An Education

by hollycomb

AU - Kyle is sent to a fat camp for the summer, where he falls in love with kindly junior counselor Stan and experiments guiltily with his corpulent bunkmate, Eric Cartman. Kenny, Wendy, Token, Henrietta, Butters, Clyde, Bebe, Craig and others also have a role in Kyle's life changing summer of 'health education.'

9. Chapter 9

A/N: Here's the final chapter at last! Sorry (again) for the wait, but it's a long one, almost 25,000 words. There's still an epilogue to come as well, and I would love to hear thoughts on the conclusion of the main story in the meantime. Thank you so much to all who have read this and for the feedback as well; I've really enjoyed hearing the wide range of different reactions to this one!

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Though he's been dreading the end of camp since their final month here began, Kyle doesn't fully accept that this experience will soon be over until Mackey announces one evening that the campfire they're all gathered around will be the last all-ages gathering before their parents arrive for the final send off. It takes Kyle off guard, and he looks over at Eric to see if he's bothered by the reminder, too. Eric is frowning at something on the other side of the campfire. Kyle follows his gaze and sees Stan laughing with Kenny, who is distributing fruit kabobs to the campers in the circle.

"Your wet nurse is drunk again," Eric says.

"No, he's not," Kyle says, though there is something about Stan's laugh that seems off, and the way he's moving is more fluid than usual, less guarded. "And don't call him that."

Kyle watches Stan warily, trying not to be obvious about it. Things have been strained between them since the day Kyle got an erection in the nurse's station and didn't try to hide it. Kyle feels stupid about it now, and guilty, because it seems to have dampened Stan's spirits somehow. He's been more pale and bleary during Kyle's morning injections, more mumbly and impatient in the evenings, and quieter in general. He doesn't linger as close anymore, and Kyle can't blame him for that, but the drunken behavior is worrisome. Despite all the awkwardness, the invisible pull between Stan and Kyle feels stronger than ever, both of them always tensed up and almost jumpy in each other's presence now. Kyle feels Eric staring at him and realizes that he was staring, too, at Stan.

"Hey," Kyle says, putting his fist on Eric's knee. "This is depressing."

"What is?" Eric asks, muttering.

"The last big campfire of the summer."

"Yeah, well." Eric glances hatefully at Stan when he laughs loud enough to be heard from the other side of the campfire, bending at his waist. "You don't even like the campfires."

It's true that Kyle doesn't enjoy them, but he's talking more about the oncoming end of camp, though maybe Eric doesn't need to hear that right now. Instead, inspired, Kyle leans over to whisper in Eric's ear.

"Hey, so tomorrow," he says. "Let's try something new. The last thing. The big thing."

Eric pulls back to look at him, his eyes widening as he takes in Kyle's expression. Kyle shrugs and smiles. He's been thinking about when and if he should lose his dick-in-butt virginity ever since Eric first worked a finger into him. Sitting here across from cackling, drunk Stan, by their last ever campfire, has strengthened his resolve. He wants to give some part of himself up forever to this experience, this summer, and to Eric.

"Yeah - you - sure?" Eric says, and Kyle can't tell if this is a question or his consent. Kyle nods and looks back to the campfire, trying not to monitor Stan's whereabouts from the corner of his eye.

"Good," Kyle says. "Then it's settled."

"Yeah," Eric says, watching Kyle warily, like he's afraid this is a trick. He seems nervous, which is good. Kyle wouldn't want to do this - not yet, anyway - with someone who wasn't.

For the rest of the night Kyle feels triumphant in his certainty, but in the morning his doubts quickly creep back in. He's mostly afraid it will hurt, and that Eric will blame himself and have a panic attack if Kyle doesn't fully enjoy himself. On his way to the nurse's station for his injection he's debating whether or not to ask Stan about anal sex, though he knows it's another really bad idea. It turns out to be irrelevant: Stan isn't there when Kyle walks into the nurse's station. Wendy is waiting for him, looking annoyed.

"What-" Kyle lingers in the doorway, his heart rate picking up. "Where's Stan?"

"Stan is ill. C'mon, he told me you can do this yourself. I'm doing the morning workout with the elementary school group, so we've got to hurry up."

Kyle remains in the doorway until Wendy raises her eyebrows impatiently. He moves toward the cabinet where his supplies are kept and gets his things, his hands shaking. He has a thousand questions and isn't sure he should give voice to any of them. He does his injection in silence as usual, but it feels very different with Wendy watching, her eyes sort of glazed over as if her mind is elsewhere. She still seems angry, but Kyle doesn't get the sense that it's directed at him.

"What's wrong with Stan?" he asks as he puts his things away, though he feels like he knows already.

"Nothing. He has a headache. All done?"

"Wendy?"

"Yes?"

"Is Stan okay?"

"Of course, honey." Wendy's expression softens. "He's, just. He's got a headache, like I said. How's, um. How's he been with you this summer, helping with the injections?"

"He's been great," Kyle says. He feels queasy, uncomfortable with discussing Stan behind his back but desperate for some kind of outside perspective on him. "He's really good at this, like, with listening? I'm more comfortable with him than with Mackey."

"Oh, well. Maybe because you're closer in age. Okay, all done? I've got to get a move on."

Kyle leaves the nurse's station feeling unbalanced, like the ground is shifting under his feet. At breakfast he's quiet, preoccupied with thoughts of Stan's whereabouts. Is he in bed, hungover? Crying? Kyle wants to go to him, and only when he notices Eric staring at him more intently than usual does he remember his promise at the campfire last night and the anal sex that Eric is anticipating during their free hour.

"Oh," Kyle says, without meaning to actually voice this. Butters turns to look at him.

"You got the hiccups or something?" Butters asks, and he gives Kyle a few slaps on the back.

"No, just. Um-"

"What's the optional afternoon activity?" Eric asks, staring at Clyde as if daring him to skip it. "Something good, I hope."

"Relax," Clyde says, monotone. "We're not going to hone in on your boning session."

This makes the girls laugh, except Henrietta, who snorts derisively.

"At least someone around here is getting laid," she says. "I thought this place would be a total fuck fest. What a letdown."

"You-" Clyde says, giving her a once over as if he's just now, two and half months into camp, noticed that's she there. Henrietta has lost at least twenty pounds, but she's retained a kind of roundness that seems less visibly uncomfortable than it did at the start of camp. "You wanted a fuck fest?" Clyde says, and Rebecca laughs again. Henrietta shrugs and returns her eyes to her omelet.

After breakfast they have team building with Wendy, and Kyle is horrible at all three games they play, distracted by his worry over Stan and his growing uncertainty about actually doing the 'real sex' thing with Eric in less than an hour. Wendy seems to notice his inability to concentrate but doesn't lambaste him for it like she normally would, which he appreciates. She's probably worried about Stan, too. Kyle is afraid Eric has noticed how anxious and distracted he is, though it might be worse if he hasn't. On their walk to the cabin he touches Kyle's shoulders and back almost timidly, sighing a lot.

"So this is it," Eric blurts when they're almost there. "D-day."

"Ha," Kyle says, and he takes Eric's hand, trying to draw courage from him. It works, because Eric's hand is shaking. At least he's not barreling toward this full force like he did with the blow job. "Yep."

Everyone else is back at the main building for optional activities, and for the first time all summer, Kyle kind of wishes he was with them, painting with water colors while Mackey's tinkly spa music plays on the overhead speakers. He keeps trying to envision Eric's fat dick in his ass, failing to see how it could feel good, though it's been a regular part of his fantasies for a while now. Fantasies are one thing; virgin assholes are another. Kyle's keeps clenching in fear every time Eric touches him, and he's sweating worse than usual, dripping with it by the time they reach the cabin.

"Um, I'm gonna shower," Kyle says. "I'll make it quick."

"Sure, sure, take your time," Eric says. "No, uh, hurry." He goes to the cabinet beside his bed and roots through it, presumably hunting for the condoms Kyle got from Kenny.

Kyle ducks into the bathroom and takes a deep breath. He tells himself this is no big deal. He's fantasized about it frequently enough that he wants it, but he also wants to skip over this part: the first, potentially painful, totally inexperienced time. And will his future boyfriends think it's weird that he did this at fifteen? Will he really end up in a broom closet with Eric at college, doing this? Or a dorm room? Would he even want Eric around at college, being weird and scaring off other potential friends? Is it cruel to ask Eric to do this with him and also not tell him that he's pretty sure he doesn't want that? His head is spinning by the time he turns on the shower, and he makes the water colder than he normally does, wanting a bracing temperature.

He's so nervous that it takes him a while to even work up the nerve to part his ass cheeks and clean himself. He's done this a few times to prepare for getting felt up, but that never seemed like as big of a deal, and he's always kept it shallow, mostly washing the outside. He doesn't really like putting his fingers into himself: it feels weird and dirty, even when they're coated with a thick layer of soap. He grits his teeth and forces himself to work one finger in as deeply as he can, squirming it around in what doesn't exactly feel like a cleaning motion. He's tense, and he can't seem to get himself to unclench enough to make this painless. His ass is stinging when he rinses himself out, and for a moment he actually thinks he's going to cry. Why did he tell Eric he would do this? What was he thinking, last night at the stupid campfire, distracted by Stan's embarrassing behavior, which is probably Kyle's fault? He climbs out of the shower, wondering if Stan will be there for his pre-lunch injection, and if he'll be sympathetic if Kyle cries pathetically over his sore ass and lost virginity. Probably not: Kyle spent that nickel when he flashed his erection at Stan like a desperate idiot.

Leaving the bathroom with a towel around his waist, he suddenly feels like all of the decisions he's made this summer have been those of a desperate idiot. Eric is stretched out on the bed, wearing a clean t-shirt and lying under the sheet, looking semi-terrified. This calms Kyle a little, but only briefly, because what sort of look will Eric have on his face if Kyle blurts that he doesn't actually want to do this? He imagines Eric diving headfirst into that dumpster, blubbering with sobs and hunting through the garbage for his long lost candy bars. If Kyle doesn't go through with this he may ruin Eric's life, and he's already done something pretty awful to Stan's, if not outright ruin.

"Should I turn on some music?" Eric asks when Kyle lingers near the bathroom door.

"How? What? Where - what music?"

"I don't know, uh. Butters has that radio thing."

"No, um." Kyle tries to make himself consider this: would it be nice to have music? Relaxing, good for atmosphere? Has he pictured his first time with music? He suddenly can't remember, and can't think straight at all. He's holding his towel around himself tightly, though Eric has seen him naked plenty of times. "You're already hard," he says, staring at the tented bedsheet.

"What - oh, yeah. I was, like, thinking of you in the shower. Getting ready and stuff."

"Ah - ha, okay."

"Are you alright?" Eric sits up on his elbows, his knees twitching under the sheet. "You look like you're gonna hurl."

"I'm fine," Kyle says. He doesn't want to act like an infant, especially since he's really enjoyed multiple fingers up his ass. He doesn't want to hurt Eric's feelings by refusing the simple width increase that his cock represents. He doesn't want to move from the spot where he's standing.

"You sure?" Eric asks. He squirms and glances toward the door. "Um, 'cause. You could do me, if you don't want me to do you."

"Do you? Like – fuck you?"

"Yeah." Eric shrugs and blushes. He doesn't look particularly enthusiastic. Kyle tries to imagine putting so much as a finger up Eric's ass and still doesn't like the idea.

"No," Kyle says. "I mean, no, thank you. I'd rather. I guess."

"C'mere." Eric scoots over and pats the bed. Kyle makes himself move forward, feeling like he just woke up in some older person's life. Eric looks worried, and he's overly warm when Kyle settles against him in bed. With Eric's arm around him Kyle feels even smaller, younger, and he hides his face against Eric's neck, clinging to him and hoping that he'll understand Kyle's inexplicable state of mind by osmosis. When Eric sighs Kyle slumps onto him with relief, because he sounds resigned, like he knows this isn't really going to happen.

"Sorry," Kyle mutters, his voice muffled against Eric's neck. "Um, I don't know if—"

"I don't care," Eric says. He's rubbing Kyle's back, and he cradles Kyle's head with his other hand, digging his fingers in through Kyle's wet curls. "I mean. It's not like. Not like we'll never see each other again, after camp. It's not like we have to do it now or never."

"Right!" Kyle pops up and nods. "Exactly, I just. Last night, you know, it was the last big campfire. It got me thinking, and I panicked, and, but. I'm not really ready."

Eric says nothing and Kyle gets tense again, fearing a breakdown, but Eric's hand is still moving on his back, and he's radiating a kind of comfortable acceptance that Kyle wants to sink into. He shifts back down to rest his cheek on Eric's shoulder. It's still soft, a perfect pillow.

"I'm scared," Kyle admits. "Not of you. I just. If it hurts. I don't know."

"It's okay," Eric says. He hugs Kyle against him and touches his cheek. "I seriously don't care. I mean, it'd be cool, but this is good. I wish we could do this every day. Forever."

"This? Oh." Kyle wraps his arms around Eric and slings his leg across Eric's lap, bumping Eric's wilting erection in the process. "It is really great. Thank you, like. Thanks for being my boyfriend."

Something about saying this makes Kyle's eyes water a little. He's afraid to look up at Eric, who is holding his breath. When he finally lets it out Kyle sinks down with it, riding the slow wave of Eric's deflating chest.

"You can still be that after we leave here," Eric says. "My boyfriend, I mean. If you want."

"Sure," Kyle says. "Yeah, we could be, like. Long distance."

"Yeah, exactly. We can Skype. Do you have Skype?"

"No, but I can get it. And we can text." Kyle beams, enjoying the idea of finally having someone to text stupid updates about his mundane activities throughout the day. And not just anyone: a boyfriend who will be glad to hear from him, thrilled to read about what he just ate for lunch.

"Do your parents look at your phone?" Eric asks, stroking Kyle's side now, his dick rising again under the sheet.

"Not usually," Kyle says. "Why?"

"'Cause I'll send you dick pics, that's why. If you want."

"Oh, shit, yeah." Kyle laughs and presses his face to Eric's neck. This is better than fucking: making plans. He feels more authentically grown up than he did when he casually offered anal sex yesterday. "Should I send you, like. Butthole pics?" he asks.

"Of course, yes, that would be excellent."

They laugh and squirm together, practicing the kind of dirty talk messages they'll send each other during the school day. It's funny but it's also hot; Eric is creative in a particularly filthy way. Before the end of the free hour they've dry-humped each other to completion, and Kyle allows himself to doze off for a few minutes, relaxing into the feeling that he's not going to be forced to choose between ruining Eric's life or reporting to the college of his choice. It's going to be so good, just having someone to talk to, even if they can't talk in person.

Kyle's steps are lighter on the way to Nutrition class, but they slow as he takes his detour toward the nurse's station. He's not sure if Stan will be there, and not even sure if he wants him to be. He's been dreading the probably inevitable moment when things between them morph from uncomfortable to unbearable, and this might be the day.

At first Kyle thinks Stan has failed to show up again, then he spots him at the nurse's desk, playing with his phone. Stan looks up and gives Kyle a tired smile, his thumbs still poised over the phone.

"Feeling better?" Kyle asks.

"What? Oh, yeah."

