“So what are you doing?” I ask.
“Waiting for them to call my group. First class is already on. I’m going to miss you,” he adds. “Why did I think leaving you for the summer was a good idea?”
My throat tightens. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure it was a terrible idea.”
“It was,” he says. “It really was. I wish you were coming with me. Oh. Wait. Hold on. They’re calling my group. Finally. Okay, I’m up. I better go. I’ll call you when I get to Rome. Actually, it will be the middle of the night there, won’t it?”
“I don’t care. Call me anyway. I don’t think the phone will work, but leave a message. I want to hear your voice.” I need to hear your voice. I swallow hard. “I’ll call you back as soon as I can. I miss you already.”
“I miss you, too. I love you, Beautiful.”
“I love you, too.”
He’s the first guy I have ever said “I love you” to. He is my first everything. I always felt awkward with guys when I was younger. Maybe because I’m an only child, maybe because I was so terrified of my nickname coming true—but I mostly kept away from boys. I started flirting senior year of high school, but it wasn’t until college that I finally felt confident enough to put myself out there for real.
I waited seven months to sleep with Eli. He called me “Beautiful.” No one had ever called me that before.
“Have an amazing summer,” he says.
“You too,” I say. “Don’t get pickpocketed.”
“Don’t get Lyme disease.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I’m going now,” he says. “I have to find my passport.”
“That’s why you need your money belt.”
“Ha! Bye for real.”
“Have a safe flight,” I say, and wait for him to end the call.
He does.
I stare at my phone. He’s going. He’s really going.
I watch as his texts from earlier spill onto my screen now that there’s service.
Eli: Did you make it? How are the ticks?
Eli: Going through security! Bomb jokes, yea or nay?
Eli: Made it! They loved the one about two terrorists walking into a bar.
Eli: You’re not lost wandering around somewhere in the Adirondacks are you?
All his texts make me feel slightly out of breath. Like I’m treading water and can’t feel the ground.
Crap, do I really have to take a swim test?
Talia and Lis step out of the showers. They are both wearing bathrobes and towels tied around their hair.
They take the stairs slowly.
“All good?” Talia asks.
“Yup. Just catching up,” I say. The tension in my neck is back.
A new message flashes across my screen.
“I’ll meet you guys in the cabin,” I say.
They hurry to the bunk while I look back down at my phone.
Mom: I just ran into Jennifer Katz at the Fresh Market who has a daughter going to your camp! What age do you have again?
I write back:
Me: Eight year olds!
Mom: Oh! The girl is eight. I think her name is Francie.
Me: Fancy!
Mom: No, Francie!
Me: Yes. They call her Fancy. She’s in my bunk.
Mom: Ah. How’s camp? All good?
Me: Yup. Just got here. All good there?
Mom: Your father is driving me crazy but that’s nothing new.
My father is always driving my mother crazy and my mother is always driving my father crazy. They’ve been married for twenty-five years. I’d say they are an adorable old married couple, but they aren’t. Sometimes I catch them looking at each other like they genuinely despise each other. They’ve been together since they were sixteen. They sleep in separate rooms. My mom says it’s because my father snores, and he does snore, loudly and horribly, but I don’t think that’s the only reason. I think they just don’t like each other. Honestly, I don’t know why they don’t get divorced. I always thought they would once I went off to college, but so far it hasn’t happened.
My dad had a brain tumor three years ago—his second—when I was in eleventh grade. The surgery got it, and he’s in remission, but now he has to walk with a walker and doesn’t want to go anywhere and he can’t even drive. Maybe my mom feels bad about leaving him. Maybe he’s too tired to leave her. Maybe it’s less scary to stay and be miserable than to face the unknown.
There is a clacking over the loudspeaker. A loud squeak and then, “Attention, all counselors. Attention, all counselors. It is now time for dinner. Please head to the office. I mean the Dining Hall. Sorry. The Dining Hall.” Crash.
There’s a new text from Eli.
Eli: Hi. On plane. Taking off soon.
