Five Summers (11 page)

He flashed her a crooked grin. “You’re the best, Zen. You know that, right?”

She forced her rubber-band smile again, trying to remember the last time he’d called her that. It was a nickname you gave to your buddy, not to someone you had a secret friend-crush on. Not somebody you would ever slow dance with, anyway.

THEY TOOK THE SCENIC ROUTE TO THE FIRE PIT, cutting through the woods that separated the girls’ cabins from the open expanse of the north field. The setting sun cast a sherbet-colored light through the trees, and above them, the thrushes called back and forth to each other, their unhurried notes floating down on a breeze that made the hair on the back of Emma’s neck stand up. There was no path, so Adam walked in front, holding branches out of the way and alerting her to wobbly rocks and tangles of tree roots that poked out of the dirt like gnarled fists. Emma couldn’t help but marvel at his deftness as he navigated without so much as a second of hesitation. He’d obviously cut through the same path many times before . . . which, of course, begged the question, what was he doing on the girls’ side of camp? But she tried to put that out of her mind. She had to, if she didn’t want to fall; her ankles seemed to buckle almost every time she took a step.

“I’ve gotten rusty,” Emma said, laughing as she narrowly avoided slipping on a patch of pine needles.

“You’re just out of practice,” he said, climbing over the low stone wall, nearly hidden by thick green moss that separated the woods from the open expanse of the north field. He reached out a hand to pull her up and over, and as their fingers touched Emma felt a rush of déjà vu.

“I’m sorry about dinner,” she said as they waded through the knee-high grasses, yellowed by the dry spell that summer, and onto the dirt path that wound around the perimeter of the field and then out through the woods to the shore.

“
I’m
sorry about dinner,” he said. “I’m the one who bolted.”

“Yeah, but before that, you seemed like you needed to talk and I didn’t let you.” Adam didn’t answer. “So . . . did you need to talk about anything?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I just don’t really feel connected lately. Does that make sense?”

“Sure,” she said. “Although that’s a little vague. Where’s the disconnect?”

“Other people, I guess,” he sighed. “Camp. All of it.” He stopped and looked at her. “I feel like I have a lot of empty relationships.”

Emma tried not to react. She knew they were on a platonic walk, and she wasn’t expecting some swooning declaration of love, but she also wasn’t interested in being treated like the token non-sexual female friend he’d decided to confide in.

“I mean, I’ve spent all this time here and I’m just the guy everyone likes,” he said.

“That sounds rough.”

“I’m not trying to sound like a dick,” Adam laughed. “I mean, they just like hanging out with me. They don’t actually care. They just want . . .” He trailed off.

“Your body?” Emma finished sarcastically.

“No!” He looked at her and smiled mischievously. “Okay, sometimes. But no, I was going to say they just want the fun, party-guy me. I feel like no one really
knows
me.”

Somewhere, Emma thought with a smirk, the world’s tiniest violin played for the poor, misunderstood playboy. “Adam,” she said, turning to face him. “We’ve talked about this before. The way you act can sometimes be totally different from the way you actually are. If you want people to stop treating you like the fun party guy, then don’t be that guy.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Of course you’re right. How come you’re the only one who gets that about me?”

“Maybe because I’m the only girl you never—”

“Never
what
?”

It had come out before she could stop it, and now there was no avoiding the topic she both most and least wanted to talk about.

“Never liked. That way.” She looked down at the path. “You know what I mean.”

“I
do
know what you mean, and that’s not true,” Adam said, shoving his hands in his pockets awkwardly. It was very un-Adam—or, maybe, a rare glimpse of real-Adam. Emma blushed in spite of herself.

They crested the hill at the northwestern corner of the field, arriving at the curving log bench Mack had built, which reportedly formed the shape of a
J
when viewed from above. It was the only spot on the Nedoba property with a panoramic view of the whole camp. The sun was almost gone and the winds from the passing storm—which, as Jo had predicted, had missed them by a few dozen miles—were whistling through the trees. She was glad she’d changed out of her dress and into a long-sleeved tee and shorts, even if it meant she looked, in the parlance of vapid women’s magazines, more girl next door than girlfriend material. She sat down and rubbed her arms to keep warm.

