Chapter Twenty-Two: Interesting Positions

"You do not get control of the music."

"It's my car, I'm driving, and I get control of the music."

"You do not." Specs slapped Dutchy's hand away from the radio control, and in the back seat, Bumlets bit back a snicker.

"I'm not listening to this album again. I have only so much tolerance, Richard, and my tolerance for this album ran out about three weeks ago, the seven hundredth time through that goddamn CD!"

"I can't hear you," Specs proclaimed, and turned the volume up.

Justin Timberlake echoed through the rusty old station wagon, and the look on Dutchy's face was decidedly suicidal. Bumlets counted slowly to ten, and just as he hit the last number, Dutchy yelled and sprang for the controls. Justin Timberlake's voice went silent, Bumlets started laughing, and Dutchy triumphantly ejected the CD while Specs turned a sharp corner.

"I'm gonna push you outta the freaking car next time," he sulked. "Put the CD back."

"Hmmm, let me think about it... No."

"Rob!" he whined. "You're gonna scratch it."

"Yes, I am. To the point of unplayability, and then I will never have to listen to it again."

Specs glanced in the rear view mirror and shot a grin at Bumlets. "Dutchy is jealous of my crush on Justin."

"I am not!" Dutchy yelped, in a voice which betrayed the fact that he was, in fact, almost obscenely jealous of Specs' crush on Justin. Specs smirked, and Dutchy responded by turning on the radio and flipping stations.

"Crap. Crap. Crap." Dutchy groaned and turned it back off. "There are virtually no decent radio stations for a fifty mile radius. And my CD collection is in my bunk."

"So stop whining and put my CD back in."

"No!" Dutchy flipped through the radio stations again. "I am going to go insane."

"Going to go?" Specs asked mildly.

"Bite me."

"Once we have a hotel room and have kicked Bumlets out," Specs answered cheerfully.

"Gee, it's so hot when you dirty talk like that." The fact that Dutchy was rolling his eyes was evident in his voice. "I need music..."

"Justin!"

"No!"

"Ro-o-o-o-o-ob..."

"No!"

Bumlets, still laughing, dug into his backpack and produced the CD he'd picked up their first day off, the one from the band they'd seen, and passed it up to Dutchy. "Oh, thank God," Dutchy answered, slipping it in. "Is it any good?"

"Yeah, it... I think I'm gonna do the end-of-session dance routine to the fourth track."

"I keep forgetting you dance," Dutchy noted. "Are you any good?"

"I'm all right."

"He's awesome," Specs put in, having seen what Bumlets had done in the theater. "And he does gymnastics."

"Uh... yeah," Bumlets agreed.

"And can stretch himself into the most interesting positions," Specs continued. Bumlets fell silent, because he had no idea what Specs was talking about now. But apparently, Dutchy did, because he froze up and then glared at Specs. "He's flexible."

"Shut up now," Dutchy answered.

Specs grinned and shot a look back at Dutchy. "It's funny, because he gets jealous for no reason, over stupid things."

"Shut up," Dutchy said again, then, "Were you seriously just hitting on him?"

"Yes, Rob." Specs snorted. "'Cause having had a steady boyfriend for, like, three years now—"

"Four years, three months and—"

"Whatever, point is, having had a boyfriend for the last million years, and having never once cheated on him, or even come close to it, you'd think maybe he might give me the benefit of a doubt and not be a jealous freak."

"That doesn't seem very likely," Dutchy answered, "which, considering you've been dating him for four years, three months, and eleven days, you'd think you'd know."

"You're too possessive."

"Yes, but you love it."

"Not when it means you won't let me listen to Justin."

"I don't let you listen to Justin because then I'd have to listen to Justin and then blood would start to gush from my ears."

"Also, because you're a jealous, possessive freak."

"Yes, that too. Sorry. You still don't get to listen to Justin. Happy now?"

"Not as happy as I'd be if you'd put my CD back in."

