by Sonia Hartl
“And so his suspicions were confirmed. However, the boy still enjoyed her company for reasons that often escaped him. But one day the girl told the boy she’d be traveling to a faraway land, a dark place with no Wi-Fi.”
“Is that no Wi-Fi thing for real?” There went my plans to smuggle in my iPad after they confiscated my phone. “Sorry. Go on.”
“Though the boy was mad at the girl for taking on such a foolish quest, he also thought about how boring his summer would be if he were left alone with his twelve cats.”
“What’s with the cats? You’re allergic to cats.”
His lips twitched, though I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or about to laugh. “The girl had a tough goal ahead of her, even though she thought she knew everything. Which left the boy with two choices: He could see her go on her own and get a small amount of satisfaction from saying he told her so, or he could go with her and help. For who better to guide the girl on her foolish quest than the boy who already knew the lay of the land?”
My heart sped up. Of all the ways his story could’ve ended, this would’ve been my last guess. Having Paul with me would make the whole thing a lot less scary, but I’d be furious if he was messing with me. “Has the boy made a decision?”
“The boy has decided to join the girl. Because she’ll need all the help she can get.”
“Are you serious?” I sat up, bumping my head on the underside of the trampoline. “Don’t get me wrong—I want you to come with me—but are you going to be okay with that?”
“I’m not worried about me. I still know what to say and how to act to pull off the believable Christian shtick. You, on the other hand? They’ll eat you alive.” Every time Paul talked about camp, he made it sound like a slow and painful ride through Dante’s Inferno. If that was his way of trying to get me to bail, it wouldn’t work. I’d seen the brochures. The only fire I’d be getting close to would be the one toasting my marshmallows.
“What’s in this for you?” As much as I wanted Paul to come with me, and he certainly knew his way around Christianity better than I ever would, it seemed like a huge waste of his time. “I doubt you’re going to find your usual sort of fun there.”
“Watching you fall on your ass after one of your crackpot ideas blows up in your face is my usual sort of fun.” He tugged on the end of my ponytail. “Plus, I need my community service hours too, and this is way easier than framing houses.”
“First of all, name one crackpot idea that blew up in my face.”
“That time you joined PETA to get out of dissecting a fetal pig in biology.”
“Because it was disgusting. They wanted us to cut open baby pigs. Piglets. And it’s not like I knew all those protestors were going to show up.” The school had to cancel the whole dissection just to get them to go away, which earned me a week of in-school suspension and a spot on junior prom court.
“When you joined the ski team because that one guy smiled at you in the hall.”
Austin. He was pretty. Sadly, he did not feel the same way about me after I twisted my ankle and hit myself in the face with my own ski. “Sports are hard.”
“Or, more recently, when you joined yearbook to make sure there was at least one picture of you on every page, but the editor didn’t like you, so all the pics are of you making this face.” He closed his eyes and let his tongue hang out of his half-open mouth.
“Are you done now? Because I think you’ve made your point.”
“This is more involved than all those other schemes combined.” He reached his hand toward mine, letting it fall on the blanket before making contact. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m hurting now, so what’s the risk?”
The heavy weight that had settled on my chest the night Ethan had told me he couldn’t be with me anymore increased in pressure. Paul laid his arm out, and I rested my head in the crook of his shoulder. I hadn’t cried since the night he’d held me and told me the story about the girl who’d learned how to swim in the ocean of her own making, and I wouldn’t cry now, but that didn’t mean I was okay. Sometimes the hurt made me so numb, crying would’ve been a relief.
“I hate Ethan,” he said.
“I know.”
“Why don’t you?”
I’d asked myself that a lot when Ethan had first broken up with me. Every time I got angry, I’d think about when we’d first met. His parents let him go to public high school after years of homeschooling, and he didn’t quite fit in. He wore an ugly tan shirt with ferns or something on it. After a couple of senior guys tripped him in the hall by his locker, I took his hand to help him up. It was warm and soft and molded perfectly against mine. After I’d dated a string of guys who’d only wanted one thing, Ethan had come along like the antithesis of the typical asshole. A genuinely nice guy with kind eyes and a terrible sense of fashion.
