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It was the first day of classes, and the excitement was high at camp Paquatahnee. The campers were buzzing around the grassy campgrounds, in a rush to figure out the location of their first period classes and to arrive on time. The counselors, too, were anxious to finally start teaching, after figuring out and planning for their classes. One specific staff member, a junior staff member that is, was especially nervous.
Oliver Hampton was the glass beads apprentice, meaning that he was to spend all his time in the beads studio and work closely with the studio head, Craig. Oliver was to help set up and clean up the studio, assist in the first and second period classes, and use the afternoon classes to work on improving his own skills and work on his session-long project. Oliver had taken many glass beads classes as a camper, but at age sixteen, he had never taught a class and was unsure if he was cut out to be an authority figure. After briefly discussing with Craig how the classes and the studio operated, Oliver found himself standing by the doorway of the studio, sporting an awkward, anxious grin in anticipation of the campers. After a few minutes, the campers began to trickle in. He saw a few younger girls, who, after putting their bags down at the studio's picnic table, ran across the road to the animal pen to play with the cats. He greeted an older boy, Jason, with whom he had taken a video class when he was a camper. A few more campers arrived and sat on the grass, and finally, someone who was definitely not a camper sauntered up to the studio. This guy seemed to be around Oliver's age, although his confident posture and his dashing looks could have allowed him to pass for a counselor. Oliver assumed that the guy was a counselor-in-training who was signed up to help out in the glass beads class. Oliver approached him.
"Hey, you're the CIT assistant, right?" Oliver asked, curiously.
"Yeah, I'm Connor, by the way."
"I'm Oliver."
"Okay, so about the whole 'assisting' thing..." Connor said sheepishly, but with a smirk on his face, "I haven't exactly taken a beads class before. So I'm not sure how I can help teach."
Oliver narrowed his eyes. Another thing to complicate his day, as well as his role in the studio. This guy-- Connor's-- presence made Oliver feel unsure, even before the actual class started.
"So what are you doing here?" He snapped.
Connor shrugged shamelessly. "I wanted to take a glass beads class, but I never had the chance as a camper because all of the spots had always filled up so quickly. But CITs can sign up for any class they want as an assistant because we just get added to the roster in addition to the limit."
Oliver paused, unsure of what to do with this information. Finally, he came to the realization that,
"That's actually kinda good that you're not going to be doing anything because I'll still be left with an actual job to do... I guess you can just sit outside and entertain the kids who are waiting for a torch? You can talk to the studio head about it."
After talking to Craig, Connor did end up just sitting outside the bead studio and monitored the kids who weren't making beads.
He found himself able to carry a conversation about Magic the Gathering with two twelve year old boys, smiling to himself at the idea of dorky, nine-year old Oliver being obsessed with the card game as a camper.
Connor spent two days feigning interest as a nine year old girl tried to teach him how to make a friendship bracelet, nodding along as she tied sloppy knots. On day three, the girl presented Connor with the bracelet.
Connor gasped incredulously. "Is this for me? Thank you!"
He tied the bracelet around his wrist; a wide grin on his face. Connor wasn't a very sentimental person, but he was touched by the gift.
He had to yell at the campers to "Put down the cat! Do you see how he's squirming? That means he doesn't want to be held!"
But even he grabbed one of the grey kittens one day, petting the cat as she sat in his lap.
Whenever Oliver emerged from the studio to call the kids in to make a bead, his gaze always lingered on Connor for a little longer than it needed to.
And Connor loved the way Oliver looked in the protective glasses, finding himself always staring at Oliver right back.
One day, while Connor was playing an intense round of Mafia with the campers who had already had their turns with the torch, Oliver opened the studio door and peaked his head out.
"Hey, Connor?" He called, "Looks like we have an open torch in the studio. Do you want to make a bead?"
Connor nodded excitedly, mentally acknowledging that he was shaking his head a little too vigorously. Not that he cared, at this point.
