Page 36 of Beyond the Rainbow (Pride Camp 2025 #11)

“And they will be,” Nate assured him. “We’re going to honor all of these plays, I promise you. But for this moment, this last night together? This is the one that needs to be told.”

Rowan swallowed, his fingers tightening around the edges of his notebook. Slowly, he nodded. “OK.” Then, a little stronger: “ OK .”

Nate smiled. “Then it’s settled.”

He looked around at them, pride filling his chest. They had made the decision—not by arguing, not by voting, but by listening to their inner voices … and letting those voices lead them. And that is exactly what storytelling is all about.

“We have our play,” he said. “And we’ll make it something they’ll never forget.” He rose from his seat. “It’s getting close to dinnertime. Let’s call it a night and tomorrow … we begin .”

The group wandered to the dining room, their energy somewhat subdued, as if they were weary from completing an important and momentous task. At the entrance they paused and embraced their leader. One by one they thanked him, and then moved to the line of campers waiting to fill their plates.

Nate stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to gather himself, moved nearly to tears by the moment he had just shared with his students. A familiar warmth curled around Nate’s shoulders, and he turned, meeting David’s loving smile. “Hey there, rabble-rouser. How did class go?”

Nate shook his head, scattering the tears that rested on his cheeks. “David … those plays .” Nate exhaled, shaking his head. “How do kids this young already have that kind of depth?”

David’s arms clasped him close, then he lifted Nate’s face and kissed the tears from his cheeks. “My dearest husband, they had a great teacher. You led them on this journey. You helped them awaken the inspiration that was always within them. I’m not surprised that their plays were good.”

“We decided on the one we’re going to put on, but David, that’s not good enough! ALL of those plays deserve to be showcased!”

“Then showcase them!” David said with a gentle laugh. “You’re a professor at one of the biggest universities in the country. You’re an important playwright whose work has been shown on Broadway.”

“ Almost Broadway,” Nate interrupted, using Colin’s teasing phrase.

David scoffed. “Whatever. If you want to showcase all their plays, do it ! Put them on at UVA.”

Nate took a step back, eyes wide. He clasped both of David’s arms, a wide grin lighting up his face. “ YES !” he cried out. “Yes! I could combine them all into one glorious play and use it as the sophomore class play for the year!”

“And give all your students credit as coauthors.”

Nate threw his arms around his husband and clutched him close. “Thank you, Davy! You just planted a seed I didn’t even know I needed.

“You would have thought of it.”

“Maybe, but thank you anyway, my love.”

David pressed a soft kiss to his husband’s lips. “My pleasure.”

Nate’s fingers traced David’s cheek, his voice low and teasing. “No … that comes later tonight.” His grin turned wicked as he poked David’s ribs and added: “And so do you .”

That night, Nate lay in bed wrapped in David’s arms, his mind racing.

He could already see it—their words, their stories, their brilliance brought to life on the national stage through his UVA position.

But he couldn’t tell them. Not yet. First, they needed to pour their hearts into their Camp Pride play, to let themselves create without any distractions. The rest … the rest could wait.

Friday

After breakfast the next morning, the writing group gathered at their pavilion to start writing their play.

Nate could see how nervous the young writers were as they prepared for this challenge.

“How do you want to approach this?” Nate asked.

“Do you want to do the entire play as a group? Or would you prefer to break into smaller groups and tackle each phase of the visitations from their future selves separately?”

The class spoke together, heads gathered close, while Nate sat at the head of the table in complete silence.

“What do you think, Nate?” Rowan asked.

“Nope,” Nate replied. “This is your play. Start to finish, these have to be your ideas. You get to write your own story. We’re just here to help you hold the pen.

I’ll help with writing suggestions, structure, pacing, emphasis, maybe suggest a word change or two …

but this play has to be written by you . ”

Calab turned to Rowan. “It’s your idea, Rowan. What do you think?”

Rowan paused, seeming to consider the various options, then lifted his head. “I think we should develop the visitations one by one with all of us working on the writing together.”

Nate placed the computer in front of Rowan. “OK. Here we go. The first visitation is the scared teenager. Feed Rowan your ideas, and go slow so he can type them in … then we’ll revise.”

Rowan rested his fingers on the keyboard, then hesitated, his eyes darting to his classmates. “No pressure, right?” he joked, earning a few chuckles. Then, taking a deep breath, he positioned his hands. “OK. Let’s do this.”

“He’s hesitant,” offered Caleb. “Shy even. He’s afraid you won’t listen to him or believe in him.”

