Just a Boy and a Girl in a Little Canoe

by Sarah Mlynowski

  When they see me, they all shriek and laugh and dive back into their beds.

  “You’re all getting cavities,” I tell them.

  They are giggling uncontrollably.

  “Can we save a little room for breakfast?” I ask.

  They are still giggling.

  I am giggling too.

  We get the girls to flagpole on time. I am even wearing regular clothes instead of pajamas, in the hopes that I can make it to some cell service after breakfast. In the Dining Hall, I bring the kids a tray of scrambled eggs, toast, jam, and a pitcher of orange juice. There is a small accident with the ketchup.

  I have a large cup of coffee. It tastes terrible but hits the spot in the best way possible.

  I call freeze. Slugger and Lily start laughing at the same time, so we decide they will stack together.

  There are no tears the entire meal, which I take as a personal win.

  I have my phone in my hoodie pocket. “Can you take the girls back to the bunk?” I ask Talia. “I want to check in with Eli.”

  “No problem,” she says drowsily. Her coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.

  As soon as the kids are released, I make a run for it. I know I don’t have that much time, but I just want to hear his voice. I want him to know that I’m thinking about him.

  The Wi-Fi kicks in as soon as I step inside the office. Hurrah! My phone is flooded with texts.

  Hello, Beautiful! I’m in Florence! It’s about 100 degrees.

  There are a few other texts from him but I can hardly wait to write him. I type:

  Hi!

  I just ditched the kids to run to the office to try you. I am going to call you!

  I dial his number and wait while it rings. Ringing . . . ringing . . .

  “Hello?” he says.

  “Hiiiiiiiiiiii!”

  “It’s you!”

  “It’s me! I snuck away to call you early!”

  “Hooray! I miss you!”

  “I miss you too!”

  I laugh and tell him everything, the words gushing from my mouth. He tells me all about what he’s doing there. The museums. His cousin. The pizza. I ask a lot of questions about the pizza. The connection is clear. The connection is perfect. It’s like he’s standing right beside me.

  We talk and talk and talk until I have to go again.

  “When can we talk next?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I can get back here at seven p.m. But maybe it’s too late.”

  “I don’t care! Wake me up! Call me!”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes!”

  “Okay. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  And we hang up.

  I gotta go. I sprint back to my cabin, making my calves burn. I glance at my other texts while I run. There’s a number I don’t recognize.

  Hi, Sam! I got your number from your mom! I’m Francie’s mother! Mandy! Small world, right?! We are so thrilled you’re her counselor this year! How is she doing?

  I can’t write back now anyway, but remind myself to do it later. As I step onto the porch, I hope that all the kids are ready for their activity, which is dance.

  But when I step inside, I see that the kids are still half dressed and the bunk is a total mess. Like a disaster mess. Like I can barely see the floor. It is covered with clothes and candy. But there’s no time to clean up because we have to get to dance.

  “Girls, we gotta go,” I say. “Talia? Lis? Janelle?”

  Both sides of the bunk have dance. It seems like a lot of our activities are both sides of the bunk.

  “Coming!” I hear, and Janelle comes out of the counselors’ room. “Girls! Come on!” she says, and steps into her side of the bunk.

  “On the porch!” she yells. “Wear your dancing shoes!”

  “And by that she means sneakers!” I add.

  Lis and Talia step outside too, just as Danish steps on the porch. “Hi, guys!” she says. “How’d you do with your first cleanup? Will you be getting a ten?”

  Uh-oh. I forgot that the section heads give all the bunks a cleanup score after cleanup. They write the daily scores on a sheet on the wall. That is not going to make us look good at all.

  The girls look stricken. “A ten?” Shira shrieks. “Is it out of a hundred?”

  There is a lot of snickering.

  “Oh, I’m sure you did a great job,” Danish says. “You guys better hurry to dance, though. The period already started.”

  And off we go as Danish steps into our bunk to check out the disaster.

  By the time we get to the Rec Hall, dance is almost half over. But the girls get into lines and practice some moves and then what seems like a second later, Eric’s voice comes back on the loudspeaker, telling us it’s time to go to second period.

