He couldn't remember what life had been like before he'd been left at the orphanage. He had been very young, but a boy of three or four was able to see, hear, and understand things. He should have some memories of that time. Yet he didn't. He didn't remember his parents or if he had ever known them. He didn't remember where he had lived or what he had done, then. This, then, would be the first time Ian could remember that he'd been away from the orphanage for more than the span of a day trip--he'd only been on outings to plays, museums, things like that. The school buildings were part of the orphanage's facilities, very near the dorms, so there wasn't much opportunity to leave. There was always a chance of adoption, but no prospective parents had shown interest in him--he was too shy--and the older you were, the less likely you were to be adopted. He was glad that he was finally old enough to go away to camp for the summer, more glad that he was one of the boys whose marks were high enough to be invited.

St. Mary's, the church that ran the orphange, also ran a private high school. Every year, the the students of the private school had the choice of going away to St. Mary's summer camp, and some of the best students from the orphanage also were asked along. It was a humanitarian gesture on the church's part. For years, Ian had been looking forward to camp, hoping he would be allowed to go. He had listened to others' stories of the place: clear lakes and green woods, so unlike the dull, loud city he gazed upon every day through the high chain link fence surrounding the gray buildings of the orphanage. Now, finally, it was his turn. He was thirteen this year.

Ian packed his things with a sense of expectancy bordering on nervousness. He'd been given camp t-shirts and shorts to wear, and he folded and refolded them, arranging and rearranging them in the bottom of his suitcase along with his socks and underwear and the books he was taking with him. They were leaving after lunch, but he was too nervous to eat, instead using the time to repack his bags. He had one large, dark, battered suitcase and one small and rather flimsy rucksack. He glanced up at the clock, and his eyes widened. He hadn't realized it was so late. He had to hurry. Being left behind because he missed the bus--well, that would be horrible. He slipped his arms into the rucksack straps, hefted his suitcase, and after casting one last glance at the small, bare room with two beds, hurried out into the hall and downstairs, then out across the sidewalk to where the bus was waiting. To his relief, not all the other boys had arrived yet. Well, it wasn't as if he was late, just overanxious.

Mr. Finney, standing sentry at the bus door, smiled at him as he approached. "All ready, Savage?"

"Yes, sir."

"We'll all have a good summer, I'm sure," said Mr. Finney with vague confidence, adjusting his glasses. The thin, aging teacher was a gentle man, if a bit scattered. Ian liked him and was glad he was going. There was an open hatch on the side of the bus, awaiting the passengers' luggage, and Ian slid his suitcase into it before boarding. He kept his rucksack with him, however.

There were about ten other boys already seated, and there would probably be about ten more coming. Ian didn't look at any of the other boys, though he was aware of their gazes on him. He quietly took an empty seat near the front of the bus. He was one of the youngest boys going. The older you were, the more likely you were to be invited to camp--it was the opposite of adoption. The two or three thirteen year olds who were going were the very best in their class. None of Ian's friends were going.

He felt another flutter of anxiety in his stomach, less pleasantly anticipatory than before. What if no one would talk to him and he had a miserable time at camp, just keeping to himself the whole time? He wasn't any good at making friends. He never knew what to say to people. He looked out the window. From where he sat, he could see one corner of the dormitory building where he lived, every day of the year. Even if I don't make any friends, he told himself, I'll get to see the woods and the lakes. I'll have a good summer, like Mr. Finney said. He straightened in his seat. Yes, it would be fine. He shouldn't ruin things by worrying.

He was not quite so certain, but still clinging to his hope, when the bus arrived at its destination, hours later. The other boys had been laughing and talking amongst themselves, but he had said hardly anything. One of the other boys had asked him, "You're Savage, aren't you?" and he had said yes, as that was his name. The boy had given him a kind of smile in return, and he had tried to smile back, wishing he knew what to say. Too late, he realized he should have asked the boy's name--by then, the boy had already turned around and was talking to someone else.

So he hadn't made any friends on the bus ride. What did that matter? There were still weeks and weeks ahead, the entirety of the summer. From where he was standing, in the midst of this first day of vacation, summer seemed like it would last forever. He had time. Smiling faintly to himself, he walked off the bus with the other boys when the door opened, breathed in the sweet, fresh air as he waited in line to get his suitcase from the compartment set in the side of the bus.

Once they all had their suitcases, their chaperones--Mr. Finney, another teacher Ian didn't know, and a nun he thought was named Sister Hortense--ushered them down a dirt trail leading away from the lot where the bus had parked, towards the trees and the wooden buildings of the camp scattered among them. The camp buildings were rustic in design, built to resemble log cabins, their roofs painted bright red and green.

Ian tried to look at everything at once. He saw the gleam of sunshine on the surface of a lake out beyond the cabins, and his heart rose. He fell back as the other boys and the adults walked on. He'd never been to the countryside before. He'd been to the park, but that was different. In the park, no matter where you were were, you could catch a glimpse of skyscraper, a whiff of pollution. The air here smelled so fresh, and the only buildings in sight were the cabins. He felt as if he could walk for miles through the woods and not meet anyone. He liked the feeling.

"Come along, Savage." Mr. Finney's soft voice drifted across the space between them, and Ian obediently quickened his pace.

