by Beth Goobie
His smile faded. “Sure. We’ll watch the horses.” He fished the pack out of his lumber jacket and handed her a cigarette. “Careful,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Smoking kills ten out of ten, y’know.”
“D’you really believe,” she asked slowly, “that you know exactly when and where you’re going to die?”
He gave a short laugh and leaned on the fence, watching the horses at the other end of the paddock. After a pause, she realized that had been his response.
“Well, aren’t you going to do something about it?” she demanded. “Make sure it doesn’t happen?”
“What’re you doing about yours?” he asked, not looking at her.
“I can’t do anything, it’s my brain. My blood vessels are warped. Yours aren’t.”
He stared moodily into the trees. “It’s going to happen, one way or another.”
“That’s an attitude,” she said flatly.
“Oh yeah?” He turned to look at her, his face derisive. “You’re telling me I’ve been dreaming an attitude for two years? It’s my attitude that keeps killing me a hundred different ways? You’re telling me my attitude put you in my dreams before I ever saw or heard about you?”
He was so intense, the air about him throbbed. “No,” she stammered. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Good,” he said tersely. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
He ducked through the rails and left her standing alone with her cigarette.
The girls in the photograph could have been from her classes at school. Swimsuits hadn’t changed that much since the ‘70s, and neither had hairstyles. She wondered where they had come from, what they had returned to after their week at camp. Had Camp Lakeshore changed their lives, brought the shy ones out of their shells and taught the arrogant ones a lesson? Had they all made wishes at the Wishing Tree and had their wishes come true? They would be adults now, old enough to be her mother. How many of their children had experienced a brain aneurysm? Had any of them died?
It was Friday morning, the last day of Training Session. Adrien was alone in the cabin, sitting on her bed, skipping yet another staff activity. The only workshops she had attended all week had been led by Aunt Erin, Guy or Gwen, because they were the only instructors who would have noticed or cared about her absence. The lesson she was currently skipping dealt with wilderness camping, and was full of exciting scenarios such as where to set a tent on the side of a hill in a swarm of soldier ants with a storm brewing. After lunch, Connor would be leading a session on staff morale. Adrien had seen the list of exercises on Aunt Erin’s desk. The first one involved standing on a fence post and falling backwards into the arms of fellow staff. Bonding was supposed to occur if they caught and cradled you. Fat chance she was showing up for that one.
Paul hadn’t spoken to her since her killer comment about his attitude problem. Every time he saw her, a dark mood swallowed his face and he turned away. The guy could sure hold a grudge—her nic fits were driving her up a wall.
Darcie spoke to her only in passing. Adrien had woken several times in the middle of the night to see her roommate heading out or coming back in, but she didn’t ask questions and Darcie didn’t discuss anything. If staff looked suspiciously hungover in the morning, Aunt Erin didn’t mention it. Maybe she’s used to it, Adrien thought. Maybe she always let them party hearty during Training Session. Tomorrow, staff got the day off, and on Sunday the first wave of campers would arrive. Aunt Erin probably realized the night frolics would eventually fizzle out from sheer exhaustion.
Adrien was tired of trying to figure it all out. She was tired of everyone walking by with chipper smiles, tossing words at her that were supposed to matter. “Hey Grouch! How’s it going, Grouch?” No one waited for an answer, they all hurried off to another workshop, the essential training manual tucked under an arm. Hypocrites. The whole place was a scam. If she reached out and actually touched someone, the person would probably dissolve into mist and fade away.
The only place she felt solid was standing by the lakeshore, watching the spirits. These past few days, their glow had been growing brighter. She had checked several times daily, and they were always there, floating on the water’s surface. Watching them she felt at peace, drifting in a dream as vast as the lake, listening to the thousand tiny waves of her heart.
