Henry’s eyes are burning into me from across the living room. “Your summer is going to suck.”
There’s an echo of snorts from my teammates, the loudest coming from Mattie, Bobby, and Kris, who all told me something similar when I said no to joining them in Miami this summer.
“Inspiring words, Turner,” I shoot back at my unimpressed roommate. “You should become a motivational speaker.”
“You’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me when you’re stuck doing manual labor and team building activities at staff training next week.” Henry continues to flick through the Honey Acres brochure, his forehead creasing with a frown the further he gets into it. “What’s night duty?”
“I have to sleep in a room attached to the campers’ cabin twice a week in case they need anything,” I say casually, watching Henry’s eyes widen in horror. “The rest of the time I sleep in my own cabin.”
“It’s a no from me,” he says, throwing the brochure back on the coffee table. “Good luck though.”
“Could be worse,” Robbie muses from across the living room. “You could have to move to Canada this summer.”
Nate groans loudly, burying his head into his girlfriend’s hair, sinking further into the recliner they’re sharing. “Fuck off about fucking Canada.”
“You brought this on yourself,” Stassie mutters just loudly enough for us all to hear. “Stop being such a crybaby. Nate, you want to play for Vancouver.”
“I’d rather move to Canada than look after twenty kids for nine weeks.” The genuine disgust on Henry’s face would make someone think I’m going to work in a slaughterhouse, not spending the summer as a counselor at a sleepaway camp. “You really didn’t think this through, Callaghan.”
I really did.
Honey Acres’ main clientele are busy and rich parents who need to keep their kids occupied for the full summer while they work. Thankfully, the fees are expensive as hell, which means the facilities are better than every other camp I looked at, and, given the work keeping multiple kids in check, the job is well paid with multiple full days off. Something I know is a luxury and definitely not the case with most camps.
Kris and Bobby suggested I apply after I turned down their vacation offer, explaining I needed to get a job. They went to Honey Acres one summer ten years ago, but swore it was the best camp in California, and I was willing to apply for anything. Money has been tight since the bar I worked at was shut down by the cops. Unfortunately, its reputation for suspicious activity and serving underage students finally caught up with it, and there’s no signs of it reopening.
So even though Henry thinks my judgment is seriously flawed, the alternative is hanging around Maple Hills, unemployed, being hounded by my mom to visit her.
It was a very easy choice.
“What I’m hearing, Hen, is you still don’t want to come with me?” I tease.
“It’s still a no. Thanks. But if you need a fake emergency to be able to leave, let me know. I’ll make a call.”
JJ leans closer to Henry from beside him on the couch, nudging him with his shoulder. “The only emergency you’re going to have for the next two years, Captain, is drowning in too much p—”
“JJ!” Stassie squeaks, cutting him off.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he chastises, “I was going to say paint.”
Stassie rolls her eyes at him, giving him the finger as he blows her a kiss. Lowering her hand, she focuses on me, a soft smile on her lips. “You’ll have fun, ignore Henry. We’ll miss you around here though.”
“You don’t even live here anymore,” Mattie says, eyebrow raised.
“You’ve never lived here!” she counters, starting off an argument about who spends more time at this house.
As grateful as I am to have a job this summer, it does kind of suck to be heading off when I’ve only just moved in with Henry and Robbie. Plus, our unofficial roommates Mattie, Bobby and Kris, who magically appear whenever food is mentioned.
It’s weird having my own room after two years of sharing in the fraternity house, and before that with my brother Ethan, but I’m already so much happier here.
Aside from the obvious things like having my own space and living with people I like, it feels good to not have to strategically plan when I can jerk off or, on rare occasions, get laid. Henry had the courtesy to let me know that after six months of living next to Nate and Stassie, he can confirm with absolute certainty that the room is not soundproof.
“Are you two going to argue all afternoon or should we get ready for this party?” Robbie shouts over Stassie and Mattie bickering.
