“Just because you can wake up looking like sunshine doesn’t mean we all can, Abi,” a groggy voice immediately endeared me to its owner.
“Thanks, sweetie. I’m afraid though I need my beauty sleep as much as anybody else.”
“If you needed sleep to be beautiful,” I say into my pillow. “I would already resemble a hag. A hag with very fluffy hair.”
“Good morning, Roomie!” the chipper girl repeats.
I roll over, curious. Two girls smile at me. The closer one—I assume she woke me—beams. Her blonde hair (which is as curly as mine) hangs as a frame around her bright face. Her red tee-shirt, belted blue jeans, and red shoes create a look screaming, “I am here to be seen.”
“I’m Maya,” she sticks out her hand.
“I’m Tarni,” I shake it.
“Tarni . . . ,” the girl behind her repeats, tilting her head. “What is that short for?”
“Nothing,” I shrug. “It’s Kaurna—Australian Aboriginal. It means the sound of the sea waves on the shore. What’s your name?”
“I’m Abigail or Abi,” she flicks one of her long box braids over her shoulder.
“You’re Aborigine?” Maya straightens.
“Aboriginal or Aboriginal person are far less offensive terms,” I scratch the back of my head. “‘Aborigine’ has racist connotations. Anyway, My mom is an Aboriginal person of the Kaurna tribe. We think.”
“Oh, sorry,” Maya grimaces and makes an okay sign. “You don’t know what your mother’s tribe is?”
My smile turns a little forced, “The Kaurna people were scattered and massacred along with several other Aboriginal tribes. Their language was only recently revived. And my mom was in foster care from birth to a year old, so we don’t know her history aside from guesses.”
“Ah,” Abi nods, her own expression going dry. “I can relate.”
“Really?”
“I’m Black American—not adopted. We don’t know our family history past captivity in South Carolina.”
“Oh wow,” I blink and then smile. “I don’t think I have met a Black American family on the field.”
“Unfortunately, the Black Church has not been empowered to send. So it is much harder for us to get the funding we need,” Abi made a face.
“Your parents are where?”
“Democratic Republic of Congo, which is where we think we originated from. My dad always had a vision to ‘go back.’”
“That’s so cool,” Maya sits on the foot of my bed.
Abi lifts her short skirt in a curtsy, “Thank you.”
My smile widens. Abi’s style stands in direct contrast to Maya’s. A bright pink headband contains her long box braids. Her white, graphic heart-and-mountain tee tucks into her knee-length skirt—which is as pink as her headband. And several of her box braids. I blink at the realization.
“Are you going to introduce yourself?” Abi glances into the bottom bunk across from me.
The bundle of blankets and red hair groans, and the girl sits up, “Why should I?”
“Because it’s polite,” Abi crosses her arms.
The redhead faces me, her scowl fading, “Looks like you and I have our work cut out for us. I mean, to stay asleep.”
“No kidding,” I fake a shiver.
“Genevieve Merka,” she gives me a salute.
Her eyes twinkle even across the room, and I can’t help but smile. She looks a little sunburned, holding confidence unlike Abi’s but still engaging.
“Tarni Bird,” I plop back onto my pillow. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“You too,” Genevieve yawns, stretching her arms over her head.
Maya rolls her hazel eyes, “You’ll miss breakfast.”
“That won’t get them up,” Abi walks to the vanity between the bunks. “Not if they don’t know what breakfast is.”
“What do you mean?” I tilt my head.
“There’s Greek yogurt and chocolate croissants and fruits and coffee and plenty of other delicacies,” Abi wheedles, digging in a makeup bag.
“Are you putting on makeup?” Genevieve straightens and bumps her head on the top bunk.
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Because I like it,” Abi rubs lotion onto her skin. “Don’t worry, I’m not insecure about my looks or anything. I like playing with makeup and fashion.”
I half-regretfully push my blankets off and stumble over to my backpack. I pull my glasses case out, put on my frames, and blink as the world comes into focus. The room looks much neater than my glasses-less-self believed.
