How could I not see it?
“She’s not the one,” Willie would say, over and over, after Sebastian had a fight with Sam or when she ignored his calls. But, hell, Lily said the same thing, so it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before.
But Willie thought he was the one.
“Oh, shit,” Sebastian says, smacking a hand over his eyes.
Mason says, quickly, “Don’t make a big deal of it, okay? Seriously, don’t go Riverdale on me.”
Sebastian’s dazed. Guilt has just sucker-punched him. While Mason shrugs, slurping on beer, Sebastian slumps against the tree.
“What I can’t figure out,” Mason pauses to rub his chin, “is what made him so into you?” With his head bent uncomfortably close to Sebastian’s crotch, he says, “Are you hiding something amazing in your jockstrap, Hughes?”
Sebastian sputters and mashes Mason’s head back. Mason drunkenly stumbles. Jesus, these are his friends?
Mason says, “I’ve seen it, bro. In the shower. You’ve got Thor’s hammer down there.”
Sebastian goes sunburn-hot from his toes to his hairline. He turns away; his eyes flicker to Willie, whose head is in Hunter’s lap. Hunter’s smooths Willie’s hair back. Willie gives a go at an acoustic version of “Uma Thurman.”
“Sorry. I’ve been trying to do this whole ‘be nice’ thing, but how the hell do people do it?” Mason groans, hazy eyes glaring at the fire.
“Is Grey influencing you?”
Mason rolls his eyes. Obviously not. Mason chugs the rest of his beer. “She’s part of the team or whatever, so I can’t be mad at her. Sometimes, she says cool stuff. It’s weird.”
Sebastian’s in awe. In what reality does Mason refer to Grey Patrick as cool? Well, “kinda cool.”
All of that good karma Mason just earned flies away when someone shouts, “Who invited Coach’s daughter?” and, right on cue, Grey smiles nervously while sauntering past the guys hanging by the tree line.
“Holy mother-effin’…” Mason pushes loose locks of brown hair out of his bulging seaweed-blue eyes. Skittish as a goldfish swimming among sharks, Grey collapses next to Hunter. Mason says, “We’re officially going to hell. We’re all getting kicked off the team.”
Sebastian asks, “Do you want me to look after her?”
Mason crunches his empty can. “She’s my problem, isn’t she?”
He can deny it all he wants, but Mason has a soft spot for her. Being an ass is just his way of showing it.
Mason stomps toward the fire, shouting, “Hey, give the brat some space!” and, “Grace, get your hands off that beer!”
“Oh my god, you sound like Coach!”
Mason’s shoulders tense. “And I’ll kick your ass like him if you drink that.” When she flips him off, he gasps as though scandalized. “You’re sixteen, you little troublemaker, so come sit over here—no, not next to me!” Mason nearly shrieks.
Sebastian considers joining the mayhem. He could collapse opposite Zach and sing the team’s off-key version of “Young Volcanoes,” led by Willie’s very respectable strumming. The heat from the fire pit reaches him. Stars wink in the clear indigo sky. The sour flavor of cheap beer collects in his throat.
What kind of future captain wouldn’t want to sit shoulder to shoulder with his troops? Sebastian’s doesn’t know. Are all teens this emo and undecided?
Sebastian hangs back, letting his mind cool down before he turns and disappears into the trees.
18
Sebastian needs somewhere to think, and the dock at the lake is the perfect place.
During the day, the lake beyond the trees and grass is still, pale blue under a clear sunny sky. At dusk, it’s all indigo slashed with purples and the scent of pine and moss. All the normal noises of camp are muted by the lapping, singing water. It’s the one place Sebastian can have to himself tonight.
Life decides to knock Sebastian on his ass by denying him that moment.
Surrounded by a thin reef of smoke, Emir is huddled at the end of the dock. Sebastian’s not disappointed; he’s floored, but not disappointed. The last rays of sun make Emir’s profile fuzzy. His mouth is thoughtfully pouty. Sebastian ignores his fluttery stomach and lets his giddiness carry him all the way to the wood planks.
As he tugs off his sneakers, Sebastian realizes his common sense has died a proud samurai’s death. Warnings blare in his head: You’re gonna get caught by the team!
