It was the summer they got everything they wanted, moreso than the other summers when they got everything they wanted, because it was unexpected. Justin reclined on a silky mattress under the pulsing tide of dark club lights and music, while he put his tongue in Janet Jackson's mouth and she put her hands in his shirt. Lance stooped on a Russian forest floor and squinted at the flint in his hands, recounting the cosmonaut lessons in wilderness survival, dirt and leaves settling into the creases of his clothes, his hair and skin. Joey was standing in the left wing, listening intently to the stage director, nodding, holding his costume in one hand and reaching up to knock ungelled brown hair out of his smiling Broadway face with the other. JC leaned over until his forehead brushed Chris' shoulder and he touched Chris' startled waist with two slow hands; he said, "Then I guess we are." Chris opened his mouth.