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Mike didn’t seem
     to mind being called shorty. If it had been him, he wouldn’t have been able to take it so well. That was what made Mike Gruber
     so cool. He seemed not to care about anything — except basketball, of course.
    They talked about Rise Lawrence and Joanie Kim and Stephanie Krause. Rating them against each other. Tim felt awful when they
     did that, especially when they dissed kids because of their looks, or the way they walked, or their weird voice, or whatever
     it was. It was the same way they ragged on the new campers — although Tim doubted they’d have had the guts to say those things
     to the girls’ faces the way they did with the other boys.
    He wanted to hang with these kids, to feel free and easy with them. He guessed it would come with time, but he didn’t want
     to force it — didn’t want to sit down there with them and talk people down just to feel bigger.
    So he went back inside and upstairs to his and Billy’s room. Billy was lying on his bed, reading a long letter from Europe.
     “So how’re your mom and dad liking their trip?” Tim asked him.
    “A lot better than I’m liking it here,” Billy said miserably. “You should read this — they’ve been to about six hundred places
     already, and all my mom does is rave about how great it all is. I can’t believe they didn’t take me!”
    “You really like going to old churches and stuff?” Tim asked.
    “It sure beats getting made fun of, being bitten by a million bugs, getting your head covered with shaving cream, and peeling
     the skin off your back in huge sheets,” Billy replied. “I’m gonna look ridiculous tonight.”
    “Nobody will notice that you’re peeling,” Tim said. “Just wear a shirt.”
    “Thanks. I was planning on it.”
    “Good. No, but seriously, you look okay. A little red is all. Lots of guys have sunburns from this week. It hasn’t rained
     once yet.”
    “I hate dancing,” Billy said. “I’m no good at it.”
    “Look, all you have to do is dance one dance with a girl, then ask her if she wants to go outside and talk.”
    “Oh, so you’ve got all the moves down now?” Billy said, looking doubtful. “Where’d you get that info?”
    “Listening to the other guys talk about it,” Tim admitted. “But I’m sure you can dance as well as anybody else.”
    “I wouldn’t know,” Billy said glumly. “I’ve never tried.”
    “Never?”
    “Never.”
    “Ah, it’s nothing to worry about, dude,” Tim assured him. “It’s just a dance.” Tim flopped down on his own bed, wishing someone
     else were giving him a pep talk, instead of the other way around.
    The gym was all strung up with Christmas lights, even though it was July. Independence Day was the only holiday of the summer,
     and the camp was taking fulladvantage of it. Tonight, after the social, there would be a display of fireworks down by the lake.
    Tim looked around at the flickering lights, topped off by a rotating mirror ball and disco lights. On his side of the gym,
     all the boys from age eleven on up were hanging together in groups, checking out the girls, who were doing the same thing
     on the other side. Everyone was dressed up, which, here at Wick-asaukee, meant that the guys had showered, moussed their hair,
     and were wearing slacks instead of jeans or shorts and regular shoes instead of sneakers. The girls were all decked out in
     dresses, heels, and makeup. It kind of gave Tim the willies. “No pressure,” he told himself under his breath, but he couldn’t
     deny he was feeling it. Most of the boys were, by the looks of them.
    The music was already playing, courtesy of a DJ who was parked on the stage, surrounded by his equipment. A lot of the Condors
     were up and dancing already with the girl Condors. Some of the counselors were serving punch and cookies at the other end
     of the gym.
    Tim wondered which of the Eagles would be the first of their group to break the ice by asking someoneto dance. Would it be a