Page 19

Chapter nineteen

Clayton

The smell of seasoned roast beef cooking hung in the air as Mark and Rowan met Clayton and Sawyer outside the mess hall to update Clayton on the rowboat race.

“I canceled the race since you guys were gone, and we’ll have it tomorrow after lunch, if that’s okay?” Mark suggested.

“Sounds good. Thanks,” Clayton said.

“So, what happened?” Mark asked

“Owen happened. Fucked up Timberline. He’s locked up for now. It just pissed me off we had to leave camp.”

“Owen’s right where he belongs then. Glad you guys are back.”

All four walked into the building and found their table.

Clayton stood behind the plastic table draped with a rainbow-striped cloth. His fingers drummed lightly against the edge; a small, nervous rhythm that kept him grounded. The crowd before him was alive with chatter and laughter, the clinking of cutlery against plates, and the occasional burst of laughter at a joke carrying over the din. Pride Camp was always a haven, but nights like this—where community and celebration took center stage—made it feel like a family gathering. He leaned over to whisper into Sawyer’s ear. “Time for the scavenger hunt prize, then the stories. Would you like to tell your story?” He figured Sawyer was too close to his story, but he didn’t want him to be left out since his friends were sharing.

“I don’t think I’m ready to tell my story. Maybe another time,” Sawyer whispered, keeping it between them.

Clayton kissed him. “Makes sense. I didn’t want you to feel left out because your friends are speaking tonight.”

“Thanks for thinking about me. You make me feel so special. I’ve never felt like this ever.”

“That’s because you’re special to me. Very special.”

Clayton tapped the microphone gently; the sound cutting through the noise like a soft knock on a door. “Hey, everyone! Can I get your attention for just a sec?” His voice carried easily, casual and warm, but with enough authority to turn heads. Conversations hushed, and faces turned toward him, expectant.

“First off, I just want to say you all crushed it in the scavenger hunt today. Seriously, some of you were so competitive, I thought I might have to referee a wrestling match,” he teased, earning a ripple of laughter. Clayton let the chuckles settle before continuing, his lips curling into a smile that felt like it belonged to each person in the room.

“But we did have a winning team,” he said, drawing out the suspense. He glanced at his notecard, though he hardly needed it. “So, without further ado, let’s give it up for James and Brody!”

Applause erupted. James, long-haired, with a perpetual blush coloring his cheeks, sat awkwardly before Brody tugged at his sleeve. “C’mon, man,” Brody said, his grin easy and contagious. The two made their way up to the front, weaving through tables and grinning sheepishly as the room cheered them on.

When they reached him, Clayton pulled an envelope from his back pocket, holding it up like it was a golden ticket. “Not only did you win bragging rights—treasure those, they don’t come often—but you also won… these!” He handed the envelope to Brody, whose curiosity got the better of him. He tore it open and pulled out two glossy tickets.

“Two tickets to San Francisco,” Clayton announced, “with room and food covered. It’s all set for you two to explore, connect, and maybe have some amazing adventures.”

Brody’s face lit up with excitement, while James blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Are you serious?” James muttered, half to Clayton and half to Brody.

“Dead serious,” Clayton said, his grin widening. “Congratulations, you two. You earned it in so many ways.” Clayton meant it too. These two were always around to help someone in need. Brody had taken James under his wing, teaching him the intricacies of motorcycle repair; it was truly amazing to watch the two work together, the sounds of tools and the smell of engine grease filling the air.

Brody gave James a bear hug, and the room filled with cheers and applause once more. Clayton stepped back slightly, giving them a moment to bask in their win. As the applause died down, Clayton took the mic again. “Alright, everyone, let’s dig in before the food gets cold. Save room for dessert, though—you won’t want to miss our famous brownies.”

The next hour passed in a blur of clanking plates, conversations, and the occasional outburst of laughter. Clayton wandered from table to table, checking in on people, sharing jokes, and making sure everyone felt included. It was his favorite part of Pride Camp—the way it created a space for people to be fully, unapologetically themselves.

When most of the plates were cleared, Clayton returned to the mic. “Alright, folks, I hope you saved a little room for dessert and a lot of room for inspiration,” he said. “We’ve got three incredible speakers tonight who are going to share their coming-out stories. These stories are brave, they’re honest, and they’re a reminder of why we’re all here.”

