Текст книги "Pucked Up "

Автор книги: Helena Hunting

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I remember one time at hockey camp, way back when I was a teenager, a spider bit me and it swelled. That was my foot, though. It was uncomfortable, but not a real problem. This isn’t the same. I need an antihistamine at the very least. And a serious dose of painkillers. This bastard is going to be itchy as hell, and if my ball keeps swelling, I’m going to be sporting one hell of a moose knuckle. I can’t be having that when I’m dealing with a bunch of pre-teens.

I pull my shorts up and check the first aid kit. The medicated wipes and bandages aren’t going to cut it. My only other option is to visit the clinic. Because of the nature of the camp, there’s always a nurse on call. I almost trip over the girl from the dock on my way out the door.

“Everything okay? They’re starting the campfire soon. You’re coming, right?”

“I’ll be there. I need to make a quick stop first.”

My shorts chafe against my swollen ball, forcing me to hobble. The girl bounces along beside me. She’s got great energy when it comes to working with the kids, but right now I find it irritating, mostly because I’m in pain.

“Oh wow. You’re limping. Did it get you on the leg?” She bends at the waist like she’s trying to see. Her head is almost at crotch level.

I want to get there as quickly as possible, but the faster I move, the more it hurts. “I didn’t get bit on the leg.”

“Where’d it bite you?”

“On the balls.”

“Oh. Oh, God.” That stops the questions.

We run into Randy on the way to the medical clinic. He’s with that girl from the showers. He frowns when he sees me walking like a felon who caught a bullet in the ass. He glances between me and the girl. It’s the first time I’ve noticed she’s blond and looks a little like Sunny. That might explain my subconscious attempt to get away from her.

“What happened to you?” Randy asks.

Sunny’s doppelganger bounces excitedly. “A spider bit Buck on his balls!”

“How did that happen?” Randy’s suspicion is offensive. I managed to go without pussy for three months. I’m not going to fold after five days because the chick beside me looks like my sort-of girlfriend, who’s currently seven hours away. Without cell phone reception. And who’s all buddy-buddy with her ex-boyfriend of four years.

“I’m assuming it crawled into my shorts, took one look at my balls, thought, hey man, those look tasty, and chomped down. But I’m not a spider-whisperer, so I have no idea how spiders make those kinds of decisions. That’s just a guess.”

Randy has the audacity to check with Doppelganger to verify whether I’m indeed telling the truth.

She lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. “I heard a scream and went to check it out. I was worried some of the kids might have snuck down to the water without permission. I found Miller on the dock. He squished the spider. It was hard to tell what kind it was, but it was probably a dock spider because he was on the dock.”

This whole conversation might be okay if it didn’t feel as if my balls were about to explode like the sun. “I need to hit the bathroom.”

“I still think you should let me check it out. You look uncomfortable.” She makes a face. “And you’re sweaty.”

Randy pats me on the back and steers me in the direction of the staff bathroom. “Come on, let’s go.”

I’d make a douchey comment about how only girls go to the bathroom together, but I’m worried about how tight the front of my shorts are.

I’m relieved to find the bathroom empty. I close the door, and Randy stands in front of it. There’s no lock on the inside, so he’s my barricade while I’m checking the damage. “You need to tell me how bad it is. I can’t see the bite.”

Randy crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll man the door, and you can check it out in that mirror.”

“Fine. But don’t let anyone in here.” I hobble across the room. The mirror is so old it has a cloudy haze to it. It’s also high up on the wall. At 6’2” I’m tall, but the mirror only reaches my waist. I drop my shorts and jump up. All I catch a glimpse of is the head of my dick—not my swollen balls. “I can’t see anything.”

“Try taking the mirror off the wall.”

“It’s fastened with screws.” I turn around, prepared to show my irritation with a hand gesture.

All the color drains from Randy’s face as he stares at my junk. “Holy fucking shit, dude. You need to see a medic.”

I glance down. I don’t need a mirror to see the problem. In the time it’s taken me to walk from the cabin to the bathrooms, my left nut has swollen to twice its normal size. I gingerly cup my balls in my palm and move my dick out of the way for a better look. My perspective isn’t great, though. It’s enough to see that they’re swollen, and it feels like I’ve given them a bath in lava. “I need an antihistamine, some Tylenol, and maybe a bag a of frozen peas.”

“I think you might need more than that.” He moves closer and leans in.

I’m assaulted by a flash of light. Momentarily blinded, I raise my hands, and my shorts drop all the way to the floor.