She leaned over the photograph, focusing on the five girls who clustered so close to Aunt Erin, they seemed like a single unit. They were the ones with the social telepathy, the girls who walked in a cabin door, scanned everyone and immediately recognized those who would become life-long friends. Until her aneurysm, Adrien had fit right in. She had never thought about the stragglers, the outsiders. Now she looked at the three girls standing back from the group. Their smiles were wistful; they weren’t so sure they were happy. Each carried a visible strike against her—two were chubby, one had braces, another wore glasses. In contrast, the girls at the center of the photograph looked as if they rode a constant ongoing laugh—if they glanced at each other the giggles would burst free, creating a separate universe to which only they belonged.
The girl under Aunt Erin’s left arm was probably the leader. She had black shoulder-length hair and her nose was slightly beaked, but she was still pretty and she knew it. Her mouth was wide open; she looked loud, friendly and entirely oblivious to the existence of the three wistful girls in the background. She looked like every best friend Adrien had made during her Camp Lakeshore summers.
The cabin was suddenly cold. A slight wind had picked up, something different coming through the trees. In one corner of the room, a faint blur shifted, and a shiver ran down the back of Adrien’s neck. Her breath stilled. She raised her eyes slowly, but the room rested empty of anything but the whispering green light. Whatever had just come from between the worlds to watch her was gone, but she knew it had been there. When she breathed again she breathed deeper, as if the air also came from a place beyond this one and she was breathing it in, pulling other worlds closer, until finally she would be able to see them and understand.
Adrien leaned against the fence at the archery range, watching her roommate. Darcie’s hair was perfectly curled and her neon blue makeup glowed, but she wore a whistle around her neck and was speaking with the voice of authority. “No one,” Darcie said emphatically, “absolutely no one is to step across this shooting line for any reason until I blow the whistle. If you notch your arrow improperly and it falls to the ground in front of you instead of flying through the air, too bad. Sometimes arrows from other people’s bows fly sideways, and you can get hit just leaning over the line. If you’re the stupid sucker who wastes a shot, leave it on the ground. If I catch you crossing that line, even leaning over it before I blow my whistle, you’ll lose shooting privileges, got it?”
It was mid-afternoon. Connor had finished his morale booster, and staff had gathered for the last workshop of Training Session. It was the only one Adrien had been interested in attending. She hid a grin as Darcie glared ferociously at the group, trying to imprint on them the seriousness of the situation. “Grade five and six girls are the worst,” she said with disgust. “They get the giggles and forget they’ve got a loaded bow. Someone makes a joke and they turn around to hear it.” Darcie illustrated, whirling suddenly and pointing a loaded bow at the startled crowd. “If you’ve got a cabin of gigglers, you’re going to have to give them a serious talk before they get here. I don’t tolerate gigglers on my range. Understood?”
When enough staff had nodded, Darcie stopped pointing her loaded bow at them and moved into the proper stance for loading and shooting. Targets had been pinned to four straw bales at the opposite end of the range. They looked a long ways off. Adrien watched in disbelief as her roommate’s first arrow sailed through the air and buried itself in a bull’s eye. The group’s mild clapping grew louder as Darcie repeated this act with her second and third arrows. “It’s a short range,” she said dismissively. “It’s not hard to hit the target unless it’s windy. It’
s for kids, after all.”
Everyone joined one of the lines facing the targets, and Darcie handed the first person in each line three arrows. Adrien stood at the back and watched as arrows began wobbling, wiggling and whizzing through the air. Cheers and whistles accompanied the odd bull’s eye, but no one managed consecutive ones, even Connor, who went first and hit the target every time. Once all twelve arrows had been released, Darcie blew her whistle, and the archers retrieved their arrows and handed them to the next person in line. Then Darcie wailed on her whistle and another round of shooting began.
