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“Right.” I stood up and tried to walk past him. He grabbed my wrist, and my entire body reacted to that tiny gesture.

“Wait.”

I looked down at his hand. Then up at him. “Are you going to tell me not to go, DeeDee?”

His grip loosened. And after a few moments of silence, I sighed. That was my answer.

I pulled away, and Dee faced forward as I left to find Omar, who was sitting a few pews ahead of us and was more than happy to slide over so I could plop down beside him.

CHAPTER 20

Ivolunteered to supervise the next outdoor activity because nobody else wanted to do it. That was the official explanation, if anyone cared to ask. The unofficial explanation was that Alvin had gone to have a picnic with Omar near the north trail, and I’d rather spend the afternoon getting shot in the face with a water gun by a fourteen-year-old than sit in the mess hall pretending not to think about it.

“Mr. D’Angelo said we could play with the water guns!” one of the campers shouted. The rest of them cheered like I’d announced we were cutting time off their sentences.

Was it responsible of me to give a bunch of juvenile delinquents what could be considered weapons by the church patrons who funded this place? Probably not. Did I care? Definitely not. At least not right now.

“Everybody stays inside the marked area,” I called over their excited chatters. “No shooting anyone in the face. No climbing trees. No running near the rocks. If you break a rule, you’re done for the day.”

A kid near the equipment bin raised his hand. “What if someone shoots me in the face first?”

“You shoot them in the torso.”

“What if they shoot me again anyway?”

“Then you come get me.”

“What if you’re busy?” he continued his line of questioning.

“I won’t be.”

“What if⁠—”

“Go fill your gun, Mikey.” I was pretty sure his name was Mikey.

If it wasn’t, he didn’t seem to care as he ran off with the kind of enthusiasm the little pyro usually reserved for setting things on fire.

I stood near the edge of the hill while the campers filled plastic water guns from a row of buckets. The summer sun beat down on the back of my neck as I stared at where the grass had gone brown in patches from too many shoes tamping it down and not enough rain.

I shook my head and looked towards the north trail. The picnic area was far enough away that the trees hid most of it from the main camp. Not all of it, though. There was a gap between two pines where I could see a weathered wooden table and part of the clearing beyond it. And I could see Alvin.

That was all I needed.

He sat on a blanket with his legs crossed beneath him, wearing another one of those ridiculous camp t-shirts he’d taken a pair of scissors to. This one was pale yellow, cut open at both shoulders, and tied at the sides so it showed more skin than fabric. His bottoms were dark green and short. Too short.

Omar sat across from him. They had a basket between them. A fucking basket. I watched Omar pull out a sandwich wrapped in plastic paper while Alvin smiled at him. My grip tightened around the water gun I was holding.

“Mr. D’Angelo?”

I looked to my left. Where a camper was standing beside me. “What?” I grunted at him.

“Can I get more water?”

“There’s a bucket right there, kid.”

“It’s empty.”

“Use another one.”