Page 1 of Man On

PROLOGUE

LANE, AGE 14

I don't like this.

Every time the fire crackles, or someone steps on a stick behind me, I flinch. I got tired of people giving me looks whenever I told them to keep their voices down, so I stopped. I need to find a way to break away and sneak back to my cabin, but he's here. Mom told me to stick with Noah because it’s my first summer at camp. Noah's been coming here since he was eleven and is friends with everyone. But not me, I don't fit in. I don't like parties; I don't like loud noises or people touching me, and I definitely don't enjoy breaking the rules. I told him this, multiple times, and he still dragged me here with him. It’s to punish me. He’s made it very clear he doesn’t like me, and doesn’t appreciate that I’ve been following him around like a lost puppy the past couple weeks.

It’s not my fault that my grandfather died and I had to move in with them. It’s not my fault our parents make him take me everywhere, even though I’d rather stay home. It’s not my fault we have to share a room. I don't like it either.

I think he's regretting bringing me tonight. All I've done is annoy him about leaving, but I'm terrified the camp counselors are going to bust us. If we get in trouble, they'll call our parents, and we'll be sent home early. We'll be punished. Then I probably won't get to play soccer anymore, which is something that I do like, a lot, much to Noah’s dismay. Because somehow me being good at soccer is a personal affront.

Someone throws something into the campfire, and it surges outward. The heat of the flames lick at my face and I recoil. It feels ominous, like something bad is about to happen. In my haste to escape being singed, I fall off the log I'm sitting on.

Several people laugh, but I don't pay attention to them. My heart is beating too fast, too hard, too loudly. If the camp counselors can't hear the laughter and music from the party, they'll surely hear how loud my heart is beating.

"You alright, bro?"

Noah looks down at me, smirking, his dark hair falling forward around his face. Is he really allowed to keep it so long? It makes him look…pretty. Soft. Grandfather would never allow it. I've had a buzz cut my entire life. Sharp. Tight. Masculine. It's long for me now, sticking up on top when it's not wet. It's hard to keep neat.

“You’re staring again,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

I look away and shake off the hand he’s offered to me, getting to my feet instead of sitting back down on the log. He shrugs and empties a bag of Skittles into his mouth. I'm about to make excuses and escape this god-forsaken party, when a pretty blonde girl wearing too much lip gloss squeals and runs up to us. I recognize her. Her name is Maci, and she's been trying to get Noah's attention all night. He seems oblivious, but I think he’s pretending. It’s a game he plays with all his friends, and they fall for it, falling all over themselves for his attention.

I’m trying not to be one of his sycophants.

"Oh. My. God. Noah! You won't believe what we're playing," Maci says, and grabs his arm. He lets her pull him away, and I let out a relieved sigh.

Before I can take a step back towards the cabins, Noah grabs a fist full of my sleeve and pulls me along with him. I try to resist, but putting up too much of a fight would draw more attention, and I don't want that. I'll find another opportunity.

Maci drags us around the fire to the other side of the clearing. It's not as hot over here, but I still have that bad feeling twisting in the pit of my stomach. There's a small group of people sitting around an old wooden picnic table. A curvy redheaded girl is sitting on top of it, her feet dangling off the edge. A sly grin curves her lips when she sees Maci and Noah. She doesn't seem to notice me, but I'm okay with that. It’ll be easier to slip away once Noah is distracted.

"What's the game?" Noah asks.

"Well, we were playing spin the bottle," Maci explains, and my face flushes.

I've heard of that game. I can hear my grandfather's voice in the back of my mind, telling me what happens to people who play "the devil's games." I look at Maci and imagine her pregnant and alone, the devil’s hand on her shoulder. Feeling like I need to be responsible for my new stepbrother, I grab his shoulder to pull him away, but freeze when I hear the next words. "…but the bottle kept landing on other girls and I was tired of spinning. So I challenged Mary to play gay chicken!”

A shocked choke escapes me and is heard over everyone's laughter, drawing their attention to me. My hand is still on Noah's shoulder, and I'm sure I look like a deer in headlights with everyone's attention bearing down on me.

Noah rolls his eyes and shrugs away from my hand, clearly annoyed that I'm being a "party pooper." Again. "What? Never heard of gay chicken?" he sneers.

"No," I snap, my mind scrambling to put the words together and make an educated guess over what that even is. "That's not a game. That's just wrong." It's certainly not a game that I would ever engage in. Just standing near these people probably has grandfather rolling in his grave.

"Don't be homophobic," Maci says, putting her hands on her hips. She stares at me with thinly veiled disdain for a moment before turning back to Noah. "Anyway, how much do you want to watch me make out with Mary?"

"Depends," Noah says cooly. "How far you gonna let it go? You gonna lick her pussy?"

If Maci answers, I don't hear it. I must have made another involuntary noise, because Noah whips his head around. To say I'm shocked to hear language like that is an understatement. It's another reminder of how different things are outside my grandfather's estate. I'm quickly learning that most everything is different. Even just being at an unsupervised co-ed party is unheard of.

The look in Noah’s eye, the mischievous glint that borders on evil, can’t mean anything good for me. I take several slow steps backwards. It’s time for me to go.

"You know what," he says, loudly enough for everyone around us to hear, "I think Lane wants to play."

"I most certainly do not," I say firmly. Noah takes a step closer for every step back I take, until I almost run into the girl sitting on the picnic table. She scrambles away and joins the circle of people around us.

"What's wrong, bro? Chicken?"

Yes.

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