Chapter Thirty—Five: Best Friends Forever

The next day at mail call, David had two letters, or rather a letter and a postcard. Both were from Jack. He brought them up to the cabin before even glancing at them; everyone had been giving him sideways looks and trying to slyly imply questions without asking them since the previous day.

He was trying not to snap at them. But the only way he'd managed to find to keep his irritation and sarcasm under control was to not say anything at all. Which meant David, the walking mouth himself, had become the quietest kid at camp.

He shuffled up the ladder onto his bunk, collapsed on the mattress, and looked at the postcard.

"So, uh, David," Racetrack said, walking into the cabin. "How... how is he? You've got a letter from him, right?"

David glanced over at him, but there were other people following. He shrugged, and turned back to the post card.

It looked like it could have been bought in any tourist shop in New York. It had the Statute of Liberty, and the I Heart NY logo. Jack's handwriting was a tight, crooked scribble, but not too hard to read.

Davey—
My dad sucks. Miss you already. More soon.
—Jack

David tried hard not to worry about what Jack meant about his dad sucking, his brain immediately leaping back into its Jack—in—the—hospital worst case scenario, but somehow, David doubted Jack would have been able to grab a post card, write it, address it, stamp it, and get it in the mail so quickly if he were actually injured.

And besides, there was the letter.

He opened it carefully, and saw the letter was two pages long. It started with an explanation of the post card. Jack's father was at work when he arrived, which would have been fine, but he hadn't left any way for Jack to get into the building. He'd been standing outside with a duffle bag until someone else exited, then spent the next three hours sitting outside his apartment door. But Jack hadn't wanted to start a fight first thing when he saw his dad, so he didn't say anything. But he did go back out as soon as he'd found the spare key, and picked up the post card and stamps.

The rest of the letter was split between more apologies for everything that had happened, and confessions of how much he already missed David. Things that would be very incriminating if left around.

David folded the letter and post card, and slid them into his back pocket, then lay down, staring up at the ceiling.

"Dave?" Racetrack asked again, standing at the edge of the bunkbed.

"He's fine," David mumbled.

"You gonna audition for the show?" he asked, glancing over at Mush, who had collapsed on his bunk in a fashion similar to David's. He looked pretty exhausted himself. "It should be awesome."

"Why?" David mumbled, not really caring.

"Because we're doing our yearly Shakespeare adaptation. This year, it's A Midsummer Night's Dream. With gender bending."

"What?" David asked again, this time sort of curious despite himself.

"It's being cast with girls in the boys' parts, and vice versa."

"Why?"

"Because Medda is psycho!" Mush yelled angrily from across the room.

"Mush hates Shakespeare week," Race said. "Because, well... guess who always gets the romantic lead."

David thought about Mush, and then about Trixie and Mondie and the rest, and then nodded.

"So you should audition," Race continued, "since he'll need his friends around to keep him sane."

"I'll think about it," David said blankly.

But David spent the rest of the afternoon holed up in his bunk, writing a letter to Jack. And everyone knew, but no one wanted to make him do anything else. He wasn't sure if that was out of sympathy, but he didn't care too much.

*

Mush could actually feel the vein. It was on his forehead, and it was throbbing. He wondered if it was noticeable to anyone outside of his head.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

"Mushy, don't you want to read a scene with me?"

Pound.

"He's busy! He's got to read with me. We have a love scene to practice."

Pound. Pound.

"So? It's just acting, he doesn't love you."

"Oh, like he loves you?"

Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound.

"He took me to the dance!"

Pound.

"He was blackmailed into that, I heard all about it!"

Mush massaged his temples. They were sitting on opposite sides of him, yelling across him. Right into his ears. And it wouldn't matter if he spoke up, and tried to tell them that he didn't like either one of them; such things were just laughed off. Then they went right back to arguing.

His head went right on pounding.

*

"Hey, Dave."

David rolled over and saw Sneakers standing in the door to the bunk, the mud encrusted sneakers from which he got his name hanging from his hands by the laces. Racetrack had somehow browbeaten or blackmailed him into promising to leave them outside. They always tracked up the cabin and they kind of smelled. He dropped them just outside the door, stepped in, and let the door bang shut.

David didn't say anything.

"So, here's the thing... It's been two days since Jack left, and as far I know, the only time you've left the cabin is for meals. Everyone's been kind of looking the other way about it, but, uh... you're frankly starting to get creepy."