Adrien managed to land her first arrow on the target’s outer ring. Her next shot arced high and nose-dived, embedding itself in the ground. Her third flew over the back fence into the trees. “Way to go, Grouch,” called the staff in her line, and turned back to their private conversations. Surrounded and alone, Adrien waited for Darcie’s manic whistle, then headed onto the range with the other archers. Her first two arrows were easy to find, but the third would be difficult—the feathers that identified her set of arrows were green. Adrien went through the gate at the back of the range and pushed into the green shrubbery. Had her dumb green arrow gone high or low when it zoomed over the fence? Had it disappeared into this green bunch of leaves or that green bunch? She could hear staff pulling their arrows out of the targets and making jokes about being reincarnated as Robin Hood. “Get this,” proclaimed one guy. “Robin Hood gets reincarnated as me.” Boos and hisses accompanied this comment. Adrien pushed further into the greenery. Darcie had been adamant about returning with all three arrows. They were expensive to replace, and it taught responsibility. Grumpily, Adrien pushed through mosquitoes and poison ivy until her responsible foot knocked against the missing arrow. With her incredible skill and accuracy, she had managed to hit the ground twice. As she bent down to pull it out, she saw a yellow arrow embedded nearby. Feeling doubly responsible, she pulled them both out, then returned to the exit door at the south end of the range and pushed it open.
Arrows were coming straight at her. With a scream, Adrien ducked behind the nearest straw bale. An arrow thudded into the other side, and she jerked back. Her heart thudded, the whole world squeezed in and out of darkness; she could hear whimpering sounds and a far-off whistle. Then the air grew oddly quiet. There was the sound of running footsteps, and Darcie stepped behind the bale.
“You all right?” She was breathing heavily. “Grouch, did you get hit?”
Adrien crouched close to the ground, arms tight around herself. She couldn’t stop shaking, even when Darcie knelt and hugged her. Everyone had been shooting at her. Everyone had been shooting at her.
“Some safety procedures,” she hissed.
“It was an accident,” said Darcie. “You took so long, I forgot you were out there.”
“My group didn’t have their arrows. They knew I was out there. Why didn’t they say something?”
Darcie’s perfume was suffocating. Adrien wanted to pull away but couldn’t. Not yet.
“I don’t know,” Darcie said uncomfortably, “but I’m the one in charge. I’m the one who let them shoot. It was an accident. I’m sorry, Grouch. I really am.”
Darcie’s apology was absolute and so was her hug. Safe and warm inside that hug, Adrien still couldn’t stop thinking about Connor. While she was out looking for her lost arrow, he had rotated to the front of his line for a second round. In that split second before Adrien had realized there were three loaded bows pointed in her direction, she had gotten a clear glimpse of his smirk. He had just caught sight of her coming through the south exit door, and was shifting his bow from a target to her face.
It took Aunt Erin two seconds to notice the scrape on her niece’s upper arm. “You get that at the range?” she asked immediately.
Adrien picked up the till to carry it out to Tuck’n Tack for staff candy hour. “Get what?”
She refused to think about the range. Huge hollow caves still echoed in her knees and gut. Aunt Erin came over and ran her finger over the scrape.
“Ow!” Adrien hissed.
“Arrow burn,” said her aunt. “How’d this happen?”
“It didn’t,” said Adrien. “All right?”
Aunt Erin’s voice was loaded. “You put down that till and talk.”
Suddenly, holding onto the till took on overwhelming significance. Adrien stared rigidly out the screen door. Clouds were building over the lake. “I bumped into a tree branch while I was looking for an arrow. I didn’t even notice my arm until you poked it.”
She kept seeing Connor’s smirk. If she told, Darcie was the one who would get into trouble, not him. It hadn’t been Darcie’s fault. Darcie had hugged her in front of the rest of the staff. She had hugged and hugged Adrien, helped her to her feet and walked with an arm around her, keeping her so close Adrien could feel her heart beat.
Had Connor’s arrow been the one to graze her arm? Had it?
“I’ve got the rest of the afternoon,” said Aunt Erin, folding her arms and parking her butt on the edge of her desk. “And so do you.”
Adrien held onto the till and watched the bare wood floor. The wind grew louder, everywhere in the trees. Aunt Erin switched on the PA. “Darcie Smythe to the office. Darcie Smythe.”
They waited in silence. I could call Mom and Dad, Adrien thought. I could just go home. But she could feel the clouds building on the lake like a promise. The sound of the wind moved through her as if she was part of its message, leaves lifting and falling inside her, whispering their meanings. The shaky hollow feeling faded and she felt part of this place, older than anything that could happen to her here, just like the trees, the lake and the sky were older than the camp. People were small stories that the wind blew clean, and then they were forgotten. One day, her story would be blown across the lake and she would be forgotten too. This didn’t frighten her.
