Sebastian is almost ninety-eight percent certain that teenagers should be banned from making decisions during the summer, especially teens bored out of their skulls at night, like him. Summer should be a thought-free zone. No school. No extra brain usage. He should be on house arrest, not climbing through Emir’s window on a Wednesday night.
Of course, most of this is Willie’s fault. They were in their cabin, marathoning Stranger Things on Netflix. Free-for-all pizza was for dinner, so Willie conked out after the second episode. The guy can put away some Hawaiian pizza.
Sebastian can also blame some of his bad decision-making on the fact that summer is ticking down. Camp is almost over; less than two weeks are left.
The vault inside is almost perfect, but Sebastian smacks his shoulder on the floor. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s embarrassing. “So, so,” he stutters. Blood rushes to his head. His view of Emir perched on his bed is upside-down. He rolls over, laughing. “You weren’t sleeping, right?”
The lamp is still on. An open book sits in Emir’s lap. Ink-dark hair falls around his temples instead of standing in its usual sleep-mussed disaster.
“Nope. Just finished my Isha’a.”
Sebastian stands. He dusts off his ripped jeans, fixes his checkered flannel shirt. “Ish- what, now?”
“Isha’a,” Emir repeats. “It’s the last of the salats, daily prayers we do as Muslims.”
These reminders about Emir’s religion and his life at home light memories that flicker through Sebastian’s brain like tiny paper lanterns in the wind. He remembers the adults in Emir’s family fasting during Ramadan and a small backyard gathering to celebrate a feast day Sebastian can’t remember the name of, but he recalls the beautiful clothing, the music, and Emir’s parents passing out gifts to the children. And he remembers the giant, toothy smile Emir wore while pressed to Sebastian’s side on a sticky June evening.
“Is this a bad time? Should I go?”
“No.” Emir closes the book, carefully placing it on the desk by his bed. “It’s okay.”
“Okay.”
Sebastian’s snuck in here every evening lately. After dinner, he crawls in to find a space left for him on Emir’s bed. Sebastian talks nonstop with his head on Emir’s chest. His fingers trace the shape of Emir’s mouth. Sometimes, Emir talks, shedding his shyness. Eventually boring conversations turn into making out.
“Hey!” Tonight Sebastian came with a plan. He tosses Mason’s keys in the air, then catches them. He didn’t steal them; Mason always hands them over during the week so he doesn’t lose them. Being the token “good guy” has its advantages. “You wanna get out of here?”
“Are we allowed to leave?” Emir asks.
“Didn’t bother checking the rule book.”
Emir runs a hand through his hair; his fingers catch on the tangles. He says, “You wrote the rule book.”
It’s not an attack on Sebastian, but he still flips Emir off. He blames his lack of a solid comeback on the way the bridge of Emir’s nose crinkles when he snorts.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sebastian says. His mind has been drifting lately, more than usual, wondering what this thing with Emir is or isn’t. “I dunno, I just want to get out of here. Just me and you.”
“Okay.”
“You’re sure?” Sebastian squeaks in an unnaturally high voice.
Emir shrugs and stands. “Yes, Bastian,” he says. He grabs his beanie, pulls on a pair of slightly wrinkled black skinnies, grips a hoodie—
The sight of Sebastian’s last name in blocky gold letters across Emir’s back is mesmerizing.
Emir stalks up to him, poking a finger at the middle of Sebastian’s chest. Brow furrowed, he says, “And if I get kicked off the team, you’re doing all the talking to Abbu about why his precious only son is no longer going pro.”
“Pro?”
“Semi-pro.” With a crooked grin, Emir says, “Okay, after high school, I won’t ever play again. But he doesn’t need to know that. Besides, it’ll sound better coming from a genuine guy like you.”
“Obviously.” Sebastian rolls his eyes. He circles Emir’s thin wrist with his fingers. Emir turns his hand and twines their fingers. It helps to untie the knot in Sebastian’s stomach. “Now, let’s get out of here before you change your mind.”