“So, breakfast,” I rummage through my backpack. “What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty. Normally, breakfast is at seven, but the leaders said they would push it to eight for the kids who got in late,” Maya gestures to her hairbrush.
I wave her off, continuing the search for my own.
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” Genevieve ruffles her fringe, which is so messy it blends in with the rest of her tangling red hair.
We laugh. I find my hairbrush and join Abi at the mirror. I rake the brush through my mop of hair, leaving a trail of cloud.
“What are you doing?” Abi sets down her makeup.
“ . . . brushing my hair?”
“Yeah, but with your curls? You aren’t treating it well.”
“What do you mean?” I frown at my brush.
“When not in braids and with extensions, my hair requires a lot of maintenance. Or, more maintenance anyway. Your hair . . . ,” she reaches out and feels the ends. “Oh, wow. It’s such an interesting texture. Anyway, it is more textured than Maya’s, and Maya needs to be careful when she brushes her curls.”
“You betcha. Try using a comb,” Maya shakes her mane.
I look at my thick curls, “My hair is too thick for that.”
“Well, at least brush it gently,” Abi gives the brush a skeptical look.
“I don’t care if I look like an Aboriginal version of Hermione Granger.”
“All the same, you should take care of your hair,” Maya pouts. “It’s so pretty.”
I look in the mirror, “If you say so.”
“Am I the only one here with normal hair?” Genevieve pulls a suitcase out from under her bed.
“You are a redhead and make up three percent of the human population,” Maya crosses her arms. “And you have bangs and green eyes.”
“Fair enough, but my hair is as straight as sticks.”
“Lucky,” Maya and I chorus.
Genevieve smirks, “You wouldn’t say that if your hair looked the exact same every single darn day of your life since you were five.”
“Oh, the horrors,” Abi fake shudders.
“Abi apparently changes the color of her extensions every time she redoes her braids,” Genevieve widens her eyes at me.
I turn to Abi, eyeing the pink streaks and sparkling beads that decorate her box braids with new appreciation.
“I love fashion!” Abi winks. “And if you had to spend five to seven hours just on your hair, you would want a drastic difference too.”
“I see that.”
A bell rings in the distance.
“That’s the wakeup bell,” Genevieve digs through her clothes more hurriedly.
“Does that mean I have to get presentable?” I groan.
“Oh, no. If you want to make it a pajama day, I’ll join you,” Genevieve swings her arm and nearly punches herself in the jaw.
Abi wheels around, “Absolutely not. I refuse to be known as the hobo bungalow. Get yourselves dressed.”
Genevieve and I laugh but obey her. I open my suitcase and grab the first dark jeans and grey blouse I see.
“We have fifteen minutes,” I glance at the clock.
“Yep,” Maya taps her red trainers on the stone floor.
“No need to rush, then,” Genevieve moves into the bathroom and shuts the door.
I set my chosen outfit on my bed and keep brushing my hair. For the firs
t time since Maya woke me, the little house falls silent. I swallow, but the other pair doesn’t seem to feel my awkwardness. Abi hums a worship song under her breath. I shift from foot to foot and open my mouth. Then shut it.
Genevieve steps out of the bathroom. Wearing overalls over a green striped shirt and her hair in a towel. We all stare at her.
“What?” Genevieve raises her eyebrows.
“Did you just take a point-five-seconds shower?” Abi kneels on the floor. “Teach me your ways, oh, great one!”
Genevieve laughs, “I was getting the travel off of me. Cold shower. If I had it hot, I wouldn’t have gotten out for three hours.”
“Never mind then,” Abi hops back up. “I can do that on my own.”
“So say we all,” Maya paces, impatient with our slowness.
“I haven’t had a hot shower in . . . two months,” I sigh, imagining happier days.
“Ugh, same,” Abi packs up her makeup.
“Thankfully, my parents bought a hot water heater two years ago, and my life has been far better for it,” Maya peers out the window and shuffles her feet.
“I’ll come with you, Maya,” Abi laughs, taking mercy on her. “I’m hungry too.”
“Good. We can leave the slowpokes to their own pace,” Maya sniffs.