“You can’t post that anywhere!” I grab for his phone, but he holds it out of reach, clicking buttons with his thumb.

“It’s just your junk, dude.” He shows me a close-up pic of my branch and berries. “There’s this site where they can identify medical stuff through pictures. Maybe they can figure out what kind of spider bit you.”

“I don’t want pictures of my dick on the Internet!”

This is the exact moment the door flies open, slamming into Randy from behind. He stumbles forward and almost face-plants into my giant balls. I stop him with a palm on his forehead. A senior counselor—I recognize him from mess hall duty—stands inside the door. He starts to apologize, but it turns into a croak when he sees me fisting my dick and Randy on his knees in front of me with his phone in his hand.

Because this day wasn’t bad enough already, shit had to get even stupider.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

NOTHING IS EASY. EVER.

“Uh—” Bathroom Interloper’s eyes dart back and forth between us.

“A spider bit me on the balls.” I put both hands in the air before he gets the wrong idea. Which he clearly already has, so it’s useless.

“I’m gonna—” He thumbs over his shoulder and starts to back out of the bathroom.

Randy grabs him by the shirt and yanks him inside, slapping his free palm against the door to prevent anyone from entering or exiting. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I-I don’t—I’m not. I like girls.”

“Randy, chill out and let him go.” Bathroom Interloper looks like he’s about to pee his pants. Which is understandable considering the situation he walked in on and Randy’s misplaced aggression. “This isn’t how it looks. A spider seriously bit me on the balls.”

I’ve got enough crap to contend with where Sunny is concerned. I don’t need more rumors circulating.

His eyes drop down and then flip right back up. His horror confirms what I already know. I need to get this taken care of. Sooner rather than later.

To drive the point home, Bathroom Interloper says, “That doesn’t look normal.”

“No shit.”

“You should probably see someone about that.”

“That’s the plan.”

He nods like it makes good sense, because it does.

I carefully zip my shorts to avoid any additional unnecessary pain. Randy and our new friend walk two steps in front of me, acting as a shield so I don’t traumatize any of the kids or junior counselors milling around. The girls run up as we’re about to go into the mess hall. Sunny’s Doppelganger gets in front of us and throws open the door. “Buck has a spider bite!” She pauses for greater effect. “On his balls!”

It wouldn’t be so much of an issue if it was just me and Randy and Bathroom Interloper, plus the two girls. But it’s not. A group of kids are off in the corner, some playing cards and others on their devices, since this is the best place to get reception. Several junior counselors sit at a table, preparing snacks for the campfire. We’re having banana boats. They’re my favorite. I hope my balls don’t prevent me from being able to go. I really want one. Or six.

Everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at my crotch. I can understand why; my shorts are tight across the front, giving everyone an awesome view of the outline of my now oversized balls. I use my hands to cover myself, but it’s too late. They’ve all seen the monstrosity taking up way too much real estate in my shorts.

“You should probably see the nurse,” one of the girls at the table says. Her eyes are still below my waist.

“I need an antihistamine. You got a bag of frozen vegetables in the kitchen I can borrow?”

Everyone continues to stare. Randy coughs from beside me.

“Fine. How about a bag of ice instead? That way I won’t have to return it after I put it on my balls.” I glance at the kids in the corner. They’re all gaping, too. “I mean my testicles.”

That gets a few giggles. It’s nice that this is entertaining for someone.

Bathroom Interloper puts in his two cents. “I still think someone should check that out.”

“I offered!” Doppelganger’s hand shoots up in the air. The girl beside her forces her hand back down to her side.

“I’ve checked it out.” I point to my chest. “It’s just a little swollen.”

Randy coughs again.

“Okay. It’s a lot swollen. But I’ve had way worse, so this is no big deal.” The burning in my balls is now accompanied by a horrendous itch. It’s unreal. I have the strangest urge to dip them in ice-cold water. It’s about the last thing any guy usually wants to do, and a sure sign things are way worse than I thought.

“Let’s go find Debra,” Doppelganger suggests. “She’ll take care of you.”

I stop arguing. If I don’t accept medical attention, I’ll be setting a bad example. Plus, no one’s balls should ever be this big. My growing entourage makes their way through the mess hall to the area where the medical center is. It’s like a mini-triage unit crossed with a physiotherapy center. I’m familiar with a lot of the equipment. When we get there and no one moves to leave, I clap my hands together. “Okay, everyone. Thanks for getting me here. I appreciate all your help, but I don’t think I need a cheering squad for the rest of this.”

