THE BEGINNING IS ALWAYS TODAY.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
across the top of the sign-in sheet.
Across the room, I watched my cousin sling an arm around an older woman with a braid hanging down her back. There were a handful of others, all ages, standing around with them. Hannah’s friends looked outdoorsy. They all wore some variation of the same outfit—T-shirt or Sweetwater polo, khaki shorts with lots of pockets, running shoes or hiking boots. My gingham sleeveless top with the silver snap buttons, professionally frayed jean shorts, and cute white canvas sneakers seemed fussy and out of place now. The others seemed ready to take on grizzly bears and scale rock walls, while I looked like an extra in a movie set on a farm.
Hannah seemed to be so wrapped up in catching up with her friends that she’d forgotten about me. So instead of standing around staring like a creeper, I took a seat at one of the long wooden tables, my suitcase at my feet. I sighed. The new girl, yet again. Just like last year at Blue Valley, when I arrived right as summer school began. School was school was school, and I was good at doing school. I knew the right things to say and the routines were familiar. But here? I didn’t know anyone, and even my job was still a mystery. I sat, my chin in my hand, and stared at the dark wooden beams on the ceiling, counting them forward and backward to the sounds of laughter and chatter from Hannah and her friends. You look lazy. Sit up straighter. Impressions are everything, my dad’s voice urged. I sat up and sighed.
Five minutes later, the door swung open again. I was expecting another wilderness-ready counselor type. My eyebrows lifted into my forehead when I saw how wrong I was. Not that he wouldn’t have been completely comfortable hugging a pine tree. The guy strolled in like he owned the place, one hand in the pocket of his shorts. He was tanned with rosy cheeks, as if he spent all his days windsurfing and playing volleyball on a tropical beach, and his light brown hair was sun-kissed on the ends. A carefree half-smile played on his full lips. The collar of his gray polo was turned up and his running shoes were just the right amount of worn to suggest he hit the pavement several times a week. His muscular calves confirmed it.
“Drool much, Ashlyn?” Hannah scoffed in my ear. I hadn’t heard her come over. Just in time to see me staring.
I couldn’t even pretend she was wrong. “Who is he?”
Hannah watched him drop a green backpack on the floor, sit down a few tables away from us, and remove a ring of keys from his back pocket. “Not a clue. Never seen him before.”
Something inside of me lit up, warm and bright. He was brand new, just like me. Maybe he and I could band together, us against the dirt, forging a new path. I shook my head at myself. Ridiculous. He was probably a mountaineer just like the rest of them. In fact, he exuded so much confidence that I bet Sweetwater hired him to offset my lack of experience. Still, there was something about him that I couldn’t look away from. Tatum liked to joke that there wasn’t a boy in a polo I didn’t like. Maybe she was right. And perhaps my track record with boys wasn’t amazing, but there was something magnetic about the promise of flirty banter. It had always been my favorite way to take my mind off . . . other things.
“Well, if he’s new, maybe he’s nervous too,” I said. Should I go talk to him? We could feel out of place together . . . As I stood, his dark brown eyes locked on me. I felt him give me the once over and my insides went molten. He was definitely my type.
“Sit down, sit down,” came a voice from the front of the room. I startled and sat back down as directed. Hannah took the seat next to me and some of her friends joined us. A tall man with a shock of white hair and posture like a flag pole stood before us. His navy-blue polo sported the Sweetwater logo over his heart and his khaki shorts were lined with cargo pockets. A carabiner with about a hundred keys hung from his braided belt. The man clapped his hands and his keys jingled. “Welcome, everyone. We’re so glad you’re here.” His voice was warm, grandfatherly, like he was ready to teach me to fish or to pull a quarter out of my ear.
A short, sturdy-looking woman with a bird’s nest of curly brown hair stood next to him, rocking back and forth on the heels of her Velcro athletic sandals. She cleared her throat loudly. The man patted her shoulder and continued speaking. “My name is Fred Allen and I’ve had the distinct pleasure of owning Sweetwater Overlook for the last forty-two years. My wife likes to say I’m semiretired, which is her way of telling me to spend more time at home, which I intend on doing after today. I see a number of familiar faces, which is always nice, and many new ones, which is also nice. I’m sure this is going to be our best summer yet, and that’s all because of your hard work. So, thank you in advance.”
