Chapter Text
As the bus pulled away, Billy started down the wide main street of town towards the 'X' on his iPhone that marked the camp shuttle pickup. His bag felt heavy, the weight of camp t-shirts, shorts, socks, and comic books making his shoulders ache. The 'X' turned left on his phone, and so did he, turning up the cross street, spotting almost immediately the rundown van with Camp Belleville emblazoned in rainbow letters across the side. The van sat in the shadow of an old church, and already a few kids his age gathered nearby, passing between them a slowly diminishing stack of duffle bags. They weren't that different from the kids who went to his high school back in Manhattan; in fact, except for a few rugged exceptions, he figured that most of them were urban refugees just like him.
"You headed up to camp?"
The warm voice came from behind him, and Billy turned to see a boy about his age, more muscular, taller, and very, very good looking. He swallowed, suddenly aware that he was staring at the faint outline of a tattoo on the boy's upper arm. It was summertime, and it felt like it in the way that his red t-shirt and jeans seemed to cling to every inch of his skin. But this, this Adonis seemed completely unaffected by the heat.
"Um -- yea. This is the place, right?" Please, let this be the right place. He pulled his gaze away from the tattoo, only to meet deep, unending blue eyes.
"Yup. You must be Billy?" He noticed now that the other boy had a clipboard in hand, keys and a pen attached to the top, and that he was checking off Billy's name from a list. He must be someone in charge.
"Awesome. I'm Teddy, your driver, welcome wagon, etc. Looks like you're our last one."
Teddy, he'd remember that name. He wondered how long Teddy had been at camp, if he was one of the regulars who had grown up there and become a counselor once he turned 18. If what had drawn Teddy to Belleville was what had first enamored Billy -- the artistic vision of a single mom looking to provide for underserved communities. The idea that he, too, could help kids who needed that home away from home, that he could have a job and work on his art. His brother, Tommy, had scoffed at the idea, but in spite of his brother's scorn, Billy had sent in his portfolio and resume and now here he was, soaked in sweat about to spend the summer with the most gorgeous looking boy he'd ever seen.
Unfortunately, it would be the first summer away from his twin. Tommy wasn't about to spend his last summer before they both went off to college as a martyr, which was what he'd said when Billy had proposed that they both get a job at the camp. The job itself barely paid anything, a promised bonus if he managed to stay on for the whole summer but not enough to make a dent in his college tuition or a month's rent. His parents hadn't been enthusiastic about the plan, but like always, they'd agreed when Billy had pointed out that such experience would look good on his resume.
"You've been going to Lake Seneca for years," he'd reminded his twin. "And you're saying that's, what, the worst thing that's ever happened to you?"
"No, what I'm saying is I'm eighteen now, and Kate's already invited me to California. Imagine me, Kate, the open road…" Tommy had been sprawled out between their two beds, arms in the air, as if his twin had expected him to share in this fantasy.
"All I'm imagining is mom when you tell her you're planning a road trip with your girlfriend to California."
"Mom doesn't need to know." Which is when his brother had promptly informed him that he was spending the summer at a pre-engineering internship, something to do with computers and faraway places. Definitely mom-approved.
"I hate you."
"Don't worry, little brother. I'll be sure to send you a postcard."
Tommy always called him that, even though he was technically only 12 minutes older. As if those twelve minutes made him wiser, smarter, suaver… Okay, so maybe his twin was dating the hottest girl in school (supposedly, girls weren't really his superpower), and maybe … Maybe life just wasn't fair.
And that was how Tommy had ended up in California, and Billy had ended up, well, here passing his backpack to a bespectacled boy in front of him, climbing into the van after him, trying not to stare at the back of Teddy's head, trying even harder not to imagine where that curving bicep tattoo might lead.
--
Camp Belleville was situated about 12 miles outside of the town of Mural, Pennsylvania. Its website described the camp as a "retreat for urban dwellers," "an oasis in the mountains," and "a break away from the 21st century." The camp had a reputation for being open-minded, progressive, and yea, a little bit artsy. They even had a scholarship program for at-risk kids who might not have been able to afford a summer in the Pennsylvania mountains. Mrs. Altman, the camp director, worked hard to bring in campers from all over the US and the world, a statistic that sat in bold letters right on the camp's landing page.
But open-minded and progressive didn't always pan out financially. Billy knew that the camp wasn't exactly offering him a luxury salary to be in the woods for twelve weeks. Just the standard base salary of $400 a week and an additional $3000 if he survived the twelve weeks. Fortunately, he didn't care as he climbed out of the van, looking up the wide sloping hill that led to the campers' cabins and his own home away from home for the next ten weeks. He was going to make this the best summer of his life.
---
The next morning came bright and early as the counselors got ready for pre-camp week. Billy had been placed in the Salvador cabin with the bespectacled boy from the van, Ralph, and four other returning counselors (Dickie, Elliot, Leo, and Ben). Billy and Ralph had quickly bonded over their shared appreciation for the X-Men (Ralph had the entirety of Whedon's Astonishing X-Men run hidden in a box under his camp bunk), and the two of them were eagerly discussing the upcoming prep week.
"It's not all it's cracked up to be," said Dickie, slinging a towel over his shoulder. He was the senior counselor for their cabin, and he had been coming to Camp Belleville for years. "And don't forget. You fuck up this week you don't get paid your bonus."
"Does that happen?" asked Ralph, chewing his nail nervously.
"All the time," said Ben, who'd just come back in from the showers. "Last year, some kid… You remember him, don't you Dickie?"
"Yea, kid's name was George or Greg or something," said Dickie. "He was out before breakfast because they caught him smoking weed behind the laundry room."
