1

His name is Jeremy. He has blue eyes and shiny, soft, chin length blond hair that reflects the sunlight. He has a cute smile, good taste in clothes and I'm in love with him. The problem? I have no idea if he's gay or straight because he gives off mixed signals and I have never, ever had a good gaydar. I also hate that word. It's so... gay.

Well, maybe that's why they call it that... but that's not the point.

The point is, that here I am in a two week long Christian summer camp, with a crush on the cutest boy there – which brings me to another point. Most of the girls have a crush on him too. You can tell in his eyes that he kind of knows how beautiful he is, but he pretends to not really know / not give a shit.

It's annoying as hell, and that's another reason I love him for it. He's smaller then me, only slightly – maybe by an inch or two, but that's alright since I'm 14 and 6 feet. I know, I'm sorta tall for my age. He also has the calm spirit about him, that, whenever your mad and you talk to him it just kind of dies away.

He is 15, and along the way through my journey I have learned that he want's someone with good Christian morals. Right now that would flag “straight” but honestly? I don't really know, and I don't really care because that's not stopping me from falling in love with him because – guess what? I already have.

2

“Yo, Kent,” calls one of the girls – Shirley. She is Asian. In fact everyone in my church is some type of Asian, except – I'm a halfie and fucking proud of it. (Oh, and I forgot to tell you that this is the Youth Group outing of the summer. 60 hormonal Christians in one place – smart).

“Yeah?” I reply, dully stirring the sugar into my paper cup of coffee during our allotted breakfast time in the cafeteria.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She switches with Lily so she can sit vertically from me.

“Yeah... I'm fine,” I say taking a sip of coffee and burning my tongue, “shit that's hot.”

“Found any cute boys.” She phrases this sentence as a question, almost asks it like a question, but it's not a question. She knows that I have become affectionate for someone at this camp and I wont tell her. Normally, if it were anyone else, I would have gagged if she referenced me being gay, but this was Shirley and she figured it out when she saw me staring at her brother for a bit longer then the normal amount of time. She references it as me eye raping him – in fact, she couldn't be more true.

“Yeah,” I mumble taking a bite of a piece of white bread.

“Kent pass the salt please,” Lily asks finally butting into the conversation. She's cool and knows. It's just, mainly the girl's are the ones who are okay with it. The boy's aren't really / they pretend they don't care / I haven't told them because I know they'll be assholes about it.

“Sure.” I'm named after Clark Kent. The unheroic form of Superman. I have glasses just like him, and my full name is Clark Kent Wu. I usually never say the Wu part because I hate it – it's the most Asian part of my name, and I never say Clark because it's the ultimate nerd-fest name. I'm failing math. And unsurprisingly my white dad picked out the name. I don't think he had any friends in school.

“Who?” Shirley demanded – she liked having the 411 on everything.

“Jeremy” I said pointing over at him quickly and looking away just in case he noticed me.

“Ooh,” she giggled, “I'd tap that.” I must have made a face because she quickly added, “except he's totally gay. So you're okay. Heheh, that rhymes.”

I couldn't tell if she was saying that because she wanted to make me feel better or if she was saying that because it was true, and I wanted to believe the later – except it did make me feel better and so I didn't know which way to go. “Um, I don't know.” The truth? I've never had a boyfriend. I've never kissed – anyone. I've never been on a date. I want to, so bad. I'm somewhat of a hopeless romantic. I hope he'll hold me by the fire, or I'll hold him – doesn't matter. I hope we have hot passionate sex on our bed, in the shower, in the kitchen – wherever. I hope we get the chance to make out in the rain, and I hope we can get married, settle down somewhat, maybe adopt a kid or something.

I also want to become a famous movie star / singer, so go figure.

But right now, I'll just push Jeremy out of my mind and focus on one thing. Food, because I love food, and you know what? Food loves me back!

3

The prison had three cells. All of them occupied, but none of the prisoners actually in their cell. In fact, they had guns, but the guards told us not to worry, “They've been away from civilization so long they don't even know how to work the guns.”

Great, here I am with 5 other girls who are scared shitless in a cell with three body builder criminals not in their cells with guns.

Who thought this was a good idea?

The actual prison was pretty sad as well. Many walls were crumbling and I doubted that the cells would even hold the prisoners in the first place. But that's what you get for going to a “maximum security” prison at a Christian retreat center.

We left the prison as fast as we could, and ran to the tree. Why? Because Jeremy was in it. We are unofficial, and silently the “WE LOVE JEREMY Club” sad, I know.

He had a book in his hand and he was plugged into his iPod (not literally). His eyes were closed and he was leaning into the branch. I sat on the base of the tree, leaning against it, while some of the girls sat on the bench, while the others stood.

He knew we were there, in fact – he probably had his eye on Stephanie. He was probably squinting at her now, degrading her body with his eyes.

Who am I kidding? He's straight, he's a freaking straight boy with hormones and all that jazz. He doesn't want me, he wants a girl.

I don't have many friends in church / no friends. All the people who hang out with me don't particularly like me as a friend, they just feel bad for me. I have plenty of school friends, but not many church friends at all. It's sad, really. I took a deep breath and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Jeremy asked me in his perfect voice – not to deep, not to high, just right in the middle that made him different from all the other boys.

“Away,” I said.

“You can't leave me here with all these girls,” He replied.

“If you want me here for that reason, you've got a bad one.”

I took my bottle of orange soda out of my backpack and went over the the driveway that lead up to the house that the people from my church bunked in. I splashed the soda on to the cement spelling out “WHY AM I ALONE?” on to it. I laid down next to it, and curled up and cried.

This sucks. I wish someone would be here to pick up the pieces, and as someone walked by me, I could tell that person felt sorry for me, but weren't going to do anything about it? I mean, why would they.

They don't know anything about me.