I wake up to the faint smell of raspberry tarts baking. Its my moms recipe; I can tell from the smell of them. And in my mind I can see her with her hair pulled back and apron wrapped around her waist. I can hear her scolding my dad, telling him “if you eat all of the dough youll get sick.” and “Mail time, boys!”
When I open my eyes, I dont see the sweets I had been expecting. Its Wes. Hes standing in our doorway with a small blue duffle bag tucked under his arm. “Lets see what weve got.” As our cabin slowly grumbles to live, Wes rummages through his bag. Everyone sits at the edge of their beds in hopes of getting mail from home. Im not surprised to hear my name called after Trent. Carole and my dad promised to send something every week.
It's a small box with a couple packs of juicy fruit gum, a few of Caroles cookies that seem to have crumbled a bit in transit and a note. It is a reminder to “hang in there. It gets better” and that they love me very much.
When Wes has finished calling out names, nearly the entire cabin, Blaine hobbles over to him. Quietly, he speaks to Wes. The camp leader checks the duffle again then shakes his head no in response to whatever was asked. Not receiving the answer he had hoped, I watch Blaine drop his head and limp out of the cabin. And now I get why it was almost all of the cabin. Blaine didnt get a care package.

“So I saw you and Blaine swapped beds last night.” Instead of even addressing Trent, I turn my attention to Sebastian. Of course, hell have an outburst.
“You swapped beds?” He gasped, maybe a little too loudly.
I glance around. Blaine hasn't resurfaced since the care packages were passed out. “Yeah.” I shrug.
“Why?”
Trent has decided to milk every second of being ahead of the gossip. “Sebastian keep up, please.”
I train my gaze down to my plate of brunch food. The main dish is French toast. But, just because its brunch doesnt mean itll taste better than the other meals. “I kinda twisted his ankle so,”
Sebastian snorts out a laugh. “Kurt, terrible flirting skills. Boys should not literally fall for you.”
“It was an accident!” I defend. My cheeks heat up as the inevitable color floods to them.
“Well obviously. But howd that get him in your bed?”
“He couldnt get to the top bunk with a bad ankle.”
Trent leans over his plate. Im not sure if hes humoring me or if the wonder in his eyes are genuine. “Whats it like in a top bunk?”
“Trent, dumb question. I wanna know if the condom is still there.”
“Shit!” The attention of the entire mess hall is drawn to our table as my fork and knife hit my plate with a clatter. Quickly excusing myself, I discard of my soggy French toast and leave my plate in the dirty bin. Then, I set of sprinting back to my cabin.

“Kurt?” The door of the cabin creaks open to reveal Trent and Sebastian.
“Its still here!” I shout back to them. The silver packet flops proudly in my hand, while I wave my arms like Im trying to help land planes.
Trent scoffs, fanning himself in the doorway. “What is so important about that damn condom?”
“Because,” Sebastian snatches it from me to show Trent. “Its for ‘Blaine.'” He over articulates the name, underlining it with his finger.
“Its not for him, Bas.” I grumble at Trents judgmental countenance.
“Well, no, its for you.” He grins. “I believe my exact words were ‘best used by.'”
“Well, whatever.” Trent plucks it from Bas's hand, handling it like the soiled contraband that it is. “Im throwing it away.”
“No!” I think I surprised especially myself when, along with Sebastian, I leap for Trent on his path to the trash. “What if Blaine finds it?”
Trent lifts a disbelieving eyebrow. “On his daily trash rummage?”
“Trent, come on,” Bas attempts to reason. “If its in the trash, how will Kurt practice safe sex?”
Trent rolls his eyes. “You two are impossible. Im going swimming with the sane kids.”
“Hang on! Im coming, too.” I wonder if Sebastian thinks Alfie is one of the sane kids Trent speaks of. “You coming, Kurt?”
“No, I have laundry to do.”
“You have laundry after one week?” Trent asks.
My oldest friend shrugged.“Thats Kurt for ya.”

