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“Are you being smart about this?”

Sebastian knows what the “this” is, but he wants Willie to say it out loud. Is Sebastian being smart about Emir? About his place on the team? About what he wants to do after high school? Maybe he can accept that he has no idea what to do with the things that are in his control. For now, he is stuck in a loop of indecision.

Part of him just wants to go back to Emir’s cabin, back to where they spoke softly about the most random things, like the anime Emir is into. “It’scool,” Emir insisted. Sebastian, making faces at the images Emir swiped through on his phone, thought otherwise. But lying in a bed with Emir half-twisted around him made up for that.

The moon lights the sky through the window behind Willie’s shoulder. Camp is dark and lifeless. It was perfect for sneaking back here while praying none of the coaches would catch him. Being benched would’ve been totally worth it for the things he did with Emir.

Now, the sky is frightening, just like having to “’fess up” to Willie.

“Bastian?”

“I don’t know,” Sebastian says, shrugging.

Coming out to Willie was one of the easiest things he had ever done. “Hey, you know how you’re into guys and stuff? Yeah, well, me too. Dudes and girls, I guess. No, Iknow. I like girls and guys,” he rambled, while Willie nodded with a lazy smile. Then Willie hugged him, patted his head, and whispered, “Okay, pepperoni or veggie pizza tonight?”

Sebastian has no clue why telling Willie he’s starting to like-like—which sounds silly and juvenile in his head—Emir is such a big deal.

“So is he like…” Willie makes weird, convulsive hand gestures Sebastian can’t interpret, but he gets the gist:Is he your boyfriend?

“Nothing,” Sebastian says, hanging his head. “It’s nothing.”

He kicks the door shut, then walks to his bed. He sits gently, though his whole body is exhausted. His fingers curl over his knees. The lie stirs nausea in his stomach. He can’t talk to Mason about this, not without judgmental eye rolls and sour comebacks. And Grey well, they’ve never had the version of a heart-to-heart that includes discussingSebastian’sromantic problems.

Willie should be his rock. He’s all about emotions and making fun of serious situations.

Sebastian is aware that he’s awful at sorting through his feelings enough totalkabout them. He sits silent. Willie gives him a long, unreadable look. It makes the back of Sebastian’s neck cold.

“I like him,” Willie finally says with a yawn. He fluffs a pillow and lies back. “Emir, I mean.” He closes his eyes; slowly, his breaths even out.

Sebastian doesn’twantto care about anyone’s opinion. It’s his friendship, not theirs. But being a teenager is one good day of being a superhero, followed by a hundred days of being self-conscious about every little damn thing. It’s one big, selfish moment when you don’t give a shit about other people’s opinions, but you still want your friends to love who you are and what you do.

Sebastian falls back on his bed. The hum of cicadas and Willie’s snoring fills the cabin. His stomach turns. Why isn’t life like being ten years old again, when graduating to junior high and catching Pokémon was such a big deal?

* * *

By tradition, bonfire nights onlyhappen a handful of times. Sebastian needs more of them. It’s a Saturday night in mid-August, and Oakville is muggy. His teammates dump piles of wood in the center of a pit Charlie and Gio dug an hour ago. Sunset-pink skies frame the trees.

Zach grins, arms stuffed with cheap beer. “Brews and tunes, dudes.”

Hunter hauls supplies from a pantry raid: graham crackers, chocolate, marshmallows, and sodas.

“Sweet,” says Mikey, grabby hands already extended.

“What, wait.” Zach sighs. “Who invited the frosh? We said no freshmen, dudes.”

The rules of bonfire night are pretty simple: drink, bond, and no freshmen. The last part is for the safety of the frosh. They’re still lightweights, and it’s difficult enough to keep the upperclassmen from streaking when they’ve got a good buzz, let alone some fourteen-year-old newbie.

Their chosen spot is where the woods nudge up against the shoreline of the lake. It’s around a point from the campground, hidden from the coaches. It’s perfect for reflection while summer dances around them on its last legs.

“I’m cool, man,” Mikey tells Zach: code forI’m not a narc.Since the scrimmage, Sebastian hasn’t minded Mikey’s attempts to fit in.

“Whatever.” Zach cracks a beer and passes it to Mikey while pretending he doesn’t exist.

Sebastian leans lazily against a red maple. The team fills out the circle around the fire. Everyone is wearing a BHS Lions sweatshirt or hoodie. Firelight edges the trees in burnt orange.

It’s been a week of constant drills and Coach shouting “I’m gonna whip you all into shape so we can crush those Spartans” any chance he got. In the dining hall, one frosh collapsed face-first into his pasta. But not one player quit.

Smith says, “You’re crap at handling wood, Keating.” He passes around burgers from the diner. His hair is a cotton candy explosion of pink, blue, and blond. It’s either awesome or an experiment from his older sister’s cosmetology class gone wrong.