Swede almost always knew the drill, so I was surprised to find him still asleep in the bottom bunk with Connor. They were spooning. My dog was the little spoon but had taken up most of the bed while Connor was all but pressed up against the wall, sleeping on his side with an arm draped over Swede.
“Swede,” I whispered, and the golden retriever blinked open his brown eyes. He clambered off the bunk after I softly snapped my fingers. Connor’s arm flopped lifelessly on the mattress.
Either he was seriously exhausted or a heavy sleeper.
Maybe both.
Out on the cute little porch I scooped two hefty cups of Purina into Swede’s bowl while he relieved himself nearby. I’d left the leash on the hook. Swede was adventurous but had never been a bolter.
Connor was still passed out when I slipped back into our room, so I didn’t bother going into the bathroom to change; I quickly stripped and pulled on a lilac-colored running set before twisting my hair into a bun and double-knotting my sneakers.
There was nothing better than starting the day with a run.
I couldn’t help but glance at Connor again while sipping from my water bottle; he hadn’t shifted sleeping positions since Swede had abandoned him. My empty stomach stirred a little, unable to hear him breathe or see the rise and fall of his chest.
Was he even alive?
What I did next was certifiably creepy; holding my own breath, I crouched next to the bottom bunk and let my hand hover over Connor’s nose. Half a heartbeat later, I felt his warm exhale against my palm.
It’s all good, folks, I thought.Sign of life detected!
Swede hadn’t wandered far when I came back outside; he had his nose to the ground about ten yards away, under an ancient oak tree. “You coming, dude?” I called, careful not to wake anyone.
The sky was overcast, so no sun peeked through the trees as Swede and I jogged across the lawn together, eventually finding a sand-and-grass pathway that led toward keep Oyster Pond. Iwas used to my feet pounding the pavement back home, so it took a minute to adjust to the uneven trail.
The path ran along the pond; over the tall grass, I saw a few early-morning kayakers on the water—it looked like someone was even doing yoga on their paddleboard. Across Oyster Pond, the ocean must’ve been rough; I could hear the waves crashing against the shore. It made me want to pick up my pace, but I didn’t want to wear myself out so early.
I rarely listened to music as I ran; instead, I ran with my thoughts. They ranged from the plot twist of whatever book I was reading to whether or not I should stop texting so-and-so to mentally adding sea salt caramel Talenti to Erica’s detailed grocery list to Annie—of course, Annie. Always Annie. I hoped I’d get to talk to her today.
Right now, though, I thought of the guy barely breathing in my room. “You don’t remember me, do you?” Connor had said last night, and I hadn’t responded at first. Because what was he talking about? I’d found out he was from Pennsylvania, my hometown oddly enough, but he’d gone to public school while I was private until moving to Haddonfield. Unless we’d met at Newtown Swim Club one summer, I had no idea how we’d know each other.
“I’m sorry—” I started at the same time he said, “Camp Skytop? Eight years ago?”
I bristled in bed. Camp Skytop was the sleepaway camp mydad and Erica had sent me to when I was eleven. “Olivia, you’re going toloveit!” I remembered Erica gushing while showing me the camp’s website. It was in the Pocono Mountains, and they wanted to send me there for four weeks that summer. “I went when I was your age and made so many friends…”
“We were there the same monthlong session,” Connor continued as it suddenly and finally hit me. “We crossed paths a lot…”
“Did you do horseback riding?” I asked. It was the one activity that I’d really loved, so much that I’d begged my dad for a horse upon getting home. Our compromise had been riding lessons for a couple years.
“Oh, no.” Connor chuckled. “I’m allergic to horses.”
“Sailing?” I tried, since I’d had some pretty memorable (and mortifying) capsizes. Maybe that was how I’d made an impression.
“I was more of a canoer,” he said. “It was mostly the—uh, landline that brought us together.”
The landline.
My stomach twisted. If a camper ever wanted to call home, they had to use one of the camp landlines during certain hours, and calls were limited to five minutes. I’d never forget that…because I went to the mess halla lotto call my dad or grandparents. Annie always asked to hear every detail of my day then told me about her latest round of golf and ladies’ lunches.
Now that I really thought about it, therewasa group of sixor so kids that showed up for phone time like clockwork. The supervising counselor called us “the Homebodies.”
That was it—thatwas where I knew Connor’s blue eyes from. The line for the landline.
“You were one of the Homebodies,” he unknowingly confirmed. “Literally always first to call your family.”
I shifted on my mattress, sensing some sarcasm in his voice. It wasn’t a crime that I went to the mess hall early to ensure I was first in line for the phone; I knew my priorities. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe I don’t remember you because you never challenged me for the gold medal.”
Connor snorted, seemingly amused even though my words had come out sharper than I’d intended. “Yes, I definitely didn’t,” he agreed as my heart hammered. “Since I volunteered to golast.”