  “What do we have next?” Janelle asks.

  “Canoeing,” Talia says, and then mutters in my direction, “Can she not read a schedule?”

  “Okay, we’ll go straight to the beach,” I say, ignoring her. “Is that Gavin?”

  “No,” Lis says. “He’s sailing.”

  “Are they wearing their bathing suits?” I ask.

  “Not sure,” Lis says.

  “Don’t they have to wear their bathing suits on the beach?” I ask.

  “Right,” Talia says. “Forgot about that.”

  “Girls? Any of you wearing bathing suits?”

  “No!” the girls call back.

  “Awesome.” I guess that’s the last time I go make a call during cleanup.

  We herd the girls back down the road to the bunk and instruct them to put on bathing suits quickly.

  “What else do they need?” I ask.

  “Towels,” Lis says. “In case they get wet.”

  “Bring towels!” I call out. “And sunscreen! Wear sunscreen!”

  I pass the cleanup score on the way to change. Two out of ten. Crap.

  We arrive late to canoeing. The sailboats, kayaks, and windsurfers are already in the water. I see Gavin on the other side of the lake with some of the older kids.

  “Come on, girls!” calls the canoeing teacher. We have to get each of you in a life jacket.” She has a thick British accent.

  After fitting them for life jackets, we start canoeing safety training, which involves learning what to do if the canoe flips over. This involves all of us getting wet. This leads to a lot of eight-year-olds, shrieking. And some counselors shrieking.

  “I didn’t want to get this shirt wet,” Lis grumbles, biting her pinkie nail.

  “Too bad, so sad,” Fancy says. I try not to laugh.

  When the period is called, we run back to the bunk, change out of our wet bathing suits, put on shorts, T-shirts and sneakers, and herd them to basketball, which luckily happens to be on Lower Field, not far from our bunk.

  “We made it!” I say. I plop down on the bleachers. I pray Trevor, the basketball specialist, will let me sit for a minute and catch my breath.

  “Girls, where are your hats?” Trevor asks.

  Argh. Freaking hats.

  “Our counselors didn’t tell us to bring them,” Fancy says.

  Way to throw us under the bus, Fancy.

  “You need hats,” Trevor says. “It’s sunny. Maybe your counselors can run back to the bunk to get them?”

  “Not it,” says Talia.

  Surprise, surprise. “I’ll go,” I say.

  “I’ll come with you,” Janelle says, and the two of us sprint back to the bunk to collect a hat for each of them. I’m lucky enough to find one by each of their beds.

  “I have no idea if these belong to the right kids, but they’ll have to do,” Janelle says.

  We hurry back to the court and pass out the hats.

  “Thanks,” Trevor says. “Next time tell the girls to wear socks and sneakers, too.”

  “They are wearing socks and . . .” My voice trails off as I notice that only Slugger is wearing socks and sneakers. The others are either wearing flip-flops, Crocs, or snea
kers without socks. Lily is wearing a leotard, no shorts.

  “Sorry,” I say, and sit back down on the bench beside Talia. It’s hot. I wish I had grabbed a hat.

  While Trevor teaches the girls to dribble, I close my eyes and let the sun warm my cheeks. Ah. That feels good.

  “Um, guys?”

  I look up to see Danish standing in front of us.

  All four of us are on the bench doing nothing.

  Crap, crap, crap.

  “You really need to be involved in the activities. It encourages the girls to be involved too. You have to lead by example!” She looks at me while she says it.

  But I was! I canoed! I swam! I got hats! I just took a one-second break. “Sorry,” I say, and jump up off the bench.

  The other counselors do the same.

  “And today’s cleanup was a disaster. Have you made a chore wheel? That will help. And from now on you really need to be helping them clean up in the morning. A clean bunk in the morning makes for a better day.” I was supposed to make a chore wheel, wasn’t I?

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Talia says, saluting her.

  “Thanks,” Danish says.

  “Water break!” Trevor calls out.

  The girls all look at us.

  “Where’s our water?” Em asks.

