by Riley Sager
“What Mindy means,” Franny says, “is that although I’d be thrilled to have all of you stay here with us, there simply isn’t enough room. This house can be deceiving. From the outside, it looks plenty big. But the reality is that there aren’t enough bedrooms to spare. Especially for all five instructors. And you know I can’t play favorites. I do apologize.”
“It’s fine,” I say, when in fact it isn’t. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman being forced to spend the next six weeks living with strangers half my age. Definitely not what I signed up for. But there appears to be no way around it.
“It’s not fine,” Franny says. “It’s an awkward situation, and I’m so sorry to be putting you into it. I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you decided to get back in the car and demand to be driven directly home.”
I’d be tempted to do just that if I had a home to return to. But the artist subletting the loft is probably moving in at this very minute, everything booked and paid for until the middle of August. It is what it is, as Marc likes to say.
“Can I at least choose my cabin?”
“Most of the campers are settling in now, but I think we can accommodate your request. What did you have in mind?”
I touch my charm bracelet, giving it a quick twirl. “I want to stay in Dogwood.”
The same cabin I stayed in fifteen years ago.
Although Franny says nothing, I know what she’s thinking. Her expression shifts as quickly as the sunlight glinting off the lake, revealing confusion, then understanding, then, finally, pride.
“Are you certain you want to do that?”
I’m not even sure I want to be here at all. Yet I give a firm nod, trying to convince not only Franny but also myself. At least Franny buys it, because she turns to Lottie and says, “Please arrange it so that Emma can stay in Dogwood.” To me, she says, “You’re either very brave or very foolish, Emma. I can’t decide which one it is.”
I can’t, either. I suppose that, just by being here, I’m a little bit of both.
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
As the sound of my parents’ Volvo faded into the creaking, chirping night, I learned two things—that Francesca Harris-White was rich beyond words, and that she had the stare of a movie star.
The rich part was only mildly intimidating. Obscene wealth was on display everywhere in our Upper West Side neighborhood. But Franny’s stare? That stopped me cold.
It was intense. Those green eyes of hers latched on to me like twin spotlights, illuminating me, studying me. Yet hers wasn’t a cruel stare. There was warmth in her gaze. A gentle curiosity. I couldn’t remember the last time my parents looked at me that way, and it made me all too happy to stand completely still and let her take me in.
“I must admit, dear, I have absolutely no idea where to put you,” Franny said, breaking her stare to turn to Lottie, who stood directly behind her. “Is there any room left in a cabin reserved for our junior campers?”
“They’re all full,” Lottie replied. “Three campers and one counselor in each. The only open spot is in a senior cabin. We could move one of the counselors there, but that might not go over too well. It will also leave a junior cabin unsupervised.”
“Which I’m reluctant to do,” Franny said. “What’s the open cabin?”
“Dogwood.”
Franny turned that green-eyed gaze back to me, smiling. “Then Dogwood it shall be. Lottie, be a dear and fetch Theo to take Miss Davis’s bags.”
Lottie vanished into the massive house behind us. A minute later, a young man emerged. Dressed in baggy shorts and a tight T-shirt, he had sleepy eyes and tousled brown hair. On his feet were flip-flops that clapped against the ground as he approached.
“Theo, this is Emma Davis, our latecomer,” Franny told him. “She’s headed to Dogwood.”
Now it was my turn to stare, for Theo was unlike any boy I had ever seen. Not cute, like Nolan Cunningham. Handsome. With wide brown eyes, a prominent nose, a slightly crooked smile that slanted when he said, “Hey, latecomer. Welcome to Camp Nightingale. Let’s get you to your cabin.”
Franny bid me good-night as I followed Theo deeper into the camp, my heart beating so hard I feared he could hear it. I knew part of it was apprehension about being in an unknown place with unknown people. But another reason for my madly thrumming heart was Theo himself. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he walked a few paces ahead of me. I studied him the same way Franny had studied me, my gaze locked on his tall frame, the long, steady stride of his legs, the spread of his back and shoulders under his threadbare shirt. His biceps bulged as he carried my suitcase. No boy I knew had arms like that.
