Sunkissed

by Kasie West

  Mom shot him a look as she clutched her pillow to her chest.

  “I didn’t mean you,” he said. “I meant the kids because they’re growing up and leaving us.”

  “Yeah, yeah, nice save,” Mom said.

  We unloaded the car and trudged up the paved path to the tall wooden doors of the lodge. My backpack was full of summer homework for my fall honors classes, and my suitcase was at max capacity because two months away required a lot of clothes. Dad held open the door and we all made our way inside.

  The lobby was just as beautiful as the outside had been. A large oak tree sprung from the middle of the circular room, its branches reaching toward the skylight above. Everything else was wood—the floors, the desks, even the ceiling, almost as if we had walked into a tree.

  Music drifted from a hall on the opposite end of the room.

  Lauren sank to the bench that circled the tree as my dad went to the check-in desk, where a girl who didn’t look much older than me sat ready to help. A big letter D adorned her green polo shirt. Was that her name or her initial?

  “Hello! Welcome to Bear Meadow,” she said in an overly friendly voice. “Last name, please.”

  I let my heavy backpack slide off my shoulder and onto the ground next to Lauren, abandoning my suitcase there as well.

  “Young,” Dad said.

  “Welcome, Youngs.” D typed something into her computer and then opened a tri-fold pamphlet in front of my parents. “We’re here at the lodge. This is where the action happens. Movies on Friday nights.” She pointed to the hall where the music was coming from. “Bingo nights on Wednesdays.”

  “I think I could get into bingo,” Dad said.

  D gave him a wide smile. “We also have dance lessons and crafts. Basically, something happens every day in this building.”

  “That’s great!” Mom said, waggling her eyebrows at us. Lauren rolled her eyes.

  “On the lawn area behind the lodge there’s Grass Games—badminton, volleyball, and such—then we have our tennis courts and pool.”

  “We heard you have a supersized Slip ’N Slide,” I said, and my dad gave me an appreciative smile.

  “We certainly do. The biggest one in California!” D responded with enthusiasm. She pointed at the map again. “The dining hall is in the middle of the cabins. That’s where you’ll have your meals.”

  “All of them?” Lauren asked.

  D looked at the computer. “Your package includes two meals a day. We have a small general store, where we carry milk and cereal and such for that third meal.”

  While D showed my parents the road that led to our cabin, the lodge doors opened and a family of five came in. Two of the kids immediately began chasing each other around the tree, which at the moment also included Lauren and me, screaming about a bigfoot hunt. The woman went straight to the coffee station and poured herself a cup.

  “Boys, stop running!” the man called out in a sharp tone, then went to stand in line behind my parents.

  Lauren opened the front pocket of her backpack and dug around. “Movie nights, crafts, Slip ’N Slides?” she said at a volume only I could hear. “Is this a little kid camp?” At this, she pointedly stared at the kids who had not, in fact, stopped running. “I’m sensing no age-appropriate boys for us.”

  This thought did not disappoint me in the least. I had sworn off guys exactly three days ago. The guy drama I was in the middle of had left a bad taste in my mouth. The taste I worried would linger all summer now that I had no contact with the outside world.

  Lauren freed a long cord from her bag with a breath of relief. “Oh good. I thought I forgot this.”

  “Good thing you can keep your overpriced flashlight charged.”

  “I haven’t lost hope for Wi-Fi. And even if there isn’t any, I can still record and do a compilation video at the end of summer. I’ll figure something out,” she said, like she was still talking herself down.

  I wondered if I’d figure something out, a way to talk to Shay and get this taste out of my mouth, this weight off my chest.

  The music from the hall caught my attention again and I moved to see where it was coming from. I had only taken a few steps before one of the boys running around the tree and the woman with her full cup of coffee collided, sending the cup flying. I watched as it tumbled through the air in seemingly slow motion. Its contents arced across the space between us, then drenched the entire front of my white shirt. The cup landed, drumming three short beats on the floor, before it skidded across the dark wood and came to a stop against my gray Converse. I didn’t feel the heat of the liquid at first but then the burning sensation spread across my stomach. I sucked in air and pulled my shirt away from my skin.

  “Oh my goodness!” D called from behind me.

  “Boys!” the man said again.

  The woman, now empty-handed, stared at me and then at the cup by my foot as if this was somehow my fault. “I’m sorry,” I heard myself saying.

  My mom had magically found a roll of paper towels somewhere and began mopping up the floor. My dad was helping Lauren move our luggage away from the expanding puddle on the floor. I wasn’t sure how any coffee had made it on the floor, when it felt like an entire pot’s worth was on my shirt. “You okay, Avery?” Dad asked.

  By this time D was at my side. “The bathroom is this way. Follow me.” And without a word, I did. We walked through the lobby to the hall where I’d heard the music. It was louder now—was it a movie? A radio?—but as we passed the doors where it was obviously coming from, I couldn’t see inside. D continued to the end of the hall.

  Once safely inside the bathroom, I took off my shirt, throwing it onto the counter, and studied my skin. It was red but not burned. D grabbed a paper towel off a stack on the counter, ran it under cold water, then handed it to me. I pressed the wet towel against my stomach.

