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Darius rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head.

I pointed at Billy-Bob Bully-Butt. “And before you ask, no, I don’t want you. Standards survive orientation, you know.”

That earned me a chorus of obnoxious noises.

“Damn,” somebody yelled.

Bully Boy looked around, realizing the joke had turned on him. “That’s not what I meant,” he muttered.

“Colorful language earns a colorful show, dear child.”

The laughter died, and I let the silence settle over the crowd again.

Trevor looked pale when I turned to him next. He’d been trying to show off to his friends at the basketball court earlier today. “And you? I know what you meant too. I act like a girl because I don’t act like the version of a man you’ve been taught to respect.”

His eyes dropped to his shoes, and I glanced around the room.

A few teens shifted uncomfortably. That was fine. Comfort was overrated anyway, and these shit-birds needed a quick lesson they wouldn’t soon forget.

“Here’s lesson number one,” I said. “Being cruel doesn’t make you funny. And deciding somebody is weak because they’re different is usually just fear of being exposed yourself.”

Billy the Bully’s expression hardened. “I’m not scared of you.”

“You’re sixteen. You’re scared of everything.”

A few kids laughed again, but softer this time.

I stepped forward, not threatening, but not retreating either. “You’re scared people won’t like you. Scared they’ll notice what you hate about yourself. Scared that if you don’t point at somebody first, they might point at you.”

He stared at me and his mouth opened but nothing came out.

I smiled sweetly. “Welcome to Camp Dix.”

Darius finally moved. He came to stand beside me, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched. “Alvin, we need to split them up. Are you done with your theatrics?” he asked.

“I’m never done.”

“I know.”

There was something in the way he said it. Not annoyance exactly. Pride, maybe, which was deeply inconvenient as I had to decipher that.

I faced the group and clapped my hands. “Now that we’ve established I’m the gay counselor and Mr. D’Angelo is the emotionally unavailable swim god, let’s continue.”

“I’m not emotionally unavailable,” Darius grumbled.

I looked at him, and then the entire room looked at him too.

He cleared his throat. “Go on.”

A girl near the back raised her hand. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Darius’s face changed. I knew every version of that face. The one he wore when he wanted to lie or when he wanted to run. Even… the one he wore the morning after he kissed me back and told me it meant nothing.

I turned to the girl. “No,” I told her simply.

Darius tried to glance at me but I ignored him.

“He’s my court-appointed burden. Nothing more.” I looked around the circle. “We both were part of this camp as snot-nosed kids like you, and now we all know something about each other. Which means the next time one of you decides to be an asshole, you’ll at least have to do it with context. We are splitting you equally into two groups. Part of you will be with Dee. And part with me.”