It didn’t hurt that he was friendly, calling over his shoulder to ask me where I was from, what music I liked, if I had been to camp before. My answers were weak, barely audible over my pounding heart. My nervousness clearly showed, for when we reached the cabin, Theo turned and said, “Don’t be nervous. You’ll love it here.”
He rapped on the door, prompting a response from inside. “Who is it?”
“Theo. Are you awake and decent?”
“Awake, yes,” the same voice replied. “Decent, never.”
Theo handed me the suitcase and gave an encouraging nod. “Go on in. And remember, their bark is worse than their bite.”
He walked away, flip-flops clopping, as I turned the doorknob and stepped inside. The cabin’s interior was dim, lit only by a lantern placed beside a window opposite the door. In that golden half-light, I saw two sets of bunk beds and three girls occupying them.
“I’m Vivian,” announced the one sprawled on the top bunk to my right. She gestured to the bunk directly across from her. “That’s Allison. Below is Natalie.”
“Hi,” I said, clutching my suitcase just inside the cabin, too frightened to enter farther.
“Your trunk is by the door,” said the girl identified as Natalie, all wide cheeks and formidable chin. “You can put your clothes there.”
“Thanks.”
I opened the hickory trunk and started transferring all my frantically purchased clothes into it. Everything except my nightgown, which I kept out before sliding the suitcase under the bed.
Vivian slipped from the top bunk in a cropped T-shirt and a pair of panties, her exposure making me even more self-conscious as I stripped off my clothes under the protection of the nightgown.
“You’re a little young. Are you sure you’re supposed to be here?” She turned to the others in the cabin, both still ensconced in their bunks. “Isn’t there a cabin for babies we can send her to?”
“I’m thirteen,” I said. “Clearly not a baby.”
Vivian terrified and dazzled me in equal measure. All three of them did. They seemed like women. I was just a girl. A skinny, scabby-kneed twerp with a flat chest.
“Is this your first night away from home?” asked Allison. She was thin and pretty, with hair the color of honey .
“No,” I said, when it was, other than a handful of sleepovers at the apartments of friends who lived mere blocks away, which wasn’t quite the same thing.
“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Vivian said. “All newbies cry their first night. It’s so fucking predictable.”
Her casual use of the f-word made me freeze. It was different from when Heather or Marissa used it during desperate attempts to sound grown-up and cool. The word easily rolled off Vivian’s tongue, making it clear she said it quite a lot. It told me these girls were older, wiser, and tougher. In order to survive, I had to be just like them. There was no other choice.
I closed the lid of my trunk and faced Vivian head on. “If I cry, it’s because I’ve been put in here with you bitches.”
A moment passed in which no one said anything. It wasn’t long, yet time seemed to slow, feeling like minutes as I wondered if they were amused or angry, and if I truly would end up crying, which, quite honestl
y, is what I had felt like doing since the moment my parents sped away from camp in a cloud of gravel dust. Then I noticed Natalie and Allison with blankets pulled to their noses, trying to hide the fact that they were giggling. Vivian grinned and shook her head, as if I had just paid them the highest compliment.
“Well played, kid.”
“Don’t call me kid,” I said, feigning toughness despite the fact that I still wanted to cry, only this time with relief. “My name is Emma.”
Vivian reached out and tousled my hair. “Well, Em, welcome to Camp Nightingale. You ready to help us rule this place?”
“Sure,” I said, not quite believing that someone so effortlessly cool was paying attention to me. At school, I spent my days blending in with Heather and Marissa, all but ignored by the older girls. But there was Vivian, staring me down, asking me to join her clique.
“Awesome,” she replied. “Because tomorrow, we kick ass.”
