by Anna Katmore
“Oh, that’s great news.” The words escape me before I can bite my tongue.
He pauses a beat, then his sinister glare skates to me. “Yeah.”
An Arctic cold slithers down my spine. I put down my knife and fork and clasp the napkin between my fingers. “Look, I’m really sorry—”
“For what?” he snaps at me. “For running off? For lying? Or for completely misleading me last night?”
His words, like a glowing lance through my heart, make me cringe and close my mouth.
“Justin,” Julie says, trying to placate him with her soft voice, “don’t you think you’re being a little unfair now?”
“Unfair? Me?” He barks an outraged laugh that draws the attention of some boys at the next table to us. He quickly realizes his slip and lowers his tone. The hiss that comes next is no less lethal, though. “How can you two sit here and side with her when she doesn’t give a flying shit about what happens to the rest of us?” His knuckles whiten from his hard grip around the fork.
“The flight is booked and paid, and it sure isn’t cheap to fly from the U.S. to Europe. She’d be a fool not to go now,” Julie defends me when I can’t find the words to defend myself.
“Oh, please! Are you really that naïve?” He cuts a glance to the ceiling. “Her father’s a lawyer. He pays for everything in her life. I’m sure booking a different flight wouldn’t bankrupt him.”
With a scolding edge to her voice, Julie growls, “Justin,” but she can’t say more, because Greyson reaches for her hand across the table, silencing her with just a single, gentle touch. Then he places a hand on Justin’s shoulder, casting him a compassionate look. “Dude, let it go. It’s too late.”
Like a bull in an arena, Justin’s practically blowing steam through his nose. His glance skates back and forth between us. Finally, he tosses his fork onto his plate and pushes to his feet. The chair scrapes angrily backward across the floor and tips over. Not bothering to pick it up, he stomps out of the dining hall, the double door swinging in his wake.
When Julie and Greyson helplessly grimace at me, I bite my lip and fight to keep a straight face, but the tears burning behind my eyes are threatening to spill over. Suddenly, the whole place feels way too crowded. My gaze moves back to the now-still doors. It’s already late, anyway. Time to get ready to leave.
“Excuse me,” I croak, drop the crumpled napkin on the table, and rise. Everyone’s eyes are following me as I make an exit.
Another downpour started during lunch, forcing me to jog around the lake with my hood pulled up. Mud splashes everywhere as I step in newly formed puddles, quickly soaking my socks inside my sneakers. Our campsite is still quiet and vacated, only the drumming of the rain on leaves welcoming me back. Reaching the cabins, I slow down, because the wooden stairs are slippery. On the porch, I pull down my hood, but just when my hand fists around the doorknob, Justin’s cold voice behind me makes me freeze as he says my name.
I spin around and find him walking into the camp from the direction of the office. He didn’t bother to bring an umbrella, a rain jacket, or even just pull up the hood of his black sweatshirt. His face in hard lines, he stops at the bottom of the stairs and tosses a small, black device up to me. “Brinna will want her phone back.”
I catch it, watching with horror as he turns around, set to walk away. “Justin!” I cry out. “Please, wait!” But my shout hits his back. Just short of panicking, because this might be the last time we have a chance to talk, I dash down the stairs after him, grabbing a fistful of his sleeve to stop him and spin him around.
Raindrops are coating his face. They slip from his lashes at every blink, the butterscotch eyes behind his soaked strands scrutinizing me with bitter animosity. In his frosty look, he makes it clear that he has no intention to speak to me ever again.
My throat clogs with a painful lump and turns my voice into a hoarse whisper when I plead, “Can’t we even say goodbye?”
For the length of a breath, he stares at me with unchanged hostility. Then he carefully detaches his arm from my grip, turns around, and walks away.
My knees wobble, and my chest constricts. What I really want to do now is drop to the ground and cry. Let go of all the hurt inside. Rip my heart out and toss it into the woods if it’ll help ease the pain. But there’s one person stopping me. Holding up a red umbrella for shelter, Brinna stands beside the path coming down from the camp entrance and looks at me with sad understanding. The moment our gazes meet, she rushes toward me, enclosing me in a one-armed hug. “Oh, sweetie! What can I do to make you feel better?”