They stare at each other until Kyle can't take it anymore. He goes to the supply cabinet, his cheeks hot and heart pounding. He can hear Stan tapping at his phone again, composing a message. To Craig? Probably. What does Craig think of Stan's drinking? Before their chat in Craig's office Kyle would have assumed that Craig liked it when Stan was drunk, because it would make him an easier target for seduction, but now he wonders if Craig is worried, too. Kyle reminds himself that it's not really his business and does his injection while Stan watches gloomily from the other side of the room.

"Is Wendy mad at you?" Kyle asks when he's putting his things away, his back to Stan.

"Um. Probably, I don't know."

"She said you had a headache."

"Really?" Stan scoffs. "I mean, I did. I overslept. I just can't-" He gives Kyle a quick, charged glance before looking away again, his gaze focused on nothing in particular. "Summer's almost over. Less than ten days left here, so. I guess I'm getting lazy."

"Yeah." Kyle looks down at himself. The opposite has happened to him as the summer has progressed. He feels more efficient in his day to day routines than he ever has before, and less scared to work hard, free from his previous certainty that he would fail if he tried. "Are you, um. Excited about going back to college?"

"No."

Stan is still staring at the wall behind the examining table. Kyle turns to make sure nothing is actually there.

"I didn't want to go back, either," Kyle says, though he knows that he should stop talking, that he should just leave and go take his place at the Nutrition lab table beside Eric. "But, like. I don't know. I think it's actually going to be okay." He's envisioning late nights spent whispering to Eric on Skype, naked under the blankets on his bed, and snickering at his phone during the school day, opening new text messages that contain inside jokes and flirty emojis instead of AT&T spam and nagging reminders from his mother. Everyone at school might continue to see him as a dork who is unworthy of their attention, but Kyle will have a whole private universe of adoration at his fingertips.

"You are going to be okay," Stan says, nodding, as if he's seen the future and he knows for sure. "Go on." He flicks his chin toward the door. "Go to class."

Again, there's something deeply arousing about being given an order like this by Stan, as if Stan knows what's best for Kyle and he's not afraid to say so anymore. Despite the clumsiness of his past attempts, Kyle still has the urge to push at Stan's boundaries by attempting to disobey. He knows now that it's pointless, so he heads toward the door.

"See you later?" Kyle says, glancing at Stan uncertainly.

"I'll be here," Stan says. Kyle turns to hide his smile, glad about that. Awkward encounters with Stan are still better than wondering where he is and if he's alright.

The signs that camp will soon be ending become increasingly unavoidable as the final week approaches. On Friday there's a 'Bring Your Belt' dance where the campers are invited to wear the outfits that they arrived in on their first day of camp. Kyle is embarrassed by the concept but curious about how loose his old clothes will feel, and when he puts them on it's like trying to take shelter in someone else's skin. He hadn't really comprehended the extent of his transformation until holding his loose jeans out around his waist.

"Holy shit," Clyde says, and Kyle looks up to see him boggling at Eric, who is standing inside the wide circle of a pair of khaki shorts that are three sizes too big for him now. Eric doesn't look as smug as Kyle thought he would, just authentically stunned, as if he just witnessed a magic trick.

"But I'm still fat," he says, grabbing a handful of belly flab. "It's all saggy now." He glances up from his stomach and turns red when he sees that Kyle is looking. Kyle still hasn't seen Eric without his shirt off. Even when he leaves the bathroom after a shower he's always wearing a fresh one.

"That'll come off, too," Kyle says, pinching the remains of his own spare tire. There's less of it than he previously realized. "You just have to keep lifting and stuff once you get home."

"And stuff," Eric says, muttering this like it's a lot to ask without the promise of hopping into bed with Kyle immediately after showing off for him on the weight bench.

The girls howl with laughter when they see the boys in their baggy clothes, which are more obviously over-sized than their own before-time outfits. Henrietta's clothes are the most dramatically billowy, her black dress hanging around her where it used to cling. She's in an irritable mood despite this, and refuses to dance to the cheesy music provided in the rec center, where the lights have been turned down for the occasion. The youngest kids dance a little but mostly chase each other around in a dance-like game of tag, and the middle schoolers do something similar but more subtle, shrieking with laughter at intervals, the boys approaching the girls and then darting away again. Kyle is happy to see that Stan and Craig are not among the chaperones assigned to the event, and he dances like an idiot alongside Butters and Rebecca until the others join in. Henrietta keeps her back against the wall but accepts glasses of mango punch when Clyde brings them to her.

"You have like, no rhythm," Eric says, grinding his pelvis in Kyle's direction until Mackey calls Eric's name and shakes his head.

"I don't care," Kyle says. He's swinging his hips around wildly, his arms in the air. In his vague imaginings about how gay men live in the real world, he's always pictured shameless weekend dancing, usually to loud pop music like the kind they're playing here. He pretends he's in a club and that Eric is his rich stock broker boyfriend, that Butters and Bebe are his sophisticated colleagues from his cool job at a marketing firm, and Rebecca and Tammy are college friends who secretly envy his charmed life. It's stupid, but Kyle feels okay with being stupid tonight, and he rub-dances against Eric until it feels pretty real.

"Mr. Cartman!" Mackey shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth in a makeshift bullhorn. "That is strike two, young man! Keep it PG-rated or I'm pulling you off the dance floor, mmkay?"

Kyle laughs when Eric moves two steps away from him, his eyes still locked on Kyle's. He looks annoyed for a few seconds, then he's grinning. Kyle wants to jump on him and do some kind of dorky swing dance move, but he doesn't know how. Instead he grabs Eric's hand and twirls, feeling as if this is some kind of teen movie coming out moment, though Butters is straight and dancing ten times as flamboyantly.

Two days later, Kyle has his last individual appointment with Mackey. He still hasn't sent the letter he wrote to his mother, but he hasn't thrown it out, and he's gone sixteen days without a rage episode, a new record.

"Well, Kyle," Mackey says when he's got his pen out and his notebook propped on his knee, his legs crossed and his foot wagging in the usual fashion. "Before we begin, I'd like to just say that I'm really proud of you. I hope you'll agree with me that we've made some real progress here this summer, during our sessions?"

"Yeah," Kyle says. "But there is one thing we haven't talked about."

"What's that?"

"Um. Do you, like. Know that I'm gay?"

"Well. How would I know that, Kyle?"

"Maybe Eric told you?"

"Okay, well. I'm not allowed to talk about what the other campers have told me during private sessions. That would be unethical-"

"I know, and you don't have to tell me what he said. I mean, obviously you don't, but I'm not asking you to. What I meant to say is, um, I'd like to talk about the fact that I'm gay. Because I am."

"Mmkay, good, let's talk about that." Mackey puts his notebook aside, and Kyle wonders if this is meant to communicate that he's devoting his full attention to Kyle's confession, or if it's because he's made 'Kyle is clearly gay' notes many times already.

"Well," Kyle says. He's been thinking about telling Mackey all morning, but now he's not sure why it seemed important. "I just recently became okay with this. Like, I wasn't not okay with gay people. I just wasn't sure I liked that I'm one of them. That I have to deal with it, or whatever. But now I'm glad. It sounds dumb, but, like. I'm glad I'm, uh. Me."

"That's wonderful, Kyle."

"Yeah. It is. I'm gonna tell my parents, too. Not right away, because I don't want them to think Eric, like, turned me gay. I mean, that camp did."

"You're having a relationship with Mr. Cartman? You want to talk about that?"

"I guess." Kyle looks at the window, out at the desert. It all seems kind of moot now, not because it's over but because everything about his sexuality and Eric's involvement with it feels neatly ordered, as if Kyle has alphabetized the book shelf where those feelings are kept. The only thing that remains out of place is Stan, who is like a paperback romance novel that Kyle wants to bury his nose in, though it's unrealistic, not necessarily helpful, and will probably end sadly. "I fell in love this summer," he says, still looking out the window.

"I see," Mackey says. "Well, first love can be a very exciting experience, but it has its downsides, too. How has it been for you?"

"Both, yeah – exciting, and sort of awful, sometimes. Like a gut punch that feels good, too."

"Are you feeling anxious about the end of camp at all?"

"I was, but me and Eric talked about it, and I think – I don't know, I'm still a little scared to leave, and go back to the place that sort of made me miserable before, but I want to see what happens, too. Like, how things will be different."

"That's a very mature, very positive attitude. When your parents come for your commencement ceremony I'm going to give them some literature and encourage them to have you continue to see a therapist for a little while after camp ends. Do you think that would be helpful?"

"Me – wait, just me? Or are you going to tell the other kids' parents this, too?"

"Oh, yes, all the campers' parents receive the same recommendation, mmkay, just to help with the transition. So you won't feel like you're alone at the end of the experience. And I hope you'll keep in touch with the friends you've made here. Having that kind of support can make a big difference."

"Yeah." Kyle imagines bragging to Eric that he ran two miles without stopping, or bench pressed more than he could at camp. They're both competitive, but it's functioned as a kind of support system when it comes to doing more reps or lifting more weight. They both like to show off.

"How would you describe your state of mind right now?" Mackey asks, reaching for the notebook.

"Happy," Kyle says. "In a bittersweet way, I guess. I'm sad to be going home, because this will never happen again. You know? Even if I ended up at fat camp again next summer. It wouldn't be this summer, with these people, and I'll never be exactly this version of me again."

"That's true."

"But that's kind awesome, too. In a weird way?"

"It sure is," Mackey says, and he sets the notebook aside again.

Talk of the storm begins on Monday. On Saturday their parents will come to collect them, and by Sunday the campers will be back in the real world, most of them preparing to restart school within a few weeks. Moods have been dipping as the end of camp approaches, but the news of a potentially dramatic summer storm system crossing over the desert invigorates everyone. Rumors circulate that there could be flooding, power outages, even tornadoes. Kyle likes storms in general and feels a little giddy over the thought of this one, as if it's a defender coming to keep their parents away and camp from ending.

"Kenny says it hasn't rained in this part of the desert for almost a year!" Butters says over dinner on Tuesday night. "And he said last time the whole valley got flooded."

"I hope they won't have to evacuate us," Rebecca says. "That would be a rather anticlimactic end to our time here."

"Bring on the flood," Bebe says. She's poking at her green beans, muttering to herself more than speaking to the group. "Who cares? I'd rather drown than go back home."

She looks up when the group falls silent, glances around at everyone and forces a laugh.

"I mean," she says, shrugging. "You know?"

"Yeah," Henrietta says. "This place is lame as fuck, but it's better than having my idiot mother in my face all the time."

"Aw, you guys," Butters says. "Remember what we talked about in group? Going back home doesn't mean we lose our progress! We're taking back new bodies and everything."

"That's not the point," Henrietta says. "This place is like a happiness assembly line in a conformist factory. The real world is the heartless wasteland that made us fat asses in the first place."

"Ooh, is that from your latest volume of poetry?" Eric says, and he snorts. "Quit being little drama queens. Anyone who doesn't use their new hotness to their advantage out in the real world is a sucker."

"Hate to break it to you," Henrietta says, "But you're still not hot."

"Hey, c'mon," Kyle says, touching Eric's leg under the table. "We were talking about the storm. Um, like. What would happen if it did flood? The valley, I mean?"

"We'd swim for the mountains," Eric says. "No problem. When shit goes down, you guys should fall in with me. I'm an expert in survival situations."

"Based on what experience?" Rebecca asks.

"You don't know my life," Eric says, glaring at her. "I've seen shit, lady. But go ahead and doubt me, that's fine. We'll see how far you get when you accept Butters or Clyde as your leader."

"Why would the leader have to be a boy? And one of the minors, for that matter? If the valley really did flood, do you know who I'd follow?" Rebecca looks around at everyone, giving them a chance to guess. "Wendy," she says when nobody does.

Eric sputters in disagreement, but Kyle has to admit she's got a point. Wendy is level-headed and good at commanding the attention of even the rowdiest campers. Kyle pokes at his remaining green beans and tries to imagine how Stan would fare in an emergency situation. Possibly not well, but Kyle would still want to be with him, though also being with Eric might make that difficult. He's distressed by the thought of having to choose between the two of them in a life or death scenario, and he shoves the rest of his dinner away.

By Thursday there seems to be a change in the air, and it's not just the cooling hint of the storm that's still headed their way. The change also emanates from the campers, not quite volatile but increasingly storm-like, as if something is brewing under the surface as well as in the skies. Tempers are short but reconciliations are swift, emotional eating has already resumed for some in surreptitious ways, and during Thursday afternoon free hour Kyle and Eric are completely taken off guard when they stroll into the cabin for their usual private time and find Henrietta in Clyde's bed, atop Clyde, who is on his back with his legs spread around her. She's wearing her black dress, bouncing shamelessly even as she turns to glower at them.

"Get out!" Clyde shouts, and Kyle backs up into Eric, wanting to flee as he notices that Henrietta's breasts are hanging out the front of her dress.

"Hey, wait!" Eric says when Kyle tries push around him. "This is - this is our time! We get the cabin! Jesus, we've only got two days left!"

"So?" Henrietta says, still straddling Clyde as she tucks her boobs into her dress. "You're not the only one who wants some afternoon dick."

"This isn't afternoon dick!" Eric says, shouting. "This is serious, goddammit! Take your casual fucking elsewhere! Kyle and I are about to be separated! You're just using Clyde as a dildo - find a fucking broom closet, this cabin in ours!"

"She's not using me as a dildo!" Clyde says, his face very red in what seems more like rage than embarrassment. His eyes flash in a way that makes him look uncharacteristically dangerous, despite the fact that Henrietta is pinning him to the bed. "Get the fuck out!"

"Seriously, god!" Henrietta says. "Go fuck in the shower or something, we won't stop you."

"Yes, we will," Clyde says, scowling. "Don't fuck in the shower. That's gross."

"Too late," Kyle says, though they never actually have. "C'mon," he says to Eric, trying to shove him through the door. "We'll find another place."

"Like where?" Eric asks, but he allows Kyle to ease him out of the cabin. Kyle shuts the door behind him and shudders, wishing he hadn't seen that. He takes Eric's hand and pulls him away from the cabin door before he can continue his tantrum.

"I'm pissed, too," Kyle says. "You're right, we only have two days. We have to make the most of them. But let's find someplace cool. It's not like they're going to kick us out now, with our parents practically on their way here."

"Don't remind me," Eric mutters, and he squeezes Kyle's hand. "Where can we go? Dammit, I like the bed. That's one less nap I get to take with you sleeping on me."

"Yeah, I like that, too." Kyle sighs, lamenting the fact that he won't be able to use Eric's pillowy chest for a bed anymore, however many nice texts and naked Skype sessions they have together. "Hey," he says, pausing in the middle of the path between the boys' cabin and the girls'. "How about in there? Do you think it's locked?"

"The girls' cabin?" Eric frowns as if this is less appealing than a broom closet fuck.

"Why not? Bebe and Tammy always do craft hour, Rebecca reads by the pool until Nutrition class, and Henrietta's obviously not sulking in there like she usually does. It's unoccupied. And there are beds!"

"I guess. But won't the sheets smell like. You know."

"Like what?"

"Vaginas! Period blood! I don't know, nasty girl shit!"

"Dude, stop. You're not allowed to hate women just because you don't want to fuck them. The girls are clean, and they smell fine. And it's like revenge, right? For Henrietta taking our cabin? We can use her bed!"