"Happy enough?"

"Sure."

"Good."

Bumlets blinked a few times. He wasn't positive, but he thought he'd just overheard a fight. It was hard to tell, though. Even when they weren't speaking exclusively in lyrics, they had their own language.

There was a short pause, and then Dutchy turned around. "So, your girlfriend's band is in town again. You wanna go tonight?"

"Yeah... sure."

"Awesome." Dutchy turned back to Specs, and poked him in the side, only to have Specs slap his hand away. "She was hot."

"And had great fashion sense," Specs answered cheerfully, then poked Dutchy back. "See? No jealousy."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Dutchy sighed, Specs drove, and Bumlets watched, bemused.

*

David didn't think he'd be able to sleep, so he was surprised when the first bell woke him up. He didn't remember falling asleep... He remembered being giddy, climbing into bed before everyone got back from their nightly snack, and laughing to himself for no reason. He'd had to bury his face in his pillow to keep from chortling aloud as other people came in.

He felt kind of like when he'd been ten years old and begged his parents to let him drink wine instead of grape juice at Passover. He'd had all four glasses (plus another at dinner) and by the time he went to bed, was fully giddy and slightly dizzy. It felt pleasant, if strange.

That was the best way he could think of to describe how he felt. Pleasant, in a good mood, but it was so odd.

Apparently, though, it hadn't worn off the way the wine had. Because he rolled out of bed in a fabulous mood, the first time he could remember being happy to be awake in a long time, even at such an early hour.

Fighting back the urge to whistle, he skidded past Skittery and Sneakers to claim the first shower. Skittery blinked and shrugged, and Racetrack tapped his shoulder.

"Five bucks," he said.

"Five bucks on?" Skittery asked, as Race pulled him aside.

"Five bucks on David petting the horse with no problem."

"I'll take that," Skittery agreed, and they shook quickly. And then overheard David humming We Built This City On Rock And Roll loudly and off key. "Is he... Feeling okay?"

"Looks like." Race grinned. "I'm gonna get dressed and head off early. I'll catch up with you later, when I'm taking your money. Ta ta."

Skittery rolled his eyes, and Race cheerfully walked back to his bunk to get ready for the day.

David finished in the shower quickly, and met Race to walk down to the dining hall. David was still cheerful, almost floating as they walked. "You're in a good mood," Race noted.

"Mmm, yep."

"I take it things went well with the horses yesterday?"

"Yep," David repeated.

"Well, glad to hear it. I told you to talk to Jack."

"Yeah." David bit back a giggle to himself. "That worked out."

They walked down to wait for the third bell in silence, and it was only a few minutes later when David spotted Jack coming down the path, his campers bouncing around him. He waved and Jack walked over immediately. "Hey, you," Jack murmured, standing as close as he could to David without looking strange.

"Hey," David answered, forcing himself not to move closer to Jack, as much a he wanted to.

"Sleep well?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." Jack grinned, and ducked his head to look away; David grinned back, but couldn't look anywhere but at Jack's smiling face.

Racetrack cleared his throat. "So, when did this happen?" he demanded.

"When did what happen?" David asked.

"You two are—you two look pretty comfortable."

"Yeah," Jack answered.

"Cozy, even."

"Cozy?" Jack repeated. "How so?"

Race snorted slightly. "Jack, it's me. I know you too well."

"You really do." Jack laughed lightly, and David grinned. "It happened last night."

"Well, good, I guess. Be careful."

"We will," David said, shooting a look at Jack. But Jack didn't look concerned.

Race wanted to ask them more, but knew better than to do it with so many people around. So instead, he answered, "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks." David looked at Jack, who was grinning and probably feeling just as giddy as David did, and David had a hard time not reaching out to hold his hand.

*

Race spent breakfast trying as hard as he could to not stare at Jack or David, who kept giving each other lingering, adoring looks. It was incredibly obvious, and he had to hope that was because he knew what to look for, that no one else—particularly his mother, who kept asking him what he was staring at—would notice.