“Um . . .” Doppelganger raises her hand like we’re in class and I’m the teacher. “Can I get a quick picture with you?”

“Group photo!” Randy says, a stupid, jerky grin on his face. “Everyone in!”

He mashes everyone together, Bathroom Interloper and Doppelganger on either side of me. My smile is more grimace than anything else. I’d flip the bird, but this will undoubtedly make it to the Internet. I hope he doesn’t get my actual package in the picture.

Finally, once the photo shoot is over, they all leave.

In the far corner of the clinic, a kid is hooked up to a bunch of machines, an IV bag running to his arm. As soon as he sees me, he ducks his head like he’s embarrassed to be here, or he witnessed that display of idiocy.

I recognize him from earlier in the week. He hasn’t signed up for any of the competitive hockey business, but he’s been to every lesson. He’s an amazing player, but he’s quiet, always leaving as soon as the lesson is over before I can talk to him. He’s missed the campfire a couple of times.

“Hey, man. I’m Miller. I’ve seen you playing this week. How’s it going?”

He lifts his head, his eyes widening in surprise. “Uh, I’m Michael.” He looks at the IV drip. “I guess it’s okay.”

“You getting gassed up so you can play with me tomorrow?” I nod to all the shit he’s hooked up to.

He smiles, but it’s sad and old, way older than it should be for a kid. “Something like that.”

Nurse Debbie appears in her white running shoes and scrubs. I’d like to say she’s in her mid-fifties and looks like my aunt. She doesn’t. She’s more Debbie Does Dallas than Nurse Ratched. She’s probably in her early to mid-thirties—I’ve slept with older—with dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She’s soft around the edges, but it works for her. She’s too attractive to be a nurse. I’m not sure how I feel about her having to look at my junk. But the itch has become as pervasive as the burning sensation. I’m getting close to not caring that there are people around to witness me scratching my berries.

She does that thing women do when they see something they like. She pats her hair and smooths a hand down the front of her scrub top. It’s an unconscious reaction. She clears her throat and props her clipboard on her hip, flipping into professional mode. “How can I help you?”

“I got bit by a spider, and it’s swelling.” I want to shove my hands in my pockets, but there’s no room.

“Why don’t you have a seat so I can take a look?”

“Uh . . .” I incline my head in the direction of my young friend. “We’re gonna need privacy for this.”

Nurse Debbie’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. She does that strobe-light blink thing. “Privacy?”

“It’s not in a PG spot.”

She strobe blinks a couple more times and gestures to one of the cots. She hands me one of those gown things and closes the curtain while I drop my shorts and put it on. I’ve never put the lightning rod on display under such shitty circumstances.

When I’m gowned up, I invite her in. Nurse Debbie doesn’t bother to mask her shock when I show her my junk. “Oh my God.”

I’m not sure if it’s an optical illusion, but my balls seem even bigger than they were last time I looked. They’re about the size of a softball now, with one side significantly more swollen than the other. They usually resemble a couple of plums hanging out together. Right now the left one is massive, and the swelling has traveled to the other side. It makes my dick look a lot smaller than it is. And the shaft is swollen where it meets my balls, so it’s taken on a torpedo-like shape. If I had an orange condom, I could paint my balls green and call it carrot dick. Except I don’t think I could get a hard-on right now if I tried.

“It’s a little swollen.”

Nurse Debbie’s eyes flip up to mine, her disbelief obvious. “A little?”

“Okay. A lot. But it’s not a big deal, right? The swelling’ll go down if I take an antihistamine and ice those babies.”

“Do you know what bit you?”

“A spider. I squished it when it fell out of my shorts.”

“It fell out of your shorts?”

“Yeah. I was chilling on the dock after dinner, checking my emails, ’cause it’s peaceful out there, and the reception is decent.” I don’t know why I’m explaining. What I was doing isn’t important. It’s the state of my balls that matters.

“If you were on the dock, it was probably a fishing spider. It’s hard to know for sure until I get a better look.” She snaps on a pair of gloves. “This is a pretty extreme reaction, though, possibly because of the location. Do you have any allergies?”

“I’m only allergic to penicillin.”

“Ah. That could explain this.” She motions to my huge balls.

“An allergy to penicillin can explain my nuts turning into grapefruit?”

“The spider venom has similar properties to penicillin. It means you’ll have a more significant reaction.”