The laundry room seems to be the most secure and secluded place on the entire camp grounds, because every posted map seems to think its somewhere new. Really, its adjacent to the infirmary. Which youd think Id have noticed in my two trips there. But, sadly, no.
So, in my trek, Ive accumulated large amounts of dust and sweat on myself, as well as my laundry. While I may look like a nightmare, stepping into the air conditioned laundry room feels like a dream. Until,
“Oh!” My utterances earns no reaction. I clear my throat in an attempt to make my presence known, still to no avail. Really? I throw my laundry to the ground and kick my foot against a dryer. Finally, Blaine's eyes flick open and he looks at me from where he sits atop a washing machine.
“Kurt! Hey…” He says, after detaching his girlfriends lips from his own.
“Sorry, Ill go.” I understand that making the offer to leave while being frozen to the spot is dumb.
Luckily, although can you call any of this luck, Quinn insists on excusing herself. “I should get back to the girls, anyways.” She informs us, while wiping her lipstick from Blaines face. Its like shes marking her territory to do that in front of me. “It was nice to meet you.” She calls to me on her exit. Which is so fake. She didnt even learn my name. I hate her.
Once shes gone, Blaine swipes the back of his hand across his lips. I try to focus on sorting my laundry. The problem is how very aware I am of Blaine pretending hes not watching me. I know I should say something. But, what am I suppose to say to him at this point? ‘Hey, shes got a fine ass.' I feel that would be inappropriate. Instead, I let the room settle to the hum of the unflattering lights above us and the faint smell of Blaine. Raspberries.
“So–”
“Your bed smells like you…”
“Oh.” After such stable silence. Safe silence. Blaine tries for one syllable and I wreck it all.
“Im sorry.” I burry my face in a dirty T-shirt to hide my embarrassment. Although I quickly regret that from the smell of it. “Sorry.” I reiterate, dropping it in the washer.
“Hey, what for?” And damn him for feigning a voice of genuine concern.
“I dont know.” I admit after stuttering around the words for a moment.
“It better not be my ankle. I dont want you feeling guilty, okay?”
I pick up another garment and wring it in my hands. I can feel his gaze burning a blush along my neck. “Well it was my fault.”
“Im partly to blame, too. I shouldve picked Eli.” I turn to catch him peeking up at me through his canopy of eyelashes. A teasing grin graces his face. The giggle that escapes me is purely natural.
“I tried to warn you.” The shirt is discarded into the machine and I move on to another one. “Shouldnt you be resting?”
A shrug is practically audible in his voice. “I feel fine right now. Owen gave me some Advil.”
“Just because you feel fine doesnt mean you are.” I remind him, adding in the last pieces of soiled clothing.
“Don't I look fine?” he asks. My heart stutters in my chest as I look at him over my shoulder. Yes, very fine.
I pray Im playing it cool despite the fact that Im freaking out inside. “You look like you have a sprained ankle.”
He pouts. Like full on puppy dog pouts and Im expected to keep from dying. “Nothing gets past you.” He jokes. “What do you think of escorting me back to the cabin after you finish up here?”
“O-okay.” I choke.

“So, is she your girlfriend?” I ask, fluffing up pillows.
“Who?” Blaine is watching from where he lies on my bed. The thought briefly flashes through my mind that under his head is the condom, having been returned to its original spot.
“The girl in the laundry room.”
“Oh, Quinn.” He allows for me to lift his ankle, sliding a couple pillows beneath it. “Yes. That is her.”
I hum, feeling jealousy twist deep in my gut. “Shes pretty.”
“Yeah,” Blaine grins. “Shes beautiful.” And that was like a punch to the face. I dont know what I was expecting to come from this conversation. It certainly wasnt the purity in his voice nor the love in his eyes when he tells me about her. Its a terrible kind of hurting, because I know I have no reason to be upset. I think hes beautiful. But hes still entitled to think his girlfriend is beautiful.
“Okay, well.” I sit on the edge of the bed and force a smile. “Cookie crumbles?” I offer.
“What?” I hold out the bag of crushed cookies from my family. “Oh,” Blaine laughs. Thats the kind of pure that doesnt suck for me. “Cookie crumbles. Of course. I would love some.” I fill the hand he extends to me with some of the broken dessert. As I pour some for myself, Blaine experimentally nibbles on a chip. “Shit, Kurt. These are so good!”
“Thanks, my stepmom made them.” I explain as he dumps the entire handful into his mouth.
“Im guessing this isnt the evil Cinderella type stepmother?”
“Oh no, Carole is the best.” And I mean that. Shes been great for my dad. “I actually set my father up with her.” Blaines eyebrows shot up with intrigue. “Er, well sorta.”
“Do tell.”
So, I tell Blaine Anderson the whole embarrassing story of how I had a massive crush on the straight quarterback. And how my plan of winning his love was making our parents fall for each other. And how it was the best outcome possible for such a shitty plan.
“Hey man, at least you got a cool brother out of it.”
“I really did, yeah.” I feel a grin slip over my face at the reminder of Finn.
Blaine mirrors the expression back to me. “And the best stepmom ever, who makes some godly cookie crumbles.” Hand him the bag, from which he graciously takes another handful. “Are the crumbles intentional?”
“No, they kinda got crushed in the care package.” Blaine fell quiet, offering only a nod at that. “Whatd you get in your care package?” I know Blaine didnt get one and now Im mentally kicking myself for asking.
“Ah, my parents dont really do those anymore. Ive gotten too old, I guess.”
“Well, you can share mine with me. That is if you dont mind crumbled cookies.”
“The best cookies always crumble.” He pops another handful of cookie into his mouth. But not without winking at me first. "Ya know, Kurt, your bed smells like you, too."