I type back: Miss you. Love you.
Eli: Love you. Miss you.
My throat tightens again and my eyes fill with tears.
I feel a prick on my arm and see another mosquito. I flick it away, but realize it’s too late. I’ve already been bitten.
“These meatballs are better than I remember,” I say, taking another scoop.
Meals are served family style. Talia got the tray for us from the kitchen even though she isn’t eating any.
“I’m a vegetarian,” she explains, squeezing a glob of hand sanitizer in her palm. “I pretty much just eat the soy-butter-and-jelly sandwiches all summer.”
In addition to the main dish, there’s a salad bar with veggies, bread, and soy butter and jelly outside the kitchen. A pitcher of water has already been set out by the kitchen staff at every table.
“Last year I gained ten pounds at camp,” Lis says. “It was ridiculous. This year I am making friends with the salad bar.”
“There’s so much walking though,” I say. “I’m starving already and I’ve only been here, like, an hour.”
The three of us are sitting on the end of one of the wooden Dining Hall tables, against the wall. The Dining Hall is a long rectangle and divided into three sections. Juniors, inters, and seniors. Our section has six tables in it since there are six junior bunks.
Lis is sitting with us even though she should be at the next table over. I’m not sure why, but Janelle isn’t here yet so maybe she just doesn’t want to sit alone.
I spot Gavin walking into the room. He waves at me.
I wave back.
“How hot is he?” Lis whispers.
“Pretty hot,” I say back.
Our section is closest to the kitchen and salad bar.
The walls are covered in various plaques. Superbowl plaques. Color war plaques. Activity plaques, dating back to the 1970s, when the camp first opened. There’s even an old big Star of David over the door. Way back in the 1970s, the camp was religiously affiliated and all the staff and campers were Jewish. But even eight years ago, when I’d been here, the owners had been trying to make the camp more inclusive. What had once been called Shabbat Dinner for the first fifty years was now called Friday Night Dinner; and instead of serving kosher food, meals were now just kosher style: meaning no shellfish, pork, or cheese on hamburgers.
I look around at the counselors. Out of the seventy people, about a third look familiar. I’d guess about 60 percent of them are teens who once upon a time were campers here. The staff seems only slightly more diverse than when I was a camper though; there’s Lis of course, although I’m pretty sure she’s Jewish, and Priya, who is Indian American, and I spot a few African American counselors who I haven’t met yet. For the most part though, camp is still mostly Jewish, and mostly white, which is weird to see after living in a place like New York City. Seems like someone should tell the owners that if they really want camp to be more diverse it’s going to take more work than renaming the meals.
I help myself to another meatball.
“What’s for dessert?” I ask.
“Chocolate pudding,” Talia says.
Lis groans. “Are they trying to kill me?”
“No one’s forcing you to eat it,” Talia says.
“Yes they are. Anyone who says no to chocolate pudding is a weirdo,” Lis replies.
“Speaking of weirdos,” Talia says under her breath, “here she comes.”
I look up to see a tall busty blond, in a green tube top and leggings, skipping over to us. “Hi, ladies! How are the meatballs? They look AMAZING.”
“They’re great, Janelle,” Lis says.
She plops into the seat beside me. “Hi!” she says. “You must be Sam. Welcome to camp! We’re so happy to have you here! It’s the best, eh?”d
I catch Lis rolling her eyes.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, and smile.
She smiles back—it’s a huge smile. Her eyes crinkle and her mouth opens wide. I can see that one of her front teeth is twisted, like she never had braces. She’s about a head taller than me, and wider. She is wearing a small silver cross around her neck.
“It’s great to meet you! Do you need help unpacking? Let me know if you need anything. We’re all in this together!” She grabs a paper plate and dumps a scoop of meatballs onto it. “I am so thirsty, my mouth is a desert. Where’s the bug juice?”
“We just got water,” Lis says.
She wrinkles her nose. “They didn’t have bug juice?”
“I didn’t see it,” Talia snaps.
