Free Sunday Billy Sunday by Mark Wheaton

figuring frisky campers were already mixing it up outside in the woods, but when she pulled the blinds aside, she saw that it was Pamela and Humberto, just a few feet away from the counselor’s cabin, already wrapped up in each other’s arms.
    Pamela glanced up and saw Cindy in the window and smiled guiltily, but then turned back to kissing Humberto, whose back was turned to the cabin, oblivious to being spied on.
    “Pamela and Humberto?” asked Judy from the bunk opposite Cindy’s, also having been awoken.
    “Yep,” Cindy replied, replacing the blinds and flopping back down on her bunk. “Guess we can’t begrudge them. They are planning to get married and they’ve been apart for a couple of weeks.”
    “Yeah, but you wouldn’t know that if you’d been around Humberto all week,” Judy scoffed.
    “What do you mean?” Cindy asked.
    “He kept trying to pick me up the whole time,” Judy said. “It was embarrassing. He actually tried to kiss me. I was really uncomfortable.”
    Cindy tried to imagine Humberto making a pass at the hardly-attractive Judy when he had Pamela waiting for him, but figured boys were boys.
    “Why didn’t you say something to Father Billy?” Cindy asked.
    “I did — over and over,” Judy said. “Father Billy just said he’d take care of it once the other counselors got here.”
    “Ugh. If it had been me, I would have slugged him.”
    “Yeah, but with Humberto, that just might make it worse.”
    Cindy sank back onto the bunk, figuring that might be true. She wondered for a second if she should confront Humberto with it, but then supposed if Father Billy said he’d take care of it, he would.
    Evan Sebag and Bobby Rusch were the biggest stoners at Church of the Lamb and everyone knew it. Year after year, they came to camp with quarter-pound bricks of marijuana in their bags that they either sold or smoked up themselves, often going through the entire stash in the first week having the hopeless lack of self-control common to many a pot smoker. They’d been smoking out almost since they’d arrived that afternoon by the open-air teaching amphitheater and, after everyone else was in bed, were now raiding the pantry of the mess hall, having jimmied the lock with a skillfully-made skeleton key that they’d now successfully utilized four years in a row.
    As they munched through a large bag of chocolate chips, Evan pulled out a joint and asked Bobby if they should smoke just one more before bunking down for the night.
    “Are you asking me a question?” Bobby replied.
    Becca Roy, the tiny girl who had been unceremoniously lifted over a large boy’s head and thrown into the water, was out in the woods past lights-out crying her eyes out. Not because of the earlier indignity, but because she had recently discovered she was pregnant, but had no idea who the father was. It was one of four boys, but there’d been a party towards the end of the school year and she’d had a threesome with two of the senior boys from the baseball team. That same weekend, she’d also had sex with her boyfriend, Lawrence (a Baptist kid who wasn’t in attendance at Camp Easley) who she knew was cheating on her with Leilani and at least one other of the cheerleaders.
    And finally, she’d also been having a sexual fling with her social studies teacher, Mr. Guardino. He was single, so that was good, but he wasn’t particularly attractive; she’d just wanted to see what it was like to have sex with an older man. He had a cheesy mustache, was slightly overweight, but was also an absolute god in bed – at least compared with any of her other hopelessly inexperienced partners. Soon, she found herself fantasizing about him every time she was with any of her more age-appropriate partners. Part of her really hoped the baby was his. She knew the other boys would just deny it or ignore her and walk away, but Mr. Guardino, Elliott , she felt would take care of her. She’d probably move into his house, he’d keep