“I’d give you my hoodie, but I’m pretty sure you stole it from me three years ago,” Adam said with a smile, sliding in next to her on the bench.

Emma still wore that hoodie all the time, even though the lingering scent of his Old Spice deodorant had been washed away years ago.

“Did I?” she said. “Oops.”

“It’s okay. I have a pair of your socks.”

“What?!”

“I didn’t keep them on purpose,” he laughed. “Remember, you lent them to me that day we waded through the creek and my sneakers drowned?”

“I like how you say
drowned
, like they’re people.”

“Well, yeah, I had to throw them out, so for all intents and purposes it was a fatal accident.”

Emma looked away and smiled into her hand. She had forgotten how good it felt to be around him.

“Anyway, I accidentally packed them in my trunk and so I have them. My mom thinks it’s weird that I would own a pair of athletic socks with pink stripes around the ankles, but I like to keep her guessing.”

They stared out at the treetops in silhouette against the purple sky. Down below on the main path, campers were streaming toward the fire pit, their phone screens flashing like lightning bugs.

“So if you’re so over camp, why are you still here?” she asked.

“I have friends here,” he said. “I mean, Nate’s been my buddy since we were ten. And I do like being a counselor, mostly. Besides, what else would I do?”

“What do you
want
to do?”

“For the summer, I just want to hang out,” he said. “But for a career? I don’t know. Do you?”

Emma thought for a minute. She had held three internships over the past three summers, and so far, all they had really taught her was what she
didn’t
want to do for a living. “No,” she said. “I guess not. I mean, college, obviously.”

“Why obviously?”

“Because it’s what you do after high school, unless you want to work in food service.”

“I’ll have you know that on weekends, I man the pancake station,” Adam said with pretend indignity.

“No offense, Chef.”

“None taken.” He patted her knee, lingering for a few seconds more than he should have.

Out of the woods came the sound of taps being played on Mack’s pocket trumpet. The bonfire would be starting any minute.

“I guess we should get going,” Emma said. Adam stretched his arms, and his fingers brushed her hair. She wondered if it was even a little bit on purpose. They started walking again.

“Hey, since you brought it up, I want to clear something up about the last night of camp,” Adam said after a minute.

“You really don’t have to.”

He looked at her earnestly. “I really do.”

Emma stared down at her blue and white sneakers on the pine needle covered path. Each step brought a satisfying crunch, like the first bite of cereal before the milk turned everything to mush.

“I’m glad I didn’t get to kiss you,” he said quietly.

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she just nodded as if she understood. It worked in her German language lab, and Emma was all about applying classroom skills in the real world.

“I wouldn’t have known how to handle it,” he continued. “I wasn’t ready to kiss someone I actually liked.”

She stopped mid-nod. Her pulse raced. What was Adam getting at? Was he hitting on her?

“And now that I’m ready, there isn’t anyone I actually like.”

So much for that. The door of opportunity that had just creaked open after years of being locked closed on her fingers—hard. When she finally spoke, she kept her voice low so he wouldn’t hear it shaking.

“So what you’re saying is, you hook up with people you don’t care about, and you’re sad about it, but you do it anyway because there isn’t anyone you
do
care about.”

He glanced at her and smiled softly. “There’s you,” he said.

Emma didn’t know what Adam wanted from her. She didn’t know what she wanted from him yet, either. Seeing him again had definitely reignited a spark, but she wasn’t sure if it could last the night, let alone the weekend. It was too early to tell. And what would her friends say? But just in case, just to make sure he didn’t take her reticence as rejection, she reached out and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. The winds picked up.