6
From the outside, Dogwood looks exactly the way I left it. Same rough brown walls. Same green-shingled roof speckled with pinecones. Same tidy sign announcing its name. I had expected it to be different somehow. Older. Decrepit. A firm reminder that I’m fifteen years and worlds away from the weeping girl who last set eyes upon the place.
Yet, it feels like no time has passed between then and now. That the last decade and a half of my life was nothing but a dream. It’s a disorienting feeling. And slightly scary. But I continue to stare at the cabin, gripped not by fear but by something else. Something sharper.
Curiosity.
I want to go inside, look around, see what memories it dredges up. That’s why I’m here, after all. Yet when I twist the doorknob, I realize my hand is shaking. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Ghosts, I suppose.
Instead, I find three different girls, all of them very much alive as they lounge on their respective bunks. They look up at me, surprised by my sudden intrusion.
“Hi,” I say.
My voice is meek, almost apologetic, as if I’m sorry to be invading their space, dragging my suitcase behind me. I haven’t been alone with a group of teenage girls since, well, not long after my first time at Camp Nightingale. After what happened here, I gravitated to boys. Shy, nerdy ones. Math whizzes, sci-fi geeks, and drama club members quakingly emerging from the closet. They became my tribe. They still are. I’m comfortable in their presence.
Yes, boys can break your heart and betray you, but not in the same stinging way girls can.
I clear my throat. “I’m Emma.”
“Hi, Emma. I’m Sasha.”
This is spoken by the youngest, a girl of about thirteen who’s perched on the top bunk to my left, her skinny legs dangling. She’s got a friendly face—huge smile, rounded cheeks, bright eyes made even more prominent by a pair of red-framed glasses. I find myself relaxing in her presence. At least one of them seems nice.
“Nice to meet you, Sasha.”
“I’m Krystal,” says the girl sprawled on the bunk below her. “Spelled with a K.”
A few years older and several pounds heavier than Sasha, she’s practically hidden inside an oversize hoodie and baggie shorts. White socks with blue stripes circling the cuff have been pulled up to her knees. On the bed next to her is a ragged-looking teddy bear. In her lap sits a comic book. Captain America.
“Krystal with a K. Got it.”
I turn to the other girl in the room, who lies on her side on the top bunk, elbow bent, head propped up. She appraises me in silence, her almond-shaped eyes flashing a combination of disdain and curiosity. A diamond stud adorns her nose. She looks to be about sixteen and, like most girls her age, thoroughly unimpressed with everything.
“Miranda,” she says. “I took the top bunk. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Bottom bunk is fine,” I say as I hoist my suitcase onto the bed, the mattress springs sighing under its weight.
Miranda climbs down from the bunk and stretches, her arms and legs enviably thin. She’s knotted her camp-mandated polo shirt at her midriff, revealing her taut stomach. Another diamond stud rests in her navel. She keeps stretching, although it’s more of a silent declaration. She’s an alpha female. Marking her territory. Making it abundantly clear she’s the hottest in the room. An old Vivian trick.
I feel exactly like I did the first time I set foot inside this cabin. Naïve. Tremulous. Unsure of what to do next as the girls stare at me expectantly. Well, Sasha and Krystal do. Miranda climbs back to her top bunk and spreads herself across the bed with a dramatic sigh.
“They did tell you I’d be staying here, right?” I say.
“They said someone else would be here,” Krystal informs me. “But they didn’t say who it was.”
Miranda’s voice floats from above. “Or how old you are.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I say.
“Are you our camp counselor?” Sasha asks.
“More like babysitter,” Krystal adds.
Miranda does her one better. “More like warden.”
“I’m an artist,” I tell them. “I’m here to teach you how to paint.”
“What if we don’t want to paint?” Sasha says.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”
“I like to draw.” This comes from Krystal, already leaning off the bed to reach beneath it, where several tattered notebooks sit. She pulls one from the pile and opens it up. “See?”
