Page 32 of Winging It with You

“Arthur’s gonna be pretty pissed about that camera,” he says after a moment, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, I’m glad it wasn’t me who knocked it in,” I say, nudging him with my shoulder, in response to which he chokes out a laugh.

“Oh, so you’re just going to rat me out like that? I see how it is,” he says, poking me back. “Where’d you learn how to do all this? The sailing.”

I shrug. “It’s something my dad taught me.”

“Did you spend a lot of time on the water or something?”

“My family’s house is on a lake,” I say, and as soon as I do, every detail of the lake house flits through my memory. The faded shingles. The dock I helped my dad build. All of it. “Being on the water kinda comes with the territory.”

Asher seems to mull over my response. “That must have been amazing.”

“Yeah, my sister, Elise, and I would have to get dragged back home from the lake by our parents. But when I first startedsailing, the bobbing motion, even the slightest shift in the water, would make me so sick.”

“Can’t relate,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes. “Thanks for the coastline trick, by the way.”

“Of course. What about you? I take it you didn’t spend much time on the water?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I’m sure this won’t surprise you, but my family is not the outdoorsy type.”

“You don’t say?” I mock, feigning surprise.

“Don’t be mean,” he says, elbowing me in the side, and I don’t think there’s a reality where I could ever be mean to him. “Ididgo to camp every summer, but again…it wasn’t outdoorsy by any means.”

“Tell me more about this non-outdoorsy summer camp.”

“I’ll pass,” he says, but before he can double down, I interrupt him.

“Mozzarella sticks.”

Asher throws back his head, letting out a loud laugh that ricochets all around us. “Seriously?” he snaps, but even he is unable to contain his smile. “This is what you want to usethaton?”

“Mm-hmm,” I say, nodding my head. “If I don’t know everything there is to know about a young Asher Bennett attending summer camp, I’ll die. Did you all wear uniforms? What about bunkmates or counselors?” Asher rolls his eyes as I sling an arm around his shoulder. “Oh, did you have a camp crush? Tell me everythi—”

“Okay, okay,” he says, shoving me off him. “I’ll tell youeverything,” he says, drawing out the word. “Although I can assure you you’re going to be sadly disappointed by the lack of salacious stories about science camp.”

“Science camp, huh?” I repeat, trying not to laugh but failing. “You know what? That makes sense.”

Asher smiles wide. “If you think I’m embarrassed about that, you’re wrong. In fact, my summers at camp were some of my happiest memories growing up.”

“I hope you know I was only teasing,” I say, bumping him with my thigh.

“Oh, I know,” he says softly, but even in the dimming light, I can see Asher’s thin face fall as he looks out across the water. “It was the first, and honestly the only, place I ever felt I belonged. I didn’t have to worry about fitting in or being made fun of just for being myself. That does something to a kid. Something others grow out of or can shrug off more easily. But for me, if I wasn’t the nerd…” He takes a deep breath, turning now to face me. “…I was the faggot. It was always one or the other. Without fail. So, showing up to that camp in the middle of the woods each summer meant that I could just be Asher.”

He straightens from his spot on the bench. “And that’s enough.”

The weight ofthat wordlingers between us.

One that I can guarantee has been hurled at every gay man our age on more than one occasion out of spite or ignorance or just plain hatred. I remember when it had been directed at me for the first time. It was during an away basketball game in sixth grade, and I’ll never forget how Jordan Farrell looked at me when I started changing into my uniform next to him before the game. I wasn’t out—hadn’t even begun thinking about boys that way or the fact that I might be different. But he grabbed his clothes and labeled me with that word anywaybefore I truly even understood what it meant. It stuck like all nicknames and labels do.

Especially the hurtful ones.

And when I think about how much of my childhood was wasted trying to be the opposite of what Jordan and everyone else called me, it both breaks my heart and fills me with a rage I can’t put into words.

But before I can tell all this to Asher, to stand with him in painful solidarity of this shared life experience during some of our most formative years, we’re both blinded by a tidal wave of light.

“Mantengan tranquilo,”a robotic voice blares, and a sleek boat comes into view. I’d argue we’ve done a pretty good job of remaining calm given our current predicament.“La ayuda va en camino.”

---