He gestured to the side, where James, Malik, and Rowan sat. “First up, let’s welcome James to the stage.”

James’s movements to the table to speak were tentative, but determined. He was wiry, with a mop of long hair that had a mind of its own. Clayton gave him a reassuring nod as he stepped up to the mic. Sawyer shot him a thumbs-up.

“Uh, hi,” James began, his voice cracking slightly. He laughed nervously. “So, I’m James Dorsey, obviously. And, uh, I guess I’ll start with how I came out to my parents. Many of you know them since we lived here in Lodi.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts. “It wasn’t exactly a Hallmark moment,” he said, earning a few chuckles. “I told my mom in the middle of dinner—kind of blurted it out while she was passing me the salt. She froze, and I thought, ‘Well, that’s it. This is how I go.’ But then she said, ‘Okay, but did you remember to feed the dog?’” Everyone laughed, and James smiled, relaxing a little. “It wasn’t a perfect moment, but it was mine. And now, I get to be here, with all of you, which feels…pretty amazing. Thanks to Brody, he taught me everything I know. Growing up without a father, Brody filled me in on everything I missed. And now we’re together.”

He stepped down to warm applause, and Clayton clapped him on the back as he passed. “Thanks, James. That was outstanding,” he said before turning to the crowd. “Next up, we’ve got Malik.”

James stopped, grinned, and gave Sawyer a quick fist bump before heading back to his table.

Sawyer said, “Great story, James.”

Malik was the opposite of James—shorter, broad-shouldered, and confident. He strode to the mic with the ease of someone used to commanding attention. “Hey, everyone,” he began, his voice deep and resonant. “So, my story’s a little different. As you know, I left home at sixteen because we were crammed like sardines in Santa Ana. My parents had their hands full of work and kids. So, I didn’t come out to my family first—I came out to my basketball team.”

He grinned at the collective intake of breath from the audience. “Yeah, I know. Risky move, right? But I figured if they couldn’t accept me, then they weren’t really my team. Turns out, I underestimated them. They threw me a party after practice, complete with a rainbow cake. I’ve never felt more supported in my life. I didn’t have to tell my family after the party since my brother was on the same team and he told our parents. They were not pleased as strict Catholics, but they told me they’d always love me no matter what. And yeah, my brother said he already knew. So, we’re still talking to each other by phone.”

The crowd roared its approval with cheers and whoops as Malik finished his story, and he gave a little bow before stepping down from the mic. Clayton shook his hand, then hugged him. “Thanks, Malik. That was incredible.”

Finally, Rowan approached the mic. His disarming smile, coupled with a quiet charm, easily won him favor, despite the raw power of his story. “Hi,” Rowan said, his voice steady. “I’m Rowan from Montana. My parents were drug addicts and never noticed me. For me, there was no point in telling them. They didn’t need another reason to use more drugs.” Rowan paused and looked at Mark for a second. “So, I came out to my best friend, Samantha, first. We were sitting on her front porch steps, and I was so scared I thought I might throw up. But when I told her, she just smiled and said, ‘Oh, finally.’ Like she’d known all along.”

The room filled with laughter, and Rowan smiled faintly. “That moment taught me about the people who really matter will always see me for who I am. And being here, at Pride Camp, reminds me of that every day. As for my parents, I never told them. I left Montana for Los Angeles to dance, then I bumped into Mark, my forever boyfriend.”

The applause was softer this time, but no less heartfelt. Clayton felt a lump in his throat as he took the mic again. “Let’s give another round of applause for James, Malik, and Rowan,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for sharing your stories and reminding us of what this camp is all about.” Clayton gave Rowan a hug.

Rowan stopped to whisper something to Sawyer. Clayton wondered what that was all about.

As the evening wound down, Sawyer and the others began clearing tables and setting up for the dance. Clayton rolled up his sleeves, joining in. The air buzzed with anticipation, the promise of music and dancing and more memories waiting just around the corner.

For Clayton, it wasn’t just about organizing or leading—it was about creating a space where people could feel seen, celebrated, and safe. And as he watched Rowan teaching Sawyer some dance moves then looked around the room at the faces lit up with laughter and love, he felt a deep, quiet pride. This was home.