"Sick! What if we get herpes? She's all crusty."

"No, she's not, stop. C'mon. It'll be fun."

Kyle takes Eric's hand again and pulls him toward the girls' cabin, ignoring his moaning. He thinks of what Craig said during their meeting, that they share an affinity for risky behavior. This certainly qualifies, but Kyle doesn't care. He's only got two days left to live dangerously, without the looming presence of his mother around every corner.

The door to the girls' cabin is unlocked, but as soon as Kyle walks inside his hopes for a wild petting session in forbidden territory are dashed: the cabin is not actually empty. Bebe is lying in the bed on the far right, turning to look at them as they enter.

"Oh," Kyle says. "Um, sorry, we thought-"

"Hey, guys." Bebe smiles and sits up. Her eyes aren't red or puffy, but she seems a little shaky, as if she was at least considering a crying jag. "What, um. What's up?"

"Nothing, we were just going," Eric says. He tries to pull Kyle away, but Kyle fights free and walks toward Bebe's bed.

"Are you alright?" Kyle asks, thinking of her comment the other night at dinner. After almost three months here he knows her well enough to tell that her smile is miserably forced.

"I'm okay," she says. "Just tired of crafts. Do you guys want to hang out?"

"No," Eric says before Kyle can answer. "We're busy."

"We are not," Kyle says. He gives Eric a look that is met with angry disbelief, which is predictable but annoying. Kyle isn't so desperate to get off that he's going to leave poor Bebe alone when she genuinely seems to want company. "We can hang out," Kyle says, and he sits on the bed across from Bebe's.

"Kyle," Eric says tightly. "I need to speak to you."

"No, you don't. Eric, just-"

"Fine!" Eric says, the word exploding out of him with such force that both Bebe and Kyle flinch. "That's fine! I don't care, it's not like camp is almost over or anything! Just do whatever you want, that's fine!"

He storms out and slams the door behind him. Kyle considers going after him, but he's too irritated by this behavior. Eric has changed a lot since the start of camp, but he still has these selfish outbursts and this seeming inability to care about the other campers. Kyle waves Eric's dramatic departure off when Bebe widens her eyes at him with concern.

"He just needs to cool down," Kyle says. "He's in a bad mood because Henrietta and Clyde are, uh. Using our cabin."

"Oh, gosh." Bebe's smile returns, and it's more genuine now. "Henrietta was telling us about - that. They've started sneaking around together. She says Clyde has a huge dick?"

"Don't look at me, I haven't seen it!"

They both start laughing, and Kyle feels the immediate relief of being able to confide in a friend again. Things are still weird between him and Stan, and he can't imagine laughing with Eric about the rumored largeness of another boy's cock.

"So Eric and you," Bebe says. "That's pretty serious?"

"Oh, I don't know." Kyle sighs and flops back onto the bed he's sitting on. Based on the neon orange nail polish on the bedside table, he guesses it's Tammy's. She's been wearing that blinding shade on her toenails for months. "Me and Eric have fun together," Kyle says. "When it's just me and him, it's usually pretty great. He's sweet to me. But I don't like the way he talks to other people, sometimes."

"Yeah," Bebe says. "He seems so immature. Sorry."

"No, it's okay. He is! But I don't think he had many friends before this. He doesn't really know how to act around people, it's weird."

"He's cute with you, though. I bet he's freaking out that you won't see each other after camp ends."

"Sure." Kyle begins to feels guilty for talking about Eric like this, and after Kyle sort of rejected him in favor of hanging out with Bebe. "Are you seriously okay?" he asks, rolling toward her.

"Uh-huh," Bebe says. "It's just Tammy. I love her, she's awesome, but she's so happy. She can't wait to go back and show off her new bod at school. I wish I felt like that. I guess I'm jealous. I know I'm going back to hell no matter what I look like."

"That sucks," Kyle says, feeling idiotic for having nothing better to offer in response. "But hey, you know what? You should just ignore all the assholes and try to do really good in school. Then you can go to an awesome college and make friends with smart people who don't act like gossipy infants."

"My grades aren't that good." Bebe shakes her head and smiles again, unconvincingly. "But whatever. I'll figure it out."

"Yeah, of course - sorry. I sounded like my mom just then. She always has a plan for everyone's life."

"It's okay. You're probably right. I'm just being a baby."

"You're not, though. What you went through sounds awful. I'd be a mess. I'm always just banking on people at school ignoring me completely."

"Ha," Bebe says, picking at the frayed left leg of her shorts. "Are you and Eric going to keep in touch?"

They talk for the whole free hour, mostly about Kyle. He tries to steer the conversation back toward Bebe a few times, but she doesn't seem to want to discuss her own issues, so they analyze his forthcoming long distance relationship with Eric. It's nice, and as they walk to Nutrition class together Kyle wishes that he'd been more open to becoming friends with her earlier in the summer.

"We could keep in touch, too, you know," Kyle says as they approach the main building. "And I could, like, fill you in on how it's going with Eric, long distance. If you even care."

"Of course I care!" Bebe beams at him, a real smile again. "I'd love to have a gay bestie who tells me about his boyfriends. Sorry, is that condescending?"

"Nah. I'd love to have any kind of bestie, really."

During Nutrition class, Eric is still in a bad mood and avoids Kyle's eyes as they work together to make a savory and then a sweet crepe. Kyle is too annoyed to indulge Eric's oversensitivity, and he works with business-like efficiency at Eric's side, only breaking his resolve to wipe some errant cinnamon from Eric's cheek. At the front of the room, Craig is pontificating more than usual, advising them to be mindful of what they've learned here as they reenter the real world.

"You're all smart enough to know when you're cheating yourselves with poor diet choices," Craig says, pacing slowly as they scrape up the last of their sweet crepes. "You're on the cusp of adulthood, and with that will come college for most of you, and independence for all. You will have your own money, design your own meals and set your own hours when it comes to late nights or early mornings." He stops pacing and turns to face them, his hands clasped behind him.

"Mackey will be giving you an inspirational speech tomorrow," Craig says, his tone indicating that he's not looking forward to this himself. "I'm not a fan of that sort of thing myself, but I will say one thing now. Put stock in yourselves. It's an often unfair reality that your physical body will always be your most important asset in this, the material world. Everyone in this room, myself included, knows what it's like to drag your body through the days of your life as if it's an instant strike against you in most situations. Look at the progress you've made and have respect for your own hard work. One day you're going to be staring down a vile candy bar. It's going to be placed in your hand by a co-worker, a friend, a loved one. Maybe you eat it just to be polite, or because it looks delicious, or because you're hungry. That's fine. Set the experience aside and don't follow one candy bar down the path of destruction. You will all slip up, but that's to be expected. Just never give up."

The room is silent, no more forks scraping against plates. Kyle meets Craig's eyes as his gaze sweeps the room, and the anger that used to jump into his bloodstream every time he looked at Craig is long gone. Craig doesn't return Kyle's friendly smile, but his eyes brighten slightly before he looks away, and to Kyle it feels like a small victory, as if Craig has subtly acknowledged that Kyle is one of the kids who will be okay.

"That's all," Craig says when the silence in the room persists. "You may leave as soon as you finish cleaning your stations."

They walk back to the cabins with the girls, and Kyle notices that Clyde is lingering hopefully at Henrietta's side. She seems unaffected, listening as Butters chatters about the storm, which is predicted to hit the following night. Normally they would have team building exercises now, but Wendy informed them during morning workout that they'd have extra free time after lunch. Kyle feels like their team has more or less been built, and he tugs on Eric's t-shirt when Tammy suggests that they all hang out at the pool until their final round of group therapy.

"You want to?" Kyle asks when Eric finally looks at him.

"Want to what?"

"Go to the pool."

Eric shrugs, and when they get back to the cabin he flops onto his bed instead of changing into his swim shorts. Kyle doesn't want to capitulate to this childish sulking routine, but he also doesn't want to prolong a fight on their second to last full day at camp. He checks his blood sugar and curses when he sees that he needs an injection.

"I'll be right back," he says, tossing a pillow at Eric after Butters and Clyde have trotted off with the girls. "I need my insulin. Then we should go to the pool. You know?"

Eric says nothing, and Kyle walks over to thump him with the pillow again. This time he at least turns to glower at Kyle.

"Don't give me a hard time," Kyle says, brushing Eric's hair from his forehead. Mixing a little tenderness in with his admonitions typically works, and he likes the feeling of being able to return to their typical comfort level despite disagreements. "I'm sad about camp ending, too, you know."

"You're not acting sad."

"So? I'm not that emotional on the surface."

"Ha! Says the person who rips innocent bushes in half when he's pissed off."

"That's a rage fugue, it's different. Look, just relax, okay? I'll be right back."

"Can I come with you?" Eric asks, sitting up on his elbow.

"What - to do my injection?"

"Yeah."

"Um. Why?"

"Because I want to. Why not?"

Kyle can't come up with anything, so he allows Eric to trail him to the nurse's station, hoping this time that Wendy will turn up when he calls for a supervisor. His hopes are dashed when Stan walks through the door looking cheerful, his expression changing when he sees Eric.

"Oh - what happened?" Stan asks. "I thought you needed an injection."

"I do. Eric is just. Here."

Kyle goes for the supplies, ignoring the growing tension in the room as Eric stares at Stan like he dares him to approach Kyle. Stan lingers near the doorway looking confused.

"So, uh," Stan says when Kyle hops up onto the exam table. "Last day tomorrow. Are you guys excited to see your families on Saturday?"

"No," Eric says. He's at least staring at Kyle's syringe now, instead of watching Stan like he's an approaching predator.

"Kind of," Kyle says. "It's been weird not to talk to them for so long."

"Doesn't Mackey let you call them?" Stan asks.

"Yeah, but you can also choose not to, and I haven't talked to them all summer. My mom sent a few letters. I hope she won't be mad that I didn't call. It was just kind of - part of the process, like, I just needed to be totally away from that world for a while."

It's weird to talk openly with Stan while Eric listens. Kyle finishes his injection and walks to the cabinet to put his things away, wanting to get Eric out of here as quickly as possible.

"Did you see the news about the storm?" Stan asks when Kyle turns. There's something sad and unhidden in his eyes, and it's like having Eric in the room has only strengthened Stan's invisible connection to Kyle. It feels glaringly obvious, like something Kyle will have to explain.

"What news about the storm?" Eric asks when Kyle just stands there like an idiot, staring at Stan.

"It, uh - they think it's going to be pretty bad. Mackey's getting really anxious, talking about driving everyone out of the valley tonight."

"No," Kyle says, without meaning to. "I mean. That would be so lame. Where would we go?"

"I don't know. A hotel? Someplace not in danger of flooding."

Kyle leaves the nurse's station hoping that this won't happen, though he's not sure why it would matter. They're all leaving soon anyway. Eric is watching him as they head back toward the cabin, frowning slightly.

"So, what did you think?" Kyle asks.

"That guy is such a sad fuck-up."

"What - Stan?" Kyle stops walking and frowns. "I wasn't talking about him. I meant about my injection, watching me take insulin. Since you wanted to, for some reason."

"Oh. That was pretty cool, I guess. What?"

"Why do you have to be such a jerk about everyone but me?" Kyle asks, saying this more loudly than he intended to. The question echoes ominously through empty path near the cabins, everyone at the pool or in the main building. Kyle stands his ground and waits for a response. Eric seems to be struggling to formulate one, his mouth quirking.

"I tell the truth, Kyle," Eric says, his voice clipped. "That's all."

"Yeah? Like you 'told the truth' about Jews when we first met? I feel like you're only nice to me now because I'm putting out."

It's a thought that never really occurred to him before and something he doesn't actually believe, but Eric's behavior has earned the accusation, and Kyle only feels a little awful when his face falls like he's been punched in the gut.

"You're an ungrateful bitch," Eric says, and that knocks the wind out of Kyle just as effectively. He wasn't sure how hard he could push until Eric really pushed back, and had no idea that it would hurt this badly when he did.

"You're not supposed to say bitch like that," Kyle says, weakened by this blow, his voice a little flat and small. "Remember. In group. We talked about it."

"Fuck group," Eric says. "And fuck that stupid counselor who you're always defending, and everybody else who you think I'm so wrong about, and fuck you, Kyle."

"Yeah, whatever," Kyle mutters, holding back the shake in his voice as he watches Eric storm off.

Kyle can't pay attention to the discussion during group therapy, which keeps getting sidetracked in favor of commentary on the coming storm. Eric is sitting three chairs away from him, and Kyle feels like everyone in the circle is waiting to ask why. He doesn't want to apologize to Eric, because it seems important that he wins this argument, but it feels horrible to be sitting apart from him, and if they have to spend their last day together at camp bitterly avoiding each other he'll feel like the whole summer has been a failure. He doesn't want to leave here without Eric's promises that he'll be there when Kyle needs him, by phone or Skype or future road trip.

"Everything okay?" Stan asks when Kyle goes to the nurse's station for his pre-dinner injection. Kyle shrugs and hops up onto the exam table.

"Could you do it?" he asks, holding the syringe out.

"What – why?"

"I don't know. I'm tired."

Kyle didn't plan this, but suddenly it feels very right, not just another clumsy misstep. Stan stares at him for a moment, and Kyle thinks he hears thunder in the distance, though the storm isn't supposed to hit until tomorrow night. It's probably just a cart of supplies rumbling over the pathway outside. He takes a deep breath and holds it when Stan moves forward to take the syringe.

"Um," Stan says when Kyle lifts up his shirt and pinches what's left of the roll at his stomach, offering it for the needle. He can hear Stan swallow, and feels like something might happen if he's brave enough to look up into Stan's eyes. Not a kiss, exactly, but something so real that he's afraid to lift his face and find out what it might be.

Stan swallows again and readies the needle. Kyle breathes out when it punctures his skin, and he stops breathing entirely when Stan's free hand comes to rest on his knee. It's not sexual, more like Stan is steadying himself while administering the insulin, but his hand is warm and Kyle feels connected to him, physically and mentally, the invisible string between them pulled very tight. Stan exhales as he withdraws the needle, and when Kyle looks up, Stan is still staring down at Kyle's lap. Fortunately, Kyle hasn't managed to get an erection this time. He's too nervous, though in another way he's also incredibly calm.

"Did you eat a banana?" Kyle asks, because he can smell that distinctive scent on Stan's breath. Stan's eyes snap up to Kyle's, and the taut thread between them unspools a bit as he steps back, nodding.

"I - yeah."

Kyle nods and touches the place on his stomach where the needle just was.

"I can smell it," he says, and then he starts to feel dumb again, another moment between them pointlessly spent. He deflates as he watches Stan put his supplies away, afraid that this might have been their last one.

"Why'd you want me to do it?" Stan asks. He's still got his back to Kyle, and he's lingering at the medical cabinet, shifting things around inside.

"Because we might drown tomorrow?" Kyle says, trying to make this sound like a joke. Stan snorts and turns to look at him, eyebrows lifting. Kyle grins. "I don't know," he mumbles.

"We won't drown," Stan says.

"But if something does happen, like. If the storm gets out of hand or whatever. Come find me, okay? I'd want. To be with you. Okay?"