  “Should I get the nurse?” she asked.

  “What? No.” I already felt stupid enough. “I’m good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I take really hot showers. Apparently, I’ve conditioned my skin for this specific scenario.”

  She didn’t laugh, just picked up my shirt. “I’ll have this laundered and delivered to your cabin.” She backed out of the bathroom and the door swung shut.

  I took a deep breath and slowly peeled the paper towel away from my stomach for another look. The redness was already subsiding. I dropped the towel in a gold-trimmed trash bin and faced the door.

  I probably should’ve realized before this moment that I was standing there in my bra, my shirt in the possession of an eager-to-please (or probably more like a please-don’t-sue-us) employee, and I was trapped. I let out a low groan and turned a circle. The bathroom was nice—the stalls individual rooms with full doors, the counters shiny granite, and the fixtures polished brass. There was even art on the walls. But it didn’t have the one thing I needed—a stack of extra shirts lying around.

  Just as I was trying to think of a way to fashion one out of paper towels, the door opened again and D reappeared.

  I took a breath of relief. “Could you ask my—”

  Before I could finish the sentence, she held out a blue T-shirt. “Here you go.”

  “Or you could bring me exactly what I need.”

  She smiled. “Do you need anything else?”

  “Coffee?”

  She hesitated for a moment.

  “It was a joke.”

  “Oh…” She gave the worst courtesy laugh ever and left.

  I unfolded the shirt and held it up. Across the back was the Bear Meadow Camp logo—a friendly bear in front of three pine trees—and on the front, the word staff.

  “Thank goodness for please-don’t-sue-us employees,” I mumbled, and pulled it over my head.

  I leaned against the counter for a moment and looked in
the mirror above the sink. My brown hair hung limp around my shoulders and my hazel eyes were tired. Was it too late to go home?

  I let out a sharp breath. I knew home wasn’t an option, but a bed was a good second choice, one that only existed outside of this bathroom. I ran my fingers through my hair, wiped a bit of mascara from beneath my eyes, and exited the bathroom.

  This time as I passed the doors where I’d heard the music earlier, I stopped and peered inside.

  The room was a small theater with stadium-style seats facing the stage. At the moment, the seats were dark and empty. But the stage was lit and a three-person band, surrounded by instruments, stood talking among themselves. I wondered what events here required a live band. Bingo night?

  “Are you lost?” a voice said, startling me.

  To my right, behind the last row of red velvet chairs, was another guy, squatting by a guitar case, closing the lid. He had long, wavy hair and intense blue eyes that seemed to stare right through me.

  I almost took a step back. “You scared me.”

  He stood, and even though he was an average size, there was something about his posture or confident gaze or knowing head tilt that commanded the space. “You new here?” His question didn’t sound rude, but it wasn’t friendly either.

  “Yes, just got here.” A clash of cymbals echoed through the theater and I looked over to see the drummer, a big Polynesian guy, standing up.

  “Sorry!” he called out, and then did a drumroll on his snare and laughed.

  “Are you…Is this…a band?” I asked the guy near me.

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “I mean, obviously it is, but why?”

  A half-smile finally crept onto his face, lighting up his eyes and making him seem more approachable. If a half-smile could do all that, I found myself wondering what his full smile was capable of.

  “Mostly for, you know…the music,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes but also smiled. “The music? How unoriginal. I’d do it for the groupies…or the drugs.”

  “I’ve known for years that I’m a total sellout,” he shot back.

  My smile widened. I couldn’t help it. He was the first person tonight who seemed to actually get my dumb jokes. “So where can this music be heard?”

  “We play at dinner.”

  “Live dinner music? How fancy.”

  “Nothing but the best for our entitled guests.”

  I blinked, not sure if he intended that as a dig or not. No, we’d just been joking. It was a joke. “Well, if music isn’t a human right, it should be.”

  “Agreed.” He lifted his guitar case.

  “Brooks! You coming?” another bandmate yelled out. The three of them were heading toward the black curtain at the back of the stage.

  Brooks held up his hand to them, his eyes still on me. “Yeah!” His hand dropped to his side. “And you are?” he asked, seeming to imply that his name being called had counted as an introduction.

  I sort of agreed. “Avery.”

  “Avery. We have band practice most nights after dinner. Next time come a little earlier and tell me what you think.” And then the full smile I’d been waiting for took over his face. And I was right, it was magic.

  I gave a small nod.

  He walked several steps past me, up the aisle, then turned. “Is Janelle showing you around?”

  “Um…no.” I threw a thumb over my shoulder. “D.”

  “Well, then, welcome to Bear Meadow, where your paycheck will be small and your patience even smaller.”

  “What?” was my first confused response. And then, just as fast, I remembered the shirt I wore. The staff shirt. He thought I worked here.

  I opened my mouth to correct him but found myself saying, “Thank you,” instead. Why would I say that? Two reasons came to mind immediately. One, I hated making people feel stupid, and two, he still had on that magic smile.

  He half jogged to the stage, joining the other guys. I tugged on the bottom of the shirt. Dumb shirt.

