Free Flings by Justin Taylor Page A

me.”
    â€œWell, I sometimes smoke with Isaac,” I said. “And he can be pretty weird about stuff.”
    â€œYou know what? Fuck that dipshit pain-in-the-ass. I don’t care if he is my cousin.” She passed the bowl to me. I hit it and passed it back.
    â€œWait, hang on—Isaac’s your cousin?”
    â€œYeah. That’s why he’s in my group. My aunt wants me to help straighten him out or keep an eye on him or something, and she’s on the J’s board, so even though he’s like a walking child neglect lawsuit they have to put up with him.” She passed the bowl back. The cherry was burning. “Did you know he had a twin brother?”
    â€œSeriously? Isaac’s a twin?” I took my hit while she answered so I didn’t have to worry about the look on my face. I made a little show of holding the smoke in and blowing it out through my nose while I listened to her.
    â€œThey were identical. Like, they’d switch places at dinner and you wouldn’t know it. His brother’s name was Jake. He had cancer.”
    â€œOh, shit. I’m so sorry.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I mean it was awful, but it was, I don’t know, like four years ago now. Anyway Isaac’s mom is convinced that that’s what his problems are all about. His gangsta bullshit and everything. She donated like half a building to his high school to keep them from kicking him out this year. God knows what she gives to the J. And he freaks out every time she suggests therapy, so here we all are. I just hope he’s not ruining your whole summer, too. Jesus, wow, sorry to lay all that on you. So TMI, I’m sure.”
    â€œOh, no way,” I said. “I’m glad that you told me. Things make a lot more sense now.” We sat there with our backs to the wall and the cashed bowl cooling between us. I asked her if she wanted to share a clementine. She said sure and watched my fingers as I worked the rind.
    I tossed the spiral peel into the green-brown water. We watched it splash down and resurface, then float off. Leaves and bits of trash bobbed by as well. I halved the fruit and held her piece out to her and our fingers brushed when she took it. She ate hers section by section. I put my whole share in my mouth and chewed it up. I wiped my hands on my shorts and then put the bowl away. Now there was only empty space between us. Alana shifted position, stretched her legs out on the concrete, leaned back and let her head rest in my lap. I knew she could feel me through my zipper, poking at the back of her skull. “Listen,” she said, “I’ve got a boyfriend at school so we can’t go all the way. That’s like my serious rule.”
    â€œOkay,” I said. “Yeah, that works, sure. We can just do whatever you want.”
    â€œYou’re a good guy, Adam,” she said. “Do you know that?”
    I told her I did.
    Isaac was back at camp on Monday, no explanation offered (or sought) for his absence, and Alana went back into senior counselor mode—bubbly and solicitous with the kids, curt and impersonal with the two of us. Did she regret what had happened, or was she being overly cautious about her cousin finding out? Maybe, I thought, she was as sorry to see him again as I was.
    When snack time came around that afternoon, Isaac walked out of our room without a word. He returned fifteen minutes later, red-eyed and reeking, a smirk on his face, the box of Nutty Bars already open. I could feel Alana’s rage coming off of her in waves. When he offered her a Nutty Bar she smacked it out of his hand. It spun across the floor and a couple of our campers gasped. “Hey,” I said to her. “Do you want a clementine?” Ignoring my question, she walked over to her cubby, dug around in her purse for a granola bar, and took it outside to eat alone. Isaac shrugged, picked Alana’s Nutty Bar up off the floor, unwrapped it, and