“Here we are.” Ava drops her bag on the lawn in front of our three cabins. Other counselors are bustling in and out, and the screen doors slam with excitement. “Ah, maintenance week.” She spins around. “No campers, no responsibilities, a full week of ridiculous fun.”
“Ooh, I can’t wait for the bonfires,” Imogen says.
“And the nights off at Truly’s,” Ava says.
“Skinny-dipping in the lake!” Imogen shrieks.
Ava giggles and holds us tight to her. “It’s gonna be a perfect summer.”
Imogen nods. “Never needed it more.”
Same, I want to say. But instead, I smile and grip their hands as tight as I can.
---
Ava pushes open the double doors to the cafeteria, which is buzzing with laughter and singing and clanking metal forks. She loops her arms in mine and Imogen’s and saunters toward the tables, already filling up with counselors ready to kick off the first night of debauchery. During this one week before the kids arrive, anything goes.
But then Ava stops and squeals. “Willa!” she yells, throwing her arms around my mom as Imogen goes in for a bear hug from my dad. They swap and I stand off to the side, fitting my mouth into a smile.
“It issogood to see you girls,” Mom says, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. She means it, too. Mom’s been running the woodworking program here since before I was born and always likes to say that she never saw girls as close as us.
Dad runs a hand through his thick dark hair and smiles wide, showing all his teeth, even the crooked one on the bottom row. Imogen blushes and I remember the one time she told me he was a DILF, forcing me to fake vomit into the lake. Even though heisknown as Hot Head Nurse, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Ready to have another incredible summer?” he asks.
“Eight perfect weeks before heading into the real world,” Ava says.
Mom glances in my direction, a flash of realization crossing her face. She knows I haven’t told them that college is still so far away for me. That I have one more semester in hell.
“Amen, Ava,” Mom says, the smile reappearing on her face.
“Ooh, look. There’s Tommy and Dale—let’s grab seats withthem.” Imogen points to one of the long tables in the middle of the room.
“We’ll catch up with you girls later,” Dad says. He squeezes my shoulder and I avoid his worried eyes as they head back over to the camp elders’ table and dole out hugs to Ray Levin, the waterfront guy.
Ava cocks her head in Imogen’s direction. “Just because Tommy Eisenstat went down on you at his after-prom doesn’t mean you’re going to ditch us for him all summer, right?”
“Hewhat?” I didn’t even know Imogen went to Tommy’s prom. “How could you not tell me?”
“Well, I kinda tried,” Imogen says, a little sheepish. “But you never called me back last month.”
I rack my brain for a bunch of missed calls from Imogen. I think they came in right around what should have been my graduation. So that checks out.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “You know how bad the service is up here.”
Imogen loops her arm in mine, dispersing any tension. “So, he mooned us every single swim session when we were Scouts, but... I mean... he’s hot these days, right?”
I look hard at Tommy as he offers us a cocky nod, his red hair lying flat over his oily forehead. A smattering of shiny pimples blankets his nose. He tosses a tater tot at Dale Franklin, sitting across the table.
“Sure,” I say, laughing.
Imogen covers her face with her hand. “Oh no. Please don’t judge me. He lives one town over. We have all the same friends back home.”
Ava throws her head back and laughs. “Come on,” she says,pulling us toward Tommy. We climb over the benches and slide into our seats. Tommy nods at Imogen and she reddens before reaching for the bread basket in the center of the table.
“Hey, Goldie,” Tommy says, flashing me a smile. I guess if I met him now, I might not remember that when we were ten years old, he always smelled of tuna fish. Or that he tried to pants Ava when we were twelve and she didn’t speak to him for the whole summer. I guess if I met him now, I’d think he was kind of cute.Kind ofbeing the key phrase.
I scan the rest of the table quickly to find it full of a bunch of other guys our year. Boys who had the honor of being witness to our first kisses, our first slow dances, our first games of spin the bottle. I know these boys in a way you only can from sharing something so special, so intimate, and in a way that makes you not really know them at all. I know who’s a strong enough swimmer to pass their deep-water test, and who’s better at tennis versus basketball. I know who can play acoustic guitar and who wore braces for six years or more. I know who cries every year at the end of camp.