I didn’t know who I was without him. His friends all called me “Ethan’s girl,” and I wanted so badly to belong somewhere, instead of constantly trying and failing to find my place. I hadn’t done enough to make us work while we’d been together, but I could fix it. Ethan wanted a relationship with Jesus more than he wanted me, but there was no reason why he couldn’t have us both.
“He didn’t want to break up with me,” I said. “He had to.”
“According to who? Jesus? Give me a break.” Paul propped himself up on his elbow, taking away my headrest. “You’re worth so much more. Why can’t you see that?”
“Are we going to do this all summer? As much as I adore you, and I do want you to come with me, I don’t want to fight the whole time. I don’t pick at you about your ex-girlfriends, so why can’t you do the same for me?”
“I’ve never pretended to be someone I’m not to get back together with any of them, and if I had, you would’ve knocked some sense into me. Because that’s what friends do.”
“To be fair, you never dated any Christians.”
“See that spot up there?” He nodded to the underside of the trampoline right above where I was lying. “It’s the point. And it went right over your head.”
“No, I got the point. I just chose to ignore it.” I crawled over to the opening in the sheets. “This has been fun, but I’ve got a Bible to read. Because that’s what Christian girls do.”
“God help you.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ve got this one.”
If I could fake faith as easily as I faked confidence, I’d have this in the bag.
Chapter 3
I stared out the bus window, watching the countryside roll by. Every farm we passed reminded me of the field where Ethan used to take me. Where he’d pick wildflowers for me and tell me how jealous the guys in his youth group were of his hot girlfriend. Where his hand trembled the first time I let him touch me under my bra. He used to make me feel powerful and in control, and without him, I’d been left floundering.
Paul pulled out his earbuds. “Why do you look so forlorn?”
“Just remembering.” I picked up his earbud and stuck it in my ear. Some guy with a nasally voice sang about purple streets and unwashed dreams. “Speaking of forlorn.”
“Blister Park. They’re really abstract, but they have great bass lines.” Another one of Paul’s underground bands no one had ever heard of. For good reason. “Did you get a chance to read any of the Bible?”
“Yep.” Nope. “I’m almost done with it now.” I’d fallen asleep before I’d made it past the first page. “It’s a neat story.” So boring.
“Neat, huh?” Paul turned toward me in his seat. “Which part is your favorite?”
“Noah’s Ark. I liked the big boat and all the animals.”
He settled back in his seat with a serene smile. “I like the one where Jesus tames a dragon and shoots laser beams out of his eyes. It’s got more action in it than the one with the big boat.”
My expression froze for a half a second before I scowled, ruining any chance I had of convincing him I’d done my homework. “You’re hilar
ious.”
He put his earbuds back in but kept that knowing smile. I was sure he thought of this as some big joke, but the closer we got to camp, the more I worried. If Ethan saw through me, I’d just be a sad and desperate girl who’d followed him to camp. Like one of Paul’s twelve imaginary cats that’d been fed once and wouldn’t leave the back porch.
I yanked his earbud out. “You’re still going to help me, right? I know you get some kind of weird kick out of seeing me screw up, but you’re not going to quiz me about the Bible in front of people, are you?”
He looked at me like I’d called him by the wrong name. “You think I’d do that?”
“No.” I flopped back on my seat. Paul gave me crap for my less-than-brilliant mistakes in private, but he’d never humiliate me or give other people the opportunity to do so. “But if I can’t fake it, he’s going to think I’m a stalker.”
“Where would he get an idea like that?” Paul rubbed his chin between his thumb and index finger. “It’s not like you lied about your religion to get a leadership position at a camp you have no interest in to impress a guy you have nothing in common with. Oh, wait.”
