Camp

by Lev A.C. Rosen

I find Hudson backstage, just sort of watching the panic in everyone’s eyes, not sure how to help, and I take him by the hand and I lead him outside, where I kiss him and lie down in the grass. “You have to take the nail polish off,” I say. “Both of us do.” “No way, babe,” he says, like he was expecting this conversation. “I don’t care what my parents think.” I hold his face in my hands. He’s so beautiful. And he’s more beautiful now than he ever was. “I’m glad you don’t care, but you have to. We have to. Otherwise they might not send you back next year.” Hudson looks down at his nails. “But it reminds me of you.” His voice is already shaky with tears. “Of us.” “We don’t need nail polish to remember us, right? We’ll have texting and video chat and I’m going to send you all the musicals on Netflix you should watch, because we need to improve your dramatic education.” He laughs, but only once, and it’s sort of sad. “I feel like, now that I know who I am, or more of who I am, I don’t want to hide it anymore. Such a cliché, right? But…” He holds his hands out, the nail polish glinting. “This is me. Every time I catch a glance of my hands now, I feel, like, this rush, like swinging across the Peanut Butter Pit, or making a goal. Every finger is like a victory, reminding me who I am. That I’m special. So I don’t want to give that up.” I nod and stretch my own hands out, taking one of his. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned this summer, it’s that my wearing nail polish doesn’t ma...