Sneakers laughed nervously, like he expected David to find it funny, but David just stared at him and blinked.

"So... what do you say? I know archery isn't your favorite, but you must be in the mood to shoot something, right?"

David stared.

"Or maybe theater? You missed the audition and all, but Mush could definitely use a sane voice around, and Medda said there's always work backstage. Or, you know, you could go to tennis, or... sailing, or swimming, or something that's outdoors. Or even, hey, arts and crafts! That's inside, no risk of sunburn..."

David rolled over again, facing away from him.

"Or, I guess, you could waste the last two weeks of camp lying there like a slug. I'm sure Jack would really think that's a great idea. Except... oh, wait, wasn't he the one whose sole goal in life was to get you to go to riding? Outdoors, with animals and people and... physical exertion?"

"I don't do physical exertion," David mumbled. "And Jack's not here."

"You know, Dave, I realize you don't take me very seriously or anything. But I'm a few years older than you are, and a little more experienced. So if you could try to momentarily take me seriously, I just want to put this out there. It's never healthy to let your whole life be another person. Never. Jack is a great guy, and I respect that you don't want to actually tell me that you two were together, but regardless of if he's your best friend or boyfriend, you have other friends. Race and Blink and Mush, the crazy girls in the theater... They all are your friends, too. And you were having fun. I'm sure Jack was great and all, but he wasn't the only good thing. Think about it, okay?"

David didn't answer.

"And that's what I get for speaking in monologues, jeeze. Enjoy your nap."

*

The worst part was that Mush actually liked Shakespeare. Well, he was a thespian; he had to like Shakespeare. He was pretty sure he could get killed in his sleep if he didn't. He liked the cadence and rhythm of Shakespearian dialogue. He liked the wacky hijinks of the comedies and the heartbreak in the tragedies. He liked the neuroses of each and every character. In fact, he had dreams of playing Hamlet someday.

Which didn't change the fact that Shakespeare week at camp made him absolutely, positively, incredibly miserable. The cross casting thing just made it even worse; somehow, not only was Mush playing a romantic lead, he was now playing the woman who was chased after by two separate men, who were being played by Trixie and Mondie. Maybe Medda just thought she was being funny. That didn't really matter to Mush, who really just wanted everyone involved in the stupid thing to drop dead.

He really couldn't blame David for lying in bed all day, writing love letters or... whatever it was. He'd mailed off a lengthy letter addressed to Jack every day, and though the rumors had a lot of different versions of it, one thing was consistent in every one: something more—than—friendly was going on with Jack and David.

Which was kind of weird. Jack was a flirt; it had never occurred to Mush that he might be gay. And David... well, he'd never considered David one way or the other. But Jack and David together was just surprising.

Even though they'd spent a lot of time together. Everyone had noticed that. And maybe they touched each other a little more than was normal. Not everyone had noticed that, but Mush, who was used to spending time with guys who did theater, and thus were a little more touchy—feely than usual (and probably a higher percentage were gay than usual) had noticed. He just hadn't ever thought...

Well, it made some sort of sense. Kind of.

After rehearsal, the pounding in Mush's head subsided a bit. He hurried out of the theater and dashed up to the boys' cabin before any of the girls could follow him, shoving a surprised Teach—the second male lead in show—into the gaggle of girls in his place. Teach looked started and not quite thrilled, not that Mush blamed him, but Mush didn't wait around. He figured that having a boy to fawn over would distract them long enough for his escape.

At the cabin, David was once again lying in his bunk, scratching out something in his notebook. Mush would have been willing to bet that it started with, "Dear Jack..."

"Dave," Mush announced.

"Mph," David mumbled, which was the closest to acknowledging anyone he seemed to get anymore.

"David, please," Mush said. "I really, really, really need someone around the theater to help me fend off Trixie and Mondie. The only idea I have left to do it myself involves using a really big stick and demanding that they stay a stick's length away from me at all times, or they get clubbed with it, and I don't think that's going to fly with Medda."

David gave Mush a long, bored look.

"I just need someone there to distract them so I can escape," he continued desperately. "Please? I'll be your best friend?"

"What, are you a twelve—year—old girl?" David asked.

Mush scowled. "Fine, but when I kill someone, you're going to end up charged with conspiracy or something, because this is clearly me telling you beforehand, and you refusing to try and prevent it."

"Whatever," David said.

