By the end of the first week, life in camp becomes routine.

We rise at dawn (those on kitchen duty a half hour earlier) and attend to our personal needs. Then we convene for a simple breakfast. Every morning there's an array of choices including scrambled eggs (reconstituted from a powder, but not bad), oatmeal, polenta or another grain, fruit, granola, and yogurt. On Saturday there are pancakes (the just add water variety) and a passable re-hydrated sausage and potato scramble. Beverages include coffee, tea, and juice.

After breakfast we consult the roster and perform our daily chores, which besides kitchen duty include dishwashing, camp clean-up, and (everyone's least favorite) wiping down and restocking the camp's two portable restrooms.

Once the chores are done, we gather again for a brief lecture from either Professor MacDowell or Professor Yuan, and then the real fun begins.

At the dig site, tools range from picks and shovels to toothbrushes. Sometimes we chip away at rock or shovel debris; other times we painstakingly brush grit from exposed fossil bone.

These physical tasks are simple and straightforward compared to what MacDowell calls 'the real work' of documentation.

We take pictures of everything and use photographic scales and various common objects to show the subject's size; coins reveal the minuteness of tiny fossils, and our own bodies demonstrate the scale of larger things, like the rock face itself.

Besides pictures, we note how far various specimens were found from one another, their exact position, and any other features of note that could help future researchers glean valuable information from our finds. Without these details, Professor MacDowell explains, a fossil's scientific value is greatly diminished.

At midday, we pause for lunch—typically something easy and quick, like peanut butter sandwiches, jerky, trail mix, fruit, and protein bars—and a short rest before returning to the site until late afternoon. There's a period of free time before dinner, and then another round of camp chores.

Dinner itself is hot and filling, and sometimes fun. One night we bake potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil in the coals of a fire; another we roast hotdogs over the open flames. There's always a vegetarian option, and if it's impossible to ensure a meal meets certain dietary restrictions (kosher for George and halal for Kaja and Abdul) an alternative is provided.

After the meal, the professors or one of the grad students gives a lecture with the aid of a battery powered slide projector, and then the rest of the evening is ours to do with as we please.

Left to myself, I'd probably wash my face, brush my teeth, and go to bed. Hazel and Riley like to stay up and play cards, though, especially poker, and to avoid being labeled a poor sport I join in, despite not being very good. George joins us as well, having failed to develop much rapport with his own tent-mates, and the four of us often end up playing past midnight.

Instead of money, we wager things like interesting pebbles or the next day's assigned chores (which is how George got stuck with bathroom duty three days in a row).

Lacking much skill at the game, I run out of things to bet fairly early on, and end up watching as Hazel faces off with Riley, but on the fifth night in camp, I get lucky. I've learned enough to know I have a decent hand: three jacks and two sevens, for a full house. Hazel tends to bluff hard, which is how he beat George's flush with a single pair after George folded, and I think I've learned his tell: he smiles a lot when he's bluffing.

Usually, no one is very attached to the valueless things we wager, but tonight he has something I want, and he knows it.

Theropod dinosaurs—the bipedal carnivores like T-Rex, Velociraptor, and Allosaurus—shed teeth like crazy. Their teeth continued to replace themselves every few months throughout their entire lives, and they lost them often. Theropod teeth are therefore abundant and of little scientific value if not found in context with other fossils, so if we find one, we're allowed to keep it.

Hazel found one the day before, probably a Utahraptor tooth, and when I almost bowed out of the game earlier, he laid it on the table.

Unfortunately, I have nothing left with which to raise the bet.

"I know what you could bet," Hazel says, grinning conspiratorially. "A date."

"A date?" I frown at him, unsure what he means. "Like, what, my birthday, or something?"

"No, you dork." Riley laughs and shoves me playfully. "He means a date with him."

"Yep," Hazel affirms, still smiling away. "If you win, you get the tooth; if I win, we go on a date."

He lays the fossil on the tent floor between us. I look at my hand, partly to weigh my odds and partly to hide my embarrassment. Hazel's grin is so wide he could almost give the Joker a run for his money, which makes me think my full house will be more than enough to beat whatever he's holding.

"Okay, you're on, and I call."

Triumphantly, I reveal my hand. Hazel's grin fades.

"Did you only agree to that bet because you knew you'd win?" he asks.

"Obviously."

I reach for the tooth, but he intercepts my hand, and shows his own.

"That's too bad, because four of a kind beats a full house," he says, revealing four queens. "Looks like I win after all."

"You did that on purpose," I say, flushing with anger as much as embarrassment as I realize I've been played. "You knew I had a decent hand, because I stayed in the game so long. So you waited until I was all in before you brought out the one thing I might really want. Then you let me think you were bluffing when you knew you would win."

His smile falters. "Well, I didn't know for sure," he says. "I took a gamble."

"That's kinda the name of the game, Charlie," George adds unhelpfully. He and Riley are smiling as well, clearly as pleased with Hazel's victory as Hazel himself.