Kyle's face is getting red. Stan is still only halfway turned toward him, his hand on the open medical cabinet. He doesn't look annoyed, just a little lost and worried.

"Alright," Stan says. He turns to close the medical cabinet and rolls his shoulders a few times, sighing. "But really. Everything will be alright. Sometimes there are flash floods, but they're only dangerous if you're out in the desert, in a dry creek bed or a ditch. We're only supposed to get eight inches."

"Eight inches," Kyle repeats, and Stan turns to give him an incredulous look that makes him grin again.

"Get moving," Stan says, pointing to the door. Kyle catches the edge of Stan's smirk before he turns around to hide it. Stan reopens the medical cabinet so he can pretend to arrange things in there again. Kyle is beaming as he trots out the door, though he's not sure what he's accomplished, and dinner with Eric will be awkward at best. He's surprised when he gets to the dining room and finds his usual seat next to Eric empty, but when he sits there Eric still won't look at him. The other kids probably left it empty for him without Eric's prompting. Bebe is staring at him with a questioning look. Kyle shrugs and takes a huge bite from his turkey club with turkey bacon, though he doesn't have much of an appetite. He puts his foot against Eric's under the table, pleased when Eric doesn't move away.

"We should tell ghost stories all night!" Butters says. "Seeing as how there's a scary storm coming and so forth."

"That sounds really fun, actually," Rebecca says.

"I know some horror stories that would make you all piss your pants," Henrietta says, and she gives Clyde a look when he snickers.

"So come over," Clyde says, bumping his hand against hers hopefully. "You guys could sneak in tonight. Boy-girl sleepover."

"Fucking lame," Eric says. "I don't want to be a part of some girly-ass slumber party."

"You and Kyle could use the girls' cabin for sex," Tammy says, and she whirls to look at Bebe when she elbows her. "What?"

"No, I'm sure Kyle would rather tell ghost stories like a child," Eric says, particularly shouting this. "We broke up," he says when everyone stares at him. Kyle snorts.

"No, we didn't," he says, hurt.

"You can't break up!" Butters says. He looks sincerely fretful, stopping to turn and gape at them. "You're such a good couple!"

"Not really," Henrietta says. "Kyle, you could do better."

"Bitch, do you want a piece of me or what?" Eric says, suddenly so livid that Kyle grabs for him in a panic, not wanting him to try to slap her or anything. Henrietta just laughs.

"I'd love it," she says. "But I'd really rather not get arrested for snapping your dick off."

"Guys, stop!" Kyle says, tugging Eric's arm. "Seriously, it's our second to last night."

"Maybe the group sleepover isn't such a good idea," Rebecca says. "Or we could save it for tomorrow night, during the storm. When things have cooled down?"

"You buttholes do whatever you want," Eric says, and he pulls away from Kyle. He jogs ahead of the group, toward the cabin, holding up his sagging pants as he goes.

"What the heck did you do to him?" Rebecca asks Kyle.

"He didn't do anything," Bebe says. "Eric's freaking out because camp's ending and he's insecure."

"Jesus, just - don't psychoanalyze him," Kyle says. "Just - ach, god, forget it." He breaks into a run, wanting to comfort Eric and also to throttle him for acting like this. By the time he gets to the cabin, Eric has locked himself in the bathroom with the shower blasting, and Clyde and Butters arrive before Kyle can decide what to shout through the door.

Eric doesn't emerge until lights out, re-wearing his dirty t-shirt and holding a towel around his waist. Kyle watches him pull a pair of clean boxer shorts on and flicks him off when their eyes meet.

"What the fuck?" Eric says.

"You broke up with me," Kyle says, whispering, though Butters and Clyde appear to be asleep. "And I didn't even do anything."

"Oh, right, you just ditched me for some chick."

"She was upset, okay? She's a person. Sometimes I care about other people. Sorry if that gets in the way of you trying to stick your fingers up my ass."

"Ugh," Clyde says, moaning this into his pillow. "Shut up."

"You shut up!" Eric says. "We can talk if we want."

"Not about fingers in asses."

"Says who? Huh, Clyde? Is that in the camp rule book?"

Kyle laughs, and Eric turns to smile at him, but it fades quickly. He huffs and gets into bed, yanking the blankets up over himself.

"I'm done talking about your ass anyway," he says, looking at Kyle.

"Good," Clyde says. Kyle rolls his eyes. He's partly relieved that they don't have to continue this conversation in front of the other two, though he doesn't want to go to sleep angry. He considers sneaking over into Eric's bed, but cuddling Eric might make him think he's won this argument, and he's the one who's being difficult for no reason. Kyle rolls onto his side and listens for thunder or coyotes in the distance. There's nothing; the night is eerily silent. Even Butters and Clyde are quiet in their beds, not a single wheezing breath between them.

In the morning, no one arrives to fetch them for a sunrise workout. Kyle wakes slowly and sits up to see Butters doing pushups on the floor. Clyde and Eric are still asleep, their blankets pulled up high to block the sunlight that's creeping in past the curtains.

"Special breakfast this morning!" Butters says when he pauses to look at Kyle, panting. "Kenny told me- orange pineapple smoothies and everything!"

"Cool," Kyle says. His stomach hurts. It's finally arrived, though it still doesn't feel real: his last full day in camp. Tomorrow his parents will arrive, and he'll probably never visit this valley again.

When Token comes to fetch them for the special breakfast, Clyde and Eric are still asleep. They rouse grumpily and follow the others out to meet the girls. Eric looks like hell after what was probably a poor night's sleep, and Kyle feels responsible. He lingers close, peeking at Eric as they head toward the main building. Eric doesn't seem amenable to Kyle's attentions and is emitting a general aura of aggressive surliness.

As they're eating breakfast, Mackey walks in to announce that there will be a 'photo opportunity' in the auditorium after the meal.

"Like an optional opportunity?" Henrietta asks.

"Mmm, no," Mackey says, frowning a little. "It's mandatory. But it'll be fun! It's part of a special surprise from yours truly."

"Ew," Tammy says, quietly, and Rebecca snickers. Bebe doesn't look up from her omelet, which she's barely touched. She looks a little green, even worse off than Eric. Her hair is limp and looks unwashed, tied back in a careless bun.

Kyle tries to make himself as presentable as he can for the group picture, which is staged just like the one they took on their first day here. He's certainly thinner, but he still feels unphotogenic and lumpy compared to Token, who comes to the stage to tell them they have the whole afternoon free before the pool party and cookout. Butters raises his hand.

"How about the storm, though?" he asks. It's already cloudy outside, and the wind has picked up. "Won't that ruin the cookout?"

"If it rains, we'll have our camper farewell party inside," Mackey says. "Until then, please enjoy your free activity time! You've worked very hard this summer - well, I won't spoil my speech for later. I'm sure you're all wildly anticipating it." He laughs at his own joke, and Wendy half-heartedly joins in. "So, yeah, feel free to hang out in any of the activity rooms, and you Tier Three campers can have cabin time if you like. But I'm going to have to insist very firmly that nobody leaves the grounds of the cabin area. I don't even want you kids going as far as the golf course, understand? When the rain hits, the desert becomes a dangerous place. But you'll be perfectly safe inside. I've confirmed that with the rangers."

"The rangers," Tammy says. She seems excited by the prospect. The neighboring State Park has a tiny ranger station that Kyle has seen from the golf course, but he's never seen any actual rangers coming or going.

The group onstage begins to break apart. Kyle hops down to the theater floor, hoping Eric will follow. When he doesn't, Kyle leaves the auditorium and then the main building, walking alone. He feels strange and isn't headed in any particular direction. A tumbleweed crosses the path ahead of him and he stops in his tracks, watching it roll away until it crashes into the side of a supply shed.

Back in the cabin, he packs his things and waits for Eric to show up and passionately pin him to the bed. He's sure it will happen eventually. At lunchtime he hesitates, not wanting to miss the passionate pinning, but finally he's too in need of insulin to wait any longer.

"Where's Stan?" he asks when he finds the actual nurse inside the nurse's station, taking inventory at the medical cabinet.

"Who?" she says.

"The black-haired boy who usually - helps me. With my insulin."

"Oh, the counselor. They're all getting ready for storm. Bringing in the deck chairs from the pool, I think."

"Okay. I mean. Thanks. For telling me."

Kyle does his injection while she continues her work at the cabinet. She doesn't seem interested in his readings and doesn't fetch Stan's notebook to mark them down. Kyle supposes that's over now: he's survived. Soon he'll be back in the real world, where he can do his injections in private. The thought depresses him, and he spends the rest of the afternoon searching for Eric and keeping his eye out for Stan as well. He hasn't found either of them by the time the thunder starts coming in from the west, beyond the hills. There's a damp, clean scent in the air, and the clouds overhead have darkened. Kyle wanders to the pool and finds Kenny tying a flapping plastic cover down over the giant outdoor grill.

"So much for the cookout!" he says when Kyle approaches. "Ya'll will be eating in tonight."

Thunder booms, louder than before, and this time Kyle sees a flash of lightning. Kenny whistles and stands up, grinning.

"I love storms!" he says, shouting, though the wind hasn't gotten quite loud enough to warrant it. There are more tumbleweeds now, scattering across the camp's walkways like obstacles thrown in the path of a video game character. "You'd better head on in to the main building," Kenny says. "I think Mackey might have you guys sleep on the floor in the gym if shit gets real."

"Real?" Kyle looks up at the sky. The clouds are moving fast. "Like, how real?"

"Aw, don't worry. We'll keep you guys safe."

"I'm not worried."

Kyle takes his time on the way to the main building, surveying the sky for lightning. So far he's been unable to spot the clear line of a bolt streaking down, but the flashes are getting more frequent. When he reaches the front door of the main building Craig is standing beside it, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Am I in trouble?" Kyle asks.

"No," Craig says. "I'm just watching the storm."

"Oh, yeah."

Kyle stands beside him. Tumbleweeds and lesser debris skitter across the sand as the thunder grows louder. Out over the hills, a dagger of lightning splits the sky, violent and fast. It makes Kyle shiver, and he can feel it in his bones when the thunder answers, sounding like an angered opponent that the lightning strike has challenged.

"Well, here it is," Craig says. He flicks his head toward the door. "Get inside."

"How about you?"

"I'll be in shortly. Go on, Mackey's taking a headcount for safety."

Kyle obeys, appreciating the fact that Craig let him stay outside as long as he did. It was respectful, a kind gesture from a fellow risk-lover. His mood is improving as he heads toward the main rec room, where he can hear the hyperactive voices of the assembled campers. When he arrives, Wendy is telling the younger kids to calm down. The older kids are gathered in the back corner, near the room's single television set. It's typically used for inspirational films that are shown during free hour, but for the past few days Mackey has allowed it to be tuned to the Weather Channel. Eric looks away from the TV as Kyle approaches, and the relief on his face makes Kyle grin.

"There you are, fuck!" Eric says, scrambling up from the floor, where he'd been sitting beside Butters. "Did you - where were you? Getting an injection?"

"Yep," Kyle says. "What's this? You're actually glad I'm not out there getting struck by lightning?"

"Don't be stupid," Eric mutters. He puts his hands on Kyle's shoulders and squeezes, looking down into his face. It's not fair, but the pathetic need in his eyes makes Kyle want to forgive him, nuzzle his cheek, and ride out the storm in the comfort of his arms.

"I'm okay," Kyle says, quietly. "Are you?"

"Course I am. Rumor is we're all going to have to sleep in the gym, on emergency cots. Sucks."

"We can sneak off to a shadowy corner if you want."

Eric starts to smile, then looks worried, like Kyle's sudden kindness might be a trick.

"You're not mad at me?" he asks.

"I kinda am, but it's our last night. I don't want to spend my last night being mad. You know?"

Eric nods and looks down at Kyle's chest. His hands are still on Kyle's shoulders, kneading them a little. Kyle wants to be kissed. It's something about the storm building outside, the end of camp coming, the way Eric can't seem to let go of his shoulders. He's working up the nerve to peck Eric's lips in front of the others when Mackey comes in and calls the room to attention.

"Everyone, eyes up here for a minute, mmkay?" Mackey is holding a clipboard, looking much more nervous about the potential storm damage than Kenny did. A powerful thunderclap makes the windows quiver and rattle, and kids shriek with delight when the lights flicker. "Settle down!" Mackey says. "I need to do a headcount before we pass out snacks. I don't want to alarm anyone, but from now until the storm passes we're operating in emergency mode. This means everyone is to stay here in the main building, together, until it's safe to go outside again."

"Shit," Tammy says. "Bebe's still at the cabin."

"Better tell Wendy," Kyle says. "She can go get her before the rain starts."

Tammy jogs off to do so, and Kyle turns back to Eric. He still looks tired, and sad, and a little hopeful. Kyle leans up to kiss him on the cheek, then checks around to make sure no one is staring. He hasn't seen Stan since he arrived. Will he hunker down with Craig in his private room? Kyle wonders if the whole staff is required to stay with the group during the emergency. They should be, he thinks.

Kyle settles down with Eric to watch the storm on TV, though the better show is through the windows. They have a good vantage point to see both, their backs propped against the wall, and Kyle clutches at Eric when the skies blacken and the frequency of the lightning flashes increases. He's not scared, but curling up with Eric increases the cozy feeling in the rec room, brightened by the voices of the other campers and the excited chatter from the Weather Channel. Kyle goes a little tense when Stan walks in with Kenny, but he keeps hold of Eric's arm, not wanting him to feel rejected again. He finds himself worrying about Stan's feelings, too, which is ridiculous. As if Stan cares that a fifteen-year-old boy who has an embarrassing crush on him is cuddling with someone else during the storm. Craig walks in and speaks to Mackey, and Kyle's grip on Eric tightens as he watches Stan watching Craig. They both look concerned about something. When Wendy returns she's breathless, as if she's run from the girls' cabin. Bebe isn't with her.

"I think something's wrong," Kyle says. Everyone turns from the TV except Clyde and Henrietta, who are ignoring the others and whispering together about something. "Are you sure Bebe was in the cabin?" Kyle asks Tammy.

"Yeah," Tammy says. "But - oh, shit." She brings her hand up to her chest when she notices Wendy, who looks panicked. "Maybe she took off. She's been weird lately."

"I think she's clinically depressed," Rebecca says. "She puts up a front for the counselors because she doesn't want to be medicated."

"She's afraid happy pills would make her gain weight," Tammy says, nodding.

"She's probably just hiding in the girls' bathroom," Eric says, frowning when Kyle pulls away from him. "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna ask - maybe we can help look for her."

"That's a good idea!" Butters says, hopping up. Rebecca and Tammy stand, too. Eric stays in place, looking gloomy again. Kyle doesn't have the patience for his moods right now; he'll reinstall himself at Eric's side when he knows Bebe is safe. He heads toward the counselors, thinking of what Bebe said about drowning.

"We can't stand here talking about it," Craig is saying to Mackey when Kyle approaches. "They're called 'flash' floods for a reason. If she's outdoors somewhere we need to find her now, before the rain starts."

"Can we help?" Butters asks, and Kyle flinches when the adults turn to look at them.

"We're seriously worried," Tammy says, her voice beginning to tremble. "Should we search the building or something?"

"I'm afraid she might be outside somewhere," Rebecca says. "Her state of mind these past few days has been grim."

