“You can still post,” I say. “I mean, if you want to post about us and the Diary, I don’t mind.”

Drew laughs. “Yeah, I know. My blog’s up almost three thousand followers since I first mentioned dating you, so there’s that. I’ll write up some cute stuff and make all your followers jealous.”

I smile. “Okay, just, don’t do anything too over-the-top. We want to make sure it feels natural to the readers.”

“I’ve got it. Trust me.”

Inbox (1,453)

Missamericanbi asked: I know you probably won’t see this since you haven’t been responding to anyone else either, but if you get the chance, I have a friend who’s been really down lately. She’s trans and her boyfriend just broke up with her and I was hoping you could give her some advice since your relationship is so ideal? Please, it would mean the world to her.

True to my word, I pack Thursday night just after midnight. I’m scrambling around to get everything together, and just barely remember to try my binder on before I shove it into my duffel bag. I schedule a few posts for the Diary since I won’t be around to update it, and I do my best to respond to all the asks talking about my post from Paradise Cove. It’s nice to see the Diary’s doing even better than I am and has almost doubled in followers since introducing Drew. I email Drew a file of pictures and story ideas and stuff so he can have fun posting while I’m gone. I’m a little concerned about what he has in mind, but I trust him, and it’s just a weekend.

Friday morning, Brian drags me out of bed and we head to the camp. We have to meet up there and gather all the kids. Then we get to take a bus out to the lodge. The kids we’re taking are a bit older than my usual crowd—the eight- to twelve-year-olds—and I’m a little nervous about it, honestly. And then there’s the sharing-a-cabin thing. I’m not good in shared spaces or outdoor spaces, or really, any spaces that I can’t completely curate to my personal preferences.

By the time Brian and I park, there’s already a group of parents saying bye to their kids and helping them onto the bus. Georgette’s there, and she tells me to go wait on the bus while they keep loading, so I do, squeezing my duffel bag so it’ll fit down the aisle.

Devin’s sitting near the back, a doughnut hanging out of their mouth. They wave me over, and I make the miserable walk of shame as my bag smacks into everything within a five-mile radius.