The Rules of Regret

by Megan Squires

  “Not necessarily afraid,” Torin said, hesitantly. He looked a little irritated, like I might have discovered some weakness in his armor. “I subscribe to the belief that it’s impossible to be afraid of something you’ve never done.”

  “You’ve never flown on a plane?”

  “No,” he retorted. “I’ve never had the need, or the opportunity.”

  “We need to see what we can do to change that.” I’d flown in planes more times than I could count. I couldn’t imagine being nineteen-years-old and never having seen the earth from a bird’s eye view. Torin was seriously missing out; from what I knew of him so far, flying would totally be his thing. Maybe it was my turn to help him with his unknowns.

  “Anything else you’ve never done?” I jeered, intentionally trying to rile him up because I liked what it did to him when he got flustered.

  “I’ve never had sex,” Torin shot out, “but I’m fairly certain I’m not afraid of that, either.”

  Record scratch.

  Wait…what?

  I tossed the stare from my face quickly and attempted to reclaim my composure, but it was completely lost. My eyes dropped to my hands, which had totally mangled our poor cootie catcher. It was nothing but a crumpled wad of paper in my clenched grasp. Torin pulled it from my fingers to smooth it out, grinning widely like he was proud that he caught me off guard, like maybe that was his plan.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t worry,” he smiled, his dimples deep-set, making something deep within my stomach flip-flop. “Unlike the flying, I’m not expecting you to ‘see what you can do to change that.’ ”

  I tried to swallow quietly, but I was certain he heard it. Like that awkward moment when you watched a movie with your parents and a full on sex-scene starts up on the screen. It was mortifying—humiliating on a whole new level. You tried not to move—tried not to even breathe—because the last thing you wanted was your mom thinking you were actually alive and watching it. It was like you played dead. Torin’s recent confession sort of made me want to play dead. I was possum-on-the-side-of-the-highway road kill and rigor mortis had already set in.

  “Okay.” He reassembled the cootie catcher and slipped his thumbs and third fingers into it awkwardly like he was holding a grenade about to detonate. “Your turn.”

  “That’s not how you hold it.”

  “Show me then.” Torin thrust his hands my direction.

  I pulled back, the rickety bed frame rattling underneath me.

  “Show me, Darby.”

  “Like this,” I said, holding up my index fingers and thumbs to illustrate how to correctly do it, but they were stiff and hesitant and took more effort to move than usual.

  “I don’t get it,” he said, but he couldn’t be serious. Five-year-olds had mastered this game. “Show me.”

  I wasn’t about to slip my hands over his to teach him how to do some playground game.

  Totally ignoring my falter, Torin grabbed my hands within his, his knuckles brushing the backs of them. “Show me how to do this, Darby.” I felt my pulse slamming in my wrist against his warm skin. A sheen of sweat swept across my upper lip. “It’s only fair, since I taught you how to survive in the wilderness and all. An actual skill you might use someday.” He pulled my hands tighter. “The least you can do is teach me how to play this juvenile game.”

  “I don’t think the wilderness thing will ever come in handy,” I breathed, my words so light and airy it made me dizzy to say them. “Fortune telling seems a bit more useful than wilderness training.”

  Torin continued cupping my hands, and I slipped them out to rest on the outside of his. Taking his thumbs and index fingers, I positioned them in the slots in the origami. “Okay.” His eyes drilled into mine and drew the available breath out of me, which wasn't much to begin with. “Now what?”

  “Now you pick a color,” I instructed, but the only color I registered was the intense green that stared at me, flooding my veins with fire. Take that back. Red. I could picture red, too, because my cheeks had to be the darkest shade of it. If you could literally feel a color, I was in the midst of being red. Hot, fiery red.

  “Blue,” Torin answered. He still hadn’t blinked.

  “B-L-U-E,” I repeated, and when I said it, I moved our hands, motioning each letter by rhythmically opening and closing the folded paper. By the time I got to the E, I was going to pass out. How on earth could playing a game like cootie catcher feel like foreplay? “Now pick a number.”

  “Three.”

  “One, two, three.” Our hands glided again in synchrony, the paper rustling nervously between us. “And one last time.”

  Torin’s eyes remained pinned on mine. You’d never even know there was anything in our hands because he hadn’t bothered looking down at them once. That was, until he gave up his intense stare for a brief second, his eyes sliding down to my mouth, pausing a moment before they snapped up again. I licked my lips because they were incredibly chapped, but that was probably from all of the air I had been panting in and out. Seriously, what was happening to me?

  “One.”

  Grateful to be done with our game, and with our handholding, I peeled back the triangle and read, “You will learn something new.”

  Like he couldn’t believe it, Torin shoved my shoulder and I nearly tumbled all the way back onto my pillow. “You totally set that one up, Darby!” he playfully accused, his eyes slivered and his lips pursed. He jabbed at me again.