“Not to worry, I’m on it—be right back,” she says, jumping back out of her seat and hurrying off to the kitchen.
Lis skewers a piece of lettuce. “She’s been here one day and she acts like she owns the place.”
I can already tell what the problem is. Janelle is too happy. Too eager. Too confident. Too different. Girls like that either take over the place or get eaten alive.
She comes back a few minutes later with a large jug of pink juice. “Look what I got! This place is amazing! And how funny is it that the kitchen staff is all Australian? Maybe I’ll go to Australia next summer. So, who wants bug juice?” She overemphasizes the words, then says to me, as an aside, “I thought it was just Kool-Aid. Camp is so awesome.”
“We taught her a new term.” Lis rolls her eyes. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Me too,” says Talia.
Janelle smiles at me, unfazed. “Sam?”
“Sure,” I say. “Water’s boring.”
She fills up my cup and I gulp it down in one shot. So sweet. But so good. Kool-Aid but better. “It tastes like childhood,” I say.
Janelle laughs. “It does! It really does!” And she takes another forkful of meatball.
“I’m done,” Lis says, picking up her plate. “Going to say hi to Allie.”
“Me too,” Talia says.
They drop their plates in the nearby garbage and head to the senior section, laughing to each other the whole way.
I resolve not to be bitchy just because they’re being bitches.
I turn to Janelle. “So this is your first year?”
“Yes! And I love it! I’ve never been to camp in my life.”
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“It’s a long story,” she says. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”
“Um, long, I guess.”
“I was born in Saskatchewan but then I moved with my mom to Calgary. Have you ever been?”
“No,” I say.
“No one here has! So strange. It’s the Canadian prairies.”
“Got it,” I say.
“I only lived there until I was six. Then I moved to Prince Edward Island. Have you heard of PEI?”
“Of course. Anne of Green Gables!”
“Right! That’s what I told Lis and Talia, but they’ve never read it. I lived there for a few years, but then—you’re not going to believe this part—my biological father, who I hadn’t even met, tracked me down. He had another kid—Michelle, my little sister—and my sister had AML. It’s what comes before leukemia. Have you ever heard of it?”
“I haven’t,” I say. “But it sounds horrible.”
“I know, eh?” She takes a scoop of rice.
“Anyway, he wanted to test to see if I could be a donor. ’Cause siblings make the best donors. So of course, I got tested.”
“Wow. Were you a match?”
She shakes her head. “No. I wasn’t. But they found a match in Oklahoma! Can you believe it? And she’s great now. My sister is great.” Janelle’s eyes are filled with happy tears.
“That’s . . .” It’s a lot. I don’t know what to say. “Wow.”
“I know.” She nods. “Do you want some pudding? I’m going to get us pudding.” And with that she’s off.
Wow. I can’t imagine going through all that. So much to deal with.
Lis and Talia slide back into their seats beside me. “She told you about her half sister, didn’t she?”
I nod.
Talia shakes her head. “She tells every person she talks to. She told the kitchen staff at lunch.”
“It is a crazy story,” I say.
“Yeah. Exactly. Crazy.” She makes a loco motion with her fingers.
Lis points to Talia. “You are so fucking lucky you got the normal one.”
Talia just laughs.
The head staff make announcements after dinner, and then we all head back to our cabins.
I unzip my duffel and make my bed, and then start to organize my clothes. I know they won’t stay that way, since I have never been known for my neatness. I hope I’m not expected to tidy up after the campers, because I can barely tidy up after myself.
I glance down at my phone, but have no service. It’s not like I would hear from Eli anyway, since he’ll be on the plane for the rest of the night. It feels strange to be so out of touch. To know that even if I want to reach him, I can’t.
At eight thirty, Eric’s voice comes over the loudspeaker and announces that it’s time to go to Upper Field for the campfire.
“It’s getting cold out,” Lis tells me. “You better put on something warm. Do you have Uggs?”
“People still wear Uggs?” I ask.
“They do at camp,” Talia says.