My giant balls do seem damn significant. I glance at the clock on the wall; it’s already after eight. “How long do you think this is going to take? I need to go to the campfire tonight; the kids are expecting me. Tomorrow morning we’re playing kids-versus counselors before their parents pick them up. I need the swelling to go down so I can play.” Plus there’s going to be some local journalists stopping by, as per Amber’s suggestion.

“We can get your teammate to cover for you.”

“I don’t need Randy to cover for me. I want to hang out with these kids and play hockey and roast banana boats on an open fire. Just give me some antihistamine and a couple of painkillers. I’ll be good to go.”

My man unit is still hanging out. Nurse Debbie is still staring. I can understand why. I’m gonna snap a couple of pics before the swelling goes down because they’re so crazy huge. I’ll threaten Vi with them if she gets on my nerves.

Debbie crosses her arms over her chest. I should know better than to tell a medical professional what she needs to do. “I need to take a better look at the bite before I do that.”

She makes me put my legs up on the cot and spread them. It’s an awkward, exposed position, way worse than look to the left and cough. She gets right in there and fondles my fuzzy, burning balls. Then she makes me roll over on my side and lift a leg. It’s like a porno, except not arousing at all. I consider how uncomfortable these positions must be for the chicks who star in the hardcore movies.

The longer she’s down there, the more worried I become. My biggest concern is that some spider has mutated into a highly venomous ball biter and moved to Canada. It’s not logical; almost all of the most deadly spiders are found in Australia. Getting here means crossing an ocean on a twenty-four-hour flight.

I calm my anxieties by reviewing the list of Canada’s most dangerous creatures while Nurse Debbie pokes at my balls. Moose are lethal if they walk out onto the highway and run into a car. Beavers get territorial over their wood. Bears are bears. I’m not sure about the rest of the animal population here. I guess it’s tame, like the people.

Eventually I’m allowed to sit up. Nurse Debbie hands me a sheet to cover my business.

“As suspected, it’s a fishing spider bite. It won’t cause lasting damage if it’s treated properly, but with your allergy to penicillin, it’s definitely worse than it should be. Plus the location is sensitive, as is the tissue there. I’d like to do a blood test to rule out toxicity, and I’ll give you something for the swelling and pain. I’ll need you to come back in a couple hours so I can check again, and then again tomorrow morning before I can clear you for games.”

“It’ll be fine by morning. I’ve taken a puck to the balls before, and my junk works fine. No stupid spider is going to get in the way of me playing tomorrow.”

“If I don’t clear you, you can’t play.”

I’m about to plead my case, but she puts up her hand. “I deal with athletes with medical issues for a living. You can argue with me until you’re blue in the face, but if I tell you it’s not safe to play, it’s not safe to play. You’ll find another way to do what you came here to do.”

“Come on, Debbie. It’s the last day.”

She puts one hand on her hip and points at my sheet-covered crotch with the other. There’s an obvious bump. “You only get one set of those. They’re not car parts. You can’t replace them. It’d be a shame if nothing worked because you decided to be stubborn, wouldn’t it?”

I consider what she’s saying. I’ve had so many hockey injuries; ninety percent of the time I’m fine in a couple of days. Sure there’s residual pain. Sometimes there are creaks and cracks that shouldn’t be there, considering I’m only twenty-three.

The occasions when it takes longer to heal, I dial back the workouts, do some physio, swim instead of run, and take the required herbs and supplements to get my body back in order. The possibility that my man unit might not work the way it’s supposed to thanks to a spider bite is some scary shit. I’ve just started using it again. I need to make sure I’m functional when I see Sunny, which I’m hoping is soon.

I expel a heavy breath. “Okay. But let’s do what we can to make this better as quick as possible. I want to make tomorrow count. Plus I’m supposed to see my girlfriend, so the faster things are back to normal, the better.”

“You’ll need the better part of a week to recover from that bite.”

“Yeah. That’s way too long.”

“We’ll discuss options after the blood tests.” She slips out through the gap in the curtain, leaving me alone.

I take out my camera and snap a few pics of my swollen nut sac. From below it looks massive, and my dick looks average. It’s not flattering. I may not show this to anyone.

I tap into the Wi-Fi and check my messages. I still haven’t heard from Sunny, which is a bit of a pisser considering dickfaced bearded wonder has been posting pictures, again.