A shadow shifted through a patch of light on the floor, a writhing shape that lifted its arms to her, then faded. Adrien glanced at her aunt, but she was staring grimly at the door and hadn’t seen the spirit. She also hadn’t noticed that the clock above her desk had stopped at 1:37. Adrien glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. 3:55.
“Your clock stopped,” said Adrien.
Aunt Erin glanced at it and lost the tight grip she kept on her face. For a moment, Adrien was staring at a face of absolute fear. Then her aunt’s face closed over again. “Acting up, is it?” she muttered, moving toward it as Darcie’s slow footsteps began to mount the outside steps. A slumped figure appeared in the doorway.
“Come in.” Aunt Erin’s voice was even, her pale eyes icy. Darcie took one step through the doorway and waited.
“Explain the arrow burn on my niece’s arm,” said Aunt Erin.
“It’s not—” began Adrien.
“Yes, it is,” Darcie said miserably.
“Adrien kept her mouth shut. Didn’t betray you,” said Aunt Erin. “Not her fault I’m firing you.”
“What?” gasped Adrien.
Darcie blinked hard and stared at the dead clock. Then she nodded and turned to go. “Don’t you even want to hear what happened?” demanded Adrien.
“Want a full explanation,” said Aunt Erin, “but Darcie’s fired just the same.”
Facing the door, Darcie explained. Then she walked out. The screen door slammed behind her.
“Open Tuck’n Tack,” said Aunt Erin, fixing the clock.
“No,” said Adrien. “I quit. I’m going home.”
“Suit yourself,” said Aunt Erin.
“I’m not suiting myself,” hissed Adrien. “I hate you. You never give anyone a second chance. Darcie would never let it happen again.”
“Could’ve been killed,” said Aunt Erin, her eyes bright. “Don’t get second chances when someone’s dead.”
“I’m not dead!” yelled Adrien. “No stupid arrow’s going to kill me—you know that. I’ll die the way I’m going to die, and nothing’s going to stop it. You could fire a million staff and nothin
g would stop it.”
“Got nothing to do with it,” snapped Aunt Erin. “Her carelessness almost got someone killed.”
“None of them can shoot,” howled Adrien. “Only Darcie can aim and she wasn’t shooting.”
“Got your arm.”
“Lucky chance.” Adrien stomped the floor. “You make me so mad. Give her a break. That stupid archery range’ll be safer than a daycare after this.”
Aunt Erin sat quietly on the edge of the desk. Abruptly, Adrien realized how closely she was being watched.
“You like rooming with Darcie?” Aunt Erin asked.
“She’s all right,” Adrien said grudgingly. “I never knew Robin Hood wore nail polish.”
Aunt Erin cracked a slow smile and rocked once. Head back, she took a deep breath and her face relaxed. “Maybe I was too hasty,” she said. “You find Darcie and tell her to come talk to me.”
“You won’t fire her?”
“We’ll work things out.” Aunt Erin’s eyes had taken on a whole different shade of pale blue. The ice was melting.
“THANKS!” Adrien dumped the till and raced to the door.
“Oh, and Adrien,” called Aunt Erin.
“What?” asked Adrien, turning back.
“You give life a second chance too,” said Aunt Erin.
six
Adrien wandered through the wooded area surrounding the cabins set aside for the older girls. She wanted to go down by the lake, but she could see Connor and a few others ignoring the cloud cover and getting into canoes for a paddle before supper. She was supposed to be working in Tuck’n Tack, but she couldn’t get at the key or the till because Darcie was in the office talking to Aunt Erin. A DO NOT DISTURB sign had been posted on the door.
The mayflies were definitely dying off. It was the last Friday in June and the ground was littered with their brown withered bodies. She pulled seven live ones off her shirt and watched them flutter away. At the start of Training Session, it would have been twenty-five. In just over a week, they would all be gone.