“And miss an opportunity to watch you try to break the rules? I wouldn’t dare.”
“Whatever.”
Mason left his iPod hooked up to the aux cord, and The 1975 hums through the speakers when Sebastian revs up the car. He cuts the volume. “Mason’s addicted to them,” he explains.
“Huh.” Emir’s has his feet on the dash, slouched in the seat with a half-impressed expression. “Didn’t think this was Riley’s thing.”
“Mace would totally suck face with Matt Healy if he could.”
“Makes sense.”
Sebastian bites the inside of his lip. Mason is one of those Urban Outfitters, coffee-drinking, I’m-not-but-I-am hipsters. Sebastian doesn’t have a problem with those guys, but it’s hilarious considering Mason used to wear sweater vests and Keds when they were in middle school.
Emir asks, “Where to?”
“To the land of Oz,” Sebastian says. Or simply boring old Oakville. Going too far from camp is risky. Around them, a cloudless night showcases the indigo-black sky and giant stars hung like diamonds. Sebastian could stare at it for hours.
Emir taps his hands on his knees. “Cool.”
Yeah, it is.
No one’s in sight when Sebastian pulls off toward the main road. His nerves are still wonky; his fingers are white-knuckled around the steering wheel as the tires drag over dirt and rock. He’s subtly observing Emir in his peripheral vision.
Emir drops a hand on Sebastian’s thigh, squeezing. Sebastian doesn’t flinch. Sweet. At least his body knows how to act around Emir.
Emir says, “It’s just you and me, right? So just drive.”
So Sebastian drives to the melody, and Matt Healy singing about how his car smells like chocolate.
At the edge of town, an old cornfield has been mowed, stripped, and turned into a drive-in named Oakville ’76, the year it was built. This town lives and breathes creativity. A massive space has been cleared for cars to park; a colossal screen plays outdated movies. At least they run a different film nightly. During the week, no one shows up except the slackers, elderly folks, and horny parents searching for somewhere to, well.
It’s mostly empty tonight. Sebastian quietly geeks out about the feature presentation: the first Iron Man. The movie is just a backdrop for a small line of cars with fogged windows, jiggling back and forth. Occasional streams of profanity can be heard.
“Sorry,” Sebastian says over his shoulder to Emir.
They’re slowly walking to the concession stand. It’s staffed by college kids home for summer or townies with nothing better to do. The selection sucks: over-buttered popcorn, Red Vines, and M&M’s.
Emir falls in step next to him. “It’s not so bad.”
A man older than Sebastian’s dad emerges from a rusty Cadillac. He grins smugly with a hand firmly pressed to his wife’s ass. Sebastian hopes that’s his wife.
“No,” says Emir between chuckles, “It’s definitely cool.”
“Cool,” Sebastian repeats.
“It’s pretty empty.”
“Yeah,” says Sebastian, noting the suggestion in Emir’s voice. Then it hits him. Emir likes that this place is deserted. As in, he’s all on board for a night, just the two of them, with no one watching. “Cool, right?”
Emir snorts, bobbing his head.
If Sebastian were bolder, he might kiss Emir in public. It’s new, uncharted territory, though. This whole “first time for everything” is a lot more pressure than people make it sound. It doesn’t stop his mind from doing pathetic loops around the idea of holding Emir’s hand all forty steps to the concessions stand.
They part ways when they reach the line. Emir stands off to the side, thumbing through apps on his phone. Sebastian gradually inches closer to the front of the counter. He ponders what to order. What would impress Emir? Sebastian is trying to prove he isn’t lame but failing to find examples to support this theory.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”
Sebastian is thankful, when he turns, to find Val behind him.
She’s mega-preppy tonight: cardigan over a white shirt, khaki shorts, hair tied in a loose ponytail. But she gives a middle finger salute to private school with a shiny Marilyn Manson button on her sweater.
Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “What’re you doing here?”