*

Sneakers actually was beginning to feel like he was involved in a conspiracy. Mr. and Mrs. Higgins had not so subtlety hinted that it was up to him to convince David to rejoin the human race. He had talked it over with Medda and Mush, but Mush's pleas and Medda's repeatedly pointing out that she could use a hand backstage had done nothing. Racetrack hadn't had any good ideas, either.

David was clearly determined to be a stubborn pain in the butt.

This was going to take some doing, he decided, as he flipped through the camp's directory of contact information and reached for the phone.

*

Paint was fuming and Sneakers was pretending not to notice.

"Are you mad at me?" she finally snapped, cornering him in the counselor cabin after dinner.

"Huh?" he asked innocently.

"You changed your day off like you didn't think I'd notice or anything," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring. "Which means you didn't want to have your day off with me anymore. So are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?"

"No! No, it's nothing." Sneakers leaned forward to kiss her quickly. "Look, I just have some business to take care of. I'm sorry I didn't tell you first, but I'll get it done, so things will be back to normal next week."

She stepped away from him. "You had some business? What, are you in the mob or something?"

"Nothing that interesting."

She glared at him. He winced.

"Okay, look, it's kind of a secret, but if it works out it'll be a really great surprise," he said quickly. "And... I've never asked you to just trust me without an explanation before, but... Please? I promise, I swear this is something that's going to be really cool once I can tell you."

Paint paused, bit her lip, and considered. "Is it just this week, or next week, too?"

"Just this week."

"Fine," she snapped. "But this is suspicious and weird, and I want you to know that letting it go is going to take some effort."

He smiled back at her. "Thanks. Seriously. It's... It's important to me, and it'll be good, really."

"It had better."

"Hey, you want to help me try and find a way to trick David out of the cabin? I've got something in the works, but otherwise, all I can think of that I haven't tried yet is setting it on fire. And, uh, the Higginses kind of vetoed that."

Paint smiled a little. "Remind me again why I love you?" she teased.

*

"Mail call!" Sneakers announced, and began handing out letters to the boys in the cabin. Usually there was something for almost everyone; Race rarely got mail, since he lived there, but everyone else got a letter or two a week. Though only David had been getting them daily, lately. "Oh, look, another postcard for David, from Jack. What a shock."

Sneakers tossed it onto David's bunk with calculated casualness, and went on with handing letters out. David snatched up the postcard, glanced at the Empire State Building picture for a split second, then flipped it over to get the message.

Davey—
I miss you. Now stop moping and go outside.
——Jack
(PS: The sun won't hurt you, I promise.)

David read it again, then looked up at Sneakers, who was innocently staring out the window.

"You suck," he said.

"Hm? I have no idea what you're talking about," Sneakers answered. "But I hear that Medda is still holding open that stage manager position for tomorrow's show."

*

David sat in the first row of seats in the theater, a script open in front of him. He could hear Mush running lines with Trixie and Mondie up on stage... or something like that, anyway, since they didn't seem to be going over lines so much as Mondie and Trixie were shrieking at one another about who had sole possession of Mush's heart. Mush's attempts at pointing out that, in fact, neither of them had even his mild affection were lost in the din.

Next to David sat a younger camper named Worm. She had explained at great length that it was supposed to be Bookworm, but people just couldn't be bothered. Not caring too much, he'd just nodded. She was the show's Puck, and one of the few characters who'd been given monologues to deliver in the actual, Shakespearian dialect—most of the play had been simplified and modernized.

Worm was a good enough actress, he supposed, but she was only thirteen and some of the memorization was pretty difficult. David followed along in his script while she tried to make her way through the final monologue:

"If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended—
That you have but slumbered here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not..."

She looked over at David and scowled. "What's the next part?"

He glanced at his script. "You don't even want to guess?"

"If I had a guess, I'd have said it," she snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. "Ooookay," he said. "'Gentles, do not repre—'"

"Reprehend, I got it, jeeze."

David nodded. "I'll bet you get the comment, 'She's very bright,' but rarely, 'Is a pleasure to have in class,' on your report cards, huh?"

"Shut up!" she snapped. "'Gentles, do not reprehend; If you pardon, we will mend.' Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Good." She crossed her arms. "I don't get what the big deal is with Shakespeare, anyway."

David blinked. "You... don't get the big deal? It's Shakespeare, the most influential writer of all time. You don't get the big deal?"

"Well, some of Shakespeare is very good. But people get this big, dramatic idea that it's all excellent, and it isn't. People would know if they just read."