"Shit," Stan says. Kyle looks at him, and he feels that invisible pull when their eyes meet, so strongly now that he actually takes a step toward Stan.

"We can't stand here deliberating, Mackey," Craig says. "We need to split up and search."

"Okay, alright." Mackey seems at a loss, tucking his clipboard under his arm and then pulling it out again. "Dammit. Kids, you check the building. Girls, go up to the second floor. Boys, check down here, in the empty classrooms and the restrooms. Counselors, I need you to split up and check the surrounding area. The pool, the golf course, the trails-"

"I'll use my car," Craig says. "The rest of you should check places that can't be seen from the road." He's interrupted by a boom of thunder that shakes the building, and Kyle is annoyed now by the happy shouts of the younger kids. "Be careful," Craig says when the power flickers, and when it snaps back on Kyle sees him looking at Stan. Then he's gone, hurrying down the hallway toward the front door.

"Let's go," Rebecca says, grabbing Tammy's hand. Tammy nods and threads her fingers through Rebecca's as they leave to check the second floor.

"I'll take the golf course," Mackey says. "Token, you look around the pool. Wendy, check the cabins again, all of them. Kenny, Stan, can you check the trails?"

"Sure," Stan says, and Kenny salutes. Kyle follows them out of the rec room, Butters trailing behind him as everyone else splits off to search their designated areas.

"We should come with you," Kyle says, jogging to keep up with Stan as he heads for the back door that leads out toward the camp's trails and the State Park beyond. Stan looks over at him and frowns.

"No," he says. "You and Butters search here, on the first floor. Like Mackey said."

"But if she's somewhere in here then she's already safe, and the trail area is huge - four sets of eyes will be better than two!"

"He's right," Kenny says, and Butters nods. Stan groans.

"Alright," he says, glancing back toward the rec room. "But no splitting up once we're outside. The four of us stick together, and as soon as the rain starts Kenny is bringing you two back here."

"What about you?" Kyle asks. His heart is pounding, and his shoulders jump when thunder rattles the walls again.

"Let's just find her," Kenny says before Stan can answer. "I've seen her walking by herself on the trails before. I bet she hasn't gone too far."

"Oh, geez!" Butters says. "I hope she's okay!"

Kenny pushes the back door open. It's immediately ripped out of his hands by the wind, and it bangs hard against the building, as loud as a gun blast. Stan throws his arm out across Kyle's chest, halting him. Outside, the dark clouds overheard are swirling together like the contents of a witch's cauldron, the wind tearing through the valley so violently that even the biggest cacti are trembling. Lightning seems to flash between every breath Kyle takes.

"Fuck," Stan says, his arm still braced across Kyle's chest. "Kenny! We can't take them out there!"

"It's okay!" Butters says. "Bebe needs us!"

"Yeah, please?" Kyle says. He reaches up to touch Stan's arm, gently lowering it. "Let us help. She's our friend." The risk-loving thing that lives in him is fully activated, pumping adrenaline through his system. It feels like a direct order to get out there, into the storm, where Bebe needs help.

"It'll be alright!" Kenny says, shouting this as he walks outside. "I'm a level four paladin! I've got shields against lightning!"

"Jesus," Stan mutters, watching Butters trot out after Kenny as if he's comforted by that. "He's high."

"Seriously?" Kyle says, annoyed. Stan sighs and takes Kyle by the arm.

"Let's do this if we're gonna," he says, and then they're outside, the wind blowing the door shut hard behind them.

They follow Kenny and Butters toward the trailhead, dodging the prickly brambles and trash bits that are being whipped about by the wind. Stan lets go of Kyle's arm but stays close, bumping against Kyle when the wind seems to blow them around, too. Kyle has never felt less weighted to the earth, almost wisp-like in the eye of the storm. It's a bizarrely appropriate finale to his time at fat camp. He looks back toward the main building and is startled when it seems very far away already, but sticking close to Stan makes him feel like he could withstand several tornadoes, as if the gravity that's been slowly pulling them together is more real than anything the weather might throw at them. He turns his attention to the foothills around the trail, hoping to spot Bebe before the rain starts.

"Jesus," Stan says when the thunder overhead sounds like a cacophony of bowling balls cracking the surface of a marble floor. Kyle laughs nervously and continues scanning the desert, seeing no sign of Bebe.

They walk onto the trail and stick together, everyone looking in all directions. The landscape appears ominously empty, all of the lizards and jackrabbits in hiding. As they approach the palm oasis the wind rips several fronds from the trees, and sand streaks through the air. Kyle closes his eyes against this onslaught, stumbling into Stan's path.

"This is crazy," Stan says, steadying Kyle. "I can smell the rain - we need to get back."

Up ahead, Butters shouts. Kyle opens his eyes, shielding them with his hand in case more sand whips past. Butters is rubbing at his face, staggering unsteadily until Kenny catches him. Stan and Kyle walk toward them and find Butters in tears, moaning.

"He got sand in his eye!" Kenny says.

"I'm alright!" Butters says. "Ah - but – hell's bells, that stings-"

"Take him back," Stan says, pointing to the main building. "We'll walk to the start of the park's trail and then follow you."

"I got a bad feeling she's out here somewhere," Kenny says. Kyle has the same sinking sense of dread, and he feels like Stan must have it, too, or he would be going back with Butters and Kenny. They stand together and watch Kenny helping Butters back along the trail, holding his shoulders so he won't trip.

"You should go with them," Stan says, though he seems to know that Kyle won't. Kyle shakes his head.

"I want to find her," he says. "Let's head toward the park. I can smell the rain, too."

"Once it starts-" Stan stops there and groans. "This is insane. We're only going as far as the park's entry sign, okay?"

"Okay, yeah." Kyle flinches when lightning seems to circle all around them, illuminating the landscape with an alien glow that's quickly gone. The thunder that follows is directly overhead.

"Stan?" Kyle says, and he hates how small and lost he sounds, though he's almost glad for it when Stan reaches over to take his hand in response.

"Why'd she run off, anyway?" Stan asks.

"She doesn't want to go home." Kyle squeezes Stan's hand, afraid that something awful might have already happened to Bebe. Stan squeezes back. They aren't looking at each other, not wanting to take their eyes off the surrounding desert long enough to miss Bebe. Kyle feels like he's in a dream, like the ones he's had since puberty, facing a survival situation with a heroic boy at his side, someone mysterious and brave who will pull him along past the danger. But Stan is more of a man than a boy, and the danger here is real. Kyle can feel it in the charged air, goosebumps rising on his arms as they wander deeper into the desert. Stan curses and stops walking, turning back toward the camp. Kyle hears it a few second after Stan has: rain coming in fast, sweeping toward them in a blurry curtain.

"Fuck," Stan says, squeezing Kyle's hand again. He turns toward the State Park and then back in the direction of the main building. They're in a low-lying area toward the end of the trail, a shallow basin between the end of the camp's property and the boundary of the State Park. Probably the worst part of this desert to be in during a flash flood.

"What do we do?" Kyle asks, shouting, and that's when the rain catches up to them, the clouds opening overhead. It's colder than Kyle expected and he's momentarily blinded by the intensity of it, as if someone has flipped off the single lamp in already dimly-lit room.

"Shit!" Stan says. "Look - there!"

For a moment Kyle thinks Stan has spotted Bebe, but he's pointing toward the ranger station.

"Let's run," Stan says. Puddles are already forming on the trail. "Maybe the rangers are there. I don't think we could make back to camp in time."

Kyle nods and runs alongside Stan, still holding his hand, and he realizes that by 'in time' Stan means 'to avoid drowning.' The trail is already disappearing as rainwater accumulates, and Kyle's sneakers have transformed into soggy anchors, slowing him down. As they near the ranger station he notices that there are no Jeeps parked out front and no lights on inside. They go barreling toward it anyway, flashes of lightning seeming to freeze-frame the sheets of rain as the downpour continues.

The ranger station is a small, cottage-like structure, and the empty parking lot out front is under several inches of water by the time they arrive there. Kyle realizes that he's breathless and tired only after they stop running, which is an entirely new phenomenon. Stan tries the front door and curses when it finds it locked. He bangs on it a few times.

"What do we do?" Kyle asks again, and when he hears how reedy his voice has become he forces himself to calm down, though calmness might not actually be in order right now. Stan pushes his soaked hair off his forehead and looks around for help that's not coming. "We could wait it out on the roof," Kyle says, wanting to be helpful. "Once the water gets high enough?"

Stan laughs, which both relaxes and irritates Kyle. They're not holding hands anymore.

"Dude," Stan says. "The water won't get that high. I'll just - uh." He turns toward the door and looks it over, nudging Kyle backward. Once Kyle is out of the way, Stan kicks the door hard, his boot connecting with the doorknob. After two more kicks the knob splinters off and the door sags inward. Stan shoulders his way in and reaches for Kyle. "C'mon," he says. "We'll worry about damage to government property later. Let's ride out the storm in here."

Getting out of the rain is an immediate relief, and Kyle takes a deep breath full of water-free air as he walks ahead of Stan, down a narrow hallway that leads into an office area. Stan closes the door behind them, stuffing the busted doorknob back into place as much as possible. He wipes his face clear and walks past Kyle into the office, looking around. The rain is pelting the roof and the windows, but Kyle believes Stan: they'll be safe here. He thinks of Bebe, still missing and maybe out there somewhere, and his relief evaporates. Either the air conditioning inside the ranger's station is blasting or he's in shock; he can't stop shaking.

"C'mere," Stan says, beckoning to an alcove along the back wall, near the station's small kitchenette. Kyle walks past the rangers' desks and joins Stan there, almost laughing when he sees Stan patting an exam table like the one in the nurse's station. "I guess this is the first aid corner," Stan says. "Hop up here, I'll find a blanket."

"I don't need a blanket," Kyle says, though that sounds nice. He sits on the exam table and hugs his arms to his chest, watching Stan rummage through the cabinets on the opposite wall. Stan finds a stack of blankets and pulls all of them out. They're large and rough-looking, and the one he offers to Kyle smells like moth balls. Kyle stares at it, unable to stop trembling, chills traveling from the back of his neck down to the base of his spine. Stan makes an impatient noise and unfurls the blanket for him, stepping close to wrap it around his shoulders.

"There you go," Stan says, muttering this. He's avoiding Kyle's eyes, tucking the blanket around him and rubbing his shoulders with it, then the back of his neck. "You're freaking me out, dude. Are you okay?"

"Just - Bebe-"

"Shit. I know, but maybe she's fine. We don't know. Maybe she was hiding back in the main building all that time."

"I don't think she was, Stan. She – she's been upset, she wanted to be alone-"

"Shh, okay. Kyle, just. Fuck, here." He unfolds another blanket.

"You're shaking, too," Kyle says.

"I'm just - it's cold in here."

"Yeah, well." Kyle takes the blanket and wraps it around Stan, spreading his knees around Stan's waist and pulling Stan closer, using the blanket as a kind of lasso. Stan goes tense but doesn't move away. Kyle wants to sit up straight, to lift his eyes to Stan's, and he's not sure why he can't make himself do it. Though he can see lightning flash from the corner of his eye, the crack of thunder that follows still takes him off guard. He gasps and jerks, tugging on the ends of Stan's blanket and yanking Stan down toward him without really meaning to. Stan's nose bumps against his, and when Kyle sneaks his eyes up to Stan's he feels like lightning has shattered through the roof and down his spine. They're not connected by a string anymore: they're inside a bubble, breathing the same air.

"Kyle," Stan says, whispering this like a warning when Kyle presses closer, touching his cheek to Stan's. "Please don't do that."

Stan sighs and nudges his nose against Kyle's cheek, maybe trying to push him away. There's something so intimate about the gesture that it does the opposite, drawing Kyle in like he's been magnetized. Stan sighs again, sounding both weary and agitated. Kyle kisses his cheek, and it's nothing like the peck he planted on Eric in the rec room. Touching his lips to Stan's skin makes Kyle hard, his cock getting so full, so fast, that he feels light-headed. He pulls back just enough to look into Stan's eyes. Stan is shaking his head very slowly, rainwater dripping from the ends of his messy hair. He doesn't move away when Kyle kisses the side of his nose.

"You're so-" Kyle says, trying to think of anything to say that's not 'I love you,' which is all that keeps coming to mind. His voice is broken and his thighs are trembling, though he doesn't feel cold anymore. "Stan," he says, and he closes his eyes again before kissing Stan's mouth. His lips are dry and motionless against Kyle's, but the choppy rush of his breath is very warm, and he doesn't move away.

"Please, dude," Stan says, murmuring this against Kyle's mouth. "Don't - please, I can't do that."

"Yes, you can. It's okay. I - just want-"

Kyle slips his arms inside Stan's blanket, hugging his chest. He presses his face to Stan's neck and feels his pulse pounding there, hears him swallow. Stan puts his hands on Kyle's knees, which are still spread around his waist. He's shaking, too, breathing into Kyle's hair.

"Please," Kyle says.

"Please what? Kyle-"

Stan grunts and pulls back. When Kyle tries to kiss him again, Stan grabs his face and holds him in place.

"Stop," Stan whispers. He's still close, and not just that: he's still inside their bubble. He could leave if he wanted to, but he's lingering, his face hovering over Kyle's.

"I can't stop," Kyle says. "I'm fucking scared."

"I know." Stan strokes Kyle's cheeks with his thumbs, very softly. "I know, Jesus."

"Why won't you hold me?"

"I can't - I mean, I am, kind of-"

"I want you inside me," Kyle says, going for broke, and he frowns when Stan seems to suppress a laugh. "I'm serious, you fucking asshole!"

Stan does laugh then, and it dies in a moan, his face coming to rest against Kyle's. Kyle sniffles and closes his eyes. His hands are on Stan's chest, on his soaked-through Mackey polo. He shifts his thumbs until he can feel hard nipples, his cock pulsing inside his pants.

"Don't," Stan says.

"Why not?"

"You fucking know why, okay? You're fifteen. Jesus, you've been - all summer - I'm so fucked up about this."

"This?" Kyle says, nuzzling at him hopefully.

"You," Stan says.

"You could have me right here," Kyle says, trying to press his crotch to Stan's stomach. "I'm a virgin, um. You'd be. My first."

"You think I want to fuck you?" Stan looks hurt. He pulls back, his hands sliding off of Kyle's knees. Kyle is still holding onto Stan's blanket, not letting him get far. "I don't want that," Stan says. "Okay? I think I was worried that I did, but now I know I don't. That's a relief."

"You're fucking mean," Kyle says, still rubbing his face on Stan's cheek. He smells so good, like rainwater and that bed that they sat on in his room, emanating a warmth that makes Kyle wants to curl up and sleep, preferably after his dick goes off in one way or another.

"I'm not mean," Stan says. He pulls Kyle's blanket up and uses it to dry his wet curls. "I'm not saying I don't - like you. Think about you. Wonder what you'll be like when you grow up."

"I'm not some little kid. I've done a lot of shit, okay? Everything but full-on fucking."

"That doesn't – Kyle." Stan groans. He sounds far more irritated than aroused. "You're perfect how you are," he says, catching Kyle in mid-plummet with those words. "Okay? You don't need to prove anything about how grown up you are or what you can do in bed or anything like that. You're fucking perfect, and you rip my heart out every day. Every day I've been here, right the fuck out of my chest. And I'm not even mad about it."