My hands digging into her raincoat and forehead resting on her shoulder, I sob. “Take me home.”
“Sure. Let’s get your things and leave.” Covering us both with her umbrella, she loops her arm through mine and walks with me up the stair to the Squirrel cabin. My suitcase is packed and waiting, including the bed sheets this time.
As I wheel it outside, Greyson appears at the door and surprises me by taking it out of my hand and carrying it down the stairs for me. I follow him and don’t object when he swallows me whole in a heartfelt embrace. “Thanks,” I croak into his ear.
“Sure.” He puts me down and casts me a smile. “Good luck in England!”
The next one waiting in line to say goodbye is Julie, and she obviously brought the entire camp squad, too. Like pins in a bowling alley, they stand motionless in the pouring rain until, one by one, they come forward to wish me all the best at Guildhall. Some hug me, others, like Romeo Brian, just hold out their hands. It’s getting more and more difficult by the minute to keep a happy expression but, deeply touched by so much warmth, I do my best.
Addison is the last one to hug me, and when she says farewell, I whisper, “Good luck with Romeo.”
Grinning, she lets me go. I pivot to all the others and wave at them one final time. Then, after a deep breath, I grab the handle of my suitcase and head off with Brinna down the narrow path toward the exit.
Her Camaro is a single blue spot in an empty parking lot. Only Justin’s black motorcycle stands a little off to the side, looking lonely in the rain. My gaze fixed on that beast as we cross to Brinna’s car, I’m reminded of happier days here at camp.
“Are you ready?” Brin asks me after she’s stored my luggage in the trunk and slammed the top.
I twist, staring at the Camp Clover sign, under which no one appears to see me off. For minutes on end, I just stand there, rigid, and hope. Every swallow hurts like I’m swallowing acid. Rubbing the back of my hand over my nose, I finally nod at Brinna and slip into the car when she opens the door for me under the shelter of her umbrella.
She jogs around the hood and sinks down behind the steering wheel, tossing the folded umbrella into the backseat before she starts the engine. A warm gust blasts from the air vents, wafting my bangs out of my face like a hair dryer. I lean back, buckle myself in, then roll my head to the side and watch the camp sign disappear as we drive off.
The windshield wipers hurriedly swish back and forth, keeping the view of the street ahead clear from the shower outside. I hope that their screechy sound and the blast of the air conceal my sobs from Brinna. But even with me keeping my jaw clamped shut and my sniffs to a minimum, she strokes my shoulder shortly later and asks softly, “Are you all right?”
With teary eyes, I turn away from the window. As she sees me, she bites her lip, then steers the car to the side of the road, puts it in park, and shifts to face me. The wipers keep clearing the windshield, the running engine giving the motionless car a gentle vibration. We look at each other for an endless moment. I swallow and sniff. Then I collapse forward into her embrace, a painful sob tearing from my throat. “He didn’t come to say goodbye.”
Chapter 21
Chloe
“Goodbye, Dad!” I hug my father hard, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave. “Take good care of Mom.”
“Of course, darling. See you at Christmas.” After squeezing me tight, he release
s me so I can say farewell to my mother, who’s waiting nearby with teary eyes.
“Call us as soon as you land and write emails every day. Promise,” she croaks, hugging me. Letting go of her is much harder than I expected. Suddenly an entire year away from my family, my hometown, my school in San Francisco, and my friends, with no chance to visit on weekends, seems like half an eternity too long. Tuesday has come much too fast.
With my luggage stored in the trunk and Lesley and Kirsten waiting in Brinna’s Camaro, I slip into the passenger seat, rolling down the window, and blow a thousand air kisses to my parents as we drive off.
When Grover Beach disappears in the rearview mirror, Lesley leans forward from the backseat and touches my shoulder. “Hey, why didn’t you answer your phone yesterday? I called you like fifty times.”
