The Chapel Wars by Lindsey Leavitt Page A

named our first three children.
    So what?
    “A double date would be fun.” Sam kissed Camille on the cheek. “I’d love to get to know Dax better.”
    “Great, say his name, why don’t you,” I said.
    “Ooh, she’s getting angry.” Porter took a swig of the Kahlúa straight out of the bottle and nearly choked. “Nasty.”
    Sam laughed. “I think my dad poured all the leftover alcohol in there. He was going to throw it out.”
    Porter spit into the sink. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
    “Because this was more fun,” Sam said.
    They worked for another half hour, and we were almost done when a hockey game came on and I lost them. Camille hovered next to me by the table until I finally set my marker down. “Can I do something for you?”
    “Look,” she whispered, shooting a look toward the boys. She didn’t need to worry. Except for Sam, they never listened to what she said. “I know why you don’t want to talk to the guys about this. They are so antirelationship it’s amazing they haven’t faked Sam’s death so I would stay away.”
    There had actually been a discussion on this before. Grant had offered his bedroom. They figured Camille would move on in two weeks, then they could release Sam back into the world.
    “But all I’m saying is, if you do want to talk to anyone about this Dax guy, or any guy, talk to me. Or Sam, but only when he’s alone, because we both know Sam isn’t always Sam when the Penis Parade starts.”
    I stared at Camille. This was not the high-voiced, frail puppet Sam had been dating the last fifteen months. Who was this relatable, foul-mouthed creature? Is this why he loved her? “Uh, yeah. I guess …”
    “Now? Let’s talk now!” Camille pulled me into the guest bedroom, which was a little dramatic, but whatever.
    She perched on the edge of the plaid bedspread and primly crossed her legs. “Okay. So tell me about Dax.”
    This is the weird part. I did. I told her the little stuff, the details I’d been holding to my heart, like this little tick he had where he nodded his head when he was excited and how unbelievable his jaw was and how he made jokes about dead relatives in a sensitive way. And I told her about the Boneyard and the kiss and how I liked him so hard I was physically hurting from it.
    “This sounds amazing,” she said.
    “Or awful.” I rubbed my forehead. “What do I do?”
    “Okay. So he works at the gross chapel across the street and your families hate each other. Which is, you know, Shakespearean. Whatever.” She sighed. “Love doesn’t always follow the rules. I mean, look at Sam and me. Do you know what he does for fun? Goes up to Mount Charleston and shoots cans. My parents are gun-control activists, I’m not even kidding. If they didn’t already forbid me from dating
any
guy, they would forbid me from dating
him
.”
    “But you
are
dating him,” I said.
    “Exactly. Because I love him. Maybe I’ll tell my parents about him someday, and we’ll have a big blowup, and we might have to run away together to Detroit, or wherever you go when you run away with a boyfriend.”
    “So you’re saying I should tell my parents soon so we don’t get so far from the truth that we can’t go back.”
    “No, I didn’t say that. If you tell them, they’ll try to get in the way and your relationship will be dead before it starts.”
    “But you just said you’re going to have to run away with Sam someday,” I said.
    “Or break up. Someday. The point is that now I want to be with Sam, and my parents can’t know. Just like you and Dax.”
    “But that doesn’t make sense. Why not just get it over with and tell your parents?”
    Camille gave me a weird look. “They would totally ground me.”
    “But you’ll have to at some point, right? Like, when you get married.”
    Camille refolded a blanket on the bed. “Well, that’s all a big ‘if.’ I was only kidding about Detroit. I’m sixteen. I’m not committing to forever yet. Sam talks