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To the point where I don’t even recognize myself anymore. All I see is him and his bias. The distaste he has for anyone that isn’t straight has rubbed off onto me, turning me against them.
Turning me against…myself.
After another moment of silence, the Dean leans back in his chair, keeping his intense, penetrating stare on me. “We take this kind of thing very seriously here at Foltyn. Diversity and acceptance are two pillars this university was built on, and providing our students with a safe space where they can be themselves is of the utmost importance to me and the rest of the administration.”
“I understand, sir. And I’m more than happy to apologize or do whatever is necessary to prove I will never be the cause of something like this again. I was already planning to reach out to Keene as it is. Just tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it.”
His fingers tap on the wooden desk absently, every light thud ratcheting my heart rate higher and higher. “I wish it were enough, Mr. Reynolds, but intolerance isn’t something we can have here. Which is why we’re going to cut to the chase rather than drag out a done-deal even further than we already have.”
I open my mouth to ask what he means by a done-deal, but no words come out. They’re stuck in the back of my throat, terrified to escape and be faced with whatever comes next. All I know is it can’t be good.
And it’s not, when Dean Marshall answers my unspoken question with a cold, harsh finality.
“After much consideration, myself and the admissions office have revoked your acceptance to Foltyn College. Effective immediately.”
1
AVERY
Present — Week One
The blaring sound of my alarm jars me from sleep and causes me to bolt straight up in my bed. I quickly grab for my phone, bleary-eyed and frantic, to silence it and check the time.
Seven o’clock.
Fuck my life.
There’s not been one summer of my life where I’ve woken up this early for anything other than baseball. But as the fog of sleep slowly starts to lift from my brain, the realization of why I’m actually awake sinks in all over again.
Because instead of relaxing, hanging out with some of the guys who live in the area all year, or taking regular trips to the coast to escape the heat that tends to descend on the Portland/Vancouver area during the later parts of the summer, I’ll be spending the next ten weeks of my life corralling crotch goblins at a goddamn summer camp in the Oregon wilderness.
But then again, everything about my life hasn’t been going the way I thought, though I’m smart enough to realize it’s of my own doing.
Groaning, I force myself from the warmth of my bed and start getting ready to meet my doom. My feet drag all the way through my morning routine, as if taking a ten-minute shower instead of five is going to delay the inevitable.
I finished packing last night, so all there’s left to do is put my toiletries together, haul the two duffels downstairs, and load them into my G Class parked in the garage, which I do a half-hour later.
Dad’s Escalade is still parked beside it, letting me know he hasn’t left for work yet, and when I walk back into the house, I find him standing in the kitchen with his back to me. His hair—the same medium blond color as mine—is combed and styled with gel for work, as he pops a pod into the Keurig.
“I thought you had a meeting this morning.”
He turns and leans against the counter. “Got pushed to the afternoon. But that just means I can see you off.”
Of course he’d want to. He’s the one who thought up this slightly hair-brained plot about to be set into motion.
As it turns out, Alpine Ridge is the same camp Dean Marshall’s brother, Colin, owns and runs. Add in that Dad is the one who does the books for the camp—has for years, since he and Colin became life-long friends during college—and it was easy enough for me to be hired on as the camp’s newest summer counselor.
Yay me.
“You didn’t need to stick around,” I tell him, moving through the kitchen to grab a banana from the counter for a quick road snack. “I’m about to hit the road anyway.”
His coffee finishes brewing, making me think I can quickly sneak out while he fixes it to go. But he might as well have eyes in the back of his head, because even with his attention locked on pouring it into the thermos, he stops me from escaping.
“You really need to make a good impression, Avery. Don’t forget that.”
“Yeah, Dad. I got it,” I tell him, a little more snap to my tone than is probably merited. But I know what’s on the line here. I know better than anyone.
Dad’s theory of me working at the camp goes like this: by me getting into the Dean’s brother’s good graces, I will, in turn, get back into the Dean’s as well. And maybe once he’s seen the growth and progress I’ve made while working at the camp, I might be allowed to come back to Foltyn this fall.