The two teachers and the nun who'd brought them were conferring with two more adults: camp counselors, Ian assumed. They were wearing St. Mary's t-shirts, not unlike the ones Ian had been issued and was now wearing, as were the rest of the boys. One of the unfamiliar adults, a woman with dark hair, turned and spoke to them with a wide smile. "Hi there. We're so glad to have you all with us this year!" She went on, through a long and sunny welcoming speech, but Ian wasn't listening to her, gazing out at the lake, watching the way the sun moved across it, glittering. He put down his suitcase, daydreaming. He didn't start paying attention to the woman again until it was clear from her tone that she was winding up. "...and in the interests of fostering friendship between our two institutions, you've all been paired with a bunkmate from St. Mary's High who will be your partner throughout the summer. They've only recently arrived--got here a half hour or so before you. If you'll check in with Henry--," here she indicated her fellow counselor, a mousy man wearing a t-shirt identical to the ones they all wore, "He'll give you your bunk assignments, and you can all get settled in and meet your partners!"

Ian got in line with the rest of the boys and gave his name to Henry when it was his turn. Henry checked his list, his finger tapping on his clipboard. There was a pause, then he said, "Savage... Cabin Six, Bed C. You can sort it out with your partner, who gets the top bunk and who gets the bottom." He gestured to one of the cabins, which Ian assumed must be Cabin Six, which was rather far out, towards the lake.

"Thank you, sir," said Ian. He turned and made his way towards the cabin, the other boys trooping over the grass to their repective homes for the summer. He went quietly, listening to the others talk, listening still even as their talk faded away. None of them seemed to be headed towards his cabin. He wondered how many cabins there were, how many boys were at the camp altogether. In spite of the faint, placid smile he wore, his heart was pounding. He'd been paired with one of the St. Mary's High boys? And they were going to share a bunkbed? This was the first time he'd heard of this aspect of the summer camp experience. He hoped the boy would like him, that he wouldn't be some awful snob or bully. It could be anyone, after all, he thought, as he pulled the door of Cabin Six open. Anyone at all.

Cabin Six, when he stepped inside it, was quiet. For a moment, he thought no one else was there, and wondered if he'd been left alone, partnerless. He experienced the awful sinking of being overlooked. Having no partner would be worse than having a partner he didn't like--he'd be left out of everything, the whole summer long. He felt a sudden sting of tears in his eyes--but blinked them away in surprise as a head suddenly appeared, peeking out from one of the bottom bunks. He hadn't been able to see there was someone there; the beds were designed so that there were boards between the posts of the bunkbed, blocking off the ends of the lower mattresses and making it difficult to see into the lower bunks from where he was standing.

The boy regarding Ian smiled as he climbed out of bed. "Hi there."

"Hi," Ian replied shyly.

The other boy was taller than he and seemed a year or two older. He had dark hair that had grown out of the usual short St. Mary's haircut enough that he had to push it back from his forehead as he straightened. Or maybe the rules regarding appearance were less strict at the private school. The boy was still watching him with a keen interest, and his eyes, Ian was unable to avoid noticing, were a striking dark blue, almost purplish. Or were they actually purple? He was whip-thin and had a tilt to his head and a lift to his chin that could have been either confidence or arrogance. "Are you my orphan?" he asked suddenly, still smiling. The words themselves were rude, but somehow the tone of the boy's voice made them more palatable.

"I guess so," admitted Ian.

"Good! What's your name?"

"Ian," Ian said, as if a little doubtful that that was, in fact, his name.

"My name's Cat," said the boy, easily.

"Cat?" asked Ian, feeling stupid.

"Well--," the boy shrugged, "it's short for Catullus, but nobody calls me that."

"Oh, Catullus--that's an interesting name. Like the poet."

Cat blinked, gazing at him curiously for a moment, then laughed, not unkindly. "I guess so. My mom likes that kind of stuff." He shrugged. "Anyway, it's good to meet you." He gave Ian another curious look, his gaze flickering to the suitcase Ian was still clutching, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Aren't you going to put that down?"

"Oh. Yes." Ian put the unwieldy thing down so abruptly it might well have been dropped. It fell over when it hit the floor. He could feel his face heat. Cat was so unlike the boys he knew at the orphanage--it made Ian nervous. He was supposed to live with this boy for the whole summer? Cat was so good-looking and self assured, he had to be well-liked: a popular boy. A boy like that wouldn't like him, wouldn't want to spend time with him--how could he? "Sorry," Ian muttered.

"What're you sorry for?" Cat bent to pick up the suitcase for him. "Do you want the top bunk or the bottom bunk?" There were three rustic chests of drawers in the cabin, and Cat set Ian's suitcase down upon one of these.

"Oh--the top bunk, I guess." He'd never slept up high like that. It looked like it might be fun.

"All right, fine with me." Cat sat sprawlingly on the edge of the bottom bunk, where he'd been lying when Ian had come in, pushing his hair back again.

Ian stayed where he was, watching the other boy and finding himself unnervingly watched back. "Um." Ian had a question in mind, but he felt a little shy of asking it.

"What?"

"Where is everyone?"

"Everyone who?"

"Everyone else in this cabin."

Cat laughed. "Look at the other beds."

Ian did so, obediently. He found, to his surprise, that there were no mattresses in them, only bare bedslats. "Oh--What happened?"

Cat shrugged. "I guess they got stolen or were ruined somehow. Either way, I think we're on our own in here. Unless they cart in new mattresses. Which I doubt." He gave a sudden, blinding grin. "Which means we can do anything we want, right? So just put your stuff anywhere. This is our cabin."

"Yeah--all right."

"And don't look so nervous," Cat added. "You've got nothing to worry about. You're my orphan. I'll take good care of you."