MADDIE HAD CONSIDERED TURNING OFF HER CELL phone for the weekend. For one thing, the reception problems meant that all communication took five times longer than normal, which meant that the roaming charges she was incurring just to download e-mails from Anthropologie about the latest bandeau harem romper were probably going to cost her the entirety of her remaining Super Dog tips, which were bundled in the toe of one of her snow boots deep inside the hall closet at home. Also, her phone didn’t go with the only outfit she had, thanks to her baggage debacle. She wasn’t going to carry a purse to go canoeing or to sit around singing songs about Native American agriculture, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to stick a big, boxy phone in the pocket of her snug, white capri pants. Finally, everyone she wanted to speak to was at camp anyway, and there were way too many people she
didn’t
want to speak to who could reach her in the wilderness thanks to Alexander Graham Bell—and whoever invented texting.

But then she’d thought about her sisters and how she always told them they could call her if things got bad—which was more than likely, given the state of her mom and Eddie’s volatile relationship, which tended to vacillate between mutual indifference and screaming fights. So Maddie left her phone on. Which meant that just as she was leaving Souhegan to head over to the bonfire site with Jo, she heard the chime that told her she had a new text message. And since it was a physiological impossibility for her to ignore a new text message, she looked at it.

Chris is really upset you didn’t remember her birthday.

It was from “DO NOT ANSWER!!!!,” which was what she changed Charlie’s name to in her contacts. She stared at the screen in disbelief. Charlie was texting her for the first time since breaking her heart and publicly humiliating her to try to shame her for not sending the best friend who betrayed her a birthday card? Maddie doubted there was a Hallmark greeting that could accurately express what she wanted to say.

“Mads, you ready?” Jo called from the doorway. Skylar was already waiting outside. Since Emma and Adam had gone on their walk, she’d gotten awfully sulky.

“Coming,” Maddie said. She shut down her phone, overcome with fresh hurt and rage. The damage was done.

Outside, girls—well, some of them were in their twenties, so women, maybe? Maddie still wasn’t sure where the turnover took place—streamed out of the bunks talking and laughing. Some of them smoked cigarettes and stumbled drunkenly, but if Jo noticed or cared, she didn’t let on. Maddie wasn’t a drinker, and yet she found herself wishing she could be like those girls, just for one night. She wanted nothing more than to care about getting tipsy and talking to cute guys instead of angstily swatting away mosquitoes and picturing Charlie and Christina out on some romantic birthday date discussing what a heartless bitch she was for not sending flowers, and maybe a pack of congratulatory Trojans.

Maddie glanced over at Jo but couldn’t catch her eye. Jo always looked straight ahead when she walked, like she was charging into some historical battle. Even Skylar, who had the longest legs of all of them, had to move fast to keep up. That meant Maddie had to run. She’d worn the soles of her Keds down so much they had almost no tread left, and she felt herself slip a little bit on the dry pine needles scattered across the path.

“Charlie texted me,” she panted as she fell in step with the others. Jo groaned.

“Let me see it,” she demanded. Maddie turned her phone back on and showed her the message. “Wait, who’s Chris?” Jo asked, squinting at the screen in the blinding beam of light that was cutting through the trees as the sun dipped below the horizon and out of sight.

“Christina,” Maddie said. “My ex-best friend.”

“Ugh, he sucks
so much
. Why didn’t she just text you?”

“Because I blocked her.” Maddie felt a pang of guilt.

“That’s not fair,” Skylar said. “Why didn’t you block him?”

“She’s right,” Jo said, handing the phone back to Maddie. “You should have blocked both of them. She’s no more to blame than he is.”

“But she was my
best friend
,” Maddie said. “Best non-camp friend, I mean. I’ve known her even longer than I’ve known you guys. She knew me way back before I met Charlie.” Maddie knew it was faulty logic, but it felt like Christina had betrayed her more.

“Did she know you really well?” Jo asked.

“Since first grade.”

“But did she
know
you?”

Maddie frowned. It was a weird question. “Yes, obviously,” she said. Had Jo been acting strangely since she got to camp, or was Maddie just cranky?