I send her a text. I can’t tell if autocorrect is screwing me or not, but I can’t listen to it because of the kid beyond the curtain. I mention the posts from Patchy Bushman. I’ve been dealing with this for less than a week, and I’m already frustrated with it. I hate this feelings crap. For the first time since fifth grade—when I got my stupid nickname—I’m insecure. Today can suck my gigantic balls.

Next I search the Internet for images of fishing spiders. I shudder as countless pictures pop up on the tiny screen. Those things are huge. I’m almost positive that’s what bit me. Because I’m curious, and sometimes stupid, I add the word bite after fishing spider.

“Holy fucking shit.” I clamp a hand over my mouth. That Michael kid is out there, and I shouldn’t swear in front of him. Then I start to hyperventilate. The bites featured are right out of a horror movie. I’ll be lucky if I still have my balls when this is over.

Nurse Debbie comes back, and I hold the phone up. “You said the damage wouldn’t be lasting!”

She takes the device from me. “That’s a brown recluse bite, not a fishing spider bite.” She clicks on another picture and hands me the phone. It’s bad, but not nearly as terrifying. Still, it’s my balls.

Nurse Debbie takes some blood and offers me painkillers and a strong antihistamine.

“How long do you think it will take for the swelling to go down?” I put my shorts back on. Tucking everything in is a feat.

“It depends. It could take several hours or a few days.”

“A few days? Is there any way to make that happen faster?”

She taps her pen on the clipboard. “Antihistamine injections work faster than taking them orally.”

“Do you have to inject it into my balls?” I can’t hold back the shudder.

She laughs. “Oh, God no! The arm or the butt works best.”

“Let’s do that, then.”

She gets a syringe and stabs me in the arm. It doesn’t deflate my balls instantly, or relieve the burning itch. If this is anything like an STD, I never want one. “So I’m good to go?”

“For now. I’d still like you to check in after the campfire, and then again in the morning. I should have the blood test results by then as well, although I expect they’ll come back clean.”

“Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

“I’ll see you in a couple hours.” She opens the privacy curtain and heads over to see my buddy across the room. She checks the monitor and pats him on the shoulder. “Okay, Michael. It looks like you’re all set.”

He looks tired and embarrassed as she sets about removing all the crap that keeps him tethered to the bed.

“You coming to the campfire tonight?” I ask him.

He throws his legs over the side of the cot, his eyes on the floor. “I don’t know if I’m allowed.”

Nurse Debbie shoots me a look that tells me I’ve made her life difficult.

“It’s the last night. We’re having banana boats. You gotta come.” I throw on my best panty-melting smile.

Michael looks to Nurse Debbie. “Can I go?”

She hesitates. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You should probably rest up tonight if you want to participate tomorrow.”

His head drops in a curt nod, like he expected as much. Long hair falls forward to cover his face. He can’t be more than twelve, thirteen at best. He’s got the lanky build of a kid who’s going to be tall and broad in a few years. His sullen attitude is another sign the teen years are about to hit, although I feel like his might actually be justified.

“We’ll be sitting the whole time. It’ll be low key.”

I can tell she’s debating whether or not she’s going to let him go. I can also tell Michael is resigned to being told he can’t.

I give it one last shot. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t try to run a marathon or anything.”

“Give us a minute, okay, Michael?” She crooks her finger, and I limp behind her until we’re out of hearing range.

I speak first. “It’s the last night. He shouldn’t miss this.”

She rubs her forehead and closes her eyes. “This is the second time he’s been in the clinic this week. He’s tired, and he’s been pushing the limits. Last time he went to bed straight away. He won’t tell you if he’s feeling unwell. He’ll want to stay to the end, and he doesn’t want to be left out.”

“He looks like a healthy kid. What’s he been in here for?”

“He was diagnosed with cancer two months ago.”

He’s one of the kids I sponsored. “He has a brain tumor.”

Her eyes go wide. “Did he tell you that?”

“Is he gonna be all right?”

She purses her lips. “They rescheduled a radiation treatment so he could be here this week.”

“But it’s working, right?” I focus on the present, not the few memories I have of my mom in a hospital bed, in too much pain to even hug me.

“They’re hoping they can reduce the size enough to make it operable. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

Vague answers suck. “I won’t say anything.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and grimace when I rub up on my ’nads.

Brain tumors are tricky. Even if they can take it out, it doesn’t mean he’ll be the same kid when they’re done, or that the cancer won’t come back.