Humiliated by my unsportsmanlike reaction as much as anything else, but feeling it's too late to fix it, I get to my feet. "Well, congratulations. I'm gonna get some air. It stinks like peanut butter and old socks in here."

This, sadly, is an uncharitable gibe at George, and I regret it the moment the words leave my mouth. He's as socially awkward as I am and got short-changed in the looks department, too. At the same time, he's blessed (or cursed) with a sweeter temperament, seems to see good in everyone, and has trouble making friends. He's an easy target, and I can tell from the hurt that enters his expression that my cheap shot hasn't missed the mark.

Vowing to apologize and make it up to him later, I step out into the dark and walk away from camp, hugging myself against the chill air.

Professor MacDowell was right; while the temperature soars in the day, it plummets at night, with a range of almost fifty degrees Fahrenheit. Sure, 50F/10C isn't that cold, but it feels cold when you step from a warm tent into open air wearing only a T-shirt.

I start off, walking along the trail that leads away from camp, my way lit by the moon and more stars than I've seen in my life, but I don't get far before Hazel catches up to me.

"Hey, Charlie, wait." He lays his hand on my arm—not grabbing, just touching—and I stop. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It was just... Well, it wasn't a joke—I really do want to go on a date with you—but I guess that wasn't the best way to ask."

He winces. I don't say anything, not because I'm angry, but because I'm still processing his words, and he carries on.

"I won't hold you to it, or anything," he says. "I'm not gonna force you to go on a date with me, obviously. But if you wanted to..."

He trails off. I'm still trying to find something to say, but I can't blame him for interpreting my silence as stony rejection.

"Do I even have a chance?" he asks. "I mean... am I not your type?"

"It's not that," I say, finding my voice at last.

"What, then?"

"It's just that I... can't right now."

I see a hundred questions in his eyes, and I brace myself to field them all, but then he sags, defeated at last.

"Sorry." He sighs and lets his hand drop to his side. "You don't owe me an explanation. A no is a no. I won't bother you again. Promise."

He turns and heads back towards camp. I almost let him go—I probably should let him go, if I know what's good for me—but instead I squinch my eyes shut and call his name.

"Hazel. Hang on a minute."

He comes back, and even in the dim natural light I can see the hope in his expression.

"What do you like about me? I mean, what makes you want to go on a date?"

He shrugs. "What's not to like? You're cute, and smart, and you wear your heart on your sleeve. You're honest, and I love that. Plus, you really try. No matter what you're doing, you do your best."

I lift my brows at him, surprised at what a thorough list he had on the tip of his tongue. "I guess I get that from my mom. She always tells me not to do anything half-assed. It's the whole ass, or nothing.'"

Hazel grins. "Words to live by."

I laugh, finally relaxing a little. I might not owe him an explanation, but I don't mind giving one.

"It's my dad," I say. "He doesn't know I'm... gay. And he wouldn't approve if he did. He's paying my tuition, but there's all these rules I have to follow. I'm afraid if he finds out, he'll withdraw his support and I won't be able to finish school. At least, not on my current track."

Hazel frowns. "Is your dad here?"

I fidget. "No, but yours is."

"Are our dads friends?"

"No, I don't think so. My dad's a banker who thinks science is for nerds."

"So... who's gonna tell him? I'm not."

"I'm not either. It's just..."

It's just that I'm a coward, is all. No big deal.

"Tell you what," Hazel says, smiling. "I'll trade you. The date for a kiss."

"A what?" I blink in alarm, suddenly aware of how close he is.

"Kiss me, and I'll give back the date I won. Then you can decide what to do with it."

"Hazel... This isn't a game to me."

"I know. Who says I'm playing?"

"You're always playing," I say, frowning as he steps even closer, until his nose is almost touching mine. "That's what I don't like."

"Oh, yeah? What else don't you like?"

I rest my hands on his chest to keep him at bay and immediately become aware of the heat coming through his shirt and the firmness of his pecs.

"I don't like that your dad is my academic hero. It makes me look like a suck up. Or worse; like I'm using you to get close to him."

"So we won't tell him. What else?"

"I don't like that you're out of my league," I mumble.

Hazel scoffs. "Categorically not true."

"You could have anyone."

"Obviously not true, since I can't get the one person I want."

"You're distracting," I say, aware of how strained my whisper has become.

"I can behave. But I think you could use a little distraction, sometimes."

"You're..."

"What?"

"Annoying." I huff, and kiss him.

Well, I barely touch my lips to his, but he definitely kisses me. I've heard about chemistry before—listened to people describe it, seen it mimicked in movies and shows—but I've never felt it before tonight. It's like my body is a pile of kindling doused in lighter fluid and Hazel is a flame. By the time he's done kissing me, so many reactions have gone off in my brain that I'm already half in love.

"Are you okay?" he asks, the real concern in his voice clearing my mind a little. "Your heart's beating super fast."

"You're bad for my health," I grumble.

Relaxing, he flashes me a smile. "Nah. Cardio's good for you."

I pretend to glare, but he isn't fooled. Maybe I am an open book—to Hazel, anyway.

"So," he says, taking my hand and lacing his fingers through mine. "About that date..."