Kyle makes a sound that might have been a word, but there's no chance of anything intelligible forming on his tongue. He surges forward to press his mouth to Stan's, lapping at him and whining needfully until Stan's lips part, maybe in protest. Kyle shakes his head, begging with his whole body, and he sucks in a shocked breath when he feels the tip of Stan's tongue against his, soft and unsure. Kyle can taste it on Stan's lips, his tongue: he wants this, he wants Kyle so much. Maybe not to fuck, but this feels bigger and more permanent than that, like something unbreakable that's pulling them both out of the real world, the bubble around them armorizing. The kiss is slow and unsure on both ends, but when their tongues slide together they both exhale with relief, everything in Kyle going white hot, his cock rock hard and leaking. Stan grunts and holds Kyle's thighs still when he tries to hump himself against Stan, and the feeling of Stan's hands easily holding him in place is almost enough to make Kyle come without finding friction.

For a moment Kyle thinks the sound of a door opening is something that's happening inside him, everything that's been pent up over fifteen years of his lonely lifetime tumbling out past the door that Stan has just ripped off its hinges, but then there are wet footsteps in the hallway and Stan is leaping away from him.

"Hello?" someone calls. It's a girl's voice. Kyle sucks in his breath and pulls the blanket over his erection when he recognizes her.

"Bebe!" Stan says. He lets his own blanket drop to the floor as he grabs one for her. She's soaking wet, her hair half-covering her face like a sodden veil, and by the time Stan gets to her with the blankets she's broken into tears. Kyle hops off the examining table, still heady from what just happened with Stan and barely grasping this new development. Slowly, the relief comes to him: Bebe is okay, though she's also sinking to the floor with sobs.

"I'm sorry," she says as Stan sinks down with her, holding the blanket around her. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know-"

"Okay, it's alright. Don't be sorry." Stan looks up at Kyle, communicating without speaking that he wants Kyle to take over in the holding-Bebe department, and Kyle hurries to do so, leaving his own blanket behind. "Nobody's mad at you," Stan says, sitting back on his knees when Kyle pulls Bebe into his arms, letting her cry there. "We were just worried, but you're okay. You're alright now."

"Yeah," Kyle says, though he knows it's not that simple for her. Bebe holds her hands over her mouth as if she's trying to silence herself. "And you can cry if you want," Kyle says. "We don't care."

"I'm sorry," she says again, hiding her face against Kyle's chest. Kyle tightens his grip on her and looks up at Stan. He seems stricken, flexing his hands as if he wants to help but doesn't know how.

"Are you warm enough?" Stan asks, half-rising. "Do you want another blanket?"

When Bebe doesn't answer, Stan goes to get one anyway. Kyle takes it from him and wraps it around her. Stan sits beside them looking worried, and Kyle rubs Bebe's back until her crying quiets to some protracted sniffling and a few breathless gasps. She peels her wet hair from her face and sits up onto her knees, her hand pressed to her eyes. Stan hops up to get a rubberband from one of the desks and a bottle of water from the rangers' small fridge.

"Drink this," he says, passing the water to Kyle, who opens it for her. "And, uh." He holds out the rubberband when Bebe turns to look at him. "For your hair, if you want."

"Oh," she says, taking it. "Thanks." Her voice is hoarse, and after she's put her hair back she gulps from the water bottle. "Sorry," she says again, peeking at Kyle.

"You really don't have to be," he says. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"I didn't mean to scare everyone," she says. "I just. I guess I didn't care what happened, but then when the rain started these puddles started swirling around my ankles, and then the puddles turned into creeks, and the creeks started moving really fast, and I didn't - I didn't want to die. I guess that sounds stupid."

"Doesn't sound stupid," Stan says, sitting beside them again. "I know, like. That feeling. When you feel like you don't give a fuck, because everything's too hard, but then you jam yourself into a worse place and you just want to get the hell out of there, and back to all the stuff that seemed too hard before."

"Yeah," Bebe says softly. Kyle looks at Stan, hoping that the worse place he's talking about isn't a reference to their kiss. Stan smiles and Kyle smiles back, still not sure what he's thinking.

Stan uses the rangers' phone to call Craig and tell him that they've found Bebe. After the news has been delivered, the three of them sit in their blankets on the floor and talk while the rain continues outside. Bebe and Kyle trade stories about the misery of high school, and Stan has some of his own.

"I was the closeted quarterback," Stan says, and Kyle is proud of him for coming out to Bebe, who only raises her eyebrows a little with surprise. "It's not as fun as porn makes it look," he says, and she laughs. Kyle gets butterflies in his stomach, pleasantly embarrassed by this. He's watched that brand of bad gay porn, too.

Kyle starts to feel lousy as his blood sugar dips, and Stan finds a box of Kettle Korn in one of the rangers' desk drawers. There's a microwave in the kitchenette, and he returns with the popped corn and some Minute Maid orange juice from the fridge. The food and drink help a bit, but Kyle is still feeling drowsy and lightheaded when the rain finally stops. Stan goes to the window to survey the water level when it does.

"We'll wait for the rangers," he says. "Craig said he'd radio to tell them we took shelter here. They'll be here with a Jeep as soon as it's safe for them to drive."

"I'll be alright," Kyle says, because Stan is looking at him with concern.

"I bet Eric is freaking out," Bebe says.

"Probably," Kyle says, and he glances at Stan again, but he's gathering up their empty drink bottles, avoiding Kyle's eyes. They're well outside of their bubble now, but Kyle doesn't feel like it's been popped, though he's also not sure how they could ever get back into it. Tomorrow might be the last day they ever see each other, and they won't likely have an opportunity to be alone together again. Kyle isn't even sure Stan would want one.

The rangers arrive around dusk, when the flood waters have calmed enough to allow their Jeep to reach the station. Kyle is very glad to be headed back to the camp for an insulin dose. He's worried when they drive past the nurse's station, but the nurse is waiting for them at the main building, and she ushers Kyle to a fridge in the staff room where she's stored his insulin. After overseeing his injection she gives Kyle and Bebe a cursory examination before they're allowed to go into the rec room, where they're assaulted with the relief of the other campers and the counselors. Eric actually looks as if he's been crying, but he's relatively curt with Kyle in front of the others, only touching his shoulder a few times. Wendy presents them with dry clothes and escorts them to the restrooms, urging them to change before they catch a cold.

"Are you alright?" Kyle asks Bebe after they've changed, when they're headed back to the rec room. She gives him a shaky smile and shrugs.

"I was so glad when that door opened," she says. "At the ranger station. I was thinking – maybe that's what it'll feel like when I leave home next year, for college. Like a way out of the storm. I just have to keep my head above water until then."

"And maybe take antidepressants in the meantime?" Kyle says, still worried. Bebe laughs.

"I don't know," she says. "Maybe."

Kyle continues to feel ill for the rest of the evening, though he's not sneezing or shaking and his blood sugar has normalized. Cots have been set up in the gym, and they're allowed to eat their dinner there, sitting in circles on the floor. Kyle sticks close to Eric and keeps an eye out for Stan, but he seems to have disappeared. Craig is also missing. As darkness falls outside the skies remain quiet, the wind dies down, and the whole ordeal in the desert again feels like a dream Kyle had. He touches his lips absently, wanting to feel something there that's been left behind.

"You're quiet," he says to Eric, who is stretched out on the cot beside Kyle's, reading an Iron Man comic that he's 'borrowed' from one of the younger kids. "Do you want to, uh. Go somewhere and talk?"

"Nah," Eric says. He turns a page in the comic, the first time he's done so in ten minutes.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No."

"Sure seems like you are."

"I'm not." Eric gives Kyle a pleading look. "Just let me read this, okay?"

Confused, Kyle lies down on his cot and rolls onto his side, watching Eric read the comic. Three months ago, Eric would have been spilling over the side of the cot. He's still filling it completely, but he looks good, healthy. Kyle isn't sure he can give himself any credit. He didn't actually make Eric into a better person, or make up for the loneliness and heartbreak he's endured at home. It was stupid to think that he could. He considers sitting up and having a last look around for Stan, but he knows that Stan isn't here. Kyle would feel it if he walked in. Stan is probably off with Craig, having a farewell fuck. Unless they plan to continue being boyfriends after the summer. Kyle is fairly confident that he'll never see Stan again after tomorrow, despite their moment in the ranger's station. By tomorrow Stan will probably regret that he let Kyle kiss him, if he doesn't regret it already.

Kyle falls asleep and don't even stir until dawn. He feels like he's waking from years of slumber as he blinks at the cot next to his, watching Eric putting on his shoes. Eric gets up without looking back at Kyle and walks toward the back door of the gym, creeping quietly. Wendy and Token are asleep near the front door, curled up together with their backs to the wall. Kyle picks up his shoes and tiptoes across the gym floor, checking behind him to make sure no one has awakened. Once he's slipped outside, he puts his shoes and hurries to catch up with Eric.

The sun isn't up yet, but the dawn has begun to glow faintly, and much of the standing water has run off into lower parts of the valley near the trails and beyond the camp's borders. Kyle sees Eric walking ahead of him on the path, which is still partly flooded. Eric hears Kyle's footsteps and turns, but he doesn't wave or pause when he sees Kyle following him, just continues on to the pool.

The pool is flooded, too, spilling out onto the deck. There's a palm frond floating in the shallow end, and leaves from the surrounding shrubs are scattered across the water. Kyle opens the gate at the fence and watches Eric walk over to the diving board.

"What are you doing?" Kyle shouts, not sure he should get any closer. Eric seems to be in some sort of sleepwalking trance, and he's been weird since yesterday.

"Shh!" Eric says. He pulls his shirt off and throws it onto the wet pool deck. He doesn't look bad without his shirt, just pale and hefty. He's got maybe four chest hairs, which makes Kyle grin. Eric narrows his eyes slightly and strips down to his boxer shorts. Kyle is both afraid and a little hopeful that he'll take those off, too, but instead Eric climbs up onto the diving board. He runs to the end, bounces once, and cannonballs into the overflowing pool.

The splash he sends up is impressive, and the previously iron-flat pool rocks in its wake. Kyle walks closer, hoping that Eric isn't going to do something dramatic like stay underwater until Kyle jumps in with him, though he's already planning on jumping in with him. He takes off his shirt and throws it at Eric when he surfaces.

"Why are you throwing your shirt in the pool?" Eric asks, still attempting to give Kyle a stink-eye that Kyle doesn't quite buy. Kyle shrugs.

"Whatever," he says. "I do what I want."

"That's stupid."

"You're stupid," Kyle says, stepping out of his pants. "Why are you being mean to me?"

"I'm not! You are! To me!"

"Not really?"

"You keep running away," Eric says. He goes underwater and swims toward the shallow end. Kyle stands with his toes curled around the edge of the pool and considers whether or not this is true. Maybe, a little. He did kiss someone else, but Eric doesn't need to know that. The connection Kyle has with Stan seems to exist in a half-dreamed parallel universe, and the thing he has with Eric is scarier for existing in the real world. His potential relationship with Eric is exciting for the same reason, because it's a kind of currency he can actually trade on, something that might still have value outside the boundaries of this camp. He still can't believe Stan actually kissed him, and with tongue. Remembering it will never not make him smile stupidly, seemingly at nothing.

Kyle jumps into the pool wearing his boxer shorts. The water is much colder than usual, and once he's in it he feels like he was sleepwalking before and has just awakened. He swims underwater, toward Eric, with his eyes open. He can hold his breath for a long time; they've been timing it all summer. Once he made it to almost three minutes, and was later disappointed to hear from Token, who looked it up for Kyle on his phone, that the world record is for over twenty minutes. He lingers near Eric's belly in the shallow end, and feels weightless when Eric lifts him up, above the surface of the water.

"So," Eric says, holding Kyle there like a fish he's caught, his hands under Kyle's arms. "Now you've got what you wanted."

"What?" Kyle says, afraid that he somehow found out about the kiss with Stan.

"Me without my shirt. You kept telling me to take it off. Well. Here you go. Is it everything you dreamed of?"

Eric is asking sarcastically, angrily, but Kyle can hear the sincere question in it. He nods.

"We should have sex," Kyle says. He reaches out and flattens his palms over Eric's nipples, which are on the big side and hard from the cold water. Eric snorts.

"Oh, god," he says. "This again."

"I'm serious this time. Our parents are on their way here, you know? I know we don't have to do it now, I know I'll see you again. But I want to try it. End of camp doesn't feel real enough. Even that storm – I keep feeling like I'm dreaming. Maybe I need a dick in me to convince me otherwise."

"You're full of shit," Eric says, and he grins like he loves that about Kyle. They kiss, Kyle's legs wrapping around Eric's waist, and it feels good to be spread wide like this, to try to contain the shape of him.

"Please?" Kyle says, and he catches Eric's bottom lip between his teeth. He holds it there gently, nibbling at him. "We could do it in the boys' locker room."

"You're crazy," Eric says. He's got a wild, hopeful look in his eye. "There's not even – condoms, lube, anything. No bed."

"I don't need a bed. Or a condom – I've, uh. I looked at your medical chart, in the nurse's station."

"You – what?"

"Back before I really knew you. Trusted you, I mean. But I was already thinking about your dick. Eric, please? I want to, um. Feel it, you know? Inside me, like a secret. On the way home, in the backseat of my parents' stupid car. I want to still be feeling it when I get back to my house, my bed. It'll make it all real. Like something I can take with me."

"Kyle—" Eric moans and kisses him, tasting of pool water. He's breathless when he pulls back, his hands moving down to support Kyle's ass. "Yeah," he says, nodding. "I want that, too, um. Really – yes."

They get out of the pool and speed-walk to the boys' changing room. Kyle prays the door with open. It does, and behind them camp is still and quiet, everyone sleeping through the sunrise that's obscured by the lingering clouds. Inside, the changing room is damp and dark, and Kyle is shivering. He's nervous, but not scared anymore: he meant what he said about wanting to take this at the last possible minute, so he can bring it all the way home with him. It wasn't part of his plan until a few minutes ago, but the storm that was building all summer has moved through him and left a kind of clarity behind. Eric's hands shake on Kyle's hips when they pause near the lockers to kiss, and Kyle presses himself to Eric's puffy chest, moaning at the feeling of skin on skin.

"Lie down," Kyle says, pointing to the carpeted area outside the showers. "I'll find some sunscreen."

"Sunscreen?"

"For lube." Kyle gives Eric a quick kiss on the lips and goes over to the shelf-lined mirror where a crusty bottle of SPF 45 has been sitting all summer. It still feels about half-full. When he returns, Eric is lying his back on the floor and looking as vulnerable as an overturned tortoise, his face bright red. This look is much improved when he strips his wet boxer shorts off and shows Kyle his cock, which is hard and slick with precome that's leaked down the shaft. Kyle hurries to step out of his own boxers, kicking them away.

"Are you sure?" Eric asks again when Kyle straddles him.

"Yeah," Kyle says. He drops down to sit on Eric's hips, feeling invincible and excited, because somehow this is the perfect time to do this. "Are you?" Kyle asks, pressing his ass back against Eric's dick.