“Let him come to the campfire.” I glance at the kid. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, head still hanging, looking like he hates his life. “I’ll keep him with me the entire time. I’d hate to be the kid who has to lie in bed, wishing he wasn’t so damn sick that he couldn’t even handle a campfire. It’s the best part of the day.”

I can tell how hard this is for Nurse Debbie. The medical professional in her wants Michael to rest. The human being in her wants him to have this experience. If treatment doesn’t work, he might not be able to have it again.

“I’ll take good care of him, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t push himself.” I make a mental note to get more information on his family and their financial situation when I get back to Chicago and have access to the applications again.

Nurse Debbie releases him with some trepidation. She fusses over him, much like he’s her own kid, and finally sends us on our way. The stipulation is that I take him in a wheelchair since he’s sloppy about walking. He doesn’t seem all that excited, but when Randy and the girls meet up with us, and they fight over who gets to push him, he eases up.

The campfire is awesome. The counselors tell stories. We eat treats and talk about what’s planned for tomorrow. The kids share their favorite part about being here. A few of them say it makes them feel normal. Michael holds up through the entire thing, but at the end I can tell it’s taken everything he had to stay awake this long. One of the other counselors comes by to collect him—sleepy and happy and full of sugary treats.

By the time the campfire is over, the pain in my balls has reduced to a slight ache. I’m still straining the front of my shorts, but Michael’s situation puts mine into perspective.

As directed, I check in with Nurse Debbie on my way back to the cabin. She still seems concerned by the swelling, but happy about the lack of pain. In the cabin, a few of the senior counselors are playing cards and drinking contraband beers. Randy is nowhere to be seen.

I check my phone, hoping Sunny’s called. She hasn’t. It’s already eleven. She’s probably out with Patch McBushman and the gang.

The connection is in and out, but I manage to get on Instagram. While I wait for it to load, I stare at the wooden slats of the bunk above me. We decided it’d be best if I didn’t sleep on the top, in case I ended up being too heavy. Nothing says shitty camping experience like being crushed by a bunkmate in the middle of the night. It happened back in high school during one of my summer hockey camps. Carved into the wood are names. Some are tagged with “waz here” and other say “+ so-and-so” but there’s a name instead of so-and-so.

The first girl I ever groped I met at hockey camp the first year I was a junior counselor. My buckteeth—thanks to my thumb-sucking as a kid—were finally en route to being fixed. And by kid I mean ten years old, still trying to break the habit. I started after my mom died, according to my dad. I didn’t do sleepovers with friends because there was a damn good chance I would wake up with my thumb in my mouth. It was fucking embarrassing.

Anyway, this girl was dorky, but she was amazing at hockey, and she had great legs, so I liked her. We were walking from the lake to the mess hall, and she pulled me off the trail, behind some big evergreens. Then she laid one on me, just crushed her mouth against mine and rammed her tongue right in there.

I didn’t know what to do. Well, that’s not true. I’d watched enough movies and checked out the magazines my dad had hidden in his workshop to understand the mechanics, but she took me by surprise. When I recovered from the shock I full-on groped her and kissed her back.

It was close to dark, and the mosquitoes were terrible. I was covered in bites when we came back out five minutes later. It was worth it, since I managed to go right past first base and directly to second. Sadly, I found out later that night that Slutty Shellie—that was her nickname, not created by me—had kissed almost every single junior counselor in the camp. At least I got in the extra boob grope.

I imagine the number of guys she made out with might have been a bit of an exaggeration. Either way, it took some of the shine off the moment.

I think about that Michael kid, and how his future is up in the air. If treatment doesn’t work, he might never have the chance to get past first base. All those experiences, the good and the bad, will only ever be ideas in his head. Sometimes the world sucks.

My phone vibrates with an alert. There are new pictures. Some are posted by Patchy Bushman, but there are also a few from Lily and two new ones from Sunny. They were all added a few minutes ago. In one, Bushman has his arm around Sunny’s shoulder, his hand perilously close to her boob. It’s a selfie. They’re holding up bottles of beer. Bushman is staring right at her while she looks at the camera. In another, posted by Sunny, she’s in the middle of a Lily-and-Bushman sandwich. They’re, hugging her from either side. He’s not groping her, but it doesn’t seem particularly innocent, either.

At first glance she looks happy, but upon closer inspection her eyes are puffy and her cheeks are blotchy. I can’t tell if it’s the quality of the picture or not. Still, they’re smiling, and I’m not there to stop whatever might happen later in the night. And she hasn’t bothered to call me.