Lis bites her pinkie nail. “Wait. We need to bring towels to sit on.”
“I haven’t unpacked those yet,” I admit. “But let me try and find one.”
“You can share mine,” Talia says, grabbing a dry one off the porch.
“I’ll share too,” Janelle says.
I catch Lis and Talia give each other a look.
The four of us meander our way back down the dirt road, picking up other counselors as we go. The sun has already set, but it’s still light out.
I meet Mike, who is wearing red earmuffs. Everyone calls him Muffs. His co-counselor is JJ, who has wildly puffy blond hair.
“Nice to meet you,” I tell them.
“Actually, I remember you,” Muffs says. “I was here when you were here, but a year younger. I’m Lis’s age.”
I freeze. But he doesn’t bring up the Porny nickname, so either he doesn’t remember or he’s being nice.
When we get to Upper Field, I see the smoke wafting up into the sky. A bunch of the counselors are sitting in a circle on their towels around the fire.
Danish is holding a stick over the fire with a marshmallow on it. “Hi, all!” she says. “Grab some sticks! We’re making s’mores!”
“OMG, amazing!” Janelle cries. “S’mores are the best! I live for marshmallows.”
Lis and Talia spread out their towels and sit down side by side on the ground. Janelle runs off to look for sticks. I stand still, debating what I want to do. I am not that into s’mores, but I love a perfectly roasted marshmallow.
Gavin pulls his stick out of the flames. His marshmallow is on fire. He blows it out in a massive, showy huff. “You look confused,” he says to me, pulling his charred marshmallow off his stick. “Want me to make you one?”
Eleven-year-old me would not believe that hot Gavin was offering to make me a s’more. Every girl in my bunk had a crush on
him. If I remember correctly, he went out with Zoe Buckman for two weeks, then dumped her, which made her act like even more of a bitch, and him even hotter.
“No thanks,” I say. “You kind of killed yours.”
“What? Killed it? Are you kidding? I did that on purpose!”
“You burnt it to a crisp on purpose?”
“Absolutely did!”
“I do not want a burnt marshmallow. But I would like to borrow your stick.”
“What, you don’t trust me?”
“I am very particular about my marshmallow roasting,” I say.
He lets out an exaggerated sigh and hands it to me.
I reach for the bag of marshmallows and spear one on the pointy end of the stick. I gently hold it over the fire, careful not to let it burn.
I watch it slowly turn gold. Gavin is standing beside me.
“Good technique,” he says. “Are you all settled in?”
“Don’t distract me,” I say. “I’m focusing.”
“Watch out for the flying bat,” he says.
“I don’t believe you,” I say.
“Now there’s a flying cat,” he says.
“Now you’re just rhyming.”
“I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it.”
I laugh and turn to look at him. He’s smiling. He has a nice smile. Always did.
When I look back, my marshmallow is on fire. “Crap!” I yell, and he laughs again.
I attempt to blow it out. Finally, the fire is gone. My marshmallow is burnt, but not terribly. I wait for it to cool, pull it off, and pop it in my mouth. Mmm. Gooey.
“Good?”
“Not bad. A little charred.” I smile at him.
“Sam, come sit!” Talia says.
I hand Gavin back his stick, wave, and scooch in beside her. We’re only about a foot back from the fire, and the flames warm my face.
“What should we sing?” Botts asks.
Janelle is sitting beside him.
Priya is sitting on the other side of him with a guitar in her lap. She starts strumming the opening cords to something that sounds familiar.
“Oh! Good call!” Botts says. “A long, long time ago—” he sings.
The staff jumps in. “I can still remember how—”
My lips feel sticky from the marshmallow, but I sing along to “American Pie” too.
We sing “Hey There Delilah,” “Wonderwall,” and “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” The night gets darker and the smoke gets higher and we run out of marshmallows. At around eleven, a chill sets in. Janelle is deep in conversation with one of the swim staff, but Lis says she’s getting cold, so the three of us head back.
Just a Boy and a Girl in a Little Canoe Page 3