They walk to the door—Abi slips into her sandals—and the two leave the bungalow like queens.
“So,” I yawn and look over at Genevieve. “When did you get here?”
“Yesterday evening. Around six. You?”
“This morning. Three.”
“Yikes,” Genevieve takes off her towel, scrunching her hair. “I’m a night owl, but even I have limits.”
“Me too,” I gather my clothes, “So, you haven’t had the famed breakfast, either.”
“Nope, but their dinner was great, so I expect it will be as good as everyone insists.”
I nod, quickly stepping into the bathroom to change and brush my teeth. I put on a headband, trying to contain my cloudlike hair. Genevieve runs a brush through her hair in roughly as much time as it takes for me to get dressed, and before long, we are in our shoes and walking down to the cafeteria.
The morning sun glitters upon the dew-covered grass and paved walkways. Clouds drift over us. I rub my tired eyes, taking in the resort grounds. There were far more white bungalows than I could’ve seen in the barely morning. And flowers grew in little pots beside the paths and doorways.
We round several houses. The path widens before us, and a pair of large, connected buildings rise ahead. We walk past a long, fancy pool and up to the doors. Noise rings through the open windows with too many heavenly smells to name. Genevieve leads the way up the steps and opens the door. I nod my thanks, stepping into the cafeteria.
Actually, “cafeteria” is about the worst way to describe the spectacle before us. Three rows of tables are graced with all things wonderfully breakfast; fruits, Greek yogurt, bread galore, bacon, sausage, and far more.
I hardly glance at the people beyond the food. I grab a plate for myself and one for Genevieve, jumping into the line.
“Hungry?” Genevieve laughs.
“Oh yeah,” I peer over the heads of other kids. “Where’s the coffee?”
“I don’t know,” Genevieve scoops half the bucket of yogurt onto her plate.
Then half the jar of honey. I raise an eyebrow.
“Don’t you dare judge me, Tarni,” she shakes her finger in my face. “I haven’t had good yogurt in ages. My little village in Liberia only gets the sketchy imported stuff. Or the homemade that has the consistency of paint.”
“I am not judging,” I promise, taking some yogurt of my own.
Chatter and laughter echo through the large room, but not even the noise can intimidate me from my goal. Genevieve and I pile our plates to the max before regretfully leaving the buffet. I look around for the coffee machine (again.)
“Oh, there it is!” I start walking.
But a familiar head stops me in my tracks. I stand stock-still, staring. No. Not possible. There’s no way -. My thoughts cut off as Blondie laughs and lets me see his profile.
There is no mistaking that nose.
“Never mind,” I turn right around, marching for Abi and Maya.
“Huh?” Genevieve trails after me.
I swallow hard, embarrassment filling my stomach again. Darn it. Of course, he would be here. I doomed myself to this. I shakily take a seat with my other roommates.
“What happened?” Abi frowns. “Tarni, are you okay?”
“Yeah, what was that about,” Genevieve sits beside me.
I glance over my shoulder and shake my head. I groan. Then laugh, near tears.
“You want to hear my most embarrassing moment? Ever?”
“Do tell,” Maya leans forward a little too eagerly.
I give her an unamused look, but begin the story in a low whisper, “It was late, and I was an idiot.”
“Isn’t that how all embarrassing stories begin?” Abi scrapes honey onto her toast.
“Probably. Continue, Tarni,” Genevieve bites into a chocolate croissant.
“It was late, and I was an idiot -,” I repeat, my hands shaking, “- and I walked onto the plane to realize someone was going to be sitting next to me. A boy. Whom I did not know. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, he was kinda good looking too.”
“What an absolute tragedy,” Abi chuckles.
“Girl, you’ve got no idea.”
“Well, I know the feeling,” Maya makes a face. “I hate sitting by myself on planes. Because I’m not alone, and I get creeped out easily.”
“Exactly,” I look around again. “My little brother refused to swap places with me because -.”
“He wanted the window seat? Typical,” Genevieve rolls her eyes.
