Summer Doesn't Last Forever

by Magdalene G. Jones

  Genevieve grins and walks away too. I exhale wilting. I hug myself and shuffle my feet. I mark the few adults in the room. Leaders. I wonder if I should introduce myself . . .

  “Hello,” a voice says behind me.

  I turn. The pale girl smiles. She’s a finger taller than I with large black glasses and wavy hair. She wears black skinny jeans with a grey tee-shirt that reads “ONE WOMAN RIOT.” A nose ring glitters below her brown eyes, and two necklaces and black tassel earrings dress up her otherwise casual outfit. She seems . . . real and strangely familiar.

  “You wondering where to go?” She nods at the room.

  “Kinda,” I glance between her and the Asian girl in a Taylor Swift shirt behind her. “I’ve never been here before.”

  “Oh, those were the days, weren’t they, Rachelle?” she sighs to her friend. “Back when we were little, insecure munchkins?”

  “Oh my gosh, yes,” Rachelle holds a hand to her face. “The ‘Dan’ Days. I can’t. I can’t.”

  The first girl looks forward again, “I’m Lena. This is Rachelle. And . . . your boyfriend is in a corner, Rachelle.”

  “Typical,” Rachelle peers over the room of teens and shrugs. “Ah, well. He’s probably happier that way. I might force him to have social interaction in a while.”

  Lena laughs.

  “I’m Tarni,” I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you two.”

  “Likewise,” Lena shakes my hand.

  Rachelle follows her lead, “So, you wondering what to do?”

  “Yeah,” I shuffle a little.

  “Well, we’ll have introductions and worship soon. Until then, make yourself comfortable. There are plenty of activities to participate in.”

  “I guess,” I adjust my glasses, wishing I had more to say.

  “You aren’t going to be comfortable, are you?” Lena guesses.

  “I don’t know anyone,” I remind her, before frowning.

  I don’t want to get to know anyone. That was the whole reason why I didn’t want to come. So why is it suddenly an issue to me that I don’t have friends?

  “No worries, you’ll get there. You aren’t as awkward as you think you are,” Rachelle smiles.

  “So, I look awkward?”

  “You look self-conscious. And so does everyone who is here for the first time.”

  I look into the crowd of people and spot Maya and Genevieve in new groups, “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “Just don’t worry,” Lena winks. “Things will start moving smoothly soon.”

  She and Rachelle walk away arm-in-arm, laughing at someone across the room. I watch them. What would it be like to have friends like that here? My foot starts tapping on the floor. I shake myself and step over to one of the square pillar benches that spot the room. I sit down, pulling my journal and pen from my bag.

  9:10 A.M. 1/6/19,

  Operation-Don’t-Be-Sad’s Headquarters,

  (aka, this yellow pillar bench)

  Home. I want so desperately to find home. Somewhere where I am safe, wanted, and belong. And even though I have only been here a few hours, I pretend that is what camp can become.

  But it’s not. It can’t be.

  Maya, Genevieve, and Abi are all nice. So are Rachelle and Lena. But they aren’t my friends. Nor can they compare with Adam, Luke, Asher, and Everly and the games we used to play. The fun we had. The home we made.

  It’s so easy to pretend that I can be home again. And if I’m not careful, I will grow too attached for my own good. Summer doesn’t last forever. Before anyone is ready, we will all be leaving again. I can’t go through more painful goodbyes. Not yet.

  Maybe not ever.

  What will it mean if my home is an ever-moving group of people? What will it mean if I can never be satisfied anywhere? Don’t be dumb, Tarni. You must stay detached. Have fun by all means! But you can’t get close or let people get too close to you. You don’t want them to. You don’t want them; you don’t want this.

  Chapter Four: The Hunt

  My journal entry gives me new purpose and control, but it can’t strip away my awkwardness. I spend the minutes before worship on the same pillar bench, watching the dozens of kids laugh and play. But it further cements my choice. I will be safe and alone.

  I meet the leaders, introduce myself for the crowd (my favorite food is cheese), and participate in the worship session. Once again, proving that I can have a good time without making friends.