"My birthday is this week, Tony," his  mother commented offhandedly.

"I know," Race answered. "I wouldn't forget."

"And?"

"And... I'm sure I'll make you something lovely in arts and crafts." She rolled her eyes and he grinned. "I get my sense of humor from Dad, right?"

"Don't blame me," his father murmured into his coffee cup at the other end of the table. "If it were up to me, breakfast wouldn't be until ten."

"Hush, you," Mrs. Higgins chided. "Don't go giving people ideas."

"Don't want a revolution on your hands?"

"Anthony, it's too early in the morning for you to be funny."

"Yes, Mom," he answered. "So, what about your birthday?"

"Your brothers are coming to visit for it."

"Cool. Which ones?"

"All of them."

He gaped at her. "All of them?"

"Yes."

"All seven of them?"

"And their families, yes."

"That's like... A million people."

"Not quite, but it does feel that way," his father mused.

"Hush," Mrs. Higgins said again. "Yes, they're all coming."

"Well, then." Race blinked. "Neat. Where are you going to put them all?"

"In your room, of course," his father answered.

"All million of them?"

"Anthony. Back to the point, please."

"There was a point?"

"Yes, Tony."

"Could've fooled me."

"Why do I bother to talk to anyone before noon?" she sighed.

"I've always wondered that." He grinned at her again, and she glowered, though Race knew that was her 'I'm trying not to smile' face.

"Anyway, as I was saying, your brothers and their families are all coming to visit for my birthday, so we'll be going out for a nice family dinner."

"All million—"

"Yes, all million of us. May I finish?"

"You can try. I wouldn't bet on your being successful, though."

"You'd best not bet on anything, Tony. We've had that chat before."

He coughed. "Yes, Mom. I gave up gambling."

"Really?"

He thought of the five dollars he planned to win from Skittery later that day, and gave his mother a very sincere nod. She raised an eyebrow skeptically, but didn't press the matter. "As I was saying—"

"Hey, that digression was all yours."

"As I was saying," she repeated, "if you'd care to invite a friend, you'd be welcome to do so, as usual."

"Cool," he said again. "Do I have to?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"...Mom, we traumatize people."

"That isn't funny, Tony."

"The truth hurts, Mom."

"Anthony," she said warningly, but again smiled. He grinned back. He loved getting away with things. "Yes, bring a friend; and this year, it can't be Jack."

He frowned slightly. "Why not? I bring Jack every year."

"Because Jack is a counselor this year, and that's unfair. I can't have anything that looks like favoritism on my part."

"It's not, it's favoritism on my part. Everyone knows he's my best friend."

"Hardly the point, dear."

"Fine," he sighed. "I'll sucker someone else into it."

"Tony..."

"I mean, I'll invite some poor unsuspecting soul."

"Tony!"

"I'll ask one of my friends, Mom."

"That's better."

She finally seemed to be finished, and he glanced around the cafeteria, trying to decide who to invite. Jack had always been the best option, because aside from being Race's closet friend at camp, he was practically an extra sibling; Race's whole family knew him, and he was used to their slight... Insanity. No one else was, and they had developed a bit of a reputation around the camp.

The stories were all greatly exaggerated, though.

Well, most of them were.

That meant it had to be someone who didn't know traditional camp stories. Race's gaze came to rest on David, who was doing his best not to grin goofily over at Jack, and not quite succeeding. It was cute, really.

It would be mean to drag someone into a family gathering without warning. But on the other hand, only someone without warning would attend...

Well, it looked like it was David or no one, then.

*

It wasn't until lunch that David remembered what he was doing after lunch. He was halfway through eating a forkful of potatoes when he recalled that he'd been dared to go up to the stables after lunch and prove he wasn't afraid of horses.

