was angry about something."
The rest of the session is devoted to Kyle's anger management issues, and he leaves Mackey's office feeling drained, glad when he doesn't pass Eric in the hallway on his way out. Last week Eric's session followed Kyle's: what will he say? Anything revealing, or just a bunch of overcompensating bullshit like what he tries to feed Kyle?
Kyle goes to the pool again during his free hour, and this time there's an obnoxious group of younger kids in the shallow end. He doesn't stay long, and on the walk back to his cabin he runs into Rebecca, who is carrying a black umbrella. Feeling a bit tender after exposing himself to so much sun yesterday, Kyle hurries to catch up with her and smiles gratefully when she allows him to share the shade of the umbrella.
"Where's Eric?" she asks.
"How should I know?"
"Oh, I thought you two were getting close or something."
"No. Just. He follows me around. He's weird." Kyle feels terrible for saying so, but he's not referring to Eric's comment at the pool yesterday, exactly. "Have you, uh, bonded with anybody?" he asks.
"With Henrietta, a little. She lent me this umbrella. She's pretty hard to get to know, though."
"Eric, too," Kyle says, though he already feels like he knows too much, just nothing of substance, or nothing that makes much sense. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"This is going to sound random, and you don't have to answer, but I wanted to ask someone who is, like, logical. And you seem pretty smart."
"I am." She looks at Kyle mildly after saying so, as if this is both completely valid and not particularly impressive.
"Okay. Well, what do you think about, like. Sex for the sake of sex? Like, sex without emotional attachment? I know it's sentimental to feel like it's weird, but isn't it a little weird?"
"Oh, interesting. I actually have a lot to say on this subject."
Kyle is not surprised. Though she's not attractive, traditionally or to him personally, there is something obliquely sensual about Rebecca. She seems open-minded, if nothing else, and was kind of eager to get Tammy's thighs around her neck yesterday at the pool.
"My experience is limited, sadly," she says. "But I have formulated a few opinions based on theory and general principles. I think the problem is twofold. One: in most circumstances it's hard to get someone to trust you enough to engage in sex acts with you without also developing a corresponding emotional attachment, however minimal. And two: it's hard to know, based purely on visual stimulation, if a potential partner can satisfy your needs before actually experimenting with them sexually. So there you have it."
"There you have it?"
"Once you're trusted enough to have sex with someone, either you or they will be invested on some level beyond what's purely physical, and if the experience is disappointing, that involvement will make discontinuing said sexual activity potentially unpleasant, possibly ending the relationship altogether. So my advice, I suppose, is to only engage in purely sexual experimentation with people who you aren't opposed to losing contact with afterward, should it go poorly."
"Yeah." Kyle thinks about this for a moment, in terms of Eric. "You can get an STD from a blow job, can't you?"
"Herpes, for one." Rebecca looks over at him and smiles. "But I think they have condoms at the nurse's station."
"I can't - I can't ask there, and anyway. I'm not. This is just theoretical."
"Of course. Look, if you're lucky enough to have no strings attached sex at our age, I applaud and encourage you, as long as you do it safely. But if your partner is a fellow teenager, keep in mind that most teenagers are irrational, highly emotional, and cruel when they feel threatened or hurt."
"I will keep that in mind, thanks."
Kyle is preoccupied for the rest of the day, reviewing his conversations with Mackey and Rebecca and waiting for Eric to act normal again. He's not acting abnormal, exactly, just seems to be avoiding any meaningful interaction with Kyle, who suspects this means he wasn't lying about mom's boyfriend and that was not an experience that he actually feels smug or 'hardcore' about. If Eric wants to be asked about it, Kyle isn't prepared to do that. Part of him wants to blab everything to Stan, but he's not really he can trust Stan to keep secrets. What if Stan gets drunk, tells Craig, and sets off some kind of criminal investigation? Should there be one? Is Eric asking Kyle to instigate something of the sort? Kyle's stomach hurts so much by dinnertime that he can barely get his veggie enchiladas down.
"What I would give for real Mexican food," Clyde says after he's vacuumed his enchiladas down.
"There's a Mexican restaurant in town," Eric says. "I saw it on the drive in."