Oliver re-entered the studio, with Connor following closely behind.
"Put on these glasses," Oliver instructed, "And then go pick out your colors," Oliver motioned to the magnetic wall that held cups of colored crushed glass.
Connor wordlessly did as he was told. He then walked over to the torch that Oliver had set up from him.
"I want you to take a clear glass rod, and start rotating it near the top of the flame," Oliver instructed in a calm, soothing voice. After melting the glass and creating a yellow-hot, honey-textured ball at the end of the glass rod, Oliver told Connor to take the rod out of the flame and dip it into the first color. Connor had followed Oliver's every instruction without a hitch, until Connor stuck the glass rod back in the flame in an attempt to melt in the colored glass. "Now, when you melt the glass in, you want the flame to only be hitting the colored glass, not the rest of the rod," Oliver explained, "And right now, you're angling the rod so some of the clear glass is in the flame. So, you want to angle the rod this way." As Oliver was talking, he gently placed a hand on Connor's upper arm, guiding him to angle the rod so that the end of it was facing the torch head on. But when Oliver came in contact with Connor, Connor began to feel hot and strangely nervous, like his stomach was doing cartwheels. Something about Oliver's gentle yet assertive touch, this skin-on-skin contact, caused Connor to suddenly drop his glass rod, which then shattered on the table. Connor's face grew even more red in embarrassment. He can't believe he just did that. Especially in front of Oliver.
"Crap!" He muttered.
"It's okay," Oliver encouraged, "People drop their beads more often than you think. Don't worry about it, just grab a new rod and you can start over."
Connor nodded, and hurriedly grabbed a new rod, and repeated the same steps without a word.
"You're a quick learner," Oliver mused.
Connor just grunted in response, too focused on turning the glass in the torch.
Finally, when Connor was caught up, Oliver grabbed a new, thinner glass rod.
"Okay, so these next few steps are going to be a little trickier, so I'm going to have to guide you a little more. Is that okay?" Oliver asked.
Connor nodded.
"Great, take this rod, I want you to rotate it in the middle of the flame, and bring the other rod up to the top of the flame. Keep rotating!" Oliver instructed.
Connor did so.
"Cool, now-- can I... touch you?" Oliver asked, hesitantly.
Connor nodded.
Oliver shifted himself so he was directly behind Connor, placing one hand right above each of Connor's elbows, gently directing his arms so Connor moved the glass exactly how he was supposed to.
After getting over the initial shock of Oliver's guidance, Connor begins to find Oliver's touch to be pleasant and comforting. He wouldn't exactly mind if Oliver didn't ever take his hands off him.
For Oliver, there was something...different about touching Connor, guiding him, than there was when he did the same thing with the campers he taught. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing. Could...Connor have dropped the bead because he felt the same way, that same... pleasant strangeness? No, of course not, Oliver convinces himself.
Eventually, Connor (with Oliver's help, of course), finished the bead. Oliver took the bead out of the flame and placed it in the kiln.
"Good job!" Oliver encouraged.
Connor grins, sheepishly. "Thanks for letting me use the torch!"
"Alright, I guess I'll see you tomorrow!" Oliver says, as the bell rings, letting the campers know that it is time to go to their next class.
Two days later, Oliver greeted Connor at the bead studio, with Connor's bead in a plastic bag in his hand.
"Hey, it turned out really well!" Oliver exclaimed.
Connor grinned.
"Sweet, thanks."
"If you want, feel free to come to the studio anytime," Oliver shrugged, pus his hands in his pockets, and started to rock back and forth on his feet, "I'm always in here, and I'd love to teach you how to make another type of bead. Or we could just, like, hang out or something. Whatever you want. Your choice. I mean, if you want..." Oliver, after realizing he's rambling, abruptly stopped talking.
"Yeah, yeah, that would be cool!" Connor answered, silently beating himself up for answering a little too hastily.
Connor smiled a warm, genuine smile, and said, more softly, "I'd like that. A lot."