Camp Forget-Me-Not

by J. K. Rock

  He must have worked incredibly hard to win at that level. And even though I was upset with him, I reminded myself to ask him about the Games if we ever got back to being friends.

  “We’re going to do a quick film segment,” Misty informed us as she waved over a tall, gray-haired guy with a big fishing tackle box. “But Backcountry Gear spends more of their advertising budget on print ads, so they will have you pose for those afterward.”

  The tall man, who was obviously the makeup artist, shoved aside some sunglasses and scarves on the folding table to set down his shiny silver case.

  “I’m Kevin.” He held out his hand to Nick and then me before turning back to his box and opening the top to reveal pop-up trays full of tiny black compacts and rows of colorful lip glosses. “I’ll put some color on your cheeks and then you can get on set, okay?”

  “For her.” Nick backed up a step. “Not me.”

  “You say that until you see that those lights make you look like death-warmed-over without my help.” Kevin pointed him toward a chair. “Have a seat.”

  While Nick grumbled about the need for bronzer, I watched what went on out on the lacrosse field. The half-pipe was complete, and there were a couple of counselors talking to a woman with a camera around her neck. The photographer gestured the counselors toward the half-pipe, pointing to pieces of tape on the ground that must be their marks to help them block out the action.

  I’d been to plenty of photo sessions during my mom’s years as a fashion editor, but I hadn’t been to very many video shoots. Still, I’d seen the magazine film some podcasts or low-budget pieces for use on their website and I understood the basics.

  “Next!” Kevin’s voice startled me, and I turned to see that Nick was already out of his chair. The makeup artist held a powder brush in one hand and a bottled water in the other. “Ready for me to make you more gorgeous?”

  “Actually, they’re only shooting me from the back.” I tore my eyes away from where Nick joined the photographer and tested out the half-pipe on a skateboard. Instead, I focused on Kevin and all the fun makeup in his overflowing kit. “So, as much as I’d love to watch you work, it would be wasted on me.”

  He turned to Misty as if looking for confirmation, and she gave a discreet nod.

  Yes. I was just an object circulating through Nick’s world. I ground my teeth together.

  Kevin frowned, his tanned skin incredibly smooth for someone with such gray hair.

  “They might think that, but wait until they see you.” He motioned toward the chair. “Indulge me and that way you’ll be ready just in case.”

  I hated to waste his time, but I wasn’t kidding about wanting to watch him work.

  “If you’re sure it’s okay.” I settled in the chair Nick had just vacated.

  “Positive.” He tipped my face up and seemed to examine every feature in the sunlight. “The sun is strong today, so I’m layering on a little extra to compensate. Just keep in mind what you see in the mirror is different than what the camera sees.”

  “My mom used to work at La Belle Fabuleuse. I’ve seen a lot of photo shoots, but I’ve never been in front of the camera.”

  “Then you know all about the magic we perform from the other side of the lens.” Kevin dusted loose powder on my face as he held my hair back. “Not that you need much help.”

  “I think it’s a great gift to make a person more beautiful. Or just feel more beautiful.” I’d felt really good last night when I’d helped to transform Nia from— literally—a mouse.

  Kevin stopped dusting powder to grin at me. “Aren’t you sweet? Thank you, pretty girl. That’s a nice thing to say.”

  He continued to work on me, choosing bright colors for my eyes and lips that I would never wear.

  But I trusted that he knew how to compensate for the sunlight. It was fun to watch him work. But mostly, I was enjoying the fact that he didn’t see me as wallpaper.

  “Are we sure about the gray for her, Misty?” Kevin waited for one coat of mascara to dry while he ran a critical eye over me.

  I remembered thinking the black-and-blue-gray combo seemed a little dull to me, too.

  “They told me to emphasize the streetwear, and they’re really excited about that hoodie.” Misty shrugged. “I know it’s dark. You think I should try something else?” She joined Kevin in staring at me.

  Normally, that would make me totally uncomfortable, but I realized they weren’t looking at me as much as they were the clothes.