Fred held his hands out toward us and clapped. And because you couldn’t not clap with him, I clapped too, as did everyone else. I stole a quick look over at the guy in the polo and he lifted his clapping hands in my direction and nodded, as if he were clapping for me. My face warmed and I smiled shyly, mimicking his action. Why shouldn’t we clap for each other? The boy winked at me and turned back to the front.
The short woman cleared her throat again, louder this time, and rocked so hard I was afraid she’d fall over. Fred finally got the hint.
“Kids, this is Deborah Gress, our new manager.” Audible gasps were heard around the room and Fred nodded, a sympathetic look on his face. “I’m sad to report that our beloved Joan Jenkins retired several weeks ago. I’m even sadder to report that Joan is undergoing treatment for cancer, but happy to share that her prognosis is good. Joan sends her best wishes to you all, says please don’t worry about her, and that she’s already got her grandkids running errands for her since she’s not here to boss you all around.” Laughter erupted from some of the others around me, including Hannah. I guessed you needed to know Joan to get the joke. “But we are lucky to have Deb here with us.”
Deb stepped forward and introduced herself in a voice that reminded me of a door hinge that needed greasing. She waved her hands around as she talked, like she was swatting flies. By the time she mentioned the third hotel she had managed and “brought back from the brink of destruction,” I had already zoned out. I wish I hadn’t, because Deb’s boasting was replaced by my dad’s voice in my mind, his last phone call echoing back at me. Be on your best behavior. Don’t embarrass the family.
The nail polish on my thumb was chipping, so I picked at it and sent tiny flecks of purple to the ground. Moments—or a half an hour—later, I had no idea, Deb barked my name. My head shot up so fast my sunglasses toppled off the back of my head and clattered to the floor.
Deb’s left eyebrow was raised. “Here’s your assignment, Ashlyn.” She held out a half-sheet of paper. “You and I will be working closely together this summer.”
I took the paper without looking at it. “Sounds good,” I mumbled, and sat back down, setting my assignment face down on the table.
It wasn’t until I was following Hannah to our cabin that I read what was written.
My cousin elbowed me in the rib. “What did you get?” I handed her the slip of paper. “Office assistant, and other duties as required?” she read, puzzled. “What does that even mean?” She shoved the paper back at me. “I don’t like Deb. I want Joan back.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like that’s an option.”
Hannah’s jaw tightened as she sped up; I nearly had to jog to keep up with her. “Deb put me in charge of the equipment kiosk.” I didn’t know what that meant, but her angry tone made me think twice about asking for clarification. “This is so humiliating. I was supposed to be head lifeguard. Joan promised. I don’t understand. I worked hard. I’m certified. I get along with everyone. I got a great evaluation last year. This is completely unfair.” She shrugged and shook her head, as if she was trying to make peace with the job. “I will make it work, but this is not what was supposed to happen.”
I just nodded in solidarity. Neither of us were off to a good start this summer.
Chapter 7
Hannah and I were
assigned to share one of the employee cabins. “They used to be where retreaters stayed,” she told me, “but once the Allens continued to build additions onto the property, including the main lodge with nicer, hotel-style rooms, the cabins became personal quarters for the staff living on site for the summer.”
It was modest by any standards, but I’d been living in a standard issue dorm room for the last year, so the bunk beds, small wardrobe, and single desk didn’t faze me. Hannah took the bottom bunk without asking. “I roll around a lot in my sleep.” I didn’t fight her for it. She flopped down on the bed, put in her headphones, and stayed that way until it was time to eat. I didn’t mind the peace and quiet and did the same.
When we walked into the dining hall for the all-staff dinner, the first thing I saw was an elaborate gingerbread house on a table at the front of the room. I leaned over to Hannah and whispered, “It’s six months from Christmas. Why is this here?”
“Not a clue,” she said. Like moths to a flame, we both went over to inspect it.
