Her smile is pure mischief. “You might want to consider “Defying Gravity.” I have it on good authority you can nail those high notes.”
I’m not a fan of catastrophe movies, but I would be perfectly happy for one of those giant meteors to crash into Earth right this moment. “How long have you been sitting on that one?”
“Since I stood outside your cabin and recorded you singing.”
The look on her face erases any mortification I was inclined to feel. She’s absolutely delighted to finally share this nugget with me.
“You’ve been holding this card for days.”
Her smirk solidifies. “Oh, I know.”
“How does it feel to show your hand?”
“Tremendous.” She rests her hand on my arm. “So, will you sing it? I promise it’ll bring down the house.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
She smiles up at me. “Not a no then. It’s a start.”
I can’t get over how much I enjoy her company. She’s easy to talk to—I found myself touching on subjects I never would’ve mentioned to anyone else. I know the camp has this whole ‘no judgment’ vibe, but Cricket personifies it. Whatever I say, I know she’s simply listening, taking it all in and that feels amazing.
There isn’t a single person in my life that I could describe in the same way, not even my mother or my siblings. My father is an obvious no. The man emerged from the womb judging the squalid conditions. My mother’s criticisms are subtler; they’re glimpsed in the tilt of her head and the squint of her eye. You feel them rather than hear them. My brother will tell you what he’s thinking, although his delivery is generally less harsh than our father’s. My sister will beat around the bush until you drag her thoughts out of her, but she makes it clear she has them.
When we arrive back at camp, we’re immediately surrounded by campers.
“What happened to you two?” Hunter demands. “I tried to track you, but I ended up by the creek.”
“That was a successful decoy move,” Gloria says with satisfaction.
Bradley cuts through the shadows and holds up the Smurf flag. A collective cheer follows. I’m swept up in the moment and feel a satisfying thrill that people care so much about this stupid game.
No, not stupid.
Fun.
“Don’t forget! Karaoke at ten in Cabin Twelve,” Cricket announces. “I need to shower first. My head feels itchy.”
“I’m covered in mosquito bites,” Fiona adds. “Does anybody have calamine lotion?”
Cricket starts toward her cabin, and I instinctively fall into step beside her. “The game was fun. We should do it again sometime.”
The squint in her eye tells me she’s wondering whether I mean the game or the woodland encounter.
“It’s only a two-week camp, Charlie,” she finally says. “‘Sometime’ is fairly limited.”
* * *
The karaoke deejay is, appropriately enough, named Melody. I’m hardly a karaoke regular, but I can tell Melody is a pro. She seems to know the right order for the songs and how to keep the crowd engaged, not that this group needs any encouragement. They’re all happy to be here, and even happier to be in each other’s company. The positive vibes are palpable.
Adam hums the Star Wars theme song as he takes a seat.
Cricket leans over and whispers, “I told you everybody sings.”
“I’m not sure that one qualifies.”
“The helmet makes it difficult for him.”
“He can always take it off.”