Which presented a bit of a problem, because he and Jack had gotten so wrapped up in what they were doing the previous night, they'd forgotten all about the dare. David nearly choked on his potatoes, and shot an apprehensive look at Skittery, who didn't notice, then at Jack, who raised an eyebrow.

"Horses," he mouthed, and Jack's jaw dropped.

He'd forgotten, too.

He threw another panicked look at Jack, who just shrugged. It was a little too late, now.

David's heart sank slightly. This was not going to be good. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore, and spent the rest of the meal just pushing his food around on his plate. He wondered if he could feign being sick, but doubted it; Triage knew him too well, after the week he'd spent in the infirmary. He wondered if maybe Skittery and Spot had forgotten...

No such luck. They were dismissed from the meal, and the next thing he knew, Skittery was on one side of him, Spot was on the other, and he was practically being marched up to the stables. Racetrack caught up to them, and Jack sent him a wave as he took his cabin back to their bunk.

As they reached the door to the stable, Snitch, Blink, Mush, and Ian all came up the path to join them. "What..." David murmured. "What is everyone doing here?"

"Well, it's either this or sit around in our cabin for an hour," Snitch explained. "And Sneakers didn't seem to care."

"Sneakers is off at the arts'n'crafts cabin with Paint, he means," Blink explained.

"And Maverick?" Spot asked, glancing at his bunkmates.

"Thinks we're in their bunk. So it's all good," Ian answered.

"Oh, fabulous," David said weakly. Embarrassing himself in front of just two people would have been bad enough; he knew word would have spread. But in front of even more... This was so very, very bad.

"Well, shall we?" Race suggested, and pushed open the door.

It was much brighter in the stable than it had been the previous night. This time, David could see all of the horses clearly. And they all looked ferocious. He bit his lip to keep from whimpering, and tried to find Vanessa. Jack said she was gentle, so maybe that wouldn't be so bad..."

"Here!" Skittery called, and grabbed David's arm, dragging him towards the nearest horse. It was significantly larger than Vanessa had been, brown with some splotches on it's back, and it glared at him menacingly.

"Uhhh..." David stood helplessly in front of it. "What do you want me to do?"

"Pet him," Skittery answered.

"Uh."

"Go on," Spot urged, leaning lazily against a support beam, smirking slightly. "Unless you're scared, Jacobs."

"I'm not..." But his voice cracked, his palms were sweating, and he felt kind of shaky. Whatever acting ability Medda had beaten into him for use on the stage had clearly deserted him, judging by the roar of laughter from his claim that he wasn't scared.

"C'mon, Dave," Race urged. "No big deal, right?"

"Yeaaaaaaah..."

He stood and stared at the horse. It stared right back at him. Hadn't Jack said they could sense fear? What if it attacked him or bit him or... Or did whatever angry horses did?

"Well?" Spot finally asked.

"Uhhh..."

Everyone was staring at him, waiting for him. David didn't really have much of a choice... He reached up towards the horse and noticed that his hand was, indeed, shaking. He screwed his eyes shut and reached—

—and bopped the horse on the side of the face. It responded by making what sounded to David like a menacing growling noise and shaking its head to ward David's hand off. And then it was like a repeat of the previous night, minus one important detail. He yelped and jumped back, his foot caught on a floorboard, except this time, there was no Jack to catch him. And his friends, helpful people that they were, all moved out of his way. He flailed his arms, trying to catch his balance, failed, and toppled backwards.

The gales of laughter bruised his ego enough to match his backside, which was, doubtlessly, going to be quite bruised indeed. He groaned and collapse the rest of the way, leaning on the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

Skittery stepped into his field of vision. "David... You're scared of horses, aren't you?"

"Shut up..."

Skittery straightened up and turned to Racetrack. "I believe that's five dollars," he said, holding out his hand.

Race groaned. "It's in the cabin. You suck, David."

David made a confused face, having no idea what that was about, and finally pushed himself back up onto his elbows, and stared at the smirking group around him.

