I gently knock on the door to the adjoining room. Johnson cracks it open. I put my finger to my lips and point to my ear, telling him to listen. He nods and leaves the door slightly ajar.

I sit back down and pretend to read a book. A minute later Rosa emerges from the bathroom. I spot the bulge in her back pocket where she has the mobile phone. She takes the chair next to me and looks at what I’m reading.

“Heard you talking in there. Boyfriend?” I say it without looking up, as if it’s the most normal thing. Just two girls making small talk.

Rosa looks over her shoulder at the door. From her angle it still looks closed. She whispers to me. “Mom doesn’t know. She’d have a cat. I met him a few months ago at church camp.”

Please don’t let it be a counselor. I’ve heard enough horror stories about sex offenders using religious camps as an opportunity to prey on children whose parents think they’re in a safe place.

“Is he cute?” I ask.

Rosa nods her head. “Yeah.”

“Older?”

Rose looks over her shoulder again, then leans in. “Just a little.”

My stomach turns. “How old?”

“He just turned eighteen. But I’m sixteen. Mom won’t let me date anyone more than a year older than me.”

I feel a wave of relief as I realize we’re not talking about some pederastic counselor. Eighteen is well below our profile. Even an older man who could pass for that probably wouldn’t fit. We’ll still need to check on it, though, just to be safe.

“You ever date anyone older when you were my age?” asks Rosa.

“I didn’t date much. Boys were afraid of me, I was too serious, and I was never in one place for very long.” I leave out that I went on a lot of pretend dates with older gay dancers who worked in our show. We’d go to movies and clubs. It was fun role-playing for both of us. I got to pretend that I at least had a normal life for a little while.

“Yeah, but I bet they all liked you. That’s why I became a cheerleader.”

I have to smile. I’ve seen the effect a costume can have on a boy’s imagination.

“What I like about Ryan is that he never asks for photos or stuff. Never any pressure, you know.”

I think I know. I’m relieved to see he’s not trying to exploit her. Of course, that could be because he’s eighteen and doesn’t want to go to jail. Or because he’s waiting for one of my dancer boyfriends to come along.

“Where does Ryan live?”

“Houston,” says Rosa.

Long-distance romance is always the hardest. It’s also the most sincere. Without the physical attraction in the way, you tend to be at your most honest. At least that was the case for me. “Do you get to see him very often?”

Rosa makes a disappointed face. “No. Not in person since church camp. But we talk all the time.” She lowers her voice. “He gave me a phone so we could talk.”