  “I saw a really great belted Alpine sweater over there.” It slipped out before I gave it any thought. “It’d be cool with some of those print knee socks.”

  “You think?” Misty hustled over to the rolling rack and pulled out the sweater. “I don’t know if it says ‘skater.’”

  “You know the client better than me.” Kevin pulled a pair of glasses out of his makeup kit and put them on his nose to view the sweater. “The colors would be great with her hair.”

  Misty hurried back over to me with the sweater in her hand. “Plus, if they shoot you from the back, you wouldn’t have the hood in the way of your hair.”

  To my complete and utter shock, they were already helping me out of the sweatshirt and putting me in the sweater I’d pointed out. I was like a rag doll as they stuffed my arms in and out of sleeves, but I couldn’t believe they’d taken my suggestion.

  “Wow.” Misty stood back to look at me in the sweater. “Good eye, Kayla. That’ll go well with Nick’s jacket, too.”

  “Your mother would be proud.” Kevin reached for a brush and went to work on my hair, smoothing the ends and spraying them into place. “You’ve got the eye of a fashion editor, too.”

  I felt really happy about that. Even when the photographer called me out to the set and I did all the shots with my back turned to the camera. Only a couple showed my profile. The day wasn’t about me anyway. It was about Nick.

  But I didn’t feel so resentful anymore about being here. I’d learned something about myself today. Like my mother, I had a fashion editor’s instincts. It wasn’t just my friends who said so. Legitimate industry professionals told me so, too.

  I was wearing the sweater I’d suggested for Nick’s big national commercial. And bonus? I wore it because I’d voiced my opinions out loud and not just in my head.

  Three sweaty hours later, as we finished up, I hurried away from the set and Nick. I didn’t want to talk to justify myself or try explaining what I did to him anymore. It might take a while to get over my long-held crush on him, but I would because he didn’t respect that I’d changed.

  I hurried over to the photographer to thank her for working with me and take a sneak peek at the pictures on her laptop. They’d shown us a few test shots during the day, but I was curious how the last round of photos had come out.

  I slowed my step when I realized the photographer was speaking to the Backcountry Gear rep—Michelle Someone-or-Other whom I’d met briefly.

  “…definitely a better choice than Brooke White,” the photographer was saying. “This girl is a little more commercial, a little more generic. And she had a good profile.”

  Generic?

  I stopped in my tracks. Were they talking about me?

  “Brooke’s agent would have had us jumping through hoops anyhow,” the Backcountry Gear rep said. “We would have needed to give her more spotlight—hi, Kayla.”

  I was caught eavesdropping.

  “Um…” I forgot what I’d wanted to say. “That is… er…Thank you for working with me today. It was nice meeting you.”

  Turning on my heel, I fled the set. Kevin and Misty were already packing up for the day and waved a quick goodbye before I retreated.

  Of course Nick had wanted Brooke in the commercial. She was famous and beautiful, even if she was awful. I, on the other hand, was generic. Was that another word for wallpaper? Or wallflower? Or a follower?

  I couldn’t wait to go wash the makeup off my face and be done with this whole stupid day. If on
ly I could ask Mom to take me back with her when she visited tomorrow. But if she was still in the Hamptons, that wouldn’t work. So instead, I’d hide out for the rest of the day. Hop in bed and let everyone think I was sick because I damn well was.

  Sick of being a second choice. Sick of blending into the background. But more than anything, I was totally sick of my life.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, I splashed cold water on my face and squinted at my puffy eyes in the bathroom mirror. An entire makeup team couldn’t improve my I-cried-myself-to-sleep look. Mom would arrive any minute, and if I didn’t fix the dark circles at least, she’d be worried. Would probably give up her Hamptons business-meets-pleasure trip to bring me home. And I couldn’t let her do that. As hard as my summer was going, her life was tougher. I wouldn’t add to her problems.

  The floral print makeup bag, a cool Secret Camp Angel gift I’d gotten a couple days ago, rested on the sink. I unzipped it, pulled out my heavy duty concealer, and dabbed it on my purple-tinted circles. After a brush of light powder, I looked almost rested. Untroubled. Like I was having the best summer of my life.