“I’m here with Maggie.” Val points to a few feet away. “You remember her, right?”
Though the concession stand is just a gutted shack painted in ugly pastels, it has supreme fluorescent lighting. Sebastian has a prime view of a short girl brushing manicured nails up Emir’s forearm. Her jeans are on the obscene side of tight. Her tilted head reveals a crooked but attractive smile. Sebastian recalls her flirting aggressively with Zach at the ice cream shop last summer. He zones in on her freckles and her scrunched nose when she giggles at Emir. Sebastian isn’t sweating it, doesn’t have clenched fists at his sides or a heart rattling like a snare drum in his chest—much.
“She’s nice,” he says tightly.
Val flicks up an eyebrow. “And she’s single.” Val’s having way too much fun teasing him.
“Yeah, well. Single guys are everywhere, right?”
Single guys who are not Emir. Plus, Emir’s gay. Gay and whispering something to Maggie with a wry smile.
Whatever is happening in Sebastian’s chest is new. He’s not calling it jealousy. Sebastian was used to guys checking out Sam. It happened a lot; it was something he was proud of. He had this beautiful girl on his arm, and she only had eyes for him.
Of course, that story doesn’t include a happy ending. But he’s not harboring ill feelings over it. Anymore, not anymore.
Val whispers, “Who is that?”
“Emir,” Sebastian says. “My teammate.” He almost says friend, but that’s presumptuous. He’s definitely not going to call Emir his boyfriend. The word sits weirdly in his mouth. He’s okay with dating a guy, but he hasn’t worked up to referring to him as his “boyfriend,” not that he has anything to worry about, since they’re not even close to using that term.
Yet, he tells himself.
“Cute,” says Val, hooking an arm through Sebastian’s. “Single?”
Maggie leans close as Emir backs off, laughing. “Yeah,” Sebastian says, biting back and gay!
“I don’t think he’s interested. Maybe someone else has his attention?”
Sebastian’s staring a hole through Maggie’s pretty, dimpled smile. She’s quirky-cute. He’d date her, if he wasn’t completely into—
His mouth drops open, and Val winks. She knows!
Sure, the team and coaches are aware of Sebastian’s sexuality, but that’s his second family. He has no reason to hide it from them. He never told Sam, though. And he trusts Mason with his secrets, so Val definitely didn’t know. At least, he thought she didn’t.
“You look at him like… ” Val pauses, scratching her cheek. “Like I used to look at Mace, that’s all.” She smiles sadly.
Maggie is ogling Emir as if she might eat him. She’s licking her lip gloss-stained lips. An intensely green monster is devouring Sebastian’s insides. He’s not ashamed. It’s taken a while, but he’s starting to own his bisexuality.
“It’s not… It’s okay, right?” Sebastian admires his Chuck Taylors instead of meeting Val’s eyes. “That I’m bi?”
Val pinches Sebastian’s forearm. “Totally.”
It crosses Sebastian’s mind that Val could’ve known about Mason too. Did he tell her he was curious? Maybe she just knew, like a sixth sense.
Emir cackles. Maggie is very pleased about something. She’s sly, and Emir’s nervy: signs of a bad first date. Sebastian doesn’t like it.
“I think he likes you, too.”
Sebastian says, “How can you tell?” Emir’s face is hidden behind Maggie’s as he whispers in her ear. Her face falls, and Emir shrugs.
Val whispers, “A girl knows,” and leaves it at that.
Maggie stomps up to them. “He’s gay,” she tells Val, ignoring Sebastian. She makes a face, not as if she’s offended by Emir’s sexuality, but by his rejection.
Internally, Sebastian’s having a dance party for one. The song in his head is, “He’s mine, pint-sized!”
“I’m sorry,” Val says, but she doesn’t look it.
Maggie tosses her curly brown hair over one shoulder. Nearby is a lanky guy, thin like a basketball player, with a buzz cut and a goatee. Just like that, she’s over it.
