Page 80 of Within These County Lines

She shrugs. “No problem. Sorry you had to make the extra trip.”

The bus reverses out of the drive and reveals the empty, cement pool. Middle schoolers, and maybe some high school freshmen, stake claim on the lounge chairs that are Xander’s usual spot. I scan the crowd, searching for him and counting the campers.

Two boys in backwards hats sit exactly where he would. But he’s nowhere to be found.

“Why don’t you stay for a little?” Kim suggests. “You can introduce yourself to some of the kids before the send-off dance.”

“Um.” I blink. I guess their previous invite wasn’t actually optional and I’m being voluntold to help chaperone the dance. “When is that again?”

“Each group stays two weeks. We’re throwing a dance every last Friday.” She catches me counting days on my fingers and laughs. “You don’t have to come to each one. Just the first would be perfect. Bring a friend . . . or a date.”

I nod absently, my cheeks warming, unsure if she’s teasing.

Kim leads me toward the camp’s pavilion, a small wooden structure with a few picnic tables, a mini stage, and a lone mic stand. A rainbow flag flutters from the roof as it catches the warm summer breeze. I slide onto the farthest bench, away from where the welcome ceremony will take place.

A few kids sit nearby. Some wear swimsuits, oblivious to the drained pool behind them.

“Oops,” I mutter.

After a few minutes, Sheryl and Kim step up to the microphone and greet the campers with wide smiles. My attention wanes as they discuss activities that I’m not signed up for. This won’t be my world for much longer.

But when they call for a guest speaker, my spine stiffens. Mrs. Pomers steps up to the mic. I swallow and shift my position on the hard wooden bench.

She introduces herself, her voice steady but thin. She shares her story—Xander’s story. The paper in her hands trembles as her words come out with unspoken weight.

The kids around me barely notice. One boy scrolls through his phone, his thumb flicking loudly against the screen.

I lose my patience.

“Hey,” I say, tapping his leg. “Pay attention. This is important.” I nod toward the stage. He flinches before tucking his phone between his thighs.

“I want this camp to be a safe space for you all,” Mrs. Pomers continues. “A place where you know you’re not alone. No one should ever feel the way Xander did.”

Sheryl steps closer and rubs her hand along her back.

“As you go about your activities, try to forget what’s happening back home. Don’t worry about school bullies or confused parents who don’t accept you for who you are. These next two weeks are yours. They don’t belong to the people who take up space in your mind out of fear.”

I fold my hands and squeeze them together until my fingers are white.

“Xander loved coming here.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And I hope you do too. Let this be the first of many communities you can call home.”

The microphone squeals as she steps off the stage. The campers sit frozen, their gazes unfocused, their thoughts unreadable. Kim and Sheryl lower their heads in quiet reflection. The seconds stretch on, and the silence never breaks. There’s just the cracking of the rainbow flag rippling in the breeze.

It’s so quiet, I can only hope Xander heard his mom’s words from wherever he is hiding.

34

I run into Victor at the entrance of the health department the next day.

“Hey, kid,” he calls, lifting a half-empty coffee cup in greeting. “I forgot to tell you, I got a message from—”

“Sheryl,” I finish for him. “Yeah. I went to Rainbow Valley yesterday.”

“Attaboy,” he says with a smile, seemingly unaware that the message was meant to tell me not to go. “You’re always getting things done. How is the pool looking?”

“It’s closed, actually. They drained it over the weekend. Something is wrong with the pipes and filter system.”

He slaps my back, hard. “Lucky you. That makes it easy. No pool means no inspections. You can sit back and relax for a couple weeks.”