“Okay, what do you want?” Imogen asks. We’re both staring at mountains of snacks and every single one looks inviting. I weigh my options, sweet versus salty, crunchy versus chewy, and Imogen starts jumping up and down. “Come on, already!”
“Fine, fine. Wheat Thins,” I finally say.
“Excellent choice.” She grabs a handful of baggies.
“And a Nutella packet,” I say. “Lethal combo.”
“Ooh, I like your style,” Imo says. She scans the rows. “Alas.No Swedish Fish. Wanna ask her what else she wants? Sour Patch Kids or Haribo or something?”
I tiptoe back toward the door and peek outside, but Ava’s gone. I push it all the way open and stand on the grass, the warm night enveloping me like a blanket.
I look around, searching for Ava and her shock of blonde hair stark against the night. But she’s nowhere.
Until I turn toward the office, where I see a splash of hair peeking out from under her hoodie. She’s hunched over, sitting on the bench, and she’s not alone.
She’s talking to someone, a short man with a baseball cap and a striped senior staff shirt. Obviously Stu. He’s fiddling with the buckle on his fanny pack, where he keeps his extra diabetes stuff, which is odd. He only plays with it when he’s nervous.
I’m about to call out to them, but something stops me. It’s the weird look on Stu’s face. I’ve only seen it once before. And it tells me everything I need to know.
Stu is stretching his neck upward like he’s frustrated and Ava’s starting to curl in on herself, meek and small.
For a second, I wonder if they caught her drinking. But even though that’s a major no-no, Stu and Mellie are keen to overlook it.Kids being kids.Especially if your dad gives as much money to the camp as Mark Cantor does.
I take a step forward, trying not to make any sounds. I want to hear what they’re saying.
Ava’s voice floats above the trees. “What do you mean?” she asks.
Stu’s voice is muffled but I can make out a few words. “Your father...”
He stops and rubs his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “You know how important this is.”
Ava’s quiet, but even from here I can see the weird, pained look on her face. But before either one of them can say anything else, a loud tumbling sound comes from behind me. I turn around to find Imogen on the floor of the shed buried under a mountain of mini-M&M’s packages.
“Help,” she squeaks before laughing again. I grab her hand and pull her to stand, plucking a Starburst out of her hair.
Ava glances our way and starts up the hill. She doesn’t say anything when she reaches us, and when Imogen hands her a package of Sour Patch Kids, she tucks it into her pocket. “Thanks.”
CHAPTER 30
Then
My punishment was simple: Since I was already eighteen, I would be placed on probation, ordered to pay a fine of $1,500, which I dug out of my haunted house savings, and would participate in weekly community service under Stu and Mellie’s supervision. Mellie said I avoided three years of jail time, the maximum sentence for grossly negligent operation of a vehicle, because the police chief owed them a favor after camp helped fund their new fleet of trainees with lucrative security contracts.
After all the paperwork was signed, Stu gave me the code to the all-year cabin at camp. They said I could spend my afternoons there, doing odd jobs.
My little office was in the small off-limits building on the border of camp property. It was short and made of logs, with only one bedroom. But it was an oasis where Mellie and Stu stayed when they visited camp in the winter and where special VIP guests lived in the summer since it had central heating and air conditioning. It was decorated with chunky knit blankets and professional photographs of European cities where Mellie and Stu liked to vacation.
I’d been there before when they invited us over for brunches and dinners during the school year, which made me feel special. It was one part of Alpine Lake I knew better than any other lifer.
Being invited into the cabin meant I had a place to go thatwasn’tRoxwood High. Instead of subjecting myself to eight hours a day of torture, I spent lazy afternoons grading would-be campers’ admissions tests and answering emails from uptight parents while snuggled up on the overstuffed couch, hiding beneath the fancy blankets embroidered with the Alpine Lake logo. When I had spare time, which was often, I dusted their bookshelves, swept the hardwood floors, and took long, lonely walks around camp, down to the waterfront, over to the soccer field, up and around the empty horse stables. I reacquainted myself with the place that made me feel most at home.
But I also stopped going to school, stopped studying, stopped practicing for my lifeguarding test. I failed three classes, and even though I had been accepted to University of Vermont, they rescinded their offer when they found out about the accident and my “change in behavior,” as they called it.
I had buried myself in an alternative reality, turning daytime cable up on high, imagining in the darkest moments what it would be like to live like Stu and Mellie, near Roxwood but never in it.
I had made peace with the fact that I was tossed out of a world I never really wanted to be in in the first place.
CHAPTER 31