“Umm… I was picking up my driving license.” It’s not even a complete lie. I did get my license back on Monday and missed about three of her calls at that time. The other forty-seven, I simply ignored.
“That’s exactly why I called. We should have gone out to celebrate!”
“Sorry. I turned my phone on silent and forgot it in my purse when I spent the afternoon with Sam to say goodbye. I didn’t check it until this morning.” Fair enough, the first part was hundred percent a lie, because I did check my phone every other minute for the rest of the day, even with my cousin around. But the one call I was hoping for never came. “We can celebrate later.”
“Oh, we so will!” Kirsten coos from next to Lesley. “As soon as we get to the airport. Brinna, you’re in too, aren’t you?”
“Well…” She cuts me a glance, which I return briefly. Brin came to my place yesterday evening for a private farewell party for two. It wasn’t a very happy one, but it was nice and something we both dearly needed. “I actually promised Jace I’d meet him for lunch,” she tells the two girls in the back, “so there won’t be time for me to go into the airport with you.”
While Les and Kir whine their complaints about getting dumped for Brin’s boyfriend, I zone out and reach into my purse instead. There’s my brand new driver’s license. Pulling the small plastic card out, I stare at the smiling picture. My thumb brushes over the name next to it. Chloe Patricia Summers. Who the heck is that girl? I don’t seem to recognize her anymore. Heaving a sigh, I drop the license back into my purse.
With two bathroom breaks on the way and a cappuccino at a gas station, the drive to San Francisco goes by astoundingly fast. For a special farewell gift, Brinna lets me drive the second half of the way. It feels strange to be in the driver’s seat again after such a long time, but I appreciate it. In London, I’ll most likely take the bus anyway, because with that weird left-side-of-the-road rule, it’s not a safe place for me to drive a car.
Finding a parking spot at the airport’s drop-off zone, we all get out and the three of us say goodbye to Brinna in an endless round of hugs.
“See you next summer, sweetie,” she says, pushing the air out of my lungs with her tight grip. I nod, though I hope that, sometime during the next few months, I can convince her to spend her spring break with us in England. Jace is a welcome guest, too.
Easing back into traffic, she waves out of the open window until the car rounds a bend and she’s out of sight. For a second, my chest feels a little too heavy again, but that will go away. Soon. Hopefully.
The girls and I pick up our bags and head inside the airport, finding a nice bar to spend the next hour in before it’s time to check in for the long flight and drop off our luggage. As we slide into a booth by the window overlooking the runway, I pull my phone out of my purse and check for new messages. Only one pops up. It’s from Jace, wishing me a safe trip.
I put the phone in my pocket and lean back into the soft, green cushion. Kirsten beams at me from across the table. A layer of makeup covers her freckles to nonexistence today, her usually untamable red curls neatly stacked on top of her head. “Celebration time! Your first drink is on me,” she coos and cheerfully waves her fake ID in front of my face. “What do you want?”
I want to go to the camp dining hall, have godawful pizza with Julie, Justin, and Grey, and then meet my drama group to practice Romeo and Juliet some more. Forcing a weak smile, I snag the menu from the table and flip it open.
My gaze skims over the beautifully designed booklet, reading the lines next to the pictures of fancy cocktails. When I turn the page and spot my favorite red drink in a martini glass, a gut-wrenching feeling of sadness floods me. One that I should have left behind in my room in Grover Beach.
“Ladies, what can I get you?” The deep voice of our waiter makes me snap my head up.
“Gin and tonic, please,” Lesley orders, and Kirsten asks for a flute of sparkling wine.
When he looks at me with an expectant expression, I blink at him twice, wishing I could tell him to bring me a J. Andrews Sour. “Miss?” he prompts me seconds later.
“Umm… I’ll have a…a…” Les and Kir watch my stammering with the same curiosity as the waiter. I bite my lip and crumple my brows. “Could you bring me a Fanta, please?”
He gives me a friendly smile and disappears behind the bar.
As soon as we’re alone, Lesley brushes a loose wisp of hair behind her ear and leans forward, propping her folded arms on the table. “You’re drinking Fanta? What’s wrong with you today?”
