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Sebastian fidgets.

Rivera is shorter than Sebastian but still manages to look down at him. “Give it up, Hughes,” he says. “A couple of sophomores were puking in the bushes an hour ago.”

Shit. Sebastian doesn’t want details on who got caught. He’s overwhelmed with guilt. He should have stuck around, made sure all the guys went straight to their cabins after the bonfire.

Instead, he was skinny-dipping, making out, and being reckless.

Rivera waits.

“Maybe he’s out on a walk?” Rocking on his heels, Sebastian rubs the side of his neck. “He’s the homesick type. I’ve heard this is his first time away from home. That’s always weird for people.”

Rivera seems far from convinced. Sebastian doesn’t blame him.

“We grew up together,” Sebastian explains. “He freaks out in new places. Getting him to chill out during sleepovers was always hell.”

“Is he going to be any good for our team?”

Sebastian hates the high-pitched glee in his voice when he says, “He’s going to be great, if we can get his attitude in check.”

Rivera’s laugh is rumbly, like a bear’s. He says, “I trust your judgment, Hughes. You’ll help us make him into something, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Rivera says. He aims his flashlight at Sebastian’s face so the harsh white blinds him. “Now get to your cabin, and I won’t report to Patrick about you breaking curfew.”

When Rivera threatens to replace him with Jack if he’s caught again, Sebastian nods.Like hell! Jack couldn’t replace me. He doesn’t say it; the ice he’s treading is already thin.

“Okay,” he says. His heart finally returns to its former position when Rivera walks away.

“Is the coast clear?”

Sebastian peeks around before nodding.

“Were you scared?” asks Emir, picking leaves and twigs from his clothes as he walks up.

“Of being caught?”

“No, of the dark, you chicken shit.”

Sebastian chuckles. This whole night has been way too weird for his poor teenage heart. First Mason, then Emir, now Coach Rivera. If anything else happens, they’re going to have to airlift him to Bloomington Medical Hospital.

“Whatever,” he says, automatically taking Emir’s hand in his own.

“I heard you, Bastian,” Emir says. His voice is a nice interruption to their silence on their walk to Emir’s cabin. “You told Rivera I was homesick. And that you used to look after me.”

Sebastian hums. He doesn’t regret it, but he says, “Did it make you mad?” because he’s not about to be a dick about it.

“Yes,” Emir says. Then he shakes his head. “It didn’t. It’s just…”

Waiting, Sebastian steps over a chunky brown rock. But Emir doesn’t finish. He squeezes Sebastian’s hand, like Morse code. If Emir doesn’t say anything, Sebastian’s cool with that. Obviously, they each have their own issues with the whole “right words to say” thing.

There’s a very awkward momentat Emir’s door. Should he hug Emir and leave? Should there be a goodnight kiss? Sebastian has mostly applied these rules and protocol to girls he’s dated. He and Emir aren’t dating, haven’t done the whole “date” thing, but one thing is certain: letting Emir’s hand go isn’t high on his priority list.

Sebastian does let go, however, because of clammy palms and the lack of circulation in his fingers. Now his hand is cold. And he hasn’t made a move to do anything.

Emir pecks a dry kiss on his cheek. Well, that was pretty simple.

“Thanks,” Emir says, his hip angled against the door.