  Abi winks as she sits beside me. My other roommates spread through the room, but I am grateful for Abi’s presence. Our head leader—Jeff—walks up to the front of the crowd and sits on a stool.

  “You guys,” Jeff grins at the crowd of kids before him. “This is the biggest crowd we’ve ever had. Can you believe it?”

  I can. The number of people around me traps my throat.

  “Before we move into our study session, I want to say a few words about this place,” Jeff clears his throat. “I have worked with TCKs for fourteen-plus-years, and I know many of you are coming from hard places and times. So let me encourage you to leave your burdens here. We are all broken, lost people searching for a home. So please. Honor our time together by being bravely you, and entering into this community. Let this be your home. Even for only a few weeks.”

  My heart twists in my chest, and I look down. Something rises through my stomach in butterfly wishes. I swallow, not trusting myself to glance up.

  Jeff continues, outlining a few rules and ideas before switching on the projector again. A video begins playing. I watch, but my mind escapes into thoughts and worries. I clench my hands into fists. Stop worrying. You can learn and grow and stay safe. And staying safe is the most important part.

  All the same, my unease grows. And I avoid Abi’s gaze.

  The video ends, and Jeff divides us into study groups. (I release a sigh of relief when I see Blondie across the room.) I follow my group outside and down to the beach. My heart leaps at the sight of the Mediterranean, but I resist the urge to run to the water.

  My group gathers on beach chairs, and I sit down with Lena (repeating my inner thanks for not being surrounded by strangers.) I stare at the sand or the ocean, keeping my mouth shut as the discussion begins. Lena, on the other hand, speaks so often she sometimes rivals the teacher in talkativeness. I laugh at her abashed expression when the leader interrupts her again.

  “Sorry,” Lena mutters.

  “What for?” I shake my head.

  “I’m talking too much.”

  “You aren’t,” the study leader smiles. “We just have a time limit.”

  Lena purses her lips, but her scowl fades.

  Our session time finishes, and everyone regroups inside. I rub my arms and duck my head, making my way over to Maya.

  “Golly, I don’t like crowds,” I mutter.

  “Huh?” she looks at me.

  “I don’t do well in crowds.”

  “Sure you do,” she pats my arm. “You just need to get warmed up.”

  I quirk an eyebrow, “I have social anxiety or a form of it. I mean, I don’t know.”

  “Really? You don’t seem like . . . you know what, never mind.”

  “Yeah.”

  We turn forward as Jeff walks into the center of the room and explains our game—a photo scavenger hunt. I grimace. I can clumsily play a piece on the piano or write a poem, but beyond that, I am as uncreative as a toad.

  “I am going to call your names and tell you which one of the leaders to join,” Jeff gets my attention again.

  I stand a little taller. Please let me be with someone I know. Please let me be with someone I know . . . Jeff reads through the list, and I wait for a name I recognize, fidgeting.

  “Abigail Swanson, join Mrs. Daniels,” Jeff calls.

  Abi waves a hand and hurries across the room. I clasp my hands behind my back. Genevieve joins Abi a moment later, and Maya whoops and runs to another leader. Rachelle follows my roommate, frowning as her boyfriend and Lena join a diffe
rent group.

  “Tarni Bird, join Ryan . . . ,” Jeff meets my gaze and points at my crowd.

  I swallow hard but march over. Whelp. All unfamiliar faces.

  “Hi,” I offer a fragile smile.

  “Hey,” a few people echo my smile.

  The leader winks and shakes my hand, “Let’s do this, aye?”

  I give a thumbs-up and laugh, facing the dwindling numbers of unsorted kids.

  “Amias Hoffman, with Ryan and company.”

  My heart stops. My mouth dries. My eyes go wide, and dread sparks through me as Blondie walks across the room. Noooo, why? I scuttle to the back of the group. Who decided this would be funny?!

  “Welcome . . . Amias?” Ryan—our group leader—shakes Blondie’s hand.

  “That’s me,” he chuckles. “Hey, everyone. Hope there’s someone else here who is good at playing cameraman.”

  “The goal is to take all the right pictures, not take all pictures right,” Ryan winks at his play on words.

  “I see,” Amias looks around the group.

