WARNING: This story contains strong language, depictions of violence, depictions of sexual assault, and depictions of homophobia that are not accepted or tolerated and may be upsetting to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

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 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 comes 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 many 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 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 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 in 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 few 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 face time 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 demonstrates 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 school year, 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, graying 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 few 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. "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. While the kids who stupidly decided shorts would be a good idea stick the closest to the fire, I stand at the back of the group. I'm warm and toasty thanks to good planning and common sense.

I'm not the only one hanging back. Luis and a couple of his friends, who are all dressed sensibly, are clustered a few yards away, murmuring amongst themselves. I notice one looking at me before saying something under his breath to Luis. I try to figure out what, if anything, I should think about that as my mother stands on the other side of the fire pit.

"Welcome to Camp Rolling Stream," she says loudly, startling a few students. That's my mother for you.

She walks to stand beside Jenson and Clawson on the other side of the fire so she can look at all the students. "We will be here for five days. Meals will be provided at nine, noon, and five. If you haven't already discovered the bathroom and shower facilities, we will show you around when we're done. But I wanted to get some ground rules out of the way first."

She doesn't pace, but she does take her time to look at every of my classmates, including myself, as she speaks. I've never really understood why she is so feared by my peers, but in moments like this, I see a shadow of the hard, tough woman she has led them to believe she is. "First rule is that the girls' cabins and facilities are denoted by the white duct tape over the doors and the boys' cabins and facilities have been denoted by green duct tape over the doors. If your gender does not match the color of tape over the door, you are not allowed in that room. You will be sent home and your parents will be told. Period. No ifs, ands or buts. Not happening."

Someone snorts. It's Serena Gladney. She's a lesbian, the only other out gay kid in my class. I like Serena. She's a bit snarky, but she has never been anything but nice to me. Plus, I struggle with the sciences but she excels in them, so she's saved my ass dozens of times by helping me with projects and homework.

My mother gives her that much-feared raised eyebrow. "Rule number two: you cannot trade roommates. Same consequences."

This quiets Serena, who was most likely planning on trying to share her cabin with one of the three closeted bisexual girls in the class, whose identities Serena has always kept a close secret.

"Rule three: no wandering off. We are more than happy to let you take hikes out in the woods in between our planned activities, but you have to let a chaperone know. And the minimum number of people in a hiking group is three. That means that three people go into the woods, three people come back. Roll call will be taken every morning at ten and every night at eight. Remember: I've been doing this for a lot of years. You're not going to do anything I haven't seen before. But let's also remember that most of us are adults now. Let's try to have some genuine fun and get to know each other better instead of thinking of ways to thwart my evil plans, okay?"

This gets a good chuckle.

"Okay. Mr. Jenson, will you show them the facilities?" my mother asks.

"You're the best, Arti!" one of the goofball students shouts. Isaac Childress. He has gotten plenty of one-on-one time with my mom over the years and while his nature is always inherently disrespectful toward the teachers, he has grown fond and defensive of my mother in this eleventh hour, or more specifically, twelfth grade.

My mom just gives him a smile. As most of my classmates follow Jenson, I find my eyes locking with my mother's. I nod subtly to the forest and she crosses her arms and raises her eyebrow. I silently return the glare until she relents and gives me a tiny nod.

My semi-forbidden solo hike through the woods begins in a rush as I hurry to move away from the eyes of my class so they don't ask questions. Once I'm far enough away to know that even the bright red of my sweatshirt is lost in the foliage, I slow down and focus on the scenery.

This isn't the spare, light woods they show on TV and in movies. This forest is ancient and dark. The firs and pines up here aren't as large as the Redwoods in California, but they're damn close. I find my subtle annoyance with my classmates fading as I lose myself in the woods. The fresh, cold air cleans me of all ill will.

There is a rhythm to the trees and ferns that humans have never been able to comprehend. They grow close to one another, but not too close. The trees respect each other, allowing their neighbors adequate access to light and nutrients. The ferns grow in the patches that catch the most sunlight throughout the day. The moss clings to fallen logs and dying branches in brilliant emerald blankets.

I watch my breath form in front of me for a moment before I close my eyes. I love it out here.

I'm another twenty minutes into my hike when I sense something. A change in the air currents, a vibration in the dirt. I turn to see an animal sitting on the ground behind me.

It's a canine of some kind, with beautiful, thick black fur and shining brown eyes. It's huge, with the tops of its ears rising over my waist. He sits when he sees me turn around and gives me a grin, his tongue hanging out.

Now, wolves don't exist around here. Theoretically, they could, but I've never seen nor heard of someone seeing one. In Oregon forests, felines are a much bigger issue. Plus, this animal is far too clean to be wild. I eye the size of his teeth and decide that he would have killed me already if he wanted to. It's much more likely that he's some kind of very large domesticated mutt who likely got lost on a camping trip.

"Hi there," I say, cocking my head at him. In response, he lays down and crosses his front legs before looking up at me with that grin. I tentatively hold up a hand and take a step closer to him. He rolls over on his back, revealing patterns of a gorgeous white undercoat on his belly.

"Did you get lost?" I ask, rubbing his chest for a moment before I reach to the ruff of fur around his neck to check for a collar. I find none, but I pet his neck, anyway. He nuzzles against my hand. Definitely domesticated. "Where are your people?"

He rolls back onto his belly and stands up before leaning against my legs, requesting more pets. I scratch his ears and stroke down his spine. His fur is thick but unbelievably soft. I find myself sinking to my knees to bury my face in the fur by his neck. He rests his head on my shoulder contentedly.

"Can I take you back to the campground? We have to find your people," I say as I pull away. "If you don't have a collar, you probably have a microchip. You're such a nice boy, I'm sure your family is looking for you."

He decides to lick my face. I tolerate the doggy breath for a moment before I stand back up. "Come on, boy," I say, heading back toward camp. He follows me and head-butts me in the back of the knee so hard I stumble and almost fall. I give him a teasing glare at this. "And try not to knock me over."

He grins again at this. I pet his head and turn around, hoping he'll follow me back to the campground. I take three steps before I look back for him.

Somehow, that enormous animal managed to completely disappear into the forest. I whistle confusedly for a moment before I decide it's no use. He knows my scent and could follow me if he wanted to. The fact that he wandered off tells me he had somewhere else to go.

My stomach grumbles, and I head back to camp for breakfast.