"Right, not everything is stellar, but... it's Shakespeare," David said again. "And even if you personally don't like it, you've got to respect the Bard."

"Why, because everyone else does?" she demanded bitterly.

"No," David said slowly. "You've got to respect Shakespeare because plays he wrote in the 1590s are still resonant today, and no one has discovered anything to say about the human condition that he didn't say first."

Worm stared at him for a second in slight shock, then scowled, and said, "Anyway, I have to get this memorized. I don't need your help."

David raised an eyebrow. "Obviously not. Besides, I'd better go break up..." He nodded vaguely to the stage, where Mush was banging his forehead into his palm repeatedly, while Mondie had her arms wrapped around his neck and was yelling at Trixie, who had her arms wrapped around his waist.

"I don't get it," Worm said. "I mean, he's kind of cute and all, but..."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll be relieved you're not joining the fanclub. Excuse me." David stood up, flipped through his script, and selected a scene at random. "Okay, everyone on stage! Places for, uh, act two, scene two! If you aren't in the scene, sit down and shut up! Okay, let's go, people!"

Mush slunk off of the stage and threw himself down on one of the benches, and David quickly took the seat next to him to prevent one of the girls from sitting there. "You are my hero," Mush hissed. "You couldn't have shown up four days ago?"

"I was busy," David answered.

"Busy doing what, lying in bed?"

"Yes. I had some very important sulking to do. Now shut up, I'm allegedly paying attention."

Mush shot him a smile. "So... that whole sulking thing? Because Jack left?"

"I don't really want to talk about it." David flipped open the notebook Medda had told him to carry, and began jotting down prop and entrance/exit notes from the script, to double check that they had everything. He didn't really care too much about stage managing, but figured that he should at least attempt to do a decent job, to get everyone off his back, if nothing else. Sneakers had become borderline intolerable for the past few days.

*

Sneakers raised his beer. "Cheers," he declared, clinking it against Dutchy's bright pink drink. He'd ordered both of them, to avoid Dutchy having to pretend to be older than he was again; and again, Specs wasn't drinking, since they were using his car. "So who's this band?" he added, nodding at the group on stage.

"Just something local," Dutchy answered. "They seem to play here every week."

"Too bad Alec isn't here," Specs added. "So far he's got the CD, then the autograph... maybe this time he'd work up the courage to ask for her number."

"Bumlets?" Sneakers said, then looked at the woman on stage. "And her?"

"Oh, it's the cutest thing ever," Specs said gleefully. "He has a crush on her and we've meet her a couple of times, but he freezes up every time she says hello, and when she tries to flirt with him he hides behind us. I've never seen a boy so shy."

Dutchy gave Specs a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, stop being a baby about it, you're cuter than he is."

"Darn right I am."

"Especially when drinking something bright pink, with strawberries in it."

"I like my drink, thank you."

Sneakers gave them an odd look.

"Hey," Specs said, ignoring whatever it was that had just happened between them. "We should catch her after the set and tell her that Alec really misses her... And provide a phone number."

"Not practical while he's at camp," Dutchy said. "Maybe a mail address?"

"Maybe." Specs considered. "Actually, I have a better idea, come to think of it."

*

After dinner, David found himself in the company of others, really by choice, for the first time in quite awhile. He was hiking up to the cabin with everyone else from his bunk; they were all grabbing sweat shirts for an all—camp bonfire on the beach that night.

Unfortunately, they were being followed.

"Mush! Mushy!"

"Just. Keep. Walking," Mush hissed, ignoring the insistent voices behind him. But it didn't do any good; Trixie jogged up to catch the group, and immediately grabbed his arm. Not to be outdone, or risk letting Trixie have any time with Mush without her, Mondie ran up to his other side and took his other arm possessively.

"Mush, I don't think you heard me," she said.

"I heard you, I was ignoring you."

She giggled. "You're so funny!"

"I wasn't joking." He pulled his arms free and shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping that would prevent any more grabbing. It didn't; Trixie took the opportunity to throw a whole arm around his shoulder. Left out now, Mondie scowled at her.

Trixie giggled again regardless of the fact that he wasn't joking. "I was just wondering if you'd like to sit with me at the fire tonight."

"Or me!" Mondie put in. "Actually, I can tell you for a fact that Trixie did not shower today, so I smell much better and would be more pleasant to sit with."

"Hey!" Trixie yelled. "That's not true!"