“But,” Elliot added. “He has a brilliant mind.”

“Yes!” Wesley, added. “But he’s too shy to show it!”

“And what message does he have for the lonely camper?” Nate asked. “And perhaps he should have a name?”

“Let’s call him …” Wesley began, then hesitated.

“Amos!” Rowan called out.

“Why Amos?” Nate asked.

“My favorite character on The Expanse ,” Rowan said, giving a sheepish grin.

“As good a reason as any,” Nate said, laughing. “I love that series too!”

“OK, what message does teenage Amos have for lonely Amos?”

Wesley hesitated, then spoke: “I think he’d say something about fear, like: Fear’s gonna hit you. Life’s gonna knock you down. But that doesn’t mean stop . It just means you get back up and keep going. Because that’s how you get where you need to go!”

Rowan typed furiously, nodding as the words flew from his fingers.

“How about this?” Elliot added. “He takes a deep breath, then looks directly at lonely Amos. You don’t have to be the loudest voice in the room to be heard. Just speak your truth and people will listen.”

A hush settled over the group. Then, Caleb whispered, “Damn, that’s good.”

Nate blew out a breath, forcing himself to remain silent … to let his students take the lead but feeling goosebumps sweep over him as their voices all lifted in praise for Elliot’s offering.

Rowan nodded. “OK. Now confident adult Amos. What’s his message?”

Jasper leaned toward Rowan. “I think confident adult Amos tells scared Amos that he’s already good enough.

Like this: I used to believe that one day, I’d finally be enough.

One day, I’d be confident. One day, I’d be successful.

But here’s the truth: You don’t have to wait to love yourself.

You’re already worthy. Right now. Today. ”

“I love it!” Elliot called out. “Then he’d say: I used to wish I could skip ahead—to the part where I was fearless and strong. But the truth is, every part of my journey mattered. Even the fear. Even the doubts. Every version of me led to this moment. And I wouldn’t change a single step.”

A hush settled again, but this time, it was different. Heavier . As if the weight of those words settled deep into their bones. Nate held his breath, almost afraid to speak. Afraid to break the spell cast by their joint experience.

Rowan looked up at his friends. “Now elder Amos.” He hesitated for a moment, then typed, speaking as the words flowed from his fingers.

“He said: I’ve lived a long time, and here’s what I know now: I spent too many years doubting, too many years wishing I was someone else.

But the truth? I was always enough. You were always enough. You are enough!”

Caleb laid a hand on Rowan’s arm. “And then he said: “I used to wonder what life would have been like if I had been braver, if I had figured things out sooner. But now, standing here, I see the truth: I needed every step. Every failure, every fear, every moment of doubt. They shaped me. They made me.”

Nate drew in a slow breath. “Wesley, please give us a message from elder Amos.”

Wesley thought in silence for a moment, then spoke: “You think you’re alone.

That no one will ever understand you, but listen to me: Love is coming.

Friendship, laughter, joy—it’s all ahead of you.

And one day, you will stand where I stand, looking back, and you will know that you were never truly alone. ”

“Jasper?” Nate said. “Your message.”

Jasper bit his lip, wiping a tear from his cheek.

“I think he’d say: One day, you will stand where I stand.

You will look back at your life, at the boy you once were, and you will understand.

You will see that every version of yourself was worthy.

And you will pass this message on to someone else—because that’s what we do.

We grow, we learn, and we light the way for the ones who come after us. ”

“Elliot?” Nate said, his voice a low murmur. “Your turn.”

Elliot drew in a deep breath. “I think he’d say: You don’t have to have it all figured out today. Or tomorrow. Life isn’t a race—it’s a story. The best stories take time—and yours is only just beginning.”

For a long time, there was silence, then Nate nodded.

“All we need now is stage direction and a bit of polishing.” He looked around at his students.

“You have created a masterpiece and I am very, very proud of all of you.” He glanced at his watch.

“It’s only ten minutes ’til lunch so let’s end class a bit early.

” He laid a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “You deserve a bit of a break so go ahead to the lunch room, grab a drink, and just relax for a few minutes.”

After they left, Nate sat alone, staring at the table covered with scattered sheets of paper, all filled with his students’ untidy handwriting.

He lowered his head to his arms, and for several minutes he cried softly.

Then he lifted his head and began to gather the papers together, stacking them tenderly into a single pile.

“Not students anymore,” he murmured, staring down at the compositions. “ Colleagues .”