I salute her with my spoon, “So, I sit next to this stranger, and he puts in headphones. Thus, we’re all good, ladies! No need for little Tarni to fear anything, right? She does some journaling, completely clueless and unaware of what horrors are about to come upon her. She lets her guard down. She puts away her journal. She decides she needs sleep because otherwise, she will begin to fade out of existence from pure exhaustion.”
The girls laugh. I can only imagine what our group must look like to outsiders. A quartet of girls huddled over cheesy bread, honey yogurt, and orange juice, smothering laughter for fear the focus of their story may overhear them.
“Little Tarni . . . goes to sleep,” my lips twitch despite my remaining humiliation and distress.
“Oh no,” a grin crawls over Abi’s face.
I nod slowly, “Tarni goes to sleep. Blond Boy goes to sleep. Little brother does not go to sleep. And instead of waking me when he realizes I am sleeping on a stranger’s shoulder like some kind of pervert—this was not my holiest moment—, he films me.”
“No,” Genevieve half-laughs half-groans.
“Yes. And that’s not the worst part,” I shake my head. “Tarni wakes up. She wakes up, and so does Blondie. And thus, her embarrassment is beyond what can be captured on video, and she wants to bawl her eyes out.”
“I can’t imagine,” Maya tries to pat my shoulder sympathetically but laughs too hard to accomplish it.
“But the story doesn’t end there, oh no. As I am trying to regain mental sanity that I must have left in Africa, I walk out of the plane. In a moment of blissful naivety, I assume there’s no way things can get worse. So I look over my shoulder. And trip. And I am caught by the very Blondie whose shoulder I snoozed on from Istanbul to Athens.”
“Oh my gosh,” Abi stares at me with wide eyes. “And he’s here?”
“In another moment of blissful naivety, I imagined I would be safe from reliving this nightmare,” I hold a hand over my heart and look at the ceiling. “I supposed that at least Blondie was indeed a stranger. Our shared experience would merely be the random icebreaker at parties. Oh no. He’s here, little Tarni, you oblivious idiot. He’s here and kept you from gettin
g coffee. That feels like a solid enough reason to kill him, right?”
“Definitely. He knows too much,” Genevieve grabs a knife for her butter.
“I’m so sorry, Tarni,” Maya claims with a bright smile.
“Yeah, no kidding,” I rub my burning face. “I’m hoping it was something I hallucinated. Maybe I can pretend I don’t remember.”
“That’s what you need to do regardless,” Abi points at my chest, peering over her nose like a school teacher. “After all, it’s not a big deal. You act like it never happened, and things won’t be weird.”
“True. Anyone can get bogged down by embarrassment, but don’t let a rotten start ruin camp,” Genevieve stands up. “I’ll get you some coffee.”
I grin at her, the tension leaving my shoulders, “Thanks.”
Genevieve pats my shoulder and strides away, leaving me to dig into my breakfast. I look around the crowded room. Rooms, actually. Rooms full of hungry kids. Kids just like me who have traveled around the world and somehow found their way here. On planes. On buses. On bumpy roads and luggage that can be used for seats, if you set them down correctly.
Usually, loud places intimidate me. Noise drowns me out—even if I am talkative—and I’m better off with my journal. But this doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t feel oppressive.
It feels like home.
I look down at my plate, shoving away my thoughts, “So, what’s on our schedule after breakfast?”
We finish breakfast and begin walking back to the main hotel building. Crowds of other kids walk before and behind us. I fuss with my headband, uneasy with the numbers surrounding me. Abi and Maya chatter and call out to several people they know. I keep my head down and walk. We step through the hotel lobby and a little coffee shop into a large open room, already full of laughter and noise. Balls thump against the ground from the four-square “court.” Beyond the doors opposite our entry point are grass sitting areas, an almost human-sized chessboard, and the beach.
Maya moves into another group of kids. I can’t even tell if they know her or not. Abi wanders outside, and Genevieve gazes at the four-square game.
“Do you want to -?” She points at the gathering crowd.
“No,” I shake my head violently. “But feel free.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I fake a smile.
Summer Doesn't Last Forever Page 3