  “There you are,” Lauren said from behind me. “Everyone is waiting on you. What are you even doing?” She looked past me to the now completely empty theater.

  “Nothing. I’m coming.”

  Back in the lobby, the coffee-spilling mom and her family were up at the counter listening to D explain the camp amenities. My parents were at the entrance with our luggage.

  “Everything okay?” Dad asked as I joined them.

  “All good,” I said.

  “You should go beat that lady up,” Lauren said, narrowing her eyes toward the check-in desk.

  I shook my head. “I think I stepped into the kid’s way or something.” It was the only thing I could think of—that the kid had been trying to avoid me. Why else would the woman have acted like it was my fault? “But maybe I’ll go find that suggestion box.” I pretended to write on a paper. “More Wi-Fi, less hot liquids.”

  Lauren let out a big impatient sigh.

  Dad winked at me. “Fire and Ice.”

  “Right,” I said. Just let it roll off, Avery. Let everything roll right off.

  Mom held out several card keys. “Let’s go see our home for the next couple months.”

  “Have a fabulous day!” the girl said as she used a pair of tongs to put a whole-wheat roll on my plate. It was dinnertime and we were in the big dining hall—buffet-style eating in what looked a lot like a school cafeteria. Unlike the big lodge and our family cabin, which seemed newly built, the dining hall was probably a relic from the camp’s past—paneled ceiling, fluorescent lighting, oak-trimmed doorways. But they’d done a good job hiding all that with nice tables and chairs and big framed art of the lake and surrounding forests.

  After settling into our cabin the night before, we’d woken up this morning and spent the day exploring camp—the general store, the sports courts, the lake, the lodge—my dad pointing out all the activities we could try over the summer. And even though the only thing we’d ended up doing that day was a family game of badminton, I was ready to spend the rest of the night back in the cabin reading or something.

  “Will you say that again for my video?” Lauren said, holding up her phone, as if it really wasn’t a question at all but a demand.

  “Excuse me?” the girl asked. Her name tag said Tia.

  “The ‘have a fabulous day’ thing. While you’re putting a roll on my plate.” She lifted her plate so it was in the shot.

  “Lauren, not everyone wants to be an extra in your film.” I sympathized with the helpless look on Tia’s face.

  Lauren waved her hand in my direction. “It’s not a film. I have a channel. It’s really just pieces of my life. This will be part of an end-of-summer mash-up. Please?”

  “Sure!” Tia said, suddenly unleashing a dazzling smile.

  Guess she didn’t need my help. It’s not like anyone would see it anyway. Who wanted to watch pieces of our boring life? I moved to the next station and filled a plate with lettuce and tomatoes, then drenched it in ranch. Several families sat around the dining hall, each at their own circular table. My parents waved me over to where they were already eating.

  I slid into the seat across from my mom. The phone in my pocket dug into my hip, so I took it out and set it on the table next to my plate.

  “It’s my music,” I said when Mom looked at the phone like it was pointless to carry around. “I won’t listen to it now, of course.” I liked music when I was walking around. A soundtrack for life.

  “You don’t need it anyway. They have live music during dinner.” She craned her head around.

  My heart seemed to stop. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten—Brooks and his band performed at dinner. I sank a little lower in my chair, my lie from the night before replaying in my mind.

  Just as it registered that I couldn’t hear any music, M
om turned back around and said, “They must be on break or something. They were playing when Dad and I first got here.”

  In the corner of the cafeteria was a makeshift stage with the abandoned instruments. It was mostly blocked from my view by my mom.

  “They announced a ten-minute break a little while ago,” Dad said.

  Ten minutes. I could eat in less than ten minutes. Because avoiding Brooks seemed like the mature way to solve this problem I’d created. I sighed. Like avoiding Shay before we left had been? No, I’d clear things up, but not now, in the middle of the dining hall. Especially because my explanation would sound something like: Well, you were smiling, so you can see how I couldn’t correct you about me working here.

  “I added another item to my birthday list,” Lauren said as she plopped her plate on the table and her body in the seat next to me. “A handheld phone stabilizer. It will help with my videos.”

  “Your birthday is not for five months,” Dad said.

  “I know. I’m giving you all plenty of time.”

  I knew my parents, especially my dad, thought her hobby was just that, a hobby. But they mostly kept quiet about it while redirecting her attention to other things.

  Mom pointed to a laminated schedule that sat in the middle of the table. “If either of you are interested, there’s a motivational speaker down at the lower amphitheater tonight,” she said, in a perfect example of redirection.

  “What are they motivating us to do?” I asked.

  Lauren spread her arms wide. “Live a productive life without internet.”

  “Knit socks and bake banana bread?” I asked with a smirk.

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Really? Is that what you think pre-internet life was like?”

  “You probably also mapped stars and wrote poetry,” I said.

  Dad raised his fork. “I actually did take an astronomy class one semester in college.” He flipped the schedule around to face him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they offered some stargazing here….Aha!” He stabbed his fork into the middle of the page, his eyes lighting up. “All your wishes come true.”

  I smiled, looking between Dad’s fork and his goofy expression. The stars the night before had been pretty amazing. It would be fun to learn more than the basic constellations.