“Yeah, is that the kiddie camp rubbing off on you?” Kir backs her up.
Giving both of them a helpless shrug, my lips stay sealed for the moment, since I really don’t know how to answer, and my gaze drops to the menu on the table in front of me. I shut the leather-bound booklet, shoving it away from me, pull my phone out once more, and check my inbox. Nothing.
When the waiter returns with our drinks, placing each glass on a small square napkin in front of us, he also lights the slim white candle in the center of the table. Even though mine is just Fanta, Lesley and Kirsten raise their glasses to me, and we drink to my reclaimed driving license. After I put my glass down, I check my phone again.
“Okay, this is really starting to get weird,” Lesley blurts. “You glanced at your phone like a million times on the drive here.” Snagging the device from of my hand, she pushes the off button until the light of the display dies and it shuts down. “Put that thing away already and get into party mood.” Her grin turns lopsided. “Heck, you’re finally coming to England with us. We’re going to have a killer time together! For over a year, we’ve been looking forward to this. So, for goodness’ sake, give us a smile and keep the home sickness for your bed at night.”
“Yeah,” Kirsten chirps, taking another sip of her sparkly wine, obviously savoring the taste on her tongue. “And what is it with your phone, anyway? Are you expecting an important call?”
I clear my throat and put the cell away in my purse. “No, not really.” Just a goodbye text from Justin, but that hope has died with Lesley turning it off. My heart sinks.
“Then stop acting like Melancholy Smurf and celebrate with us,” Lesley demands. To make her intent clear, she pushes her gin and tonic toward me, daring me with a raised eyebrow.
Expelling a breath through my nose, I pick up her glass and lift it to my lips. But the sharp, bitter smell of her drink makes me wrinkle my nose. Captivated in her impatient gaze for an endless moment, my thoughts start to carousel in my head. I really don’t want to drink this. Not only is my gut rebelling, but also my mind. “The journey of my life lies ahead of me. I don’t intend to take it drunk.” Jaw set, I put the glass back on the napkin and slide it across the table to Les. “Thanks, but I’m good with the Fanta.”
“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes then cuts a weird glance to Kirsten. “Guess we’ll have to start undoing the camp brainwash as soon as we’re back in London.”
“Duane is giving a welcome-back party for us tomorrow. Once there, she’ll come around pretty quickly.” Kir snickers as if I’m not with them and can’t hear them talking about me.
“Who’s Duane?”
I aks with a sullen edge to my voice.
“He goes to Guildhall, too,” Kirsten explains. “Starts his third year in the fall. He’s totally into Les, but she kept him on the back burner all last spring. Anyway”—she waves a dismissive hand—“the dude knows how to throw parties, believe me.”
Lesley never mentioned this guy in any of our hundreds of Skype chats all through last year. Turning an inquisitive look on her, I ask, “You’re keeping him on the back burner? Why?”
“Well, he’s cute and all,” my friend tells me then, carving a pattern into the wax of the candle with her thumbnail, and shrugs. “But I’m not going out with someone called Duane.” A laugh escapes her as she grimaces.
“Wow. That’s your reason?” I wash my bafflement down with a sip of Fanta. “Too bad for the guy that his name isn’t Justin.”
In an instant, her features turn ice cold. She tilts her head at me and blinks. “What?”
Oh, hell! Did I really just say that? I scrunch my face, biting my tongue. This sure isn’t the way I planned on bringing up the topic and definitely not the right place and time. But since it’s out already, why not get done with it?
Wrapping my fingers around my glass, forearms on the table, I fix her with a stare that takes no prisoners. “You actually never told me back in high school why you picked Justin Andrews to bully for years.”
Looking like she was struck by a bus, she shakes her head, blowing out a cynical laugh. “My God, I don’t know. We teased a lot of nerds back then.”
Justin liked comic books, but that was all he had in common with the nerd squad. Also, the flash in Lesley’s eyes reveals how uncomfortable she is with lying to me right now. “You didn’t just wind him up, you hassled him. And you dragged me into it. I want to know why him in particular.”