Emir shoots him a blank face over his shoulder. Sebastian can’t get past how unbelievably handsome Emir is.
“Shouldn’t you be with the cool kids?” Emir asks when Sebastian sits next to him; their shoulders brush.
Sebastian mimics Emir, dipping his feet in the water. “Not in the mood.” His hand swats away smoke. Emir tips his head back and almost smiles when Sebastian says, “Plus, I’m not cool enough for that crowd, anyway.”
Emir snorts. His elbow jostles Sebastian’s each time he blows out a plume of smoke. The slop-slop of the lake water fills their silence.
Sebastian has absolutely no idea where the memory comes from, but he asks, “Hey, do you still like almond milk?”
Emir’s eyes light up. Their feet brush in the water, ankles touching. Emir says, softly, “A bit, yeah, but not as much as I did when your mom made us a mountain of—”
“Biscuits,” Sebastian, chin tilted up proudly, does his best impression of Emir’s accent.
“You remember?”
“Of course.”
Emir flicks his cigarette into the lake, then reclines on his elbows to stare at the sky. He says, “You used to cheat at Mario Kart.”
Sebastian gasps, scandalized. “I did not, you just sucked.” Emir’s eyes narrow; his nose is scrunched. “Who picks Yoshi, anyway? Poor choices, Emir, poor choices.”
“Whatever.” A laugh rumbles out of Emir’s chest. It’s Sebastian’s new favorite sound. “Your mom was always…” Emir’s eyebrows drop. He tries again. “She was always so nice to me.”
“She liked you.” On reflection, Lily was awfully sad when Emir stopped coming around. Maybe she stopped talking about him for a reason? Maybe the reminder made her sad too?
“Do you still stay up all night reading comics?”
Sebastian nods, drumming his hands on his knees.
“Me too.”
Nocturnal insects hum around the dock. Emir’s ankle skims Sebastian’s. “Back in London, I’d leave room on my bed… for you.” A blush spreads over Emir’s cheeks. Sebastian tries to imagine tiny Emir scrunched against a wall. “You took up so much space.”
“I can’t help that you’re a twig!”
Emir pokes a finger into Sebastian’s ribs. “Pretty sad, right, hoping you were gonna come take up all that space in my bed?” He bites his lip. “It was weird without you around.”
Sebastian shifts an awkward hand to Emir’s left knee. “It’s not sad.”
“Then what is it?”
Sebastian doesn’t know. It’s the coolest thing anyone has ever said, he thinks—not that he tells Emir. But his fingers squeeze around Emir’s kneecap, not his best response.
Emir’s expression softens.
Okay.
Off in the distance to their left, the team is murdering “We Are Young.” Emir’s palm slides across the back of Sebastian’s hand to twine their fingers. Sebastian’s heart mellows out. He never imagined, at the start of summer, that this is where they would be.
The nervous anticipation stirring in Sebastian’s body makes him say, “Pretty good night for a swim.” He sheepishly pulls his hand from Emir’s. Adrenaline vibrates through his cells. He stands and yanks off his sweatshirt. His fingers work to tug off his jeans next.
“What are you doing?”
Sebastian shrugs. He’s clueless, but going along with the flare in his belly that moves toward his chest. It’
s his last summer here, so wasting time isn’t an option.
“I never do anything fun.”
“And getting naked is fun?” Emir shrinks the second the words leave his mouth.
Hooking his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers, Sebastian pulls, pops them against his skin, and raises his eyebrows suggestively.
Emir says, “Wow. This is really happening.”
Sebastian, the living definition of irrational, yanks his boxers down and kicks them away. “So, are you coming or what?”
“Where?” Emir chokes.
Sebastian points to the lake. “Let’s go. Skinny-dipping. Right now.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“This is mental, like… you’re naked!”
“It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”
Emir, turning redder than seems possible, says, “That’s different.”
“Yeah, um, it’s not.”
Emir’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. His mouth is a thin white line, but his eyes are black pools, staring unwaveringly.
