Because this day wasn’t bad enough already, shit had to get even stupider.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

NOTHING IS EASY. EVER.

“Uh—” Bathroom Interloper’s eyes dart back and forth between us.

“A spider bit me on the balls.” I put both hands in the air before he gets the wrong idea. Which he clearly already has, so it’s useless.

“I’m gonna—” He thumbs over his shoulder and starts to back out of the bathroom.

Randy grabs him by the shirt and yanks him inside, slapping his free palm against the door to prevent anyone from entering or exiting. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I-I don’t—I’m not. I like girls.”

“Randy, chill out and let him go.” Bathroom Interloper looks like he’s about to pee his pants. Which is understandable considering the situation he walked in on and Randy’s misplaced aggression. “This isn’t how it looks. A spider seriously bit me on the balls.”

I’ve got enough crap to contend with where Sunny is concerned. I don’t need more rumors circulating.

His eyes drop down and then flip right back up. His horror confirms what I already know. I need to get this taken care of. Sooner rather than later.

To drive the point home, Bathroom Interloper says, “That doesn’t look normal.”

“No shit.”

“You should probably see someone about that.”

“That’s the plan.”

He nods like it makes good sense, because it does.

I carefully zip my shorts to avoid any additional unnecessary pain. Randy and our new friend walk two steps in front of me, acting as a shield so I don’t traumatize any of the kids or junior counselors milling around. The girls run up as we’re about to go into the mess hall. Sunny’s Doppelganger gets in front of us and throws open the door. “Buck has a spider bite!” She pauses for greater effect. “On his balls!”

It wouldn’t be so much of an issue if it was just me and Randy and Bathroom Interloper, plus the two girls. But it’s not. A group of kids are off in the corner, some playing cards and others on their devices, since this is the best place to get reception. Several junior counselors sit at a table, preparing snacks for the campfire. We’re having banana boats. They’re my favorite. I hope my balls don’t prevent me from being able to go. I really want one. Or six.

Everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at my crotch. I can understand why; my shorts are tight across the front, giving everyone an awesome view of the outline of my now oversized balls. I use my hands to cover myself, but it’s too late. They’ve all seen the monstrosity taking up way too much real estate in my shorts.

“You should probably see the nurse,” one of the girls at the table says. Her eyes are still below my waist.

“I need an antihistamine. You got a bag of frozen vegetables in the kitchen I can borrow?”

Everyone continues to stare. Randy coughs from beside me.

“Fine. How about a bag of ice instead? That way I won’t have to return it after I put it on my balls.” I glance at the kids in the corner. They’re all gaping, too. “I mean my testicles.”

That gets a few giggles. It’s nice that this is entertaining for someone.

Bathroom Interloper puts in his two cents. “I still think someone should check that out.”

“I offered!” Doppelganger’s hand shoots up in the air. The girl beside her forces her hand back down to her side.

“I’ve checked it out.” I point to my chest. “It’s just a little swollen.”

Randy coughs again.

“Okay. It’s a lot swollen. But I’ve had way worse, so this is no big deal.” The burning in my balls is now accompanied by a horrendous itch. It’s unreal. I have the strangest urge to dip them in ice-cold water. It’s about the last thing any guy usually wants to do, and a sure sign things are way worse than I thought.

“Let’s go find Debra,” Doppelganger suggests. “She’ll take care of you.”

I stop arguing. If I don’t accept medical attention, I’ll be setting a bad example. Plus, no one’s balls should ever be this big. My growing entourage makes their way through the mess hall to the area where the medical center is. It’s like a mini-triage unit crossed with a physiotherapy center. I’m familiar with a lot of the equipment. When we get there and no one moves to leave, I clap my hands together. “Okay, everyone. Thanks for getting me here. I appreciate all your help, but I don’t think I need a cheering squad for the rest of this.”

“Um . . .” Doppelganger raises her hand like we’re in class and I’m the teacher. “Can I get a quick picture with you?”

“Group photo!” Randy says, a stupid, jerky grin on his face. “Everyone in!”

He mashes everyone together, Bathroom Interloper and Doppelganger on either side of me. My smile is more grimace than anything else. I’d flip the bird, but this will undoubtedly make it to the Internet. I hope he doesn’t get my actual package in the picture.

Finally, once the photo shoot is over, they all leave.

In the far corner of the clinic, a kid is hooked up to a bunch of machines, an IV bag running to his arm. As soon as he sees me, he ducks his head like he’s embarrassed to be here, or he witnessed that display of idiocy.

I recognize him from earlier in the week. He hasn’t signed up for any of the competitive hockey business, but he’s been to every lesson. He’s an amazing player, but he’s quiet, always leaving as soon as the lesson is over before I can talk to him. He’s missed the campfire a couple of times.