"All talk," Skittery said, and nudged Spot with his elbow. "See? We were right."

"Of course. Nothing," Spot mused, "but a walking mouth."

"Ooooh, that one's good!" Skittery answered. "Walking Mouth. How's that sound, Race?"

"Like I care?" Race answered bitterly, no longer feeling the altruistic urge to protect David from Skittery's attempts at giving him a nickname.

"Mouth for short," Skittery continued. "Perfect. Well, Mouth, that's something good from this, huh?"

"That's debatable," David answered darkly, and another round of laughter started. He collapsed back onto the floor, glad at least he couldn't see any stupid horses from that point of view, and finally Blink stepped over to him and offered him a hand up.

They were just starting for the door when a voice demanded, "What are you all doing out of your cabins?"

There was a beat of silence, and David stood on his tiptoes, and could make out Morris Delancey in the doorway of the stables. That didn't bode well. He glanced around and discovered everyone else was doing the same, waiting for someone else to answer.

"Well?"

No answer.

"The stable is not a playground, and I can't allow—"

"Hey, guys!"

The campers let out a collective breath, as Sneakers came up behind Morris, looking in far too good a mood.

Morris glared at him. "Are these your campers?"

"Most of them, yes. Geeze, guys, when I asked someone to go get my sweatshirt, I didn't think you'd all go. Sorry, Morris; let me get them out of your hair, huh?" And he whisked them out of the stable before Morris realized no one was holding a spare sweatshirt.

"Sneakers, you—" Skittery started.

"Saved your lives? Yeaaaah. Imagine my shock, getting back from helping Paint organize the arts'n'crafts cabin and finding everyone gone..."

"Organizing the cabin?" Snitch asked. "Is that what you were doing?"

"Why, what did you think we were doing?" Sneakers shot back. Snitch didn't answer, and Sneakers smirked slightly. "Anyway, that was pretty dumb of you all. So yes, you're welcome for bailing you out." He paused, then added guiltily, "So, did David do it?"

"What? How did you know about—"

"Nope, duh," Skittery interrupted, as David sulked.

"Tough break, Dave," Sneakers said. "Wish I'd seen that."

"How did you know about that?"

"Well, uh..." He coughed. "You know, from Paint."

"How'd she—"

"Smurf."

"How—"

"From Trixie."

"How did she—"

"Mush, of course," Blink filled in, and Mush elbowed him.

"So what you're saying is that basically... Everyone knows?" David asked weakly.

"Yeah, probably."

"Well that's..." David sighed. "That's great, really."

"Just think of it like this," Skittery said philosophically, "at least it won't take very long for your new nickname to get around, Mouth."

They settled into the cabin, Spot and Ian returned to Ferguson, Race grumbled and paid Skittery, and David picked up the notebook and letter he'd abandoned two days ago. Dear Mom, he thought. Today I was humiliated in front of most of my friends. Please kill me now. Love, David. PS; I think I'm gay.

He put the notebook back down and shut his eyes.

"Dave?"

He opened them again. Race was standing on the bottom rung of the ladder, his arms folded on David's bed, chin resting in his arms. "Hmmm?"

"How'd you like some non-camp food?"

"I'd love it. Why...?"

"My mom's birthday is in a few days... My family is all going out, Mom thought I might like bring a friend to ease the pain of dealing with my brothers... You wanna come?"

"Sure," David agreed easily.

"Great." Race let himself back down the ladder.

From his bunk, Sneakers started chuckling. "Race, that wasn't very nice... David, man—"

"Mouth," Skittery interrupted helpfully.

"Whatever. You just got played."

"What?" David asked.

There was a long silence. "Nothing..." Sneakers finally said, and chuckled.

"Ignore him," Race called.

"Riiiight," David mumbled. Now he was both embarrassed and suspicious. The day was just getting better and better.

