Page 6

After waiting for over an hour, however, and Dixon not showing, made Jovian pout. The cleaning supplies were put away and he went to shower again, this time uncaring of the others in the showers.

He complained back at the cabin as he lay on the bunk, exhausted. “Mike, I thought you said that coach guy would inspect.”

“He will. Why?”

“I waited for over an hour!”

“Oh, well, he doesn’t come right off to inspect. He’s got a lot going on. He’s the survival trainer, one of the hike masters and other stuff.”

Intrigued, Jovian asked, “Hike master? Like…he takes people out in the woods?”

Mike’s smile was mocking, but Jovian didn’t care. He only cared about the words. “Groups. He takes groups out to hike, and it’s part of survival training.”

“Still…”

“Have you even met the man?”

“No, but I’m sure once he meets me, he’ll…want what I want.”

“Wish I had your confidence. Anyway, since all the campers are in, the itineraries are up for each cabin. We have group therapy after lunch, which it’s time for.”

“I’m much too tired to eat. I think I’ll nap, and if I just so happen to sleep through therapy, make my excuses for me. Please?”

“Whatever, Jovian. You do you.”

“I’m gonna do Dixon ,” he mumbled to himself and fell almost immediately to sleep.

When he woke, he saw the cabin full of people, and he scanned for Kathy and Mike. They were sitting on Mike’s bunk, looking through a phone.

Jovian stumbled toward them, sitting across on Kathy’s bunk. “Did I miss it?”

“No, unfortunately, you didn’t. We just got back from lunch.”

A long groan escaped him. “Really?”

“It’s not like you’re psychoanalyzed or anything, Jovian,” Kathy told him. “We just have different things we like to get off our chests in a safe place. A bunch of people here are afraid to even go to therapists in their towns. People talk, even those that shouldn’t.”

“I have nothing to get off my chest. I have a great life. Why must I go to a sob session?”

“Damn,” Mike said, laughing. “You’re either trying to be edgy or you’re just…not self-aware. If you don’t go, it’s fine, but if you miss more than two, True and Bernie will want to know why, and then you’re called into talk one on two.”

That would be much more uncomfortable, confronted by the heads of the camp. “Fine. God, this place. Cleaning toilets, therapy? S’mores? I mean…really?”

“Embrace it, Jovian, and maybe you’ll have a better time,” Kathy suggested.

Jovian barely heard her. “I need to do your eyeshadow. It’s making me crazy.”

There was no time, however. One of the others called that it was time for group, so they all got up, Jovian reluctantly, and filed out of the door.

Group was in the Mess Hall. There weren’t chairs in a circle, at least, but everyone sat facing the stage on the two closest long tables and benches.

Jovian sat in the back row, sandwiched between Kathy and Mike, hoping their taller selves would keep him nicely hidden.

The fear of being called on came from school, when the teacher would call on him and he’d been looking through his phone, not paying attention.

There was no service for that in the Mess Hall, so he just listened to the others.

True stood on the stage at first, welcoming everyone, but soon pulled out a small branch, decorated crudely with feathers and beads.

“To those new, we pass the talking stick, and each introduces ourselves for the first group. No one is going to be put on the spot to talk about their lives or themselves at all, but it’s a safe space. No one will judge you,” he said, and his eyes sought and found Jovian.

Jovian hoped that was just…coincidence.

They each took the stupid stick and told their names, their pronouns and a little about themselves, and Jovian discovered the others were right. Most were from small towns in Wyoming, Colorado, and Utah.

Jovian couldn’t imagine living in a small town. No clubs, no real places to shop. He imagined little old ladies selling out-of-style clothing in dusty stores as tumbleweeds blew by the windows.

Polyester, as far as the eye could see…

When Mike stood with the stick, Jovian tensed, as he knew he was next.

“Most of you know me, but those who don’t, I’m Mike, he/him.

I’m originally from Peyton, Colorado, but moved to Colorado Springs in ’09.

That was the best thing to happen to me besides Pride Camp, o’ course.

Peyton, it…was great for football, but not so much for little gay kids, and beefy as I am now, I was a skinny little kid.

And, well, back then, I found it a lot harder to hide my sexuality.

Now, I’m out, proud and free, but plenty shaped me before that. ”

Jovian felt a little attacked, like skinny kids couldn’t possibly hide their sexuality. Still, he hadn’t tried, not once. Mike handed him the stick and Jovian stood, though he still could barely see over those sitting in front, which was fine with him.

That was until True said, “Go ahead and stand on the bench, Jovian, so these nice people can see you.”

After a heavy eye roll, Jovian stood on the bench and swallowed his disdain for the entire ordeal. “I’m Jovian, like True said. Oh, yeah, he/him. I’m from Denver and…”

The way True was staring at him, it took him back to the club that fatal night. Those eyes, if they were covered in red and black makeup and thick fake lashes…

“You’re Clit!”

There were a few gasps, but more laughter.

True smirked and nodded. “Sure am, sugar.”

“You…you helped get me here!”

“I did. Now, give the rest of your introduction and hand the stick to the next person.”

His fury was complete, and he stepped off the bench, shoving the stick at Kathy before turning and heading out of the Mess Hall.

Before he could get far, True caught up to him. “Hey, Jovian.”

Spinning on his heel, he was like a viper as he struck out with his words. “You grifter! Are you having trouble filling your bunks? Can’t make rent?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? We don’t do this for profit! Far from it, you little worm! You need to be here more than anyone else, and once you get that high and mighty head out of your ass, maybe you’ll see it! I’ll expect roses for an apology when you do.”

When True dropped that, he left Jovian in the middle of the camp, jaw dropped and mouth hanging open, which didn’t close until a bug flew into it.

Coughing, hacking and ready to puke, he was bent over when he heard the deep, baritone voice asks, “What’d ya do to piss him off?”

Jovian turned to see Dixon, and he wanted to scream. Of all times for them to meet, it was then?

Dixon walked right on by, laughing, and Jovian was left to want to melt into the dirt, though he had a sudden case of chills. “Why is this my life?”