"Field trip!" Tammy says, grinning at Kyle when he looks up from plate.
"You said it." Eric points his fork at her. "I'm making plans. Anyone who wants to join can pay me in cash to get in on it."
"What?" Kyle stares at Eric, but now he's preoccupied with scraping the remaining streaks of sour cream off his plate. "You can't be serious. You'd get in so much trouble." He considers what it would be like here if Eric got kicked out. Better? Not really, and Kyle feels unfinished, where Eric is concerned.
"Don't get your panties in a wad," Eric says. "I'm a master of stealth."
Kyle is so pleased that Eric is talking to him again - though still not looking at him - that he doesn't attempt to dispute this. He moves his foot against Eric's under the table, just slightly, bumping the sides of their sneakers together. Eric doesn't move away, and doesn't seem to hear Tammy's questions about how he plans to sneak out to a Mexican restaurant until she's asking for the third time, snapping her fingers in front of his face.
"Huh?" he barks, glaring at her. "Oh, just - don't worry about it. I have ways. Things are developing."
Kyle can't contain a snort, hearing that.
"Well, we've got a little plan, too," Bebe says, and she and Tammy grin at each other. "Not as fancy as escaping the camp, but we're going to meet up on the golf course tonight."
"For what?" Clyde asks. "You got food?"
"No food, but we thought we'd do some star gazing, just hang out, you know, without supervision." Bebe glances at Kyle, then Eric, then dissolves into giggles with Tammy. Kyle flushes, not sure if they're coming on to him or implying that he and Eric should put on a gay show for them. "What do you guys say?"
"I'm out," Kyle says. "You guys get in trouble if you want."
"I'll come!" Butters says. "Sounds real fun. I like looking at the stars."
"I may join you," Eric says pompously, examining his fork. "It could prove useful to my strategic information gathering."
"Strategic information gathering?" Kyle says, eying him. Eric just shrugs and goes back to scraping sour cream from his plate.
Back in the cabin, Kyle takes his evening shower and gets in bed with a book he borrowed from the library in the main building: a novel called The Night Strangers that is supposed to be a 'riveting and dramatic ghost story.' It's boring so far, and Kyle puts it away when Token comes to the door at eleven to remind them that it's time for lights out. Kyle lies in bed and allows his eyes to adjust to the darkness, feeling too restless to sleep.
"Eric," Butters whispers after a few minutes have passed. "Psst!"
"What, fuckface?"
"We still sneaking out to meet the girls?"
"They're supposed to get us on their way to the golf course." Eric sits up in bed and looks over at Kyle. "You coming?" he asks.
"I –" Kyle realizes he wants to before he can say that he doesn't. "I guess. Okay."
Ten minutes later, there's a soft knock on the door. Butters bolts out of bed to answer it, and Tammy and Bebe are there, Henrietta lurking behind them on the path.
"Rebecca didn't come?" Kyle says as he steps into his flip flops, disappointed.
"She said she was too tired," Bebe says. "C'mon – hurry. I saw Stan patrolling around the pool."
"He won't get us in trouble," Kyle says, and Eric snorts skeptically.
They cut diagonally across the camp, heading for the sprawling golf course and keeping to the shadows. Kyle is nervous but glad to be included. He's never broken a curfew before, and has never been out this late with friends. It's a unexpectedly thrilling concept: these people are his friends? He walks beside Eric as they head out to the middle of the golf course, and takes Eric's hand when he stops to gaze up at the sky. Eric looks at Kyle, his eyes widening with naked surprise. He's sort of cute when he's not being a weirdo jackass. Maybe it's just the moonlight, or the late hour.
"I don't really want to play tag," Kyle says. The others have started up an impromptu game of it, laughing and chasing each other around the course. Only Henrietta is refraining, watching them with her arms crossed over her chest. Eric looks down at their hands. His palm is already starting to grow damp, but Kyle doesn't let go.
"Tag is gay," Eric says. He squeezes Kyle's hand, swallows audibly, and squeezes again. "Stupid, I mean. It's just running."