Tonight we’re throwing a party to say goodbye to the guys graduating, or a “farewell and fuck off” party, as Robbie calls it. He’s staying at Maple Hills for grad school and is happy to retain his title as party planner.
That said, no one looks particularly enthusiastic about preparing the house for the horde of Maple Hills students descending on us in a few hours. I know it feels like the end of an era for the guys; four years is a long time to spend every day with someone. For Nate and Robbie, it’s even longer; they haven’t ever lived in different towns, never mind different countries.
For me, it feels like the start of one. I joined a fraternity at the start of school because I wanted a family who wouldn’t let me down like my real one does. I thought my frat brothers would be there through the good and the bad, that I’d finally have people I could rely on, but it didn’t happen. I sensed I’d made a mistake freshman year, but I persevered thinking it’d take a while to feel like family. I knew I’d made a mistake when all the shit happened with the rink at the start of the year and the only people who were there for me are in this room.
It was the worst time of my life, which says a lot, and I was bottling up how embarrassed I felt. Then one day Henry asked me if I was alright and I told him I was fine. I expected that to be the end of it, but he told me he knew I was lying and he’d be back when I was ready to talk. Every week we had the same conversation, until I bumped into him over winter break.
I’d tried to go home, but only lasted twenty-four hours with my dad’s post-casino-loss drunk, incoherent bullshit and my mom’s borderline professional inability to hold him accountable for his actions before I was on my way back to campus. Henry was heading back to the hockey house to get his art supplies and when he saw me, he asked me if I was alright, and for the first time, I told him no.
After spending so many years too ashamed and angry about my dad’s gambling problem to tell anyone, it all came tumbling out like word vomit. Not even Coach Faulkner or Nate know the full extent of my home life, but I told Henry fucking everything.
He stood there, a canvas tucked under his arm, listening.
When I was done, feeling like a ton of bricks had been lifted from my shoulders, he asked me if I wanted to get Kenny’s wings and hang out with him over the break. He didn’t ask me questions, he didn’t offer advice, he didn’t judge me. That’s why I immediately said yes when he asked if I wanted to live with him and Robbie.
The room has descended into chaos like it always does when everyone is together, with multiple conversations overlapping, the next louder than the last. People mistake me being quiet for being shy, but I’m not shy. I don’t even think I’m that quiet, it just looks that way because of how loud everyone else is. I prefer to sit and listen than be at the center of everything, like my teammates. There’s too much pressure with being the center of attention, too many opportunities to fuck everything up. I’m much happier being an observer, watching from the outside.
Making my way into the kitchen, I grab a water from the refrigerator, grabbing another when I sense someone behind me.
“You ready for your official first party?” JJ says, accepting the bottle from my hand.
We both lean against the kitchen counter, looking into the living room. “I think so. Don’t piss Robbie off is the only rule, right?”
JJ snorts as he unscrews the lid of his drink. “It happens to be my favorite pastime, but it depends how hard you want to be worked next season.”
“I think I’ll stay on his good side.”
“Feel like home yet?” he asks, taking a sip of the water.
I’ve spent a lot of time with JJ over the past few weeks and have discovered that beneath the joker persona, he’s very brotherly. After using my savings to buy myself an old truck a couple of months ago, I became the unofficial moving guy for everyone’s boxes. It was nice to feel useful, so it didn’t bother me until Lola was worried her stuff would accidentally get shipped to Nate’s new place in Vancouver and she drew dicks on the boxes that weren’t hers or Stassie’s.
JJ and I did the drive to his new place in San Jose with a truck bed full of the decorated boxes, getting funny looks from other drivers for the entire journey. You learn a lot about who someone is when you’re stuck in an enclosed space with them for ten hours. Ironically, JJ joked that I give hardly anything away.
“Getting there,” I admit. “Big change from what I’m used to.”
“Remember, you belong here. Everyone wants you here, you hear me?” he says quietly.
