The first time I heard someone say, “Ew, they’re being gay,” it floated down from the balcony of the main hall like a heckle at a basketball game. It was summer at sleep-away camp—an all-girls camp for teens where the days smelled like sunscreen and grass, and the nights belonged to us. The main hall was our kingdom after dark. It sat close to the bathrooms and held all the games, so we’d gather there in pajamas and slides, braids and bonnets, laughter echoing against the rafters. My roommate...