Sebastian stretches out a hand. “Come on.” He almost deflates when Emir hesitates. Then Emir holds out his hand, and Sebastian’s shoulders relax. He tugs Emir to his feet. His free hand fiddles with the hem of Emir’s hoodie and his eyes are searching.
Emir exhales, then nods.
Together they wrangle Emir out of his hoodie and his T-shirt. Sebastian’s uncooperative hands shake when they both reach for the button on Emir’s jeans. Sebastian’s one big ball of nervous energy, so Emir takes care of it himself.
“Time to live a little, Emi,” Sebastian whispers, lips against Emir’s ear.
Emir makes an exasperated noise at the back of his throat. Sebastian’s into it, but he has a brain freeze when Emir finally shimmies out of his briefs. A fuzzy trail of hair around Emir’s navel distracts Sebastian just enough that he mostly succeeds at not drooling.
Sebastian takes a few steps back. Emir has his arms folded defiantly over his chest, but Sebastian ignores the fake attitude. He turns, says over his shoulder, “Meet you in the water,” and dives in.
The water is shockingly cold, then warmer as he breaks the surface, still submerged to his shoulders.
Emir paces the dock.
“It gets worse the more you think about it,” Sebastian tells him.
“Yeah, well—it’s pretty bad right now.”
Sebastian shakes out his hair. The team’s singing is softer while he’s in the water. It’s the cheesy soundtrack accompanying this Disney movie moment, but he’s okay with that vibe. He says, “Jump, or I’ll come get you.”
Emir glares as though he’s faced with the Darth Vader of lakes.
Sebastian shouts, “Jump!”
Emir cannonballs right over Sebastian’s head, creating an epic tidal wave that nearly takes Sebastian under. His dark head emerges. “I’m going to die!” Of course it’s an overstatement—the lake’s pretty shallow—but Sebastian lets Emir whine as he wades closer.
One laugh turns into a dunking contest. That leads to splashing, and it’s all downhill from there. Sebastian swallows lake water while Emir flails.
It’s a cool, crisp summer evening with a bruised-purple sky, and Sebastian’s gut is warm. He swims to Emir. His hands scoop under Emir’s thighs, lifting him. Emir’s legs cradle Sebastian’s waist. Sebastian kicks to keep them afloat.
Emir warns, “Don’t drop me.”
“I won’t,” Sebastian promises.
They don’t move much. Emir curls his arms around Sebastian’s neck. His chin is lowered, giving Sebastian a good view of Emir’s chewed-red bottom lip and his unshaven jaw.
Sebastian’s fingers absently rub the tension from the small of Emir’s back. A hum escapes Emir. It’s Sebastian’s cue to start talking. “What’s your favorite band?” and, “Do you like museums?” and, “How are your sisters?” fly out of his mouth.
“You ask a lot of questions.” Emir’s head tips back in laughter, exposing a very enticing landscape of neck. His hand drags through Sebastian’s hair.
Sebastian swallows and asks another question. “Is that bad?”
“Sometimes.”
“Really?” Sebastian’s trying hard not to sound disappointed.
“No.” Emir traces the water descending from Sebastian’s hairline to his nose with a thumb. “Kendrick Lamar is my favorite. Museums are cool. My sisters are annoying, but too bloody loveable to hate.”
“Can I ask some more?”
Emir nods.
They end up in a directionless conversation, ending in how they’ve never visited New York City, but want to go. “And Sheffield,” Sebastian says, squinting against the water dripping from his hair. “To see my dad’s family.”
“I miss England, a little bit.” More softly, Emir adds, “But I like it here.”
“Here?” Sebastian’s fishing and hopeful.
Emir wrinkles his nose, then says, “The States, Bastian, not here.”
Sebastian can live with that. Besides, it’s obvious to him that Emir secretly loves Camp Haven.
Their haphazard conversation continues. Emir wants to study graphic design. He’s considering schools overseas. He hasn’t found anywhere stateside yet.
“What about New York?” Sebastian offers.
“Thought about it.”
“And…” Sebastian isn’t trying to hide his smile.
Emir sniffs, shrugging. As much as Sebastian wants to ask him more questions, it’s incredibly nice to be around someone else who hasn’t mapped out their entire future. He’s close to opening up about his own lack of direction.