  Hah.

  The magic of makeup.

  A few minutes later, my jog broke into a sprint when I spotted my mother talking to a man outside of the administration building.

  “Mom!” Pine needles flew from beneath my sandals, and a squirrel beside the path skittered back into some bushes. My heart thudded hard in my chest. Seeing her again brought home just how much I’d missed her. Worried about her.

  Mom’s face lit up as she turned from the tall man standing beside her. Something about the way he stood, the restless way he shifted from side to side, felt familiar. And then I pulled up short.

  Dad.

  I skidded to halt. What was he doing here? I hadn’t seen my parents together since I’d had my appendix out in the fifth grade. Something serious was going down, despite the broad smile my father sent me. Especially when my mother’s nail biting told another tale.

  My emotions tangled together with my jumbled thoughts. On the one hand, it felt great to see my father. On the other, it only reminded me of all the birthdays and holidays he’d missed. The weekends and vacations when he never invited me over or called. In fact, except for the surprise camp payment, I thought I’d faded back into the background of his life. How long before he forgot I existed all together?

  “Kayla!” He opened his arms wide, and despite my resentment, I rushed into them. His hugs were something I never stopped wanting—the strong scent of his aftershave, the roughness of his cheek pressed against my forehead, his strong arms lifting me off my feet. My heart rose, too. For that moment, he knew who I was. Remembered that he’d loved me once.

  I pulled back and squinted at him, then my mother, in the bright light splashing through the tree canopy. “Hey, Dad. Mom. What are you both doing here?”

  My mother’s embrace felt as light and airy as she looked in her white linen maxi dress. “We have some important news and thought it was best if we both came. Mr. Woodrow said we could use his office.”

  “Oh-kay.” I lowered my cheek to my shoulder to rub off her sticky lipstick and followed them toward the building.

  Of course my first thought was that they were getting back together, but the glint of gold on my father’s left hand disproved that random theory. He’d married his second wife last year. The step-mother I had never met. And since she came with five kids of her own, I didn’t know my stepbrothers or stepsisters either. Michael, Sara, Renee, Arianna, and Thomas, according to wedding photos his new wife, Laini, had posted on their Facebook page. It was how I’d found out about the marriage in the first place. I still regretted posting a congratulations on their wall. Especially since they hadn’t even “liked” it.

  Once inside, Mom sat behind Gollum’s desk and Dad grabbed the chair beside me.

  “So, uh, what’s going on?” I retied the drawstring on my red-and-white-striped mini-skirt, hands too shaky to make an even bow.

  Mom rested her elbows on the wooden desktop and leaned forward, her blue eyes wide with excitement, fear, or both.

  “I got a job,” she announced.

  I rushed around the desk and threw myself in her lap, the squeal of Gollum’s desk chair no match for mine.

  “Wow, Mom! That’s amazing! And fast. But I knew you could do it.”

  My mother laughed along with me, her gold hoop earrings swinging. “Thank you. It took me a bit by surprise, too.”

  “And now we don’t have to move and I can—”

  “That’s the thing, Kayla, I—”

  Something in her tone made me scramble to my feet and follow her eyes to my father. His smile was gone, and he looked much too concerned for this exciting moment. What did he have to do with this exactly? Had he come to check on how his money was being spent or did her job somehow involve him?

  “What your mother is trying to say,” Dad interrupted, earning him one of Mom’s scathing looks, the kind that sent fashion assistants scurrying.

  “—is that the job is in Milan,” Mom cut him off.

  My knees loosened, and I wobbled back to my chair. “Could you say that again?”

  Dad patted my leg, and my mother rushed over and knelt at my feet.

  “Honey, I was offered an editor-in-chief position at Machismo, Italy’s premier male fashion magazine.”

  I shook my head, but the foggy sensation remained. “But you’re a senior editor.” Even as I said the words, I realized how stupid I sounded.