"Is so," Mondie snapped. "So anyway, I was thinking that if you sat with me, we could share a blanket, and make smores together, and then a little down the line maybe go out a few times? Get married? I've always wanted a little girl, but if we had a boy, that would be fine. And—"

"Stop!" Mush yelled, breaking free. He stopped walking, and turned around to stare at them. The rest of the bunk stopped and turned around to watch. "Just stop. Stop asking me out, stop touching me, stop talking to me, and please, for the love of God, stop hitting on me!"

Mondie and Trixie exchanged looks that seemed genuinely confused for a moment. "But... why?" Mondie finally asked.

"Because I just don't like you!" he yelled. "I just—I—I feel stalked! Everywhere I go, you're right there; every time I turn around, you're grabbing me! It's horrible, so just knock it off!"

"Horrible?" Trixie echoed. "Having two cute girls in love with you is horrible?" She sounded a little upset as she said it, but Mush didn't seem to notice.

"You aren't in love with me, you're just insane," he said. "Completely and totally mental. Nuts!"

"But..." Trixie's lip began to tremble a little. "We just wanted you to like us."

"Well, you failed." Mush crossed his arms, looking grumpy.

Trixie's eyes welled up, and Mondie picked up the conversation. "We didn't mean to upset you," she said, her voice wavering. "You didn't have to yell."

"Yes, I did," he snapped.

Mondie glanced at Trixie again, then said shakily, "Well, fine, if that's how you feel. But you didn't have to be mean about it! Just asking us to back off would have been fine..."

"I did ask you to back off, and you didn't, because you apparently aren't very smart, either."

"Uh, Mush?" Race said, leaning forward. "Come on, you made your point."

"No, it's fine," Mondie sighed. "If he hates us that much, why should he try and be nice, just so he doesn't hurt our feelings? We obviously don't mean anything to him, not even as friends, so it doesn't matter anyway." She took a deep breath. "Come on, Trixie."

Trixie was actually sniffling now, and Mush sighed.

"Look, I didn't mean... I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't?" Trixie asked.

"No... Don't cry." It looked like Mush winced a little as he said that, though.

"But you hate us!"

"I don't hate you." Mush sighed, looking defeated. He could continue his tirade and not care about hurt feelings, or he could actually care and risk having to deal with them for the rest of the summer. And until he'd actually seen them tear up and sound so fragile, he'd been sure he didn't care at all. Unfortunately, when faced with being the kind of guy who made not one, but two girls run off crying...

"You said you did." Trixie wiped tears away from her cheek.

"No, I said I don't, uh, I'm not interested in you. Like that," he said quickly. "Which I'm not. But we can still be friends, right?"

"Friends?" Mondie said. "Just friends? You don't... You don't find us attractive at all?"

And now here it was, the rock and the hard place. She still looked pretty fragile, and Mush didn't think he could said no, he didn't find them attractive, and not be back to the crying; on the other hand, if he said he did, then... well, he'd be stuck with them stalking him for the rest of the summer, if not the rest of his life.

Then, as he began to panic and the silence became awkwardly long, a brilliant idea occurred to him. A little fib, and since this was probably his last summer at camp, unless he returned as a counselor, he'd only have to live with it for a week. It would be a little lie and save him a week of horror. It was perfect.

"It's not that you aren't pretty," he finally said. "It's that I... I... I don't like girls."

There was another silence, this one a little surprised. "Really?" Trixie finally said. "Because you've always, always said you're not gay."

"No, I am," he said quickly. "Yep. Gay. The gayest. Definitely. Sorry, but it looks like that's not going to work out for you. Oh, well. Have a nice night."

"But wait a minute, no, hang on," Mondie said. "I've spent a lot of time with gay guys. I mean, a lot. And even when we've teased you, you never seemed gay. And since everyone wanted you to be, why would you bother hiding it? I don't buy it."

"Hope springs eternal," David mumbled to himself.

"I... uh..." Mush looked around desperately. "I really am gay! Really," he said. "I mean, seriously."

"Uh huh," Trixie said, picking up on Mondie's cynicism. "I just don't see it."

"What?! I... Um..." Mush glanced around again, this time his gaze fixating on Blink, whose arm he grabbed. "Sorry," he hissed under his breath, dragging Blink forward. "Blink knows."

"I do?" Blink repeated, then more confidently when Mush gave his arm a none too subtle squeeze, "Yeah, I do. Definitely." Another squeeze. "He, uh, told me. A long time ago."