Unlike the houses I’d made every year in elementary school, which had been a couple of graham crackers cemented together with icing from a can and a few candy canes slapped on the roof, this gingerbread house was both a culinary and architectural marvel, made from solid sheets of real gingerbread. I leaned over the roof, covered with flat candy disc shingles, and inhaled the spicy, sugary smell. It reminded me of the cookies my mom used to order from our favorite bakery at holiday time. Suddenly I was seven years old in bunny slippers, eyeing the shiny, wrapped boxes under the eight-foot Fraser fir in the living room, while my dad told me to keep my hands off the presents.
Hannah sniffed too. “Just like Mom’s air freshener.” She sneezed. “Smells good, but potentially hazardous to my health.”
We circled the house, admiring the details. Green coconut grass in the yard. Stained-glass sugar windows. Fluffy white icing smoke coming from the perfectly built chimney. Sliced gumdrop flowers improving the curb appeal. There was even a little mailbox made out of a Tootsie Roll.
“I can almost imagine a little candy family living here, can’t you?” I asked Hannah.
“More like a witch, boiling up little kids,” she said with a smirk, and before I knew what she was doing, a gumdrop flower had disappeared into her mouth. My eyes widened. She smirked again and shrugged. Hannah shrugged a lot. Like she didn’t care what anyone thought. Maybe you should try shrugging more, I thought. Mind your posture, came my dad’s reply in my head.
I was reaching out to take my own gumdrop when someone cleared her throat right behind me. “What do you two think you’re doing?”
I turned slowly, while Hannah’s cheeks turned bright pink. “I . . . was . . . just getting a closer look.”
Deb’s eyes narrowed. “Please don’t touch the house. It took me a very long time to build and the oil from your fingers could damage it.”
“You built this?” I couldn’t hold back sounding impressed. Nor could I imagine this woman building something so dainty and sweet. When Deb nodded, I took the opportunity to flatter her and hopefully make her forget we were trying to eat her masterpiece. “It’s fantastic. I was just telling Hannah how wonderful the craftsmanship is. Really creative. I especially love the mailbox. That’s a nice touch.” I knew I was being over-the-top but judging by the way Deb preened and stood up straighter, it was the right move. I elbowed Hannah as subtly as I could, hoping she’d follow my lead.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I like the grass.” That’s the best you could come up with? I didn’t ask.
“Well, thank you. Just admire it from a few inches back.” Deb walked away like a proud peacock, shoulders pinned back, chin tipped up. I stifled a giggle. My father was the one who had taught me to watch people, find their weakness, and use it to your advantage. Such a great role model. A sour taste coated my tongue. Be more like Hannah, less like Dad.
Deb clanged a knife on a glass and gestured for everyone to sit down. “Let’s take this first night on campus for some togetherness. I know my daughter, Mallory,” Deb said, waving to a girl seated at my table, “and I aren’t the only new members of the Sweetwater family. I hope everyone is made to feel as welcome as we do. As a thank you, direct from me to you, I’ve had the cooks whip up my specialty.” She clapped her hands and a handful of servers brought out platters of chicken in some kind of brown sauce alongside bowls of rice. Or was it pasta? It was hard to tell, really.
“Why is she clapping at them?” Hannah whispered angrily. “They’re not house elves. I feel like I need to give them a sock.”
“Maybe she’s just trying to be festive?” said a voice to Hannah’s left, from someone I hadn’t noticed. The guy looked over and reached a hand across Hannah to me. “Hi. We haven’t met yet. I’m Baxter Clark.”
I shook his hand, which was large and callused and scraped against my skin. “Ashlyn Zanotti. I’m Hannah’s cousin from Virginia.”
“Oh yeah? I didn’t know Hannah had family in Virginia.” Baxter raised a blonde eyebrow at Hannah, who rolled her eyes.
“Our dads are brothers. They’re not close.” She pushed Baxter’s arm away. “But we’ve got all summer to bond. Right, Ash?”
I almost flinched. Did she mean it? “Right.”
Baxter nodded. “That’s great. Glad you’re here.” He smiled, showing a crooked incisor. “I work at Sweetwater year-round. Have for a few years now.”
“Bax was in my year at school but graduated from high school early. He’s a genius,” Hannah said matter-of-factly, reaching for the chicken and scooping some on her plate. “Bax is like my second brother. We worked at the summer camp up the road together for a few years and were campers before that. He’s a master of the ziplines.”
