The Summer at Camazotz

Sixteen

I walk down the path toward the dock I know lies ahead. I remember it from our first day of swimming at the lake. My heart is hammering away in my chest as I fiddle with the friendship bracelet still secure on my wrist. I'm sure it's going to burst, whether it's before or after I see Jordan. We've been dancing around each other the past couple of days and even though I've had time to dream up ways of a confrontation—if there'd be one, which now there will be—I still have no idea what I'm going to say to him.

Jordan and I had a moment and it was. . . awkward to say the least. I don't know what would have happened if we hadn't been interrupted or even if we had stayed in that closet just a bit longer. Maybe things would be worse than they are right now or maybe they would be a thousand times better; I don't know. But what I do know is that the moment Jordan grabbed my hand and pulled me into the closet, I was gone.

My sexuality has never been a big deal for me. I've always assumed that I'm straight and left it at that. The thought of girls like Kira have always been part of the reason I push any other ideas out of my head. Because if I had such a massive crush on a girl, why would I ever feel the same about a guy? But I should've known. I should've known from all the times my gaze lingered a second too long on someone who wasn't a girl. I should've known from the times Patrick and Jason would show me a picture of a girl they liked or found attractive and I'd just shrug them off like I would to a friend. I should've known the moment I saw Jordan because deep down I felt something, but I didn't know.

And now I do.

If I'm being totally honest right now, I'm absolutely terrified. When I said I wanted to bring out the real me this summer, this is not what I had in mind. I didn't expect to have some kind of sexual awakening at a summer camp. But hey, had to happen to me, right?

My biggest fear is that Jordan is going to reject me. Not necessarily romantically, but as a person. He was the one to grab my hand, but that doesn't have to mean anything. But him holding on even after I was standing next to him does. Except maybe he's just a touchy kind of person in those situations and he's really just not into me and doesn't want anything to do with me. We didn't come out to each other or anything, but I'm pretty sure that when two guys hold hands in a closet and look each other in the eye for way too long for it to be platonic, it's a bit obvious there are some hidden feelings at play.

It's been about two weeks since we left for camp, meaning we're around the halfway point through our time at Camazotz. I can't mess things up with Jordan. I can't go two more weeks of awkward conversations or not talking to him or I might actually crack. I need to make this right, even if it means denying my feelings.

Jordan's lying on his back at the end of the dock. His arms are under his head because even when you're trying to avoid your friend, wood is not comfortable. I take a deep breath and continue forward to step down onto the dock. I walk down until I'm by his side. And then I slowly sit down, hugging both knees to my chest. I play with the bracelet absentmindedly as I think of something to say. God, I wish I didn't have to do this right now.

The tension in the air around us is so thick and I hate it. It's been so easy for us to be around each other and now I can barely handle being in the same room—or on the same dock—as him. But I have to do this. I can't back out when I'm already so close.

"Why did you—" I clear my throat. "The other night, why did. . ." I can barely speak. I'm struggling to find the right words and I'm freaking out inside. I don't do confrontations. I've never been that person. I run and run for as long as I can until push comes to shove and my back hits the wall. Yet here I am, courtesy of Tammy, confronting the guy that has made me feel so many different emotions in such a short expanse of time.