"Why?" Mondie asked, then smiled a little bit, looking eerily predatory. "Did he like you?"

"No—"

"Yes!" Mush declared emphatically. "See? I'm totally gay and thus unavailable to anyone heterosexual. See, I can prove it!"

Blink saw what was coming the second before it happened, and tried to squirm out of Mush's grip, but apparently, Mush had realized he'd be trying to flee and dug his fingers in to Blink's arm as he reached forward to put an arm around Blink's neck. Even as Blink winced, uncooperatively, Mush told himself that he was an actor and had to sell it. So he tried to look pleased and excited as, holding Blink firmly in place, he pressed his lips to his best friend's mouth. Selling it also meant that not only did he actually have to kiss Blink, it couldn't be just a peck; he had to look like enjoyed it. So he opened his mouth and tried for tongue, though Blink was having none of that, and it only took him a few seconds to pull free. His single eye was wide, and he looked... well... traumatized.

Mush would deal with that later.

"See?!" Mush declared triumphantly.

Mondie and Trixie exchanged glances again, then broke into laughter. Behind him, he could hear snickering from the boys in his bunk. But he didn't really care too much.

"That was possibly the cutest, fakest thing I have ever seen," Mondie declared, and glanced at Trixie.

"You pretended to be gay to spare our feelings! Oh, Mushy, you really do care!"

Mush blinked once, staring, then let out a long, primal scream of frustration. He pivoted and dashed for the boys' section of camp. Blink, yelling, "What the hell was that?!" was only seconds behind him. And as they disappeared, everyone who had been diligently trying not to laugh gave up, and the laughter floated after them.

When they could breath again through the giggles, Trixie said to Mondie, "All I expected from the fake crying was a guilty apology! Man, that was... that was..." Then she started giggling again.

"That was fake?" David asked, somehow finding it even funnier knowing that.

"Totally fake," Mondie confirmed. "Mush isn't the only one who can act, you know."

Trixie nudged her. "Come on, let's go claim a place at the fire. We should save room between us for Mush... and his boyfriend. Oh, man..."

They snickered to themselves as they walked off, and left the remaining boys—David, Race, Snitch, and Skittery—alone to wander up to their bunk. There was a sudden shout ahead of them, so presumably Blink had caught up with Mush and cornered him somewhere. "Oh, man, that's the funniest thing I have ever, ever seen," Snitch enthused, as they started walking again.

"Hey, Mouth," Skittery said, almost casually. "Speaking of gay guys and the closet..."

"Were we speaking of those?"

"I think it was implied when Mush tried to make out with Blink." Skittery cleared his throat. "Look, uh, we've all heard some rumors about you and Jack, I'm just the only one blunt enough to say anything about it."

"So say something," David said flatly, the good mood abruptly killed.

"Well, uh... you and Jack?" Skittery asked, maybe not as blunt as he'd thought.

"Me and Jack what?" David repeated, feeling no urge to make awkward questioning any easier.

"Well, I mean... there are a lot of rumors, but everyone says, basically, that you two were... together."

"Funny, no one's said anything to me about it," David said.

"You didn't talk to anyone for days after Jack left, no one's said anything to you. But you and Jack were definitely friends... and you were upset when he left... and he's written to you every day," Skittery pried. "So?"

"So?" David said. "If it were any of your business, I'd have told you. Would you care if I was gay, anyway?"

"No," Skittery said. "It's just... You and Jack. I mean, that's... I just wouldn't have figured. But, uh, you know. Snitch and I were talking, and we figured, like..."

"Like," Snitch said, "whatever happened, you seem to be having a tough time. And, you know, whatever. We're here for you, man. Gay, straight, confused, traumatized by Mush laying a big ol' wet one on Blink, whatever." He slung a friendly arm around David's shoulder. "Come on, let's get our stuff and get back to the fire before we miss Dutchy playing guitar."

"Dutchy's off tonight," Race reminded him.

"Darn it! Anyway, yeah, get our stuff and——" Another yell came from in front of them. "——and rescue Mush," Snitch finished.

David laughed a little. "Sneakers put you guys up to that speech, didn't he?"

"Yep," Snitch said.

"The sentiment is all true, though, Mouth," Skittery added.

David blinked, then glanced at Race, who was grinning. Probably for a variety of reasons, David mused. But he kept walking, Snitch's arm still around his shoulder, and finally said, "Thanks."

[End Chapter Thirty-Five]
Chapter Thirty-Six: Accidents Happen