  Danish sighs. “Did they not bring their water bottles?”

  Oops. I want to be good at this, but there is too much to remember!

  “They have to carry them with them at all times,” Danish says. “Their water bottles and their sun hats. It’s hot out here. We don’t want them dehydrating.”

  “Got it,” I say. “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s just the second day,” she says. “We’re all learning.”

  “I’m thirsty!” Fancy says.

  “Me too!”

  “Me too!”

  “So am I!”

  “Okay, why don’t you all run back and get your water bottles,” Danish says. “And maybe one of you should go with them.”

  “I’ll go!” I say in my best I-can-handle-this voice, and I run.

  It’s seven p.m. and I am back at the office. Today kicked my ass, and it’s not over. There is still Evening Activity and bedtime. I’m not on OD, but I am so wiped out I think I’ll just go to sleep early. But first I get to speak to Eli again!

  I dial his number. It rings. And rings.

  I get his voice mail.

  He told me to wake him up, didn’t he?

  I try again. Voice mail again.

  My heart sinks. I guess his ringer is off. Or he’s just sleeping through it. I text instead.

  Me: Hiiiii! Are you still up? Call me if you’re still up! I’ll hang out in the office for another five mins or so.

  The door swings open and it’s Gavin. He’s wearing his sunglasses but no shirt. Once again I am not complaining.

  “Hey,” he says. “How’s it going?”

  “Great,” I say.

  “How’s Eli?”

  “Eli?” Oh. Right. My boyfriend. Look away from his abs. Away from his abs! “He’s asleep. But I spoke to him earlier today. So we’re good. How’s Kat?”

  “I don’t know. But I am hopefully about to find out.”

  Gavin’s phone rings and he answers the call.

  I guess his girlfriend waited up to talk to him. He’s facing the other way, but I can see from the side of his face that he’s smiling.

  I can also see how smooth his back is. I wonder if he ever needs help putting on suntan lotion? I am very good at applying suntan lotion. Not on children, perhaps, but definitely on hot shirtless guys.

  I look back down at my phone, text Eli good night, send quick hellos to my friends, wave goodbye to Eric and Gavin, who is still deep in conversation, and head back the bunk, just in time to see a raccoon run right out of it.

  Shit.

  I walk into a bunk of eleven screaming girls and three screaming counselors.

  “We’re getting rid of the candy!” I call out. “We’re getting rid of it RIGHT NOW!”

  “Okay, girls,” I say after breakfast the next day. “We are getting a perfect ten at cleanup today, do you understand? A perfect ten! Not one sheet out of place.”

  “It’s impossible,” Talia says. “These girls are disasters.”

  “They just need our help,” I say.

  “I don’t know how to make my bed,” Slugger tells us.

  “I don’t know how to fold,” Fancy says.

  “Talia and I know how to do both!” I say. “We will teach you! And we are going to be ready for everything today!” I study our schedule. “Here’s the deal. We have wrestling first, and then sailing, and then tennis. So we’re going to put our bathing suits on under our clothes, with sandals. So we won’t have to come back.” Planning for the win!

  “My mother told me not to wear a bathing suit all day,” Lily says. “It makes my vajayjay angry.”

  Everyone starts laughing.

  “You definitely shouldn’t wear a wet bathing suit all day, Lily. But a dry one is totally fine. Your vajayjay will be a-okay-ay!”

  They all laugh.

  “I really wish they’d moved me to inters,” Talia grumbles.

  I’m starting to wish they had moved her, too.

  Talia steps up and helps make their beds and fold their clothes, while I get them dressed. And we make it to wrestling on time wearing bathing suits under our shorts and T-shirts, and carrying towels. With sunscreen!

  The wrestling specialist doesn’t even mind about the bathing suits since they are apparently good to wrestle in. Yes! Winning!

  Also, the wrestling teacher introduces himself as the Tank. Mystery solved.

  When we get to the beach, Gavin ushers us into the boating house to fit us with life jackets.

  His is bright yellow and nicer than all of ours—I’m guessing he brought it from home. I would too if I had to wear one all day. The one I’m wearing is red and soggy.