Ralph rolled his eyes, looking to Billy for solidarity, who just shrugged his shoulders. "Well, duh," said Ralph. "That's illegal."
"Just don't fuck up," said Dickie. "It's in your contract. Fuck up, and you don't get paid for the summer."
It was a standard clause for most summer camps. It had been the same when Billy had been a junior counselor at Seneca. Still, the rules seemed pretty straightforward: no drinking, no drugs, no fraternizing with other counselors, no putting campers at risk. Billy didn't drink. He didn't do drugs. And he was gay. The chances of any of those things happening this summer were pretty small, weren't they?
"We'll be careful," said Billy, grabbing Ralph's arm and pulling him to the door. "Come on, we've all got places to be."
---
Their pre-camp week prep shifts were posted outside the main mess hall when Billy and Ralph arrived for breakfast. Groups of counselors milled around the list, some chewing on granola bars and apples as they talked about the upcoming week, others putting on bug spray or sunscreen for an upcoming day in nature.
"Looks like we're split up," said Ralph, once they'd made their way to the front of the crowd. He moved his finger down the list, first to his name ("Ralph Anderson") and then to Billy's. "I'm in the theater. You're art barn. Hey, do you think Dickie's right?."
"About this being some sort of merit test?" asked Billy as they picked up their grab'n'go breakfasts and headed down the wooded path in the direction of the arts and theater barns.
"About this being bullshit," said Ralph quietly. They'd come to the crossroads where they were meant to go their separate ways. The paths were still covered in leaves from the previous winter, and they crunched under foot as they paused on the edge, looking out towards the lake.
"Honestly," said Billy, "it's prep week. Don't think too much about it, okay? It's usually aesthetic tasks. Painting railings. Clearing paths of debris. That kind of stuff. You'll be fine."
As Billy and Ralph went their separate ways, Billy focused on his own words as if they were a mantra. You'll be fine. You'll be fine. Billy had been through plenty of prep weeks at Seneca, but the trouble was that Billy was a little…clumsy. He let Tommy do most DIY tasks, preferring to be stuck with pre-camp laundry duty (something that he definitely, definitely couldn't mess up) than with a hammer and nails.
The Belleville arts barn was a large wooden structure about halfway between the mess hall and the lake. Billy had seen photos of the barn on the camp website, but they must have been older photos, for as he approached, he saw that the barn was badly in need of a good overhaul. The paint was faded and weather-worn, and the railing leading up the ramp to the barn was chipped and peeling in places, leaving large flecks of white in the grass around the barn. As Billy approached, he saw a blonde women in overalls at work scraping to remove the remaining paint.
"You're Sara Lopez," said Billy, recognizing the woman almost immediately. "You used to own a gallery in Brookyln. You took this job because you really…" Billy had enough sense to realize that he was rambling at a stranger, admittedly a famous stranger. "Sorry, I'm just…"
"And you must be Billy," said Sara, straightening up. She brushed flecks of paint off her overalls. "Any good with a paintbrush?"
"My preferred medium is…" He noticed the bemused look on Sara's face. "Oh, you mean, oh, sorry, no…" His brownstone had never exactly needed a touch up, and even if it had, his parents had enough money to pay for that (or ask Tommy to help). So when Sara, the famed art director who used to own a gallery in Brooklyn and had taken this job as a favor to Mrs. Altman (he'd done his research), handed him the paint scraper and told him the railing needed a new paint job, he found himself saying, mouth agape, "Um, I'm pretty sure I've never done this before."
"It's nothing." Sara showed him the chipped paint around the railing and door trim. "Look, just make sure all the old paint's off before you put on a new layer… I've got some supplies inside I need to organize. You'll be fine, dear. It comes away real quick once you get started."
She was right. The paint came away easily as he worked. His hands were soon covered in white specks of paint and dirt, his knees aching from the awkward angle of the ramp. He was actually starting to enjoy the process when Sara returned with the paint. It was the exact same shade of white as the barn's trim, a perfect contrast to the faded red frame.
"It's going to look like a fresh new barn. Just like when Mrs. Altman first took over."
"Has it been a long time?"
"Seven years to the season," said Sara, leaning against the top railing. "Moved out of the city when her husband passed away. Belleville's the best place to raise a family. My wife and I've got three of our own, two will be coming to camp this season…It'll be our first season with Mrs. Altman away, but she's left the place in good hands."
"She's not here?"
"Oh, no, she's out in California helping her niece get settled in for college. She'll be gone the rest of the summer, seems like."
As they talked, Sara showed him the right way to put the paint on the railing, and soon enough, the front of the barn did look good.
"Look out, Teddy, we've got ourselves an artist…"
He felt his mouth go dry, acutely aware as he turned to see Teddy -- camp chauffeur, jack-of-all trades that Teddy -- that he was covered in a thin layer of dust, dirt, and paint chips. He laid his brush out on the paint can lid and then wiped his hands on his jeans, only making himself grimier as he stood up.
"It's nothing," he said, shrugging off Sara's praise. He brushed his black bangs out of his eyes, only to come face to face with those pale, unending… Yea, he got it. Teddy was gorgeous. He swallowed. "I had, um, an awesome teacher."
"Sara really is the best." Teddy was so close now that he could almost count the wrinkles in his shirt. God, was he going to be this stupid all summer? "The kids'll love that the barn's getting a fresh look."
"Ah, that they will," said Sara. "Now, what is it Mr. Mitchell has you out for?"
"Actually, I'm here for Billy." A pause, a definite pause as brown eyes stayed on blue. "Didn't want him to miss out on the lifeguard test."
"Yea, or you might have to be the one rescuing me from the lake…"
Teddy laughed, a sound that filled him with warmth right down to his toes.
Verdict: Yes, he really was going to be this stupid all summer.