ten
Jamie
Thenextcoupleofhours went by in a daze. I attempted to meditate after yoga but images of Autumn in tight spandex destroyed my ability to clear my mind. During pottery, I had to resculpt the vase for my sister three times because I kept thinking about all the things I wanted to learn about this new version of her.
She’d always been strong, witty, and cutthroat in debate, which had humbled me. Autumn had been a leader before, but outside of our small debate club, her confidence had always been lacking, no matter how well she did in school. It was a remarkable feat seeing her perform in front of a rapt audience with an air of assurance, as if she was comfortable in her skin.
How did she come to live here, of all places? Dreams we’d once whispered were mostly about status and money. How we’d conquer the world. Back then, just an imagined life that once upon a time we might have had together.
While I’d followed the same boring dream, she was living a vibrant new one. And even if my first impulse was that she was wasting her potential, I could also see the appeal of jumping off the conveyor belt and taking a risk.
My infatuation only grew in the downtime I had in my cabin between pottery and cooking class. I’d been staring at the knots in the wood on my ceiling for a disturbingly long time before Ren pulled me from my thoughts.
“James, hey.” I must have looked like a startled deer because he backed up and then started laughing. Ren stretched his arms and yawned.
“Let me guess, you needed a power nap after a long day of pining after Grant.”
“You’re one to talk. How’s Autumn?” He smirked.
“You mean pumpkin spice latte season? It’s not for another month.”
“Don’t play that way with me. Everyone at camp, from the zipline to the craft cabin, could feel the tension between you two at paint night.” Ren took a seat on the edge of my bed, kicking his feet like a child waiting for a story. “Tell me something happened right now.”
His face dropped when I turned toward him. Feeling the cool wood floor under my bare feet steadied me as I said what I didn’t want to say.
“I think she’s in a relationship with someone. Which reminds me, I need my phone back.”
“You’re not going to do a background check on anyone,” he said knowingly.
Well, there went that idea.
Sixcookingstationswereset up at tables in the mess hall, loaded with ingredients for the southern dish we’d be making for brunch. I’d joined cooking class today because I’d bypassed breakfast, and I was starving.
Utensils were set next to hot plates for each cooking team, and laughter bounced back and forth between thesix students who’d already arrived. Everyone except me was partnered up. Ren and Grant, the newly inseparable pair, sat at a table across from Gia and Emerson who were both inspecting ingredients.
I took my place at an empty station.
“Hi, there. Can I join you?”
“James, of course.” A ring-clad woman named Irene stood up to shake my hand, and next to her sat Leroy, who I remembered from my arrival. He seemed more at ease than he had on the first day. “You can pair up with my cabin leader. She’ll be here in a sec.”
A moment later, Autumn arrived, looking like sheer perfection. Could I get any luckier in one day? Her golden hair shone softly. It almost distracted from her tattoo peeking out, daring me to stare. Big hazel eyes searched mine for a long moment, and I wondered if she was just as stunned to see me.
If she was thrown off, however, she didn’t look it. I held my breath and tried to keep my cool as she headed in my direction and sat right next to me.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” Why did my voice sound deeper than usual?
Subtly, I glanced at my ex-girlfriend, engrossed as she stared at our instructor, determination in her eyes. This should be interesting.
I used to be in my element when I was cooking, and back when I’d had more time, I’d loved it. A renewed sense of urgency thrived under my skin. Maybe I’d be able to impress her.
Things may have been different, but the Autumn I knew didn’t cook. Seventeen-year-old Autumn had looked at me like I was a god the day I’d made her a pesto grilled ham and cheese sandwich. Now, she rolled up her flannel sleeves and gave me a challenging look, as if daring me to say something.
Everyone was rapt with attention as Azalea started her cooking lesson for the chicken fried steak dish. She told us she’d be by in a bit to check on each table’s progress and then she let us go.
Once in a while, two people find a rhythm and flow in working together toward a common and delicious-smelling goal. This wasn’t one of those times.
