“I know. And that’s why I think he’s full of shit.”
“What do you mean?”
“That dude is not from Scotland,” London said.
Dahlia laughed again. “And how do you know that?”
“His accent is all wonky. I doubt his name is even Tanner Tavish. I think his whole”—London waved their hand—“thing is an act.”
“So you’re an expert on Scottish people?”
London shrugged, stuffing their hands in their pockets as they walked toward the hotel. “Nah. Just an expert on eejits. And Tanner Tavish is most definitely one of those.”
Dahlia shook her head, smiling. “He’s a pretty hot eejit, though.”
London frowned again. “He’s notthathot.”
Dahlia crossed her arms over her chest as they walked. London was feeling surprisingly grumpy about thispretty hotcomment, but at least Dahlia was talking to them again.
“Do you think they always knew they wanted to be chefs? Tanner and Audra and Sai?”
London shrugged. “Maybe. Sai definitely; I watched a documentary about him a while ago.”
“Yeah.” A car driving by blared its horn.
“What did you want to be when you grew up, when you were a kid?” London asked.
Dahlia was quiet a moment, but finally she answered.
“A writer. When I was in elementary school, I filled notebook after notebook with these stories about girls at camp. My parents could never afford to send me to camp, at least a real sleepaway camp, not just, you know, summer classes at the Y. So I lived out all my camp fantasies in those books.”
“What was the camp called?”
“Camp Sunnywood.” Dahlia smiled, and London saw her shoulders relax. “Whenever I finished a story, I’d rip the pages out of the notebook and make a front and back cover out of construction paper, and tie it all together with purple yarn.” Her smile grew. “I gave them to my dad to read, and he’d write blurbs on the back of each one. Like, ‘Woodson’s finest Sunnywood yet!’ ” She laughed, and London laughed with her. They were approaching the hotel now.
“Oh! Oh man. I definitely spent almost the entirety of fifth grade working onCamp Sunnywood: Super Edition #1. Tiffany and Molly got in ahuge fightand tipped over each other’s canoes and then Molly dumped Sunny D all over Tiffany’s clothes.”
London pressed the button for the elevator and looked down at her. Her eyes were so bright now.
“What a bitch,” London commented as they stepped inside the elevator.
“No, listen, Molly was just going through some stuff,” Dahlia said emphatically. “Her parents were going through a divorce, and honestly, Tiffany was acting real petty that summer. She never let Molly ride her favorite horse at the stables.”
London realized they would be perfectly satisfied to spend the rest of the evening learning every single facet of Camp Sunnywood.
They also wondered when, exactly, Dahlia had given up her dreams of being an author.
“Okay, okay, I’m shutting up now,” Dahlia said as they walked down their hall. “What didyouwant to be when you were a kid?”
London thought on it. There had been lots of things, including, for a while, a chef, but only one thing had been consistent.
“A musician.”
“Really?” Dahlia looked over at them, eyes wide. “Oh my god, London, were you like,in a band?”
London huffed self-consciously.
“You are overestimating my coolness. I was in concert band, if that counts.” They reached the door to London’s room. London leaned against it, while Dahlia leaned against the wall, facing them.