At the bonfire, “Uptown Funk” breaks out. Sebastian snakes a hand up to curve around the back of Emir’s neck. Gradually, their foreheads meet.
Emir’s eyes dance. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”
Sebastian’s fingers tap out the percussion of the song along Emir’s neck. “Um,” he says, unable to wrap his head around their dynamic and all the loops, turns, and undefined gray areas where “yes” and “no” never quite mean anything. But Emir’s lips part. Screw it. Sebastian finally says, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Emir repeats.
The discomfort in his belly dissolves when Emir tilts his head. Sebastian, trying not to jostle them too much, meets him halfway.
The kiss isn’t frantic, but it’s feverish. Emir’s hands are on his shoulders. Sebastian’s mouth parts, gasping, teased by Emir’s tongue. It’s thrilling and purposeful, and Sebastian’s heart is erratic. Emir’s lips could convince someone to kill dragons. They’re leaning into it, so, so willing. His fingers rub the nape of Emir’s neck, constant and sure.
Emir sighs; Sebastian’s eyes flutter open. Their noses bump as they wade between kissing and breathing. And then Sebastian says, “More,” and Emir complies. His choppy breaths are smothered by Sebastian’s mouth.
It should be terrifying, drifting in a dark lake with their teammates not that far away. Sebastian can’t imagine a time when he was more comfortable.
After an hour of floating and epic kisses, they rush to pull on their clothes. Skinny-dipping is great until it’s time to put clothes back on, Sebastian learns. He nearly falls off the dock yanking stiff denim up his wet legs. The night breeze skims their backs.
When they’re mostly finished, Sebastian takes Emir’s hand, loosely, in case Emir jerks away now that they’re out of the water.
Emir lifts an eyebrow. “Did you think…?”
“I’m not good at that whole thinking thing.”
Emir rolls his eyes, then laughs. Sebastian laughs too.
Their hands swing between them as Sebastian navigates through the trees, toward the locker room. He’s peeking around. The noise from the bonfire is gone now. Any of the players could be lurking, or the coaches m
ight be patrolling after another Rocky marathon. The coast seems clear.
“Do you do this a lot?”
“Actually,” Sebastian says, pushing hair off his forehead, “I’ve never done this, ever.”
Three summers at camp and friends like Mason and Willie who like to break curfew makes walking around camp after hours second nature. It helps that Sebastian can smell the locker rooms, ripe with sweat and musk, thirty feet away.
His nose wrinkles when they step inside. “Gotta love it.” He doesn’t know why, but he keeps his back to Emir while he undresses. He tells Emir to grab towels while he starts the shower.
Sebastian hears a throat clear and turns around to quite a sight. Bathed in flickering fluorescent light, Emir shyly hugs his lean body. His hair flops over his forehead.
“Are we getting in or not?” Emir asks.
Sebastian remembers: Emir, with me, in the shower. Hesitation flees, and they stumble into the steam.
The spray is hot, pounding noisily against the tiles. It gives Sebastian an excuse to shift closer to Emir. He’s scrubbing soap over the hawk tattoo while Emir tells him about his former roommate, a frosh named Connelly, who left the first day of camp. Sebastian doesn’t remember him.
“Rooming with a Muslim offended his family,” Emir confesses.
“He’s a dick,” Sebastian says, scowling at Emir’s shoulder blades. “And his parents are too.”
Emir says, shoulders tight, “He wasn’t. You’d do the same thing if you were stuck with someone who went against the things you were raised to believe.”
“I would not.”
“I’m okay, mate.” Emir sighs. “People can have their ignorance.”
“It’s not cool.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
Sebastian rests his wrinkled forehead against Emir’s spine. “That’s bullshit,” he whispers.
“People dislike other people for the wrong reasons,” Emir says. “Doesn’t mean we should act like them.”
Sebastian doesn’t have an argument for that.
Eyes closed, Emir slicks his hair off his forehead, letting Sebastian’s chin hook over his shoulder. “I’ve dealt with this for a long time, you know. Connelly wasn’t the first, and he won’t be the last.”
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