Sebastian doesn’t understand people at all.
“So, like.” The guy behind the counter’s limp blond hair hangs into his bloodshot eyes. His nametag reads Capt. Mary Jane. “I’ve got half a joint out back that I’m dying to finish. Can you guys order already?”
Val snorts into her hand. Maggie rolls her eyes. Sebastian’s unsure what to make of this guy. The lights overhead buzz like electric bug catchers. It’s warm tonight, but the heat along Sebastian’s back is Emir.
“We’re gonna miss the beginning,” he says, chin hooked over Sebastian’s shoulder, fingers twisted in the belt loops of Sebastian’s jeans.
Sebastian turns his head. Emir’s amused at Maggie’s wide-eyed look. Screw it. Even in small-minded Oakville, Sebastian can be a tiny bit out of the closet. He replies, “Okay.” He’s addicted to Emir’s thumbs tracing his hipbones.
“So, um, popcorn?” Capt. Mary Jane asks.
Sebastian doesn’t exactly growl at him, but he mumbles their order as Emir pulls away. Val’s still giggling as if she can’t believe what just happened. Sebastian can’t either. He does, however, pay for their snacks and sodas, giving Val a “what can you do?” shrug before strolling over to Emir.
“Defiant Sebastian Hughes,” Val calls. Her smirk edges on proud. She shouts, “I like it,” raising her hand to give him devil horns, the universal sign for “Rock on.”
Sebastian snorts.
“Don’t stay out too late or you’ll get benched, Captain Hughes!”
Sebastian gives her a one-finger salute. He’s wound up. The “casual” brush of Emir’s hand as they walk is far from accidental, and this whole “screw the system” thing is too good to be true.
In the car, Emir says, “I still can’t believe you remembered.”
His feet are back on the dashboard. He’s slouched in his seat. His chin is tucked to his chest, and the blue glow of the big screen shines on his cheeks. He pops a handful of peanut butter M&M’s into his mouth.
The Mustang’s top is peeled back. It’s past ten, but the summer night is still heady with warmth. Sebastian smiles at his hands. His chest boils with a confident fire. He’s done another thing to wipe that recurrent, beginning-of-the-summer scowl off Emir’s face.
Emir says, “Didn’t your mom used to keep a bowl of these…” He shakes the bag of candy. “…in the kitchen?”
“And didn’t you used to pocket a handful before you went home?”
Emir wiggles his eyebrows, unashamed. In the background, Tony Stark is building an iron suit from scrap metal; the dialogue is muted by the wall of sound Mason’s iPod provides.
“Anna Sun” comes on, and Emir props himself sideways against Sebastian. “Is this a date?”
Sebastian tips his head in Emir’s direction. An old Ford pickup next to them rocks to and fro. On the radio, the lead singer moans about a house falling apart. Sebastian bought them Dr. Peppers and he guzzles some of his to buy time.
Is it a date?
“I don’t know,” he says. Sebastian wanted to get away from camp. But being alone with Emir at a drive-in while he licks melted chocolate from his fingers is plain awesome. A fuzzy ache starts below his navel. “I’ve never been on a date,” he says, swallowing, “with a boy, officially.”
Emir drums his fingers on his knees.
“Wait, have you been on a date with a guy?”
“There was this guy.” Emir picks at a loose thread on the knee of his jeans. “We met at an art show. He wasn’t from Bloomington. On the weekends he would take me to this tacky pizza place outside of the city.”
Sebastian controls his face. But jealousy bubbles at the back of his mind. What the hell, of course Emir was attracted to other guys.
Emir says, “It didn’t work out because he didn’t want anyone to know about us. At the time, I didn’t want to come out either, but he was a certified dick about it.”
His head tilts away, so Sebastian can’t see his expression. But his jaw tenses. Sebastian suspects he’s more hurt than angry. “Sounds complicated.”