“I’ll look even more pathetic than the night he dumped me,” I said in a small voice.
I’d clutched Ethan’s hand, tears streaming down my cheeks, while he explained, over and over again in a low and patient voice, his resolve to restore his virginal heart. Like I was a child. After what we’d shared, he wanted to erase it all, as if we’d never happened. He left me alone and crying on my sidewalk. If he’d looked in his rearview mirror when he’d driven away, he would’ve seen me like that. A sad lump of a girl, pouring her heart out to the cracks in the concrete.
“Hey. You’re not pathetic.” Paul gathered me against his chest. “I’ll help, okay? I don’t like this idea or support it in any way, but I hope you know I won’t leave you to the wolves.”
“I don’t tell you enough how much I love you.” I rubbed my nose and inhaled the spicy scent of soap and sandalwood. “Are you wearing a new cologne?”
“That was a terrible segue. And yes.”
I patted his shirt and sat up. “It’s very manly.”
“Thanks?” He gave me a funny look. “We should go over some of the more basic stuff. You’ll be in a cabin with three other girls.”
“Mandy, Sarina, and Astrid.” I’d gotten my cabin assignment after my parents’ check had cleared, and done a little digging to see who I’d be sharing a bathroom with.
Mandy had no social media presence, not even an old Facebook profile. Sarina had an Instagram account set to private with a profile picture of a Precious Moments angel. Astrid used every social media outlet on the face of the planet, but I only picked her out by narrowing her down to the one person who was in every picture posted. Her stream was filled with massive group photos—not a selfie in sight.
“They give you a few hours to unpack and get to know your cabinmates before dinner,” Paul said. “I’m not allowed in the girls’ cabins, so you’ll have to wing it. Try not to talk.”
Insulting, yet helpful. That was practically Paul’s tagline.
“No problem. It’s not like I’m itching to form lifelong bonds with a bunch of uptight church girls.”
I doubted I’d be able to relate to them outside of polite niceties anyway. Even Astrid, who appeared to be the most normal, papered her social media profiles with Bible quotes and daily affirmations. They’d probably bust out the smelling salts if they got a look at my Instagram. My last post had been a news article about a guy who’d tried to hump a shark.
The bus pulled to a stop and let us all out in front of a small brick building. We’d only traveled an hour north, but the trees had grown taller and the sky looked closer, like you could reach up and grab one of the clouds. Even the air smelled cleaner. I took a deep breath and choked on a mouthful of bus fumes.
While the driver got our bags out of the travel compartment, Paul stood next to me, surveying the scene. His lip curled the moment he spotted a college-aged guy in a crisp white polo holding up a Camp Three SixTeen sign. “Tell me again why I volunteered to do this?”
I hooked my arm around his and batted my lashes. “Because you’d do anything for me.”
He responded with a short grunt.
Ethan hadn’t been on the bus—his mom probably drove him—but it didn’t stop me from looking around as I dragged Paul toward our waiting van. The college guy introduced himself as Michael, not Mike, and led us to where two other people our age waited.
“These are going to be some of your leadership peers this summer,” Michael said. “We need to do a roll call before we ship out. Paul Romanowski.”
Paul nodded.
“Good to have you back, brother,” Michael said. “Peter Lipscomb.”
“Here.” A fidgety kid who looked about twelve raised his hand.
“Mandy Pardee.”
The infamous Mandy with absolutely no digital footprint raised her hand. I’d assumed she’d be a sullen girl in a British boarding school uniform who carried a Bible everywhere, but she didn’t come close to how I’d imagined. Her blond hair shimmered in the sunlight and she had enormous blue eyes that reminded me of tropical beaches. Her nose turned upward, but it didn’t make her look snotty. Probably because she had such an earnest expression.
“And last, but not least, our newcomer, Francine Wells.”
“I go by CeCe.”
Michael frowned, as if going by anything other than your given name was a sin. “All right then, CeCe. Mandy here is a third-year vet and she’ll be able to show you around.”