"Fuck yes," Eric says, almost sounding like he'll cry. Kyle grins and rubs his erection on Eric's belly, his ass cheeks spreading around Eric's cock when he pushes his hips back. They both groan at the sensation, and Kyle crawls up to kiss Eric, humping against him when Eric's hands slide down to his ass.

"Fingers," Kyle says, pressing the bottle of sunscreen to Eric's shoulder. Eric nods and recaptures Kyle's mouth as he fumbles the sunscreen open, and they're still kissing when Eric's slick fingers slide between Kyle's ass cheeks. It's a pleasantly familiar sensation now, and Kyle pushes back against it, huffing. He feels a little unhinged, but in a good way, like the door inside him that Stan threw open won't be closed again.

"No condom," Eric says, staring up at Kyle as he slicks his cock with the sunscreen. "That means. I'm gonna – I'm gonna come inside you, okay? Can I?"

"Yeah," Kyle says, embarrassed by how much he suddenly wants that. "I want you to. Leave it in me – I want to feel it leaking out, all day."

"Jesus, fuck – don't make me come yet!"

"I'm not?"

"Yeah, you – almost did, shit, okay." Eric takes a few deep breaths and closes his eyes. "Let me think about something gross for a second. So I can last."

"Um, okay. Don't tell me what you're thinking of—"

"Clyde's shit bag, and Henrietta's sweaty tits—"

"Eric!"

"Sorry, sorry. I want you to last, too!"

They both start laughing, nervous energy building as they twitch against each other and kiss in sloppy intervals, breathing hard. Then Eric positions his wet cockhead against Kyle's hole, and they both hold their breath, eyes widening.

"Ready?" Eric asks. His voice is raspy and small. Kyle nods.

"Let me," Kyle says, though Eric is just lying there holding his dick and doesn't seem to have a plan of action. "I'm, um. I'll just sink down on you. It might take me a while."

"Take all the time in the fucking world. Jesus, Kyle. I want this to last forever."

"Me too," Kyle says, and he means it, because when this is over so is camp, so is summer, Kyle's first time, and so many things he'll never get back. He's okay with losing this, because it seems to fit with letting go of everything else. He leans down to press his face to Eric's hot cheek, reaching back to hold himself open a little wider. This is going to hurt, but he feels ready for it, curious enough about this particular sort of pain to want it.

At first it seems easy, just like two of Eric's fingers sliding in, but as soon as Kyle tries to sit down on that feeling it's too much, wider and weird, totally different. He thinks maybe it's like a band-aid and he should just get the first hard push over with. His legs are getting tired and wobbly, trembling as he crouches up over Eric, who is breathing in shallow pants through his nose and looking like he's afraid this will be over any minute. Kyle grunts and shoves himself down onto Eric's cock, a scream ripping out of him as he realizes that was the wrong move.

"Fuck!" Eric says, grabbing Kyle's arms. "Are you – what – you okay?"

"Ghahh, no – yeah, shit. You're fucking – big, and – ahh—"

"I'm not that big. Fat, you mean? You want it out?"

"No, just. Fucking – ow. Hang on."

"I'm – I'm hanging on, but. Maybe you're too small. You feel fucking – tight, Kyle. Jesus, what if—"

"Nghh, okay. Shut up for a second. Fuck!"

Kyle exhales and presses down again, whimpering as he seats himself completely, his vision swimming when he blinks down at Eric. He tips forward and puts his head on Eric's chest, trying to intelligently absorb the oddity of what's going on in his ass right now. But there's nothing intelligent about it: he feels too full, stretched to bursting, and it stings and burns but he doesn't want it to stop, because there's something good about it, too, just an edge of fascinating sensation that's worth chasing. He pants out his breath and relaxes a little, lets Eric lift his head and examine his face.

"Jesus," Eric says. "You're all pale. Kyle—"

"I'm always pale. Kiss me, it's okay."

Straining up to kiss Eric improves the feeling of being imperfectly connected to him, and Kyle hisses as he adjusts, searching for a good angle. Eric is whining, drooling a little when Kyle pulls away from his mouth.

"Holy shit," Kyle says, rocking his hips very tentatively. "You're really in there. God, it feels all slimy and big and fucking weird."

"Hey," Eric says softly, frowning. "I told you, I'll take it out if you hate it."

"I don't hate it! It's kind of awesome. God, sorry. I don't know how to describe it."

Kyle decides he should stop talking, and he leans down to kiss Eric again. He bounces once and winces when it hurts, then tries it again, moaning, because it almost feels good, almost. He opens his eyes and has to hold in a laugh when he sees the look on Eric's face.

"What?" Eric grunts.

"You're looking at me like I'm the Sistine Chapel."

"Huh? What does that mean?"

"I – never mind." Kyle clenches around Eric and kisses his cheek when he whines.

"I can't believe you called me slimy," Eric says.

"It was a compliment. It feels good – and it's the sunscreen that's slimy, not your dick. You gonna come?" Kyle asks, wiggling on him. He had imagined riding Eric hard, but this timid squirming is all that seems possible for the time being. Eric sighs and nods, shifting his hips.

"Yeah," he says. "You're soft, though."

"Yeah, it's just – too much, I can't come like this yet. I'll practice when you come visit me."

"Ha. Okay."

"I'm serious, Eric! Your dick is in my ass – I'm losing my fucking virginity to you, here. You think that doesn't mean anything to me?"

"Well, what the hell does it mean, Kyle?" Eric asks, looking like he might burst into tears. "This isn't how I pictured it with you!"

"What'd you picture?"

"I don't know. Music playing. Fireworks going off. Making you come."

"You complaining?"

"No! Just- I wanted it to be perfect, goddammit."

"It is," Kyle says, bending down to kiss him again. "Are you okay?"

"Am I – Kyle, I'm in your ass! Yes, I'm okay! I'm fucking great!"

Kyle laughs hard, squeezing around Eric in spasms as he does. Eric grins, throws his head back and comes with a sort of pained hiccup that Kyle wasn't expecting. He licks Eric's neck, kisses his face, pets his hair. He's a little sad that he couldn't feel come splashing on the walls of his ass, but the way Eric's dick swelled and twitched inside him was pretty hot, a memory to take home and masturbate to.

"Are you still okay?" Kyle asks when Eric pants up at him, his eyelids heavy and his hands shaking on Kyle's sides. Eric nods, and for a while they stay like that, until Kyle's hips start to ache. He can already feel come sliding out of him, and disconnecting hurts. He slumps onto Eric, glad to be done and sad that they can't try it again later.

"Will you be sore?" Eric asks.

"Yeah. That was kind of the idea, though. I liked it. Did you like it?"

"Uh-huh." Eric puts his arms around Kyle and rubs his shoulders, his back. "You're shaking. And your shirt's still in the pool."

"I don't care. Let's go back to the cabin. I want to take a hot shower and go back to sleep."

It doesn't actually work out that way. When they get back to the cabin Butters and Clyde are already there, packing their things. Kyle packed the day before, when he was waiting for Eric to burst in and pin him to something passionately. He's glad it happened later, today, and that he was the one who did the passionate pinning. He changes into clean clothes and sits on his bed, watching the others pack and exchanging secret looks with Eric. They're connected now, by a moment in that locker room that they mutually agreed to make sacred, and nobody can ever change it. Kyle likes the feeling, and even likes the sting in his ass. Feeling cold come puddling into his boxers in random dribbles is less sexy than he thought it would be, however.

"This sucks," Clyde says, falling onto his bed when his bags are all zipped up. "I finally found a girl who'll have sex with me and she lives in Indiana."

"You could be pen pals, though!" Butters says. "On the internet, I mean."

"I can't stick my dick in an email, Butters."

"I suppose that's true," Butters says, looking sad. "But you could write each other love poems! Henrietta's a real good poet."

"Christ," Eric says. "I'll bet."

"Shut up," Clyde says, turning to glare at him. "She is."

The parents start arriving shortly after breakfast. Kyle still hasn't seen Stan. It's possible that he's already clocked his last hours here and left for home, but Kyle feels like he would have said goodbye first. Token and Wendy are greeting the parents and bringing them into the auditorium, where Mackey will give his closing remarks. Kyle sits near the back with Eric and turns every time the doors open, both afraid and hopeful that the next set of parents will be his own. He pokes Eric's shoulder when he recognizes his mother. She's even prettier than Kyle remembered, wearing a fitted coral dress with matching pumps.

"Dude," Kyle says. "Your mom."

"Aw, fuck." Eric gives Kyle a pleading look, as if Kyle can decide for the both of them that camp isn't really ending. "You want to meet her?" Eric asks, mumbling.

"Sure," Kyle says, though he kind of doesn't. He never got a chance to shower and he's afraid he still smells like sex. This will bother him much more when he faces his own mother.

"Mom!" Eric bellows, and she whirls around to wave at him, smiling. Kyle knows that her name is Liane, that she was once a beauty queen, that she has no friends in Nebraska and used to date a child molester. He's not particularly happy to turn Eric back over to her.

"Sweetheart!" she says, rushing toward them. Eric groans and hoists himself up to receive her enthusiastic hug. She's laughing and petting him like he's a lost pet, and she looks comically tiny with her arms around him. "Look at you!" Liane says, pulling back to beam at Eric. "My big man – you're so – ooh, look at your muscles!"

"Mom! Sick, stop! This is Kyle," Eric mutters, gesturing toward him. "He's, uh. My friend."

"Nice to meet you," Kyle says, not exactly surprised that Eric isn't out to his mother, despite how open he was about being gay once he arrived at camp. Liane shakes Kyle's hand, grinning at him like he's a pageant judge.

"You won't like me saying this," Liane says, turning back to Eric. Her eyes are sparkling with tears, and she takes Eric's hands in hers, squeezing them. "But, Eric. You look so grown up, so different. You look like your father."

"Goddammit, Mom." Eric pulls his hands free and rubs one over her face. "Great."

"He worked really hard this summer," Kyle says, wanting to rescue him, to hug him and hold his hand. He feels almost possessive. Liane's eyes flick to Kyle, her smile still plastered on.

"Of course he did!" she says. "My Eric, gosh, look at that jawline! You'll have to beat the girls off with a stick back home."

"Yeah, right." Eric touches his jaw and glances at Kyle.

"You look amazing," Kyle says, somewhat resenting the fact that he can't call himself Eric's boyfriend in front of this woman. It's possible that Butters or one of the other campers will run over and say something to give them away, but most of them are preoccupied with greeting their own families. Butters is in tears, holding on to his tiny blond mother while his stern-looking father regards Butters with approval, nodding to himself as if deciding he's gotten his money's worth here. Bebe's parents have arrived and are talking to Tammy's while the girls look on, shoulder to shoulder. Clyde is being hugged by a crying man in glasses who must be his father. He talked about his dead mother a lot in group, toward the end of the summer, and remembering this makes Kyle's heart grow suddenly heavy as he half-listens to Liane dote over Eric.

"KYLE!"

He turns toward the door and sees his mother barreling toward him, her arms outstretched. She looks almost grief-stricken at the sight of him, already near tears. Kyle grins and stands in place, surprised by how happy he is to finally see her again. She makes a kind of strangled-chicken sound when she reaches him, hugging him hard and rocking him in her arms.

"Oh, bubbeh, oh my god! Let me look at you, oh, Kyle, you're too skinny, they worked you too hard—"

"They didn't, Mom, it's okay – hey!" Kyle grins when his father and Ike come through the auditorium doors behind her. He wasn't sure if they'd come, and he's glad they have, no longer embarrassed to be seen here. For a few minutes everyone in his reunited family is talking at once, both of Kyle's parents lamenting that he looks 'skinny' while Ike teases him for his hair, which has become a full-on fro.

"What is that sunscreen I smell?" his mother asks, sniffing at Kyle's shoulder. "That's not the Neutrogena I bought you, the SPF 50."

"It's – it's fine, Mom," Kyle says, turning to look for Eric. He's staring miserably down at Liane, who is still gushing at him like he's a fellow beauty queen. "I just – left mine in the cabin this morning, so I borrowed some from a friend. It's the same SPF." He'll never forget the truth, that it was SPF 45, Coppertone, in a blue and white bottle: his virginity loss lube.

"Wow, damn," Ike says, stepping back to look Kyle over. "How many pounds did you lose?"

"Um, I don't actually know. They teach us not to focus on numbers. It's, uh. A lifestyle change."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Sheila says, holding onto Kyle's arm. "Isn't that wonderful, Gerald?"

"Sounds like a healthy approach," Gerald says, looking a little emotional himself. "We really missed you at home," he says, patting Kyle's wild hair down. "Did they treat you okay here?"

"They obviously starved him," Ike says, and Kyle shoves him.

"I do think it's a little extreme!" Sheila says. "Did you have any incidents with your blood sugar? We got a progress report from the administration every two weeks, but you didn't write, you didn't call—"

"I know, I'm sorry. I was just really, like. Immersed in the process. And no, and I didn't have any health scares." The cuts on his hands from his attack on the shrub have healed. He wonders if that was mentioned in a progress report.

"Campers," Mackey says, taking the stage with a microphone. "Parents, siblings, friends and family? Could I have everyone's attention, please? I think we've got the majority of our audience here now, mmkay, so if we could all start finding seats, I'll give the commencement address in just about five minutes."

Kyle turns to look at Eric and Liane. They're sitting near the back, apart from the others. He thinks of directing his family to sit with them, but what would he say, what would be the point? Eric meets his eyes and Kyle gives him a lost sort of expression, trying to communicate that he doesn't know what to do next. Eric shrugs, and Kyle understands that he's saying it's fine, sit wherever. That Eric doesn't especially care about meeting Kyle's family is something Kyle finds attractive about him. Suddenly Eric seems less like the wibbling boy who has followed Kyle around all summer, more like a man who just fucked him and now has to get back to his life and his own responsibilities, familial and otherwise. Kyle guides his parents and brother into a middle aisle, wondering if this is the magic of having Eric's come drying inside him: that they can understand each other more completely now, and read each other's minds from across a crowded room. He likes this, though the ache in his ass is less desirable now that he has to endure it in a stiff auditorium chair, between his parents, listening to his mother remark with alarm that she can see the bump of his wrist bones now.

"You could always see those," Kyle says, looking down at his hands. "Couldn't you?"

"Well, I'm not sure I know," Sheila says, and she takes a deep breath, grabbing for Kyle's arm. "I don't know what I was thinking, sending you away like this. I don't think I could bear it again!"

"Guess that means I won't be going to college," Kyle says, and he grins when she gives his cheek a scolding pinch.

Mackey's speech is heartfelt but overly long, and Kyle tries not to fidget too much in his seat, afraid that his mother will somehow discern that he's itchy and raw from being fucked with inferior sunscreen. He keeps wanting to turn around and look longingly at Eric or search the seats for Stan, but he keeps his eyes on the stage. At the end of the speech Mackey calls the campers up one by one to accept a sealed envelope bearing their name. The order they're called is alphabetical, and when Kyle is returning to his seat with his envelope, Eric's name is called. He turns to watch Eric cross the stage, struck by how separate and yet connected they are, and how painful it is to feel both at once.