Emir laughs, but it sounds melancholy. “I was sixteen, Bastian, so I wanted a boyfriend. But the whole thing made me uncomfortable with my sexuality, with being out.”
“He isn’t still, um…” Sebastian stares at the explosions on the screen. “Is he still around?” He doesn’t ask because he’s intimidated, that much, but the guy’s an asshole for making Emir hesitate about being open with himself and others. Lack of support, especially from someone you’re interested in, is destructive.
“Nope,” Emir replies. “Would you be jealous?”
“Nope,” Sebastian says, like the biggest liar to ever open his mouth.
Emir’s gray eyes reflect light from the big screen.
Sebastian chugs Dr. Pepper; carbonation tickles his nose. It’s a good thing he’s seen this movie a dozen times, because he’s staring at Emir, mesmerized. He considers pulling the “yawn, stretch, put an arm around your date’s shoulder” trick, but he’s not quite that smooth. Mason could pull it off. Sebastian imagines Mason has pulled it off.
Biting his lip, Emir says, “You never answered my first question.”
“Huh.” Sebastian taps his index finger on his chin. Their lips are just a breath apart, but Emir doesn’t close the gap. Sebastian whispers, “Okay, yeah, a date. Sure.”
Emir’s eyes flick down to Sebastian’s mouth. He says, “I’ve watched this movie a hundred times,” and his hand ghosts from the side of Sebastian’s neck into his hair.
“Me too.”
They’re almost kissing.
“Um—” Sebastian cuts himself off and surges forward. Their noses bump. He adjusts the angle. Emir’s mouth tastes like Dr. Pepper and peanut butter and summer. His kisses taste like the very thing Sebastian didn’t know he was missing.
Tickled by stubble, Sebastian’s fingers spread along Emir’s cheek. He feels more than hears Emir suck in a breath. He can’t tell who makes the first move, but Sebastian gets a hand on Emir’s thigh and Emir crawls—climbs into Sebastian’s lap with the steering wheel digging into the small of his back.
“Emir,” Sebastian gasps, his hands palming denim.
“Shut up.”
Sebastian most certainly does not let out a dreamy gasp when Emir’s teeth nip at his lower lip. He is not a teen-romance cliché.
Emir is balanced on knees that pin Sebastian’s hips. His left hand cradles the back of Sebastian’s head. A soft sigh breaks his lips, inches from Sebastian’s, as he lowers his hips.
And Sebastian is doing his best to ignore the flare spreading like a supernova in his belly. He has one warm hand under Emir’s hoodie and another teasing a button on his jeans.
Emir laughs into his mouth. “Curious?”
Sebastian’s a teenager, a virgin with guys, and stuck at summer camp for thirty days with very little alone time. Curious is an understatement. All their fooling around has never quite gone there.
“Sometimes.”
Panic rams into Sebastian’s chest when Emir goes quiet. He’s prepared to retreat, but then Emir says, “Me too. Just not here, okay?”
“Okay.”
Sebastian is still on edge, though. He’s not freaking out, but the pressure is real. It’s not like trying to figure out a math problem, but he wants to get it right. This isn’t just sex. Sebastian’s not tossing this in the “summer fling” pile. This is a bigger deal than being with Sam or with anyone else.
They kiss again, and Sebastian relishes Emir’s shiver when he pulls away.
“Wow.” Emir exhales.
Sebastian stares at Emir’s eyes. They’re dark, hidden by shadows, and that makes it slightly easier for Sebastian to ask, “Have you ever…?”
“Yes.”
Sebastian’s picturing a faceless, but very attractive, guy touching Emir. His stomach churns with acid. He says, “Cool.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Emir says, as if he can read Sebastian’s every thought.
Sebastian’s lips are raw. He licks them as his fingers trace patterns on Emir’s skin. Tony Stark is blowing things up behind Emir’s shoulders.
“We’ll figure it out,” Sebastian says, because tonight isn’t the end of camp or the end of the world. He stretches his neck for another kiss.