Mandy gave me a warm smile. They should’ve put her on the brochure.
Peter shook Paul’s hand. “Are you related to Pastor Romanowski?”
Paul stiffened beside me. “He’s my father.”
Peter’s eyes bugged out of his head like a squeeze doll. “He was a guest speaker at my church this winter. The passion that guy has is nothing short of amazing. Brought church attendance up by twenty-five percent. Do you think he’ll come visit?”
“No.” Paul pinched his lips together. “We’re not on speaking terms.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize.” Peter shuffled his feet. “Sorry, dude.”
“We’re really excited to be here.” I clapped my hands together, desperate to break the tense silence. “Is this your first year at camp, Peter? Or are you a vet like Mandy?”
“A vet.” Peter turned as red as the acne dotting his jawline. “I almost didn’t make it this year, but my mom thinks I need this place.”
Michael threw open the van side door. “Let’s go. Girls in the second row, boys in back.”
We shuffled in, and I turned around to Paul. “Is this typical? Boys can’t sit by girls?”
“It’s just for the ride up,” Peter said.
“So Michael can concentrate on driving,” said Mandy.
Paul leaned forward, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear. “They’re saying Michael can’t check for undercover hand jobs if he’s trying to keep his eyes on the road.”
Peter coughed, beating on his chest as his eyes watered. And Paul was supposed to be the one helping me. I may have lacked Christian prowess, but at least I knew enough not to talk about hand jobs in the Jesus camp van.
Mandy’s pale cheeks turned a light pink. “What brought you to camp this year, CeCe? Did you hear about it through your church?”
“Oh, um, yes.” I’d been so busy getting ready to attend camp, I hadn’t actually gotten around to going to church. “They had brochures. Next to the doughnuts.”
Paul snorted in the seat behind me. The one time I’d gone to church with him when we were kids, before his father bailed, I fell asleep during the service. But I remembered the doughnuts. It was the first and last time Paul invited me to hear his father speak.
Mandy nodded as if I’d just said the most fascinating thing. “That’s how I found out about camp. Two years ago, I just wanted to have a parent-free summe
r. I thought it would be no rules, fun in the sun. But I came away from camp with a deeper understanding.”
“A deeper understanding of what?” I asked.
Paul shoved his knee into the back of my seat. We had to come up with a better plan for him to communicate my many failings. Fortunately, Mandy took it as a sign of genuine interest and continued on as if I hadn’t asked a completely ridiculous question.
“Of Jesus, of my purpose on this Earth, what God expects from me. I went home and threw myself fully into youth group, gaining all the knowledge I could until I felt ready to lead. This is my first summer in the leadership program, and I’m so excited to pass on everything I’ve learned over the years. What about you? Are you pretty involved in your youth group?”
“Yes.” Paul’s mom had done me a solid by slightly exaggerating my involvement in her church for my recommendation letter, but I think she did it more for Paul’s benefit than mine. She’d been trying to lead him back to Jesus for years. “Though not as long as you.”
“We all have different experience levels, but it’s not a competition. I’ve been rooming with Sarina and Astrid since we were sophomores. We interpret our personal faith in different ways, but our common love for Jesus brings us together in the end.”
“I’m sure,” I said. Paul told me the less I talked, the better off I’d be, but I had to do some talking. “What’s your favorite thing about camp? Besides sharing a love for Jesus and all that.”
“The lake is a lot of fun. We have a giant Blob that can launch you ten feet into the air. Campfire testimonials are always the best bonding experiences.” Mandy turned pink again, which I found oddly endearing. “And there’s this one guy I’ll be happy to see again.”
“Summer boyfriend?” The most tragic of relationships.
“For the past two summers.” She beamed. “We’ve always gone our separate ways at the end of camp, but he thinks God has a plan for us.”
“That’s sweet.” If God had a plan for me, I hoped it involved leading me back to Ethan before the end of summer. I couldn’t stand the idea of going into senior year without him.