  “Not anymore!” Her eyes lit up, and for the first time since she’d lost her job, she looked truly happy.

  “Can you do the job online? From home?”

  The joy drained out of her expression, and she cast a worried glance my father’s way. A deep foreboding filled my body, my stomach full of lead.

  She held my hands and squeezed. “I can’t, sweetheart. I’m going to have to move to Italy.”

  “So you’re leaving me?” Memories of all the times she’d left me for business functions and conferences returned with a vengeance. I was ten years old again, asking a nanny when Mom would come home. Only this time, she wouldn’t.

  “No, honey, no.” She brushed away my tears and pressed her forehead to mine. “But you’ll have to move with me, unless—”

  “Unless what?” I blurted, resentment burning in the back of my throat. I jerked my head to the side. “They invent a teleportation device so you can commute to our apartment every night? It’s not like you came home before I went to bed anyway.”

  My mother rocked back on her heels and stood, her eyes darting again to my father.

  “Yes, ah, about that. Milan isn’t going to be much better. In fact, with the demands of the job, you might be more on your own than ever. Not that I won’t make every effort to be there for you as much as possible.”

  “But your job comes first.”

  My workaholic mother flinched, her eyes closing in guilt. It was unfair to call her out like that, especially since I knew she loved me. If only she didn’t make it so hard to remember that.

  “May I speak now?” My father’s deep voice rumbled to my right, and I jumped. I’d been so focused on Mom, I’d forgotten to weigh his X-factor in this equation.

  “Of course, John.” Mom sagged against the desk, her linen dress wilting along with her.

  His knee bumped mine as he angled toward me, a tattoo of a heart with the initials JLMSRAT flashing on the inside of his wrist as he moved. His new family, I supposed, given that it included their initials—all but mine. “Kayla, there’s another alternative to you moving out of the country.”

  “Like what?” I crossed my arms over my chest, hurt and confusion making it burn. “Summer ends in a month. It’s not like you can keep paying for me to stay at camp.”

  Dad’s sincere expression startled me. In the few times he’d appeared in my life, he’d always looked vacant. As though he were absent, even when he’d been present.

 
“No. However, when camp’s over, I can offer you something better. A home. With me and Laini. And the kids.”

  A buzzing sound filled my ears, blotting out whatever he said next. As he jabbered on, I began to shake. Moving in with him would feel like living with a stranger. I didn’t know him, and he sure as heck didn’t know me. As for Laini and the “kids”, they were just a picture on my computer. If I lived with them, I’d still feel alone. And worse, an outsider. Yet would I feel any more a part of my mother’s new jet-setting life if I followed her? I didn’t even speak Italian. I was finally figuring things out at camp, feeling like I mattered, and here were Mom and Dad, about to rip away that new confidence. Would I go back to the meek, insecure follower I’d been? So invisible that I couldn’t even see myself?

  “So even though I haven’t been around much over the years,” Dad’s voice suddenly pierced my frantic thoughts, “this is my chance to make it up to you. Since the wedding last year, Laini’s been after me to include you in our lives. Plus New Jersey isn’t that far from SoHo.”

  I snorted, quieting my father and making my mother lower her nail from her trembling mouth. In the distance, the sound of a ball connecting with a bat sounded followed by faint cheers and a few boos. But that was life. Full of winners and losers.

  It took all my willpower not to say what I wanted to: if New Jersey was so close to SoHo, how come he rarely visited? And if this was Laini’s idea, did Dad even want me at all?

  But once again, the words swam in my head before sinking below my conscious will to say them. I’d always been afraid to speak up to Dad, accuse him of neglecting me, afraid that if I did, even the occasional birthday card would stop all together.

  “Look, Kayla. I know I haven’t done right by you, and this is my chance to make it up. Will you give me a shot?”

  My breath came in short gasps, and I gripped the arms of my chair, moisture beading on my forehead. In all the years that I’d longed for my father, hated him and loved him, missed him and forgotten him, I’d never imagined this. He was offering me a place to live. But would it be a home? How did I know if Dad’s family would accept me?