They trudged for a few minutes in silence as other girls, who presumably had not recently received soul-crushing text messages, laughed around them. When they came out of the woods, instead of continuing on past the barn, Jo motioned them to follow her down the hill to the cafeteria. They were almost to the double doors when Nate barreled through with a tray full of marshmallows.

“Hey!” Jo laughed, dodging his elbow. “Watch where you’re going, Stay-Puft.” Nate grinned, and Maddie stared at him, awestruck at how the pudgy, awkward boy she remembered could have morphed into the gorgeous Justin Timberlake look-alike in front of her.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was given strict orders to have these at the fire pit by seven, on pain of death.” A marshmallow toppled from the stack and landed noiselessly in the dirt.

“I’ll take it,” Jo said, grabbing the tray from him. Maddie watched Nate’s face as Jo’s hands brushed his. She knew that look. She’d had it when she first touched Charlie when he’d passed her a pipette of saline solution.

Inside, Skylar and Maddie stood in front of the kitchen pass-through window as Jo rummaged in the back for graham crackers.

“When did Nate Hartner get so hot?” Maddie asked Skylar, climbing onto one of the picnic tables and resting her legs on the bench.

“I know, right?” Skylar laughed, pretending to swoon. “It was sort of gradual, so I didn’t really notice it happening. His acne cleared up the first summer we were counselors, and then he started working out. This year has been crazy, though. All the girl campers are like in love with him.”

Maddie nodded her head toward the kitchen. “What about her?” she whispered. Skylar looked surprised.

“Miss Oblivion, you mean? I don’t know, she never talks about it.”

Maddie shook her head. “What a waste,” she sighed.

Jo stuck her face in the pass-through. “Are you guys going to help with these or just stand around?” she asked, shoving a dozen boxes of graham crackers across the counter.

They each took an armful and navigated back through the double doors using their hips and elbows. Once they were out on the path, Skylar turned to Maddie.

“Hey, what did you do?” Skylar asked. “When Christina told you?”

“Nothing. I mean, she e-mailed me. So I didn’t respond. It was pretty easy,” Maddie said.

“What would you have done if she’d told you in person?”

“I never thought about that. But I guess it wouldn’t have been as easy to ignore. I would have had to say something to her.”

“What would you say?” Skylar seemed weirdly fixated on Christina, but Maddie decided to ignore it. It was nice that someone cared. She tried not to be hurt that Jo wasn’t asking any follow-up questions.

“Nothing Jo’s delicate ears could handle,” Maddie whispered. Jo managed to flip her the bird without dropping her boxes.

“But do you think you’d still talk to her?” Skylar asked.

“I really don’t know,” Maddie said, realizing that with every word she spoke she became more and more of a hypocrite. “But I think I’d at least respect her for telling me to my face. She was one of my best friends. She owed me that.”

“Okay,” Jo said with a deep sigh, the way she did when she was about to be brutally honest. “I am so sorry this happened to you. Really. But I need you to promise me that you won’t let him win.”

“Win . . . what?” Maddie asked.

“Guys try to throw you off your game,” Jo said. “That’s what they do. I mean, look at Adam and Emma. He
wants
you to hide and stay in bed with Mr. Snitches eating pretzel M&Ms. He
wants
you to get upset when he sends you a stupid text out of nowhere. It’s tactical. The only way to protect yourself is to build up your defense.”

“Build up my defense? We’re not playing soccer.” Maddie looked at Skylar for backup, but she seemed distracted again and just offered a sympathetic eye roll.

“Fine,” Jo said. “Don’t listen to me. But at least turn off your phone if you don’t want to hear from him. Or block him already.” For someone so clueless about guys, it was actually sound advice.

“You’re right. I should,” Maddie said.

“You
will
,” Jo replied.

“I will,” Maddie parroted. She tried to hold her stack of boxes steady with her chin, but she could tell she was losing her grasp. With each step her fingers slipped further, until she was just waiting for the moment she lost control, and the whole thing toppled.

It was a feeling she was getting used to.