"Yeah. Fuck running." Kyle sits down in the grass, pulling Eric with him. They sit with their shoulders touching, still holding hands, and watch the others run around. Henrietta stretches out on her back nearby, and Clyde joins her when he can no longer keep up with the others. Kyle can hear parts of their muttered conversation, but he's not really paying attention. He feels exceptionally calm, far away from the stress of the past few days and content to wait for Eric to decide what to do next. Eric is nervous; Kyle can feel it in the air like an electric charge. Kyle likes this, his surprising ability to make a sixteen-year-old boy nervous, even if it's this boy, a mountainous mess with sweaty hands.
"Oh, Jesus," Eric mutters when Butters drops into the grass and Tammy and Bebe sort of tackle him, all of them laughing. "An orgy is breaking out over there."
"Good for Butters. I doubt he gets much action back home." Kyle wonders if he should have said that, considering the 'action' Eric might be getting at home. "Um, you – does that guy still bother you?"
"What guy?"
"The blow job guy."
Eric looks over at him, and Kyle tries to make his expression as accepting as possible without also inviting Eric to spill his guts here and now. It's probably too dark to communicate all this with a look, so he lifts Eric's hand and kisses his knuckles.
"I set that guy's car on fire," Eric says. "The fucker never showed his face after that."
"Good," Kyle says. He pulls Eric's arm around him. It's cold out, and Kyle is wearing only his pajama pants, Mackey t-shirt and flip flops. Eric seems stunned for a few seconds, but then he hugs Kyle against him, rubbing his arm to warm him up. "Are you sniffing my hair?" Kyle asks.
"No," Eric says, and he scoffs, though he totally was. Kyle laughs when he sees Butters getting kissed by both Bebe and Tammy, who are sort of passing him back and forth, giggling. Butters seems to be enjoying it, dazed and grinning.
"What a stud," Kyle says.
"Please. Those bitches are using him like a sex toy, look at them."
"No, it's cute."
"Cute? It's nasty. If those two start lezzing out I'm leaving. They practically are, I mean – Butters is basically a chick."
"He is not," Kyle says, though he sort of knows what Eric means. They look at each other, and Kyle braces himself to be kissed, not sure if he wants it or not. Eric is breathing hard, increasingly warm. In the distance, a coyote howls, and three more answer from someplace near the golf course, close but out of sight. Kyle goes stiff and looks to the others. They've all frozen, too.
"Oh, good," Henrietta says. "Is this the part of the bullshit horror movie cliché field trip where we get eaten by wild dogs?"
"Fuck that," Eric says, standing. He pulls Kyle up with him and keeps hold of his hand. Butters and the girls are running toward them, shrieking with laughter, as if they're playing tag with the pack of coyotes now.
They walk the girls back to their cabin and whisper goodnight at the door. Butters gets kissed by Tammy and Bebe again, this time on his cheeks. He's giddy on the way back to their cabin, practically skipping.
"That was the best night ever!" he proclaims as they walk back into their cabin.
"A successful mission," Eric says.
"Are you guys holding hands?" Clyde asks, pausing in the middle of the room to stare at them. Kyle lets go and shrugs.
"Mind your own business, shit bag," Eric says. He climbs into bed and smirks at Kyle. "You see what I did there? Eh? Shit bag, because he—"
"Yeah, I get it." Kyle winces and climbs into bed. "Everybody just – shut up and go to to sleep."
Miraculously, this works, and soon Kyle is the only one awake, lying in the dark and smiling up at the ceiling like an idiot. He still feels a little queasy, as if he can't quite find his mental footing, but there's a kind of Disney-musical feeling buzzing in the pit of his stomach, and he remembers Bebe saying that Stan was patrolling near the pool. Kyle imagines running out there, finding Stan and jumping into his arms, kissing him on the mouth. At the moment he feels like he could actually do it, like he could do anything.
He falls asleep knowing this is not actually true, too afraid to try to find Stan anyway, because he might be intoxicated and fresh from Craig's bed, smelling of grownup sex. Still, Kyle feels empowered by the events of the evening. Things are finally happening to him, for real. The possibilities, if not endless, are at least more plentiful that he ever dared to hope before this summer.