"Please open these envelopes later, when you have some time for quiet reflection," Mackey says after all of the envelopes have been handed out. "These are a personal farewell gift from me, and included in each package is a directory with the names and numbers of the other campers in your age group, so that you can all keep in touch. And I hope you will – every year I find that the peer bonds that are made here at camp are just as important as me and the counselors are in shaping your new lives. Now, please, before we all head out to our cars and give each other hugs and well-wishes, let's all stand up, campers and parents and all in attendance, and just give ourselves and each other a big round of applause."

Kyle feels a little stupid clapping for himself, and embarrassed by his mother's enthusiastic loudness and Ike's somewhat sarcastic cheers, but the noise of everyone's celebration settles at the center of his chest and shakes him like the thunder did yesterday. He's no longer afraid that he'll walk out of here and revert to a friendless, angry little boy. He turns to look at Eric, but someone's tall father is blocking his view.

People start streaming out of the auditorium, and then everyone is walking out of the building altogether, into a blazing heat that feels vindictive, as if it's arrived to shame the day before, the arrogance of the storm that thought it could change the desert. The puddles have mostly dried up. Kyle tunes out his mother's incessant chattering and searches the crowd that's gathered near the parking lot where all the parents' cars are waiting. He's looking for Eric, for Stan, for Bebe. Butters comes out of nowhere and tackles him with a tearful hug.

"I can't believe it's over!" Butters says, and it sounds cheap out loud, but that's all Kyle can think, too.

"We'll keep in touch," Kyle says, though he doubts it. Butters smiles and nods, and Kyle wonders if he's smarter than he looks, if he knows this is actually the last time they'll meet.

He finds Bebe next, and hopes his parents won't get the wrong idea when he falls gladly into the hug she offers. He intends to come out to his mother and father soon, and that will probably involve telling Ike, too. He already wants to confide in Bebe about this, and can see that she's holding back similar gushing feelings that are too messy for this goodbye.

"I'll email you," she says. "I opened the envelope – there are email address on the directory thing."

"Oh, good – mine's, uh. Did they list it as 69ingchipmunks?"

"Yeah. What the hell does that mean, anyway?"

"Uh, it's a long story. What else is in the envelope?"

"Pictures, and a letter from Mackey." Bebe glances over Kyle's shoulder. "Your mom is cute."

"Really? Thanks, I guess. Are you – is yours being, uh. Okay?"

"She's – whatever, she says I look good. Eric is staring at you."

Kyle turns and sees this is true. Eric is lingering on the periphery of the group with Liane, who looks as if she doesn't understand why they can't just get in the car and go already, the heat wilting her perfectly coiffed hair a bit. Kyle gives Bebe one more hug, one more promise to email her soon, and she heads back toward her parents. Kyle walks over to Eric, glad that his parents are momentarily distracted by Mackey, who Shelia insisted on speaking to personally. Kyle holds Eric's gaze as he approaches, pressure squeezing in around his heart. Eric is stoic, but Kyle can see that it's forced, that he's dangling over the cliff of his life back home in Nebraska, razor sharp realities down below.

"We're going," Eric says, gesturing to the cars with his thumb. His voice is weird, deeper and flat. "So. I guess. Goodbye."

"Eric," Kyle says. "I—"

Eric huffs and grabs Kyle, hugging him so hard that Kyle's feet leave the asphalt. Kyle buries his face against Eric's neck, smelling sunscreen there. For a moment his chest gets so tight that he's afraid this tightness will squeeze some tears out of him, but he makes himself think of his phone, which is waiting in the car for him along with his laptop, according to his mother. He knows Eric is serious about staying in touch – Skype sex, dick pics, text messages – but Kyle is going to miss this so much: letting Eric squeeze the breath out of him and not even caring who sees.

"Right," Eric says, releasing him. He sniffs and looks up at the sky. Kyle does, too, and sees a large bird sail by overhead. It's some kind of hawk, or maybe a vulture – a winged silhouette against the sun, too far away to identify. Eric leans down to put his lips against Kyle's ear. "I'm gonna drive down to Colorado on winter break," he says, whispering. "To see you. Even if I have to steal her car, and sleep in it for week. That's three and a half months away. September, October, November. Part of December. Okay? That's not too long. Right?"

"Right," Kyle says. He flinches, wanting to kiss Eric's cheek, but stops himself. "I'll be waiting," he says, holding Eric's gaze in a way that he hopes is kiss-like. "We'll talk a lot," Kyle says. "Every day."

"Every hour," Eric says, and he grins like it's a joke, but Kyle wouldn't mind that so much. It sounds pretty good from where he's standing, a few minutes away from leaving this place behind.

"Eric, hon?" Liane says. "We really need to get on the road. It's a long drive home."

"Coming, Jesus," Eric says, not looking at her. He's staring a Kyle, his shoulders lifting and falling, lifting again. "I'll text you in five minutes," he says, his voice tightening up. Kyle nods.

"Sounds good."

They hug again. Kyle doesn't want to let go. He forces himself to picture his mother and father watching this, Ike snickering and preparing jokes about Kyle's butch boyfriend. He finds that he doesn't care about any of that and holds on tighter, his hands clawed into Eric's t-shirt. Liane's tiny sigh of impatience finally allows him to uncurl his fingers and step back. Eric winks, turns, and follows his mother away. When Kyle turns back to the crowd he sees his family watching him. Ike looks amused, Gerald confused. Sheila doesn't look surprised, concerned, or even particularly curious. She gives Kyle a little wave, as if he's on a neighboring island and she hopes he'll swim back to hers.

He has quick goodbyes with Tammy, Clyde and Henrietta, and hugs Rebecca while her family lingers near their mini-van. They all look like they're dressed for church, her unsmiling brother in a sweater vest despite the weather.

"Your brother's kind of hot," Kyle says, and Rebecca laughs.

"He's also an asshole," she says. "But I guess that's kind of your type. No, but he's not like Eric. He's less direct. Your brother looks nothing like you, meanwhile."

"He's adopted."

"Oh, right. You mentioned that in group. Well, I'm off to get fat again. That will show them. Write me emails, okay?"

"Okay," Kyle says. "Do you really want to get fat again?"

"I really do. I feel like it's who I am. But don't let that stop you from staying skinny."

"I'm not skinny. I don't want to go back to gnawing on frozen pizza alone in my room, though."

"That was my favorite story from group, all summer." Rebecca smiles and pats Kyle's shoulder. "That's the kind of thing that makes a person specifically endearing, you know?"

"I guess, but I'd rather not be endearing that way anymore. How's this: I lost my virginity in the boys' locker room this morning, with Eric and a bottle of old sunscreen. Now I've got to ride all the way back to Colorado with post-virginity loss discomfort, if you know what I'm saying."

"That's pretty endearing!" Rebecca says, her eyebrows shooting up. "Lucky you. Lucky Eric! Maybe I'll have some sex between now and the return of my gut."

"Tell me about it if you do," Kyle says. "Though not in detail."

"Certainly. I'd keep it tasteful."

Rebecca heads off with her family, and Kyle realizes that his parents are some of the last still waiting for their child to finish saying goodbye. He scans the emptying parking lot, though he's lost hope of finding Stan. Even Token and Wendy have drifted off, and Kenny is probably still sleeping somewhere. Mackey is talking to the parents of one of the younger kids, looking as if he's about ready to wrap the summer up himself.

"Well?" Sheila says, approaching Kyle as Gerald and Ike drift toward the car. "Are you ready to get on the road? We can stop for lunch at In & Out Burger. Unless that would, ah, compromise your new lifestyle?"

"I can have a burger," Kyle says. "It's fine."

"What's wrong, honey?"

"Nothing, just." Kyle turns to look at the main building, the paths that lead to the cabins, the nurse's station in the distance. "I guess we should go," he says, because he can't stand here all day waiting for Stan, who might be back on the west coast already, or asleep in Craig's bed.

"My special little guy," Sheila says when Kyle turns toward the car, feeling gutted. She puts her arm around him and kisses the side of his head. "Oh, Kyle. You have to let me cut this crazy hair."

"Can't I go to the salon? I mean – a barber?"

"I suppose so, but it's such a waste of money when I'm perfectly capable— have I ever ruined your hair?"

"Well, ruined, no, but—"

Kyle pauses at the edge of the parking lot when he hears someone running. He has no reason to hope, but as he turns around he feels sure, and he breaks into a grin when he sees that he's right: it's Stan, running toward him. He's coming from the golf cart, which is parked on the path near the lot, Kenny waving from the driver's seat. Stan is wearing normal clothes, a gray t-shirt and jeans, beat-up sneakers. He's carrying something square that glints in the sunlight as he comes closer.

"Sorry," he says, thrusting the thing out toward Kyle. He's winded from running, and he glances at Sheila nervously. "Hi, sorry," Stan says when Kyle takes what he's offering: a CD in a clear plastic case. The CD has FOR KYLE written on top in black sharpie, FROM STAN on the bottom. "I'm a counselor," Stan explains when Sheila stares at him, awaiting an explanation while Kyle examines the CD. "That's just – just a little goodbye present. Some songs."

Kyle can't make his voice work. He wants to kiss the CD case, wants to hug Stan and ask for his email address, but he can't do any of that with his mother watching. Stan might get in trouble. This is already probably some kind of protocol violation, a counselor giving an unauthorized gift to a camper.

"Thanks," Kyle says when he looks up from the CD case. Stan puts his hands in his pockets and nods. He's got bags under his eyes. Kyle wonders if he drank last night, and if he will again tonight, and if it's even possible that they'll ever see each other again. "This is – thank you."

"That's very nice of you," Sheila says, sounding only slightly disapproving. "C'mon, Kyle, we need to get a move on."

"I've got to go," Kyle says, as if Stan doesn't know that. Stan nods and takes his hands from his pockets, then puts them back in.

"It was a – I'll – you, um. Good luck with everything," Stan says. He looks like he's falling apart inside, trying to hold it together, but he's also more beautiful than he's been all summer, wearing his street clothes and sort of shimmering in the heat like a mirage that Kyle can't risk reaching for.

"Good luck to you, too," Kyle says. "I'll listen to the CD. I mean, of course I will—" He meant 'right away' and possibly 'every day,' at least for the foreseeable future.

"Oh, it's. I hope you'll like it." Stan glances at Sheila again and smiles uncomfortably. "Well. Goodbye. Drive safe."

He turns for the golf cart, and Kyle wants to call him back, but he has no excuse to linger. His mother takes his arm and prods him toward the car.

"That was a counselor?" Sheila says, sounding incredulous.

"That was – yeah. A counselor. My favorite one."

Kyle is dazed as he climbs into the backseat of his parents' car. He turns on his phone and plugs the headphones from his iPod into his laptop. It's strange to have his technology at his fingertips again, and as soon as the phone boots up he gets a notification: a new text message from a number he doesn't recognize. He knows who it's from before opening it.

I hate this. Kyle. You're not here.

Yes I am, Kyle sends back, after he's added this number to his address book, filed under 'Eric.' I'm right here.

It's not the same.

But I can still feel you, Kyle sends, glancing over at Ike to make sure he's not peeking.

That'll only last a few days, at best. My dick's not that big.

I'm not just talking about your dick, Kyle types, his face heating. I can FEEL you. Can't you feel me? I'm right here.

I guess. Mostly I feel like someone ripped all my organs out. I might puke.

Don't puke. I love you.

Kyle feels weird sending that, suddenly aware that it's true. He loves Eric, and Stan. He wants to wrap them both up in adjacent bubbles and protect them, but he can't do that. The best he can do is send text messages, and for Stan even that's out of the question, though Kyle supposes Stan is really too big and sturdy to need saving by the likes of him. He glances over at the CD.

I fucking love you, Kyle, Eric sends back, and Kyle can hear Eric's voice when he reads this. He smiles down at his phone, embarrassed and glad. I wasn't going to say it because I didn't think you would.

You think I'd go all the way back to Colorado with ass pain from someone who I didn't love?

"Kyle," Sheila says, turning from the front passenger seat. "What are you typing so furiously back there?"

"Nothing. Just some texts."

I gotta go, he sends before Eric can respond to the message about ass pain. Mom's asking questions. I'll text you when I get home.

He puts his phone away and opens his laptop, popping his headphones into his ears. He's a little afraid to listen to Stan's CD, because it's possible their tastes in music won't align at all. Kyle never much cared for Stan's songs around the campfire. He puts it in and waits for it to load up, hits play on the first track. The track name is 'file01,' and there's no artist listed.

It's a guitar track, acoustic and instrumental. At first it sounds like the soundtrack from the last hopeful scene of an uplifting movie, but then something deeper seems to flow into it, a kind of nostalgic swell, subdued happy with a hint of sad. Kyle stares out the window as they head up the steep hills that lead out of the valley, and once they're high enough he turns to look back at the camp in the distance. He feels like he's leaving some sliced off part of himself back there, and remembers Mackey's instruction to open his envelope during a moment of personal reflection.

He unclasps the flap on the envelope and pulls out four items: a glossy group photo from the first day of camp, another from the last day, the directory with everyone's contact information, and a letter addressed to him in Mackey's handwriting. Kyle pulls the letter open as the second track on Stan's CD begins. This one has lyrics, and melodious humming behind the chorus.

Mackey's letter is fairly generic, and Kyle assumes that most of what he has to say was said to all of the campers, with individual names filled in the blanks. He's proud of Kyle's progress, believes in his future, and hopes that Kyle will cherish the memories of his time spent at camp. Only one part really resonates with Kyle, and he spreads the two pictures out across his laptop keyboard after he's read it.

I include the group's 'before' picture in your exit package not as an unfavorable comparison to the 'after' picture, because I don't want you to look at this older picture and feel ashamed. I think this first picture should make you even prouder than the one from the last day of camp. You've grown and changed, but the boy in this first picture was with you every step of the way, and since he had the hardest journey of all, the one that was just about to begin, I think you should look back on him with nothing but admiration and respect. Don't cast your day one self away as someone from the past who was lesser than you are now: he was amazing and he still he. He is you, Kyle, and out of all of the lessons you learned this summer, the most important, in my view, is that you learned how to love the boy who, here in this picture from your first day, had every step of your three month journey still weighing on his shoulders. I hope you will cherish your memory of his strength – your strength, proven now – most of all.

Kyle puts the pictures away and stares out the window. He's not sure what his most cherished memory of camp will actually be. He doesn't want any of it to feel like a memory yet, doesn't want to let it go. He closes his eyes and skips back to the first track on Stan's CD. It's sad because it sounds like the end of something beautiful, and because Stan put it in his hands in place of a goodbye letter. The song is like a marriage of the group's before and after pictures: hope and closure rolled together, like the sky clearing after a storm. Kyle listens to it again, and again, and it's still playing when they've crossed over the hills, headed toward Nevada. They'll spend the night in Utah before driving home, to break up the sixteen hour drive.

Eric and Liane are traveling in the same direction. Kyle imagines ending up at the same Utah motel and running into Eric at the vending machines. He thinks about Stan driving in the opposite direction, headed back to college and maybe listening to this same song. Kyle wants to believe he'll see them both again someday. The song seems to tell him that he might, and that he might not. He wipes the corners of his eyes dry and starts track one again. It's a short song, just a little over two minutes, and every time he listens it seems to end too soon.

---

(The song Kyle is listening to is "Stephanie" by Stevie Nicks & Lindsey Buckingham)