  I caught myself on my elbows and pushed back up to sit, shaking the cootie catcher at him. “No I didn’t. It’s your fortune. I told you these things were useful.”

  “I’ve learned a lot today,” Torin admitted, nodding. He stretched his hand across the space between us, and when it settled on my own, my mouth went dry, like a hundred cotton balls were stuffed into it. I couldn’t form any words, and even if I could, they wouldn’t have had any room to make their way out. “You’re a good teacher, Darby. You’ll make a great counselor.” He bit his lip sharply between his teeth. “I should head back to my cabin. I’m really not supposed to be in your room, let alone in your bed.”

  “You’re not in my bed, Torin. You’re on my bed.”

  “Same difference.” He perked up, straightening his spine to its full length. His head was just an inch shy of hitting the bars, which supported the top bunk overhead. “See... on.” Then he slid his legs down, pressing his hip into the curve of the mattress as he reached for the crumpled up quilt at the foot of the bed to draw it up to his shoulders. Looking like he was preparing for a nap, he snuggled his head into the feathery cushion of the pillow. “In. Same thing.”

  “That is not the same thing at all,” I laughed.

  “Yes, it is. You try.”

  I was already sitting, so he curled his hand around my elbow and tugged so it buckled, then gave out from underneath me. Our heads at eye level on the pillow underneath us proved without a doubt that on and in were essentially opposites. I could (almost) handle having Torin on my bed. But having him in it brought me straight back to the sleeping bag and straight back to the familiar ache that swam in the pit of my stomach. Without realizing it, I rubbed my fingers over my abdomen, trying to calm the eager rush that tugged at my gut.

  Torin took notice. “Stomachache?”

  “Nah. I’m fine.”

  “Butterflies?” he smiled.

  “What?”

  Yes, there was a growing swarm of butterflies ramming about in my ribcage, but I hadn’t expected Torin to not only acknowledge it, but point it out, too.

  “Do I give you butterflies?”

  “No, Torin,” I lied through my teeth. “You don’t give me butterflies.”

  “You sure? 'Cause you give me bumblebees.”

  “Bumblebees?” I angled my head his direction, but we were close and if I moved any further our noses would touch.

  “Yes. Butterflies are too light and fluttery.” He must have moved because suddenly that gap was nearly nonexistent. In
was definitely not the same as on. “You make me feel like I have a freaking hornets nest buzzing and stinging at my insides.”

  “That’s a weird thing to say.”

  “But it’s true. It’s practically painful to be around you.”

  “And that’s a mean thing to say.”

  His hand dropped onto my cheek and I went instantly rigid, like there was some electrifying jolt that spread out from his fingertips. “It’s not a bad kind of painful. It’s a good kind.”

  “How can any pain be good, Torin?” But the searing heat of his palm on my face answered the question. The physical contact was extreme in a way that bordered on painful, but that had to be because it was something that couldn’t be realized, something that couldn’t come to fruition. The fact that things would stop at just this, that was what caused the bittersweet intensity. It was the absence of what we wanted to happen that truly brought about the real pain.

  “You tell me. How does this make you feel?” He inched his face closer to mine, his hand still laying against the slope of my jaw. “When I do this... “ He titled his head just slightly, his lips lined up with mine. “When I get this close, but stay this far away... “ Not moving another millimeter, he spoke softly, “ ...does it give you butterflies, or does it give you bumblebees?”

  I gasped, then became overwhelmingly embarrassed by the fact that I’d just literally gasped at the thought of kissing him.

  “Right,” he said coolly, running the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, leaving it there in the corner edge of his mouth, nearly biting down on it. “I thought so.” Then, like the sudden torrential downpour of rain that comes without warning, the serious gaze snapped from his eyes and he rammed his index finger into my stomach, blurting, “Buzz, buzz, buzz!”

  I swatted him with fury of a thousand angry Queen bees.

  “I really do have to go, as much as I want to stay and poke you.”

  I gulped and it was even louder than my inadvertent gasp.

  “You did not just say that.”

  All color drained from Torin’s face and his swallow was louder than my gulp and gasp combined. “I did. Reason number two why I need to go: I’m speaking in innuendoes. That’s never a good thing.”

  “I might disagree with you on that.”

  “I think we’d need to go deeper in order to know for sure.”

  The giggling had already started with his first remark, but that one sent me over the edge into certified hysteria. I buried my head in my hands and tucked my legs to my chest to absorb some of the laughter. “Knock it off, Torin,” I shouted between cackles.

  “I can’t. It’s really hard.”

  “Seriously!” I practically screamed, worried that I was nearing the pee-your-pants stage of laughter. “I can’t take anymore.”

  Torin nodded, pulled both legs over the edge of the bed to stand, and said, “I should probably get off.”