I’ve never voiced my insecurities to any of the guys, but somehow JJ knows I keep myself on the outside of things. I called him perceptive once and he said it’s because he’s a Scorpio.
Whatever that means. I appreciate it anyway and for the first time in a long time, I feel understood. Which is a strange feeling to accept, since a lot of the time I don’t understand myself.
“I hear you,” I confirm. He slaps me on the shoulder before heading back to his seat in the living room. I follow slowly, throwing myself into the seat beside Henry.
Robbie claps his hands once, giving us all hockey flashbacks as we instinctively give him our immediate attention like well-trained dogs.
“Such a mini-Faulkner. Jeez,” Nate grumbles, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat.
“You know I flinch during rounds of applause now,” Bobby adds. “I think it’s an actual trauma response.”
“I hear that clap when I’m alone,” Mattie says, nodding in solidarity.
“Nah,” Joe snorts. “That’s Kris next door. Just the one. Clap her cheeks, singular.”
Robbie hisses something under his breath as Kris launches a couch cushion at Joe, which he catches and throws back, chaos ensuing.
“Where were these defensive skills when you played hockey, Joe?” Henry asks, catching him off guard long enough for one of Kris’ cushions to smack him right in the face.
“For fuck’s sake,” Robbie grumbles. “This party isn’t going to happen if one of you clowns ends up with concussion. Come on, one last time.”
A natural silence settles over the room as everyone reluctantly lines up to be told what to do by Robbie and there’s a weird moment where I think it occurs to everyone that this is the last party the guys are going to throw together in this house.
I’m lost in my thoughts, waiting to be told what to do, when JJ starts laughing and shouting. “Twenty bucks! You all owe me twenty bucks!”
“What?”
“Stas is crying!” He wraps his arm around her and kisses the side of her head, “and it’s before she’s had any alcohol! I win.”
Wiping her tears away with the backs of her hands, she looks around bewildered. “You guys bet on me?”
The guys all reach for their wallets, plucking out bills. Mattie shrugs as he slams it into JJ’s awaiting palm. “We technically bet on your tears.”
“This is unbelievable. Nate, did you kn—” She turns to her boyfriend, who’s discreetly pulling money from his pocket. “You’re such a douchebag! You’re all douchebags.”
Nate hands his five-dollar bill to JJ and tugs her into a tight hug, kissing her temple affectionately. “You didn’t even try to last. I could have bought you chicken wings with that money.”
“Unbelievable. It’s just so sad. You guys are all going your separate ways and there’s just an atmosphere.”
“If I told you Russ didn’t bet on you crying today, would that make you feel better?”
Her watery eyes meet mine and she grins. “Thanks, Muffin. You’re not on my shit list.”
I give her a nod of acknowledgment. Letting her think it’s because I thought she wouldn’t cry—which I knew she would at some point—instead of saying it’s because I don’t gamble.
“Excuse me,” Henry interrupts. “Neither did I.”
Henry also knew she would cry but decided he doesn’t gamble anymore in solidarity. JJ is still counting his money when Lola strolls in with bags full of red cups. She looks along the line and scowls. “She cried, didn’t she?”
“Yup,” the room echoes.
“God damnit, Anastasia.” Lola drops the bags into Robbie’s lap, bending to kiss him, before reaching into her purse and pulling out some cash. “This is the last time you’re ever getting my money, Johal.”
“Until I fail at hockey and follow my true calling in life,” JJ counters. “Stripping.”
“Until then.”
“Now everyone’s debts have been paid can we please get this shitshow started?” Robbie groans.
The silence from earlier returns, the same shared thought running through my teammates’ minds one by one. Nate clears his throat, nodding. “One last time.”
The weird atmosphere disappears as soon as Lola burst out laughing. “Alright, Alexander Hamilton. And I’m supposedly the dramatic one, jeez. Bunch of fucking drama queens.”