*

"Do I recognize you?"

Bumlets felt a flush creep over his face. Dutchy poked him in the ribs. "Uh," he squeaked. "I... I saw you guys a few weeks ago."

Gabby raised an eyebrow. Her set had just finished, and Dutchy and Specs had dragged Bumlets outside to wait for the band. Dutchy seemed to find his crush amusing, and Specs seemed to think it was cute. Bumlets was mortified.

"Yeah..." She glanced over him again. "Nah; I remember your blond friend."

Dutchy grinned and Gabby checked him out visibly. Specs rolled his eyes, Dutchy cleared his throat and looked down at the ground. She raised and eyebrow and Dutchy reached for Specs's hand, and she smiled and turned back to Bumlets. "No, I swear I recognize you from somewhere."

"I've only seen you that once... Well... You know, and tonight."

"Odd. What's your name?"

"Uh... Alec. Alec Bumlets."

"That's a terrible name."

"I know." He made a face. "My parents decided to combine their last names and didn't really worry too much about the consequences."

"Ught." She tapped her fingers against the wall, then mused, "ESPN?"

"Maybe." He shrugged.

Specs whapped Bumlet's stomach. "ESPN? You never told us you were on ESPN! What were you... What do you...?"

"Gymnastics. And dance."

"I knew it!" Gabby declared, and grinned. "My little sister is really in to that stuff; she watches all the competitions. You've been on there a couple times, right?"

"Yeah, three or four."

Specs gaped.

Gabby chucked his shoulder playfully. "You do good. You're going on to the Olympics or what?"

Bumlets' blush turned brighter. "Nah. I'm not... Not that good."

"Still, though. Pretty impressive. So, uh... You want an autograph?"

"Sure!" He laughed, and then blushed, then dug out his copy of her band's CD. "Uh... Thanks."

She pulled a pen out of her pocket and flipped the CD open to sign the liner notes.

"You know, Alec is choreographing a dance to one of your songs," Dutchy offered.

"Really?" she asked, handing the CD back to him.

"Uh... Yeah, well, for the camp to... Um..."

"Camp?"

"We work at a camp," Specs explained. "He's the dance counselor."

"Oh, cool. You like it?"

"Uh, yeah. I... You know, it's not bad."

"Well... Cool. Maybe I'll see you at another show sometime? We play around here a lot, my folks live in the area."

"Yeah, I—yeah."

She seemed to be waiting for something else, and he didn't know what. Dutchy stifled a laugh by turning it into a cough, and finally Gabby just sauntered off to catch up with her band. Bumlets kind of grinned after her.

"You are so lame," Dutchy sighed.

"What?"

"She was trying to flirt," Specs explained. "And you didn't really flirt back."

"I thought she was hitting on Dutchy."

"She stopped when she figured he was gay," Specs explained.

"When did she...?"

"You're so clueless, it's kind of cute," Specs laughed.

"Specs..." Dutchy whined. "Stop hitting on other people."

"Makes you crazy, doesn't it?" Specs laughed, but he reached for Dutchy's hand again and as they were about to get into the Specsmobile, Dutchy pinned Specs against the car and kissed him. Bumlets turned away, though glanced back out of curiosity when they still seemed to be making out a minute later; Specs had one leg wrapped around Dutchy's waist, the car holding up most of his weight.

"You know, I could show you some stretches so you could get both legs up..." he mused.

Dutchy let Specs half-tumble back to the ground and cleared his throat. "Uh... Yeah," he coughed.

Specs kissed his cheek and walked around to the driver's side of the car to let himself in. Dutchy grinned into his hand and kind of coughed guiltily. Bumlets rolled his eyes, but glanced down at the signature in his line notes.

Next time, can I get your autograph for my sister?
Kidding.
Flexible is fun.
Gabby

He grinned as Specs let him in to the car.

[End Chapter Twenty-Two]
Chapter Twenty-Three: Thoughts