  Our eyes meet for a split second, and heat floods my cheeks. I look away. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no . . . My ears ring with my embarrassment. Jeff continues reading, and I try to focus. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine!

  “Hey there,” a nervous and familiar voice says behind me.

  I wheel around to face Amias. Darn it.

  “Hey?” I smile weakly.

  He sighs and offers his hand, “Shall we pretend we’re just meeting?”

  “Pretend?” I shake it with more confidence than I feel. “Why would we have to pretend?”

  A real grin traces his face, “I’m Amias.”

  “I’m Tarni.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” He steps back.

  “You too,” I half-lie, wiping my hands on my jeans.

  We turn back to Jeff as he explains the rules. I inhale carefully. Well, maybe this won’t be too bad.

  We receive our orders—or rather a sheet of paper with the needed pictures listed on it—and walk outside with the other groups. We stop at a tree and gather around Ryan.

  “Okay,” he examines our list. “What’s our strategy?”

  We lean forward, looking over his shoulder.

  Some of the pictures would give us more points than others, like jumping in the cold springs at the back of the resort. Or crashing the kitchen and taking a picture of our lunch. Others would give us fewer points but were easier—like with a tree or building a sandcastle. The more creativity, the better Jeff had said. The wheels of my mind turn, and my hands keep shaking.

  “Let’s target the bigger points, but also try to get them all,” one of the boys says. “And start with things closest to us.”

  “Tree!” I point at the palm tree before us. “The question is how to be creative.”

  Our group of ten stares up at the palm tree, silent for several moments. I lick my lips.

  “Should we pretend it’s something else?” Ryan fusses with his camera.

  “Nah,” a girl with straight brown hair wrinkles her nose. “Do you know that scene in that movie?”

  “Since you are so specific,” a boy (possibly her brother) throws her a dry glance.

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Oh, come on,“ Amias pats the trunk of the tree. “Scurry up, African kids. Someone can pretend to be our mother trying to get us down.”

  “Poor woman,” the mystery film-reference girl clucks.

  The crowd rushes at the tree; and those who can, scamper up. I hang back with a few others, unwilling to risk my neck on a palm tree. After a moment of sorting ourselves, Ryan snaps the picture. And we carry on.

  We run down to the beach and draw the words “sandcastle” in the sand—for time’s sake. One of the boys fakes a beach modeling pic (and if it doesn’t win us the competition, nothing will. It is hilarious.) We continue from one thing to another, posing with golf carts, murals on walls, and more. I laugh my nervousness away with my group of competitors. I swing from a lamppost like a Mary Poppins chimney sweep, kneel dramatically before a chapel’s doors, and attempt to look like a wheel. We race around the resort grounds, stopping every other moment to take a new picture. And in ten minutes, I have forgotten my fear of this camp.

  The pair from the tree—they are siblings—walk beside me as we exit the cafeteria.

  “I felt bad for that one,” I make a face.

  “Nah, don’t.” The boy—Drew—runs a hand through his hair. “They are all Greek. It’s fun for them.”

  “You think so?” His sister—Brynn—frowns over her shoulder.

  They look mildly similar; basic white American kids slightly shorter than average with brown hair and eyes. But their expressions and glittering gazes tell me they are anything but basic.

  “Yup,” Drew crosses his arms.

  Amias lags behind the rest of the sprinting group, joining us conversationalists, “Will any of you be jumping into the cold springs?”

  I shudder at the thought, “Gosh, no.”

  “I might,” Drew strokes his chin. “Depends on whether I will have to keep walking around while soaked to the skin. Will you?”

  “Eh, maybe,” Amias shrugs. “I’ve jumped in pretty cold water before.”

  “I’m doing it for sure,” Brynn quickens her pace. “Kelly will, and I can’t let my sister one-up me like that.”

  “Ugh, good point,” Drew makes a face.

  “You have another sibling here?” I raise my eyebrows.

  I try to do the math in my head. Neither Brynn nor Drew looks much older or younger than I. Their sister must be much older.

  “We’re triplets,” Drew laughs.

  I stop in my tracks, “Wait, really?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “I’m the oldest,” Brynn breaks into a run.