  There are two other sailing counselors, and one sailing CIT, but since Gavin is the head of the activity, he talks to all of us about sailing safety. Then he divides us up into four groups, or four boats.

  “Sam, your group is in my boat,” he says.

  I have Slugger, Prague, and Shira. I buckle my life jacket and make sure theirs are buckled too.

  “I’ve never been in a sailboat,” Slugger says, climbing on.

  “It’s the best,” Prague tells her. “Can we suntan on the edge?”

  “This isn’t that kind of sailing,” Gavin says.

  He adjusts the straps and the wind catches our sail and we start to glide across the lake.

  He jumps back and forth between the sides, holding on to all the strings, in command of the boat. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses that are attached by a rope around the back of his head. I guess sailing instructors lose a lot of sunglasses to the water.

  He’s not wearing a shirt under the life jacket, and his arms are thick and already tanned. He’s wearing red bathing trunks. I feel nakedish that I’m just wearing a one-piece under my life jacket, but all the girls are only wearing their suits and jackets—more clothes would have been weird. And probably would have gotten wet.

  He explains a few things about the boat until he tells the girls that they can sit on the stern for a bit if they want to stretch.

  I let my head fall back as we glide across the lake. “This is great!”

  “Glad you like it. You can put your feet in the water if you want,” he says.

  “I’m not going to fall in?”

  “You will not fall in,” he says. He raises an eyebrow. “Unless you want to fall in.”

  I stick one foot in the water. It’s nice. But still, cold. “I do not want to fall in,” I say. I put my other foot in, too. The part of the lake we’re in is calm, although we can hear the other kids on the other boats across the lake.

  “So how’s Kat doing?” I ask.

  “Seems good. She’s living the life, that’s for sure. She’s
going to all these fancy French parties. And then she’s running off to the Mediterranean for the weekend.”

  “Sounds glamorous,” I say.

  “She is definitely glamorous,” he says. “She’ll probably trade me in for a French billionaire or something.”

  “I doubt it,” I say.

  “Can we jump in?” Prague asks.

  “If you want to,” Gavin says.

  “I kind of want to,” Prague says. “Who’s coming with me?”

  No one answers.

  “Okay, scaredy-pants—I will jump in on my own!”

  And she does.

  “Sammy!” she squeals to me. “You have to come in!”

  Sammy? I don’t hate it. “Well . . .” I hesitate. It is hot out. “Why not? Can I take off my life jacket?”

  “Can you swim?” he asks.

  “I can,” I say. “I promise I won’t drown. You won’t have to give me mouth-to-mouth.” Oh wow, did I really say that?

  He raises an eyebrow.

  I snap off my jacket. Now I really feel kind of naked. I jump in. If his girlfriend is flirting with French billionaires, then it’s only fair that I flirt with him.

  The water is a shock of cold, but feels amazing. “Gavin?” I say. “Coming in?”

  “Me?”

  “I know it’s not the Mediterranean, but . . .”

  He laughs. “Does anyone else want to swim?” he asks the kids.

  They shake their heads.

  “Okay. Coming in.” He snaps off his life jacket—abs—takes off his sunglasses, and dives off the boat and into the water in a perfect arc.

  He pops up beside me, his hair dripping. “You okay?”

  “Perfect,” I say.

  “And you’re sure you don’t need mouth-to-mouth?” he asks, smiling.

  “Pretty sure,” I say.

  It’s a little naughty, but totally harmless.

  And I’m kind of liking it.

  Back in the bunk, as the kids change quickly, I sneak a peek at our cleanup score. Eight! We got an eight! That is so much better than a two! We do not have to clean with the campers during Rest Hour with an eight. We can nap! I can nap!

  “Don’t forget sneakers!” I yell. “And socks! And sun block! And hats and water bottles!”

  We make it to tennis, which is all the way across camp near Upper Field, and we’re only five minutes late. I am impressed with myself.

  I am also impressed with Benji, the smokin’ hot tennis teacher. He is indeed smokin’.