“And then I walked out… and there you were. Smiling. Getting all the credit. People clapping you on the back while I was still wiping sweat off my face.”
“People just assumed?—”
“And when I brought it up? Youlaughed, Troy. You said, ‘It’s just an AC unit, Greer. Not a big deal. Lighten up, Mittens.’”
Her voice cracks a little on the last line. She presses her lips together.
“Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to you. But to me? It was theone thing I did that summer that mattered. The one thing that might’ve made the other counselors see me as more than the weird, intense girl with too many tools and no social life.”
And just like that, I see it. Not the version of her I thought I knew. Not the girl with the sharp tongue and the perfect posture and the permanent scowl. But the girl who worked her ass off and still felt like no one saw her.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, quiet now. “I wasn’t trying to dismiss what you did. What you did was... kind of incredible.”
It’s the truth. Watching her crawl out of that sweltering mechanical room, covered in grease and sweat, I remember thinking ‘holy shit, she actually fixed it’. It made me respect her. But I never said that. Never showed it.
And now I feel like an asshole for thinking that was enough.
“Well, it felt dismissive,” she says. “Do you know how many people came up to me that summer to tell me how amazing you were? How smart? How talented? All while I was busting my ass and being completely overlooked.”
She looks away, something vulnerable in her profile that I've never noticed before.
“It would have been nice,” she continues, voice softer, “just once, to be seen. To have someone acknowledge that I did something valuable. Instead, I got a stupid nickname mocking the protective gloves I had to wear to not electrocute myself.”
The weight of her words hits me square in the chest. I’d been so caught up in the camp social dynamics, in my role as the popular counselor, that I hadn’t considered what it was like for her on the outside of that circle.
“I'm sorry,” I say, meaning it. “I should have realized what it meant to you. And for what it’s worth, fixing that AC system was reallyincredible. That thing was ancient, and noone else could figure it out. How did you even know what was wrong?”
She blinks, caught off guard. “One of my mom’s exes was an HVAC tech. Used to let me tag along on jobs sometimes. Taught me a few things between chain-smoking and hitting on receptionists.”
“Your mom have a lot of ex’s?” I raise a brow. She shrugs, not looking at me.
“Yep. But, he was... different. I mean, he actually talked to me. Like I had a brain. Showed me how to use tools and taught the basics of building shit.” Her voice goes a little tight. “Then one day, he just bailed. Left his toothbrush and everything. Poof. Gone.”
A bitter smile curves her mouth.
“Honestly, that's probably the healthiest male relationship I’ve ever had.”
She says it like it’s a joke. But it’s not.
“My mom’s had astringof guys,” she continues, too casually. “Most of them were more interested in her cleavage than my name. But him? I thought maybe... I don’t know. He might stick. Be someone real. Be... a dad.”
She shrugs like it's nothing. Like she didn’t just hand me a piece of her that most people probably never get close to.
“It’s pathetic, I know.”
She glances at me for a second, then looks away. I can tell she’s about to put that wall back up and pivot away from the vulnerability. But instead she says, “You really remember it was the compressor?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “And a fried relay switch. You re-routed something too. Everyone else had written it off ‘til Monday — but you got it working before the worst of the heatwave.”
My throat tightens. I take a breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, slower this time. “Not just for the newsletter. Or the stupid nickname. Or letting people giveme credit that was yours. I’m sorry I didn’tseeit. What it meant to you. You did something amazing, Delilah. You held the whole place together. And I just… stood there.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she nods, like she’s decided something.
“I forgive you.”
My eyes snap to hers. There’s no sarcasm, no forced smile. Just the truth.