  Drew rolls his eyes, “We are frickin’ triplets! You breathing oxygen two minutes before me means nothing!”

  “Those two minutes of oxygen gave me wisdom you won’t appreciate until . . . five past eleven!”

  Amias looks down at his watch and laughs.

  “Yeah, yeah, enjoy your two minutes of superiority!” Drew calls after her.

  “That’s the amazing thing about being the eldest,” Brynn stretches her arms over her head. “You never catch up!”

  “Bah,” Drew wrinkles his nose at her back.

  Ryan stops again at an empty hall, peering at the list, “Ah yes, impromptu dance party.”

  “I can dance,” One of the girls slides into the splits.

  “Well, I can’t. Like that,” I blink at her and shake myself. “What if we have that classic wedding photo effect where everything is in motion except the couple in the center? But instead of a couple, we have a pair of chairs?”

  “Better yet,” Brynn grins at Drew. “We have Drew dancing with a random chair.”

  Drew winks and grabs a chair, standing in the center of the “dance party.” He makes a kissy face, and everyone laughs.

  “Should I pretend to ask for a dance?” Amias walks over to me with a bow.

  “Yes!” Brynn fake waltzes with a random boy. “It makes Drew and ‘his lady’ more ridiculous.”

  I force a chuckle to cover my awkwardness and hold out my hand. Don’t be weird. Amias clearly doesn’t care about how humiliating . . . Don’t think about it.

  We snap the picture and keep moving. And keep moving. And keep laughing. I run across the resort, my legs burning with the unexpected sprinting.

  “It’s time!” Ryan calls with false gravity from the front of the group. “Who will bear the sacrifice and jump into the icy waters?”

  I run faster, joining the group at the edge of the cold springs.

  It’s beautiful.

  A mossy waterfall plunges into a pool, dark and deep. Ivy climbs beside the cascade, clinging to an ancient bridge. Stones living with moss build the bridge and the side of the pool green. Poppies, golden daisies, and blue shades—Grecian windflowers—decora
te the water’s edge.

  “I’m going,” Brynn pumps her fist in the air and glances between the bridge and Drew.

  “I suppose if two triplets are doing it -,” he eyes the water, “- the third must as well.”

  “Excellent,” Brynn tossed her hair.

  “Plus, I can shove you under and get those two minutes of oxygen on you.”

  “Oh ho ho, is that how it is?”

  “You know it, sista.”

  “There will be no shoving,” Ryan eyed the pair.

  “Yes, sir,” Brynn salutes.

  “Easy for you to say,” Drew mutters so only I can hear.

  I snigger and cover my mouth.

  “Yeah, I’ll fill in for the third triplet,” Amias nods. “Might as well have a trio.”

  “That’s the spirit, man,” Drew gives him a high-five.

  The boys strip off their shirts, and I try really hard not to notice Amias’s abs as he toes the water.

  “Oh. Yeah. That’s cold,” he shivers.

  “Which is why we ought to jump from the bridge,” Brynn starts for the steps. “Instant submersion, boys. Die and get it over with.”

  “Please do not die,” Ryan holds up a hand. “Brynn, I’m not sure this is a great -.”

  “Ryan, please. Don’t worry. We’ve got this,” Brynn’s ponytail swings as she climbs the steps.

  Amias and Drew follow. I sit on the grass, leaning back to watch. Ryan bites his lip but holds up the camera. The trio mounts the bridge, each taking deep inhales and setting their shoulders. Brynn sets a smile.

  “On three, gentlemen?” She asks with a slight challenge in her voice.

  “Lead the way, oh elder one,” Amias fakes a bow.

  She frowns, “Did you just call me old?”

  “Oh, now she has a problem with it,” Drew makes a face.

  Brynn pretends to shove him. But startled, Drew yelps and plummets for the water. Brynn and Amias swap glances and leap after him. The camera clicks as the trio falls with no elegance. I have time to hope Ryan catches a good shot . . .

  Before, freezing water douses me.

  I scream at the cold and leap to my feet. I shake my hands, freezing water grinding into my bones. Droplets smear my lenses, and I rip my glasses off. Three heads pop out of the pool, their teeth clattering like a cat’s claws on marble.