The Miseducation of Cameron Post

by Emily M. Danforth

For those first Brett-free weeks, Coley and I were careful never to be underneath the dock together without at least one other person along. Even though we’d started hanging out again, just the two of us, the weight of what had happened at Coley’s ranch and the inescapably sexual world below those docks made both of us nervous. After the lake we’d throw my bike in the back of Coley’s truck and head over to Taco John’s to score free Choco Tacos and nachos off of Jamie, or maybe we’d go to my house and take long, separate (of course) showers, eat whatever Ruth had cooked up, watch some TV, though even there we worked hard not to find ourselves alone in my bedroom for any reason, at least not without the door wide open. There was a steady crackle that buzzed between us during those early-summer days, like a radio set between station signals, the volume low, and neither of us said a thing about it. But it was there.