“I could get into it,” I said. “A gender-swapped Dracula situation.”
Heller laughed like he was impressed. “Goldie, right?”
My brows shot up in surprise and Heller snapped his mouth shut.
“Sorry, that’s weird. It’s...”
“We’ve been in the same class since kindergarten,” I said. “It’d be weird if youdidn’tknow my name.”
A smile blossomed on his face, and I licked my lips, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest.
In that moment, I wasn’t Goldie Easton, the quiet girl who was always head down in her phone or an old mystery novel, never present. I was something new and sparkly, full of possibilities. I cleared my throat and hunted for something to say.
“Why are you here?” It was the wrong question. I knew it as soon as I saw Heller’s face fall.
“College fund,” he said. “Pays more than leading hayrides at the nursery.”
“Dartmouth?” I’d heard their hockey coaches had been courting him since sophomore year. It was pretty much a miracle, a Roxwood kid going Ivy. I expected Heller to puff out his chest and be all aggro about it. But instead, he averted his eyes like he was embarrassed. It made me like him more.
“It’s not a sure thing,” he said, shrugging. “I still have to get in.” Then he leaned forward into the bin of costumes and dug out a black pointy witch’s hat, setting it on my head at an odd angle.
“Everyone said there was a reason no one took jobs here.” Heller smiled right at me and took a step closer so the space between us almost disappeared, so I could smell him, all mint and flannel and firewood. “But I think I’m going to like it.”
CHAPTER 3
Now
I hear the buses before I see them. Everything echoes up here in Roxwood, where the trees and the mountains create a canyon for sound to bounce through. It’s especially loud at Camp Alpine Lake, where you have to climb up a huge hill to see the entrance. That drive is always the best. It makes your stomach buzz like you’re on a roller coaster, and only when you reach the top of the hill do you see the massive banner welcoming you home, here.
I push open Bloodroot’s front door and stand on the porch, squinting up toward the gazebo. A flash of yellow metal appears through the trees and my heart flutters. I make a break for it, rushing toward the buses, my friends.
I get there in time to see Mellie and Stu walk out from the office, wearing their matching striped senior staff shirts, the ones with the Alpine Lake logo stitched onto the chest. Mellie rubs her hands together and her dark ponytail bobs up and down. For the first time I notice a few gray streaks winding through her hair.
“This is the best part,” she says, her shoulders rising to meet her ears. “It doesn’t feel quite real until everyone is here. Right, sweetheart? You’re all what makes this place so special.”
She squeezes my hand and I resist the urge to rest my head on her shoulder. I shift my weight from foot to foot, trying to settle mynerves, to ignore the fact that I almost don’t want this summer to start because then, of course, it will have to end. And I’ll have to go back to Roxwood High.
The buses roar from right below the apex of the hill, and then all of a sudden, I see them peeking out, barreling toward us, the tops hitting the trees that canopy above.
“Here we go,” Stu whispers. But he’s not looking at the road. Instead, he’s focused on some piece of paper stuck to his clipboard. “Damn Roxwood...” he mumbles.
But before he can say anything else, Mellie throws an elbow into his side. “Stu,” she says with a singsong voice, as if he’s a child. “My nervous husband. He’s always worried on the first day, you know.” Stu drops his arm and hides his clipboard behind his back.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Forgot to eat breakfast.”
Mellie gives him a sharp look. “Did you check—”
Stu pats his insulin pump, attached to his hip, and points down to his fanny pack, where everyone at Alpine Lake knows he keeps a little diabetes kit. Stuff like an extra insulin pen and glucose tabs just in case he or any of the diabetic kids have emergencies. Stu’s always been super open about his pump, which is probably why parents who have diabetic kids like to send them here. In-a-pinch supplies are never far away, and Stu has a dedicated mini-fridge in the office for kids who need to store their insulin someplace safe. Plus, he actually knows how to help them out if their blood sugar gets low on a hike or at the lake.
Mellie huffs and shakes her head. It’s obvious something is wrong. There’s a tension in the air, something I know I’m not supposed to ask about. Not just because I’m only a second-year counselor, but because I’m not one of them. I didn’t travel herefrom a cushy suburb, or talk about how when I’m older I’ll donate a hundred grand to refurbish the stables. I’m the girl Stu and Mellie took pity on. The girl they look out for.
I straighten my spine and toss my hair behind my shoulders, willing confidence to come. Butterflies hum in my stomach as the first bus pulls around the traffic circle in front of the dining hall and comes to a stop. The doors make a hissing sound as they open and dozens of people pour out onto the front lawn. Smiling faces carrying backpacks and water bottles, wearing high-waisted denim shorts and tie-dyed shirts, fresh sneakers and bandanas knotted on top of their heads. Everyone’s screaming and shouting and filling the air with their energy, their electricity. I bounce on my toes with anticipation and scan the faces for Ava and Imogen, anxious for their hugs, their love, their reassurance. It dawns on me for the first time in ten years that I’m nervous to see them. But they’re not on the first bus.
The second one pulls in and I move toward it, waving to people as they call my name, screaming their hellos. I’m a given. Part of the scenery. Goldie Easton. Another fixture of Camp Alpine Lake. As present as the rock climbing wall or the chocolate fountain at Sunday brunch.
Finally, I spot them and my stomach lurches. There’s Ava, the tall, striking white girl with chestnut roots and long platinum hair, piled high into a messy bun. Her limbs are like ropes that extend to forever. Imogen stands next to her, shielding her eyes from the sun. She’s half Japanese, half white, with dark hair twisted into two French braids, dyed neon pink at the ends. Shorter than Ava, but with poise that makes her seem grand. They’re searching the crowd and my heart skips knowing they’re looking for me, too.
Imogen sees me first and her mouth forms a wide smile. “Goldie!” she shrieks. Ava turns and they both rush toward me. Within seconds, they tackle me to the ground and we tumble to the soft dirt.