On the page is a sketch of a superhero. A woman with fiery eyes and the bulging muscles of a weight lifter. Her uniform is dark blue and skintight, with a green skull emblazoned across the chest. The skull’s eyes glow red.
“You did this?” I say, sincerely impressed. “It’s really good.”
And it is. The hero’s face is perfect. She’s been given a square jaw, a sharp nose, eyes that blaze with defiance. Her hair flows off her head in dark tendrils. With a few strokes of her pencil, Krystal had conveyed this woman’s strength, courage, and determination.
“Her name is Skull Crusher. She can kill a man with her bare hands.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I say. “Since you’re already an artist, I’ll let you draw while the others paint.”
Krystal accepts the deal with a smile. “Cool.”
She and Sasha continue to stare as I unpack, waiting for me to say more. Feeling extremely awkward, I ask, “So why did you want to come to camp?”
“My guidance counselor at school suggested it,” Sasha says. “She said it would be a good learning experience for me, seeing how I’m inquisitive.”
“Oh?” I say. “About what?”
“Um, everything.”
“I see.”
“My dad wanted me to come,” Krystal says. “It was either this or get a job flipping burgers somewhere.”
“I think you made the right choice.”
“I didn’t want to come,” Miranda says. “My grandmother forced me to. She said I’d only get in trouble if I stayed home this summer.”
I look up at her. “And would you?”
Miranda shrugs. “Probably.”
“Listen,” I say, “whether you want to be here or not, I need to be clear about something. I’m not here to be your den mother. Or babysitter.” I flick my gaze up at Miranda. “Or warden. I don’t want to cramp your style.”
All of them groan.
“What, don’t kids say that anymore?”
“No,” Krystal says emphatically.
“Definitely not,” Sasha adds.
“Well, whatever the current equivalent of that is, it’s not why I’m here. I’m here to help you learn, if you want. Or, if you’d like, we can just talk. Basically, think of me as your big sister for the summer. I just want you to enjoy yourselves.”
“I have a question,” Sasha says. “Are there bears here?”
“I g
uess so,” I reply. “But they’re more afraid of us than we are of them.”
“I did some research before I left home and read that that’s not true.”
“It’s probably not,” I say. “But it’s nice to imagine, don’t you think?”
“What about snakes?”
“What about them?”
“How many do you think are in the woods? And how many of those are venomous?”
I look at Sasha, intimidated by her curiosity. What a delightfully strange girl, with her thick-framed glasses perched on her tiny nose, her eyes wide behind their immaculate lenses.
“I honestly don’t know,” I say. “But I don’t think we need to worry too much about snakes.”
Sasha pushes her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. “So, we should be more worried about sinkholes? I read that hundreds of thousands of years ago, this whole area was covered by glaciers that left ice deep inside the earth. And that ice eventually melted and ate away at the sandstone, forming deep caves. And sometimes those caves collapse, leaving giant craters. And if you’re standing above one when it collapses, you’ll fall so deep into the earth that no one will ever find you.”
She finally stops, slightly out of breath.
“I think we’ll be okay,” I say. “Honestly, the only thing you need to worry about is poison ivy.”
“And getting lost in the woods,” Sasha says. “According to Wikipedia, it’s very common. People disappear all the time.”
I nod. Finally, a fact I can confirm.
And one that I can’t forget.
7
When it’s time for dinner, I stay behind, using the excuse that I have to unpack and change into my shorts and camp polo. The truth is that I want to be alone with Dogwood, just for a moment.
I stand in the middle of the cabin, rotating slowly, taking it all in. It feels different from fifteen years ago. Smaller and tighter. Like the cramped sleeping car where Marc and I once spent a red-eye train ride from Paris to Nice. But the cabin’s differences are outweighed by its similarities. It has the same smell. Pine and musty earth and the faintest trace of woodsmoke. The third floorboard from the door still creaks. The trim around the only window still bears its faded-blue paint job. A touch of whimsy I noticed even during my first stay here.
