Kingston
We only have one more game left after the one we played tonight. We lost, and it was really bad. We have no chance at state, but that’s okay. Our next game is our last, and it’s against a team no one loses to. So we should go out on a high note.
I can’t say that I’m not sad about it almost being over, but I am pretty damn happy because tonight is the annual camp-out. Our parents know about it and most support it. We brought tents and sleeping bags—though some people sleep in their cars.
It’s cold as fuck, but we have the fire and extra layers. And I have a tent to share with Camden. It fits us both easily, and we each have our own sleeping bag lined in flannel. It’s a great tradition.
And tonight, Camden is calm, not worrying too much about Luce and his mom. His mom doesn’t have to work tonight and told him they were going to have a girls’ night, watching movies and having popcorn.
He was relaxed enough to enjoy some whiskey shots with me, and after we both take a piss out in the woods, we retreat to our tent while the party winds down. We climb into our respective sleeping bags, zipping them up. But I’m too wired to sleep.
“You think I’m hot?” The question slips from my mouth before I can stop it, and it’s met with an immediate groan from Cam.
“We aren’t doing this.”
“Oh, come on.” I move closer to him, confined to my sleeping bag, but I can feel his arm through his as I bump up against him. “It’s cold, and I’m not ready for sleep. We can totally talk.”
“Not about that.”
“Why not?” I have no idea why I’m harping on this one question, but irritation at his unwillingness to answer swarms me.
“Just because I had some whiskey tonight doesn’t mean I want to talk about my type.”
I’m lying on my side, facing him, my head propped up on my hand. “I didn’t ask about your type. I asked if you think I’m hot.”
His head rolls to the side to look at me with an exasperated look. “Same thing. I’m not doing this. Go to sleep.”
I flop on my back with a huff, frustrated. My brain is soaked in whiskey, so I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut. “Kennedy said I have a small dick.”
“W-what?” I hear him sputter, but my cheeks heat with embarrassment, and I can’t look at him. I don’t know why I’m letting her words get to me, but they’ve been replaying in my mind since we broke up.
“Don’t make me repeat it.” I feel oddly vulnerable and hear his body shift in his sleeping bag, rolling to his side to look at me.
“She was probably just pissed off.”
“Oh, she was.” But it left me insecure, and I hate admitting it. “She gets really mean sometimes.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” I roll to face him.
“You’ve seen it before. I mean in the locker-room and shit.”
He looks confused. “I guess. I don’t know. I don’t pay attention. I get dressed and get out.” He pauses for a moment. “You look?” A startled laugh falls from his lips.
“No.” I say instantly but then shrug. “I mean, maybe sometimes. You never get curious?”
“No. I don’t look, and you should definitely stop.” His eyes are smiling at me, though, as he shakes his head in disapproval.
“I don’t mean to, asshole. I’m just saying you’ve probably seen it.” I tuck my chin into my pillow, holding on tight. “So, is it small?”
He huffs. “I’m not doing this.” The whiskey has loosened him up, though, because he’s laughing.
“I’m serious, you dick. I need to know.”
“Why? There’s nothing you can do about it if it is. And Kennedy was just trying to get in your head.”
It worked. “Well, you could look now.”
“What?” He sits up straight now, looking at me like I’m insane.
I shrug, feeling only slightly embarrassed. “I mean, it’s not totally hard, but I can get it there, and you can tell me.” I lower my voice. “You’re gay. Surely you’ve looked at dicks before.”
“Virgin.” He points at himself and then points at me. “And why the fuck are you any type of hard right now?”
My cheeks heat even more now. “I’ve been drinking. Whiskey makes me horny, and we’re talking about stuff . . .”
“About dicks,” he says incredulously.
I flop on my back, annoyed now. “About sex and Kennedy. And I don’t know. Just look and tell me. Be a good friend.”
He lays back down, but he’s lying on top of his sleeping bag, turned on his side with his hands tucked under his face. “Yeah, that’s not a friend thing, and I’m not looking at your dick. That’s . . . phew,” He seems a little flustered as he shakes his head slightly. “You just need to go to sleep.”
“I can trust you.”
I watch him swallow thickly and then feel disappointment when he shakes his head again.
“The only dicks I’ve seen are my own and in porn.
I don’t think I’d be a great judge and .
. .” He reaches out one hand, placing it on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry she was a bitch to you. I’d tell you not to let it get to you, but apparently, she already has, and I know that’s difficult. ”
I don’t tell him the other shit she’s said to me over the years, but man, when she gets mad, she’s brutal. “I still think you’d be the best judge I could find.”
He smiles at that and then climbs back into his sleeping bag. “You and your dick need to sleep it off.”
“I’d do it for you,” I pout, and he hits me with his pillow playfully before tucking it under his head and settling in for sleep.
“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles in a tired voice.
Even in my drunkenness, I know this was probably not the smartest conversation to have with my best friend. But Camden and I can talk about anything, and I’m pretty sure this proves it.
It doesn’t have to be weird tomorrow.