“And what am I? Chopped liver?” The woman seated across from Baxter piped up, pretending to be offended. She shook her head good-naturedly and offered me her hand. The skin on her arm was deeply tanned and wrinkled, almost like a shar-pei. “I’m Ruth Newhouse. I work the ropes course with Bax.” With a long silver braid down her back, I guessed she was in her sixties. She’d been the one Hannah had hugged earlier. “Been here a long time. Curious how this one,” she nodded in Deb’s direction, “is going to run things.”
“My mother has been running hotels and resorts for years. Well, she and my dad did it together. They just got divorced, but she has loads of experience. It’ll be great, I promise. Nothing to worry about,” said a high voice from further down the table. Deb’s daughter.
“Mallory, is it?” Ruth asked her. The girl nodded furiously, her wild brown curls rustling around her face. “I’m sorry to hear about your parents splitting up.” Mallory gave her a sad smile. “And, that’s good to hear. Your mother has a tough act to follow in Joan, but it sounds like she’s up for the challenge.” Mallory nodded again. “And what will you be doing around the place, young lady?”
Mallory perked up, her proud mannerisms like her mother’s. “I’m head lifeguard. I love the pool.” Mallory beamed at Ruth, while Hannah practically growled.
I clamped a hand on Hannah’s leg under the table just as she opened her mouth. “Don’t,” I said, so only she could hear me. She stopped and stuck a fork in her chicken, shoveling a huge bite in her mouth.
“Did someone say lifeguard?” A head swiveled from the table adjacent to ours. The guy in the gray polo. I held my breath. “I’m lifeguarding too. Does that make you my boss?” He winked at Mallory and she giggled. “I’m Marcus Toft.”
“Pleased to meet you, Marcus,” said Mallory, just as I said, “Hi, Marcus. Glad I’m not the only new one.” She glared at me, I glared back, and Marcus nodded at both of us. So that’s how it was going to be—Mallory and Marcus working together all day long in the sun while I was shut up in an office with Deb. I’d have to figure something out. And quickly. Or Mallory and her little giggle might win him over before I had a chance to get to know him.
Ruth had everyone else at our table go around and say their names and jobs as the
group continued to serve themselves from the platters being passed around. I tried to pay attention to the names, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to recite most of them tomorrow. I took a small scoop of rice and ladled a few chunks of chicken on my plate. It smelled strange and looked stranger. But I knew Deb would be watching and I didn’t want to look ungrateful on our very first night. As I raised a bite to my lips, Hannah poked me in the ribs.
“Don’t eat it.”
“What?” I said, the food falling off my fork and onto the plate with a plop.
“It’s rubber covered in canned gravy. Just don’t do it.”
“Really?” This was supposed to be Deb’s specialty. Deb, who had appointed herself head of the competitive cooking activity. Deb, who had supposedly run hotels and resorts with restaurants on her properties. I didn’t have any reason to not believe Hannah, but the evidence was in Deb’s favor. I stabbed a piece of chicken and took a bite. Immediately I knew it was a mistake and willed myself to not spit it out into my napkin. I chewed without inhaling and swallowed as quickly as I could, washing it down with a gulp of water so big I almost choked. That was rude. I hope no one saw what you did, said my dad’s voice.
“Told you so,” Hannah said, reaching for the rice and serving herself a fresh scoop without sauce. I did the same, and we ate our plates of plain rice, while Baxter and Ruth did their best to not laugh at us.
“Ashlyn, how are you enjoying your meal?” Deb’s creaky-door voice sounded over my shoulder.
For a horrible brief moment, I thought she had seen me take that bite of her “specialty” chicken and was coming in for the kill. Had I ruined this before it even started? I smiled politely at her. “It was really nice of you to do this for us, Deb. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” she smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You know, it’s quite lucky we were able to find you a spot here,” she continued, her sturdy voice capturing the whole mess hall’s attention. People turned their heads to listen more closely, to my horror. “Your aunt’s phone call came so late in the hiring season, and what with you being the youngest employee here at not even eighteen yet . . . but we made it work, didn’t we?”
No Place Like Here Page 5
