The senior trip is supposed to be a final salute to the drudgery of highschool. It’s supposed to be one last hurrah shared by the seniors in the hopes of fostering lifelong connections. By throwing us in the middle of the wilderness we are supposed to learn that we actually need each other.
I absolutely refuse to be a part of this show of symbolism.
My mother is the principal of my school, West Lake High, and thus I spent my childhood on these senior camping trips. She stopped letting me go when I reached my freshman year of highschool, insisting that this abstinence would make my senior trip something special. I know these woods, these cabins, these facilities, like the back of my hand. And while I consider myself a friendly guy, I have no interest in sharing what has become a sacred space to me with my dipshit classmates.
I look around the small, spare cabin. It’s a tiny, one-bedroom production with two twin beds on either side of the room. On those beds are your standard ancient mattresses covered in synthetic vinyl that has been wiped down with disinfectant for decades. The room smells like dirt, pine needles and staleness.
I love it.
I spread my sleeping bag over the bed closest to the door, knowing blankets won’t suffice in the freezing Pacific Northwestern nights. I put my duffel bag full of clothes and essentials at the foot of the bed and consider going for a walk in the woods to dispel my bitterness about being forced the share the origin of weeks of happy childhood memories with peers who would rather be anywhere else on the planet.
The door opens and I prepare to meet my roommate. All of the other times I’ve been here, I’ve shared one of these tiny cabins with my mom, but this year I was thrown into the ocean to swim with the rest of the mindless school of fishes.
I’m out as gay to everyone at school and in life. I’ve been met with my fair share of inappropriate jokes and questions, but for the most part my classmates ignore me. I’m certain that my tall height and athletic build, courtesy of my spot on the swim team at the local community college, have protected me from the bullying so many of my fellow teenage queers experience, but I’ve wondered for weeks how someone would react to having to share their cabin with me. I asked my mom at one point if she would just consider pairing me with a girl so I wouldn’t have to deal with any bullshit, but she went on a tirade about how she wouldn’t tolerate any “nonsense from the other kids” regarding my sexuality. I like that my mother so steadfastly supports me, but it does come at the cost of having something of a teacher’s pet, or rather, principal’s pet, reputation.
His eyes meet mine and I sigh inwardly. Luis Delgado.
Less of a fish and more of a shark.
Luis is my height exactly, an impressive six-foot-one, with beautiful muscles I’ve fantasized about memorizing with my tongue since middle school. It’s weird, because he doesn’t play a sport, even though the football coaches have practically begged him to join. He glares at everything like it woke him up from a deep sleep and I’ve never heard him say more than three words at a time. But whatever words he does say must get under a lot of people’s skin because he gets in fights on a weekly basis. This avid fighting throughout his highschool career has given him a light scar on his cheekbone and another on his lip. His eyes are dark and filled with bitterness from behind his longish black hair.
Of all of the people I predicted would throw a fit about rooming with the school queer, Luis was at the top of the list.
I prepare myself for a shitty comment or blatant refusal, but instead, Luis casts me a single glance before walking into the cabin and throwing his bag on the other bed.
I wonder if I’ve gone invisible. “Hey, Luis,” I say, testing the waters.
“Hey,” he replies shortly, producing a sleeping bag from a surprisingly professional hiking backpack. He doesn’t look at me as he unrolls the sleeping bag and produces a small pillow from the pack as well. I find myself standing awkwardly, watching the shape of his shoulders underneath his dark shirt, until I break myself free from the trance and decide to go find my mom.
My classmates mill around the great semi-circle of cabins in this clearing. Some people sit on the steps of theirs and fiddle with their cell phones, possibly trying to get a signal despite the fact that we’re way up in the mountains. Some guys have started a half-hearted game of football, but they are slow to warm up in the chilly morning. Someone has already got a fire going at the communal firepit and some of my classmates are trying to warm themselves by it.
Most of them look miserable.
Idiots.
I find my mom in the cabin at the very end of the female half of the semi-circle. It’s the one she always takes. It gives her a clear and unparalleled view of the other cabins. She has already unpacked and is talking with the other faculty on the trip, Mr. Jenson and Mrs. Clawson. There is also a mishmash of parent volunteers scattered around the cabins, probably rooming with their reluctant kids, and I hope they’ll be able to keep a lid on the debauchery my peers have quietly been planning for months.
“I can come back,” I say, feeling like an intruder into the conversation.
My mom smiles and waves me forward. “No, Rowan. You’re fine. Come in.”
Mr. Jenson and Mrs. Clawson also smile at me. They have both been at the school long enough to know me well from the previous years I’ve been on this trip. In fact, tiny Mrs. Clawson reaches up to bridge the immense gap between our heights and pat my shoulder.
“You’re one of the only ones who dressed for the mountains,” she praises me, nodding to my warm canvas pants and red sweatshirt.
I grin. “Yeah. I know from experience that underdressing makes this trip a lot less fun.” I look at my mom. “I’m rooming with Luis?”
I don’t bother with his last name. I’m in a graduating class of one hundred kids so everyone knows everyone’s names. Not to mention that my mom has had to have more facetime with Luis than he’s had with any other member of faculty due to all the fighting. She knows him well.
Clawson and Jenson exchange glances while my mother gives me a wonderful demonstration of her most common “principal expression”: a cool raised eyebrow.
“Yes. Is there a problem?” she asks pointedly.
“I… no. And that’s the weird thing. He seems fine with it,” I say.
“Then what’s the issue?” my mom asks.
“Don’t be obtuse. He’s going to throw my clothes in the creek or strangle me while I sleep or something,” I say flatly.
“Yeah, we could switch. I could room with Rowan,” Jenson offers.
“No. Rowan, he’s not going to do anything. I consulted with his family. Just be nice to him,” my mom says firmly.
I want to push her further, to question why she’s fine with letting me sleep in the same room as the guy who has sent four other guys to the hospital in just the past schoolyear, but I don’t want to undermine her in front of her staff.
“Okay,” I say calmly, shrugging. “I just thought it was weird. Are you guys going to do the rules announcements?”
Clawson claps her hands together. “Yeah! We were just about to get started.”
“Will you go gather everyone?” my mother asks. Clawson and Jenson. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
They nod and leave, seeming to sense that she wants a word with me. As soon as the door closes, my mother takes a step closer to me.
My mother is an impressive figure, especially with elderly Mrs. Clawson and wiry, greying Mr. Jenson in the forefront of my mind. She is decently tall and is always impeccably groomed and made-up, including the sharp points on her thick eyebrows. The Indian heritage that shines so brightly in her has kept her looking youthful; most people don’t believe me when I tell them she’s my actual, biological mother. The other facet of that is that I didn’t inherit her light brown skin or dark hair, but instead have my father’s light skin and brown hair. My eyes are straight from her, though. So dark they’re almost black.
“Did it occur to you that maybe I paired Luis with the only kid in the grade who would never get involved in a fight and also let a chaperone know as soon as one happened?” she asks. “And also one of the only people capable of ending a fight before someone got hurt?”
“At the expense of me being afraid to fall asleep,” I say.
“Rowan, I promise you. He won’t do a thing. Please trust me on this,” she pleads, reaching to hold my hands. “Please.”
There’s a glimmer in her eyes of something I don’t recognize. It’s almost…
Trepidation.
I decide I’m not going to get any elaboration from her. “Come on,” I say quietly. “You’re going to be late for the rules announcements.”
With that, I pull away from her and join my peers as they cluster in a semi-circle around the fire and await my mom.