  “I’m so serious right now.” The tears streamed full force down my cheeks and I could feel the snot start to drip from my noise, collecting above my upper lip. I’d officially reached the ugly, utterly uncontrolled point in my fit.

  “I’m finished, don’t worry.” Torin gave me the most incriminating smirk I’d ever seen him muster, and without saying another word, slipped out of my cabin. Even after the door had shut fully into its frame, I continued giggling, unable to get Torin, his lips, and his words, out of my mind.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Time to go,” Ran said, resting his hand on Maggie’s shoulder affectionately. He looked over at me, his blue eyes warm with sincerity, as he tossed the last of their luggage into the bed of their blue truck. “Take care, Darby. I’m glad we got to know you a bit during our time here.” Ran held out a hand to me, shaking mine firmly and Maggie wrapped an arm over my shoulder. “We’ll keep in touch.”

  I nodded my agreement and within minutes they’d loaded up the vehicle, backed out of the lot, and were headed out of Quarry Summit, leaving summer camp behind in the dust that kicked up off their tires.

  Two loud footfalls blended in with the dissipating roar of the engine, trading places in volume and intensity.

  “Did they leave already?”

  I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. I didn’t even have to hear his actual voice, either. That scent—that familiar faint spice that reminded me of home—instantly clued me in to the boy standing at my shoulder. My body acknowledged him, too, as a wake of goose bumps crossed over my skin. His breath rushed out of him in pants, like he’d been running in order to make it in time to say his goodbyes. But he was too late.

  “Yep. Just left.”

  “Damn it!” Torin bent at the waist and pressed his hands to his jeans, dragging in air in shallow, uncontrolled pulls. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

  “I hate goodbyes. Goodbyes suck.”

  “I’m good at them.” Torin swept his hand across his sweat-beaded forehead and smirked before wiping his palms on the front of his pants. “When your friends come in six-week waves, you get very good at goodbye.” He looked up at me and my stomach did that awful falling thing where it dropped out. Why did I feel like I was on a roller coaster every time I was with this guy? “This summer has been weird. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to you, either.”

  “I’m still here.” I kicked around a rock with the tip of my shoe. “You’ve got more weeks for me.”

  “But I haven’t really seen you for the past three, Darby.”

  “The campers came.” I rolled the stone under the tread, running it up and down so it made a gritty, nails on a chalkboard sound against the crunchy gravel.

  Though I never would have admitted it could ever have happened in the beginning, our time at camp had really flown by. Part of this was due to the fact that the actual campers arrived, bringing with them their own drama, emotions, and responsibilities. Focusing on a cabin full of girls somehow forced my issues to the backseat position; a place where I’d securely seat belted them and hoped they stay for the remainder of the ride.

  Since the overnighter, I hadn’t had nearly as much one-on-one contact with Torin, though that wasn’t saying a lot considering the amount of actual, physical contact I had with him during that night.

  For all intents and purposes, the camp really was divided between the girls and the boys. The male counselors focused on their own campers, while the rest of us interacted mainly with our cabin mates. Surviving the heartache and the trauma that each of my girls brought with them to camp somehow—even when all compiled together—was unbelievably easier than surviving that one night in the woods with Torin. Three more weeks. Halfway there. I had this. I could do this.

  “I’ve been busy,” I offered.

  “Get lunch with me.”

  “What?” My shoe stopped in its place and I pinned him with a stunned glare. This chapter didn’t involve lunch. It involved me going back to my cabin and wallowing in the fact that two of my main characters were yanked from the script. I needed someone to fill that supportive best friend role. Torin should not be that person.

  “Let’s get lunch. I’m starved.” He snagged my hand and threaded his fingers through mine so swiftly that I didn’t have time to shake it free before he was yanking me toward the dining commons. “You got a good cabin?”

  “Um, yeah. I guess.” I willed the sweat to stop from pooling in my palm, but it didn’t do any good. I tried willing Torin to let go of my hand, but that didn’t do any good, either. He gripped on tighter. I needed to work on my willing. “They’re okay.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “What?” I choked—literally choked—on the word. I’d never realized syllables were physical things, but that one lodged in my constricted throat. I tried again. “Why?”

  Torin leaned forward and shook his head condescendingly. “Because I haven’t seen you in three weeks.”

  “You haven’t seen the other counselors, either,” I teased, searching for some sort of defense. It wasn’t like
I was the only one he hadn’t been in contact with.

  “Yeah, but I haven’t shared a sleeping bag with the other counselors.” He propped open the dining hall door with one hand, but didn’t break his grip on the other. “You heard from Lance at all?”

  I didn’t want to answer his question because it really hurt that the answer was no. No, I hadn’t heard from Lance. Though I hadn’t honestly expected to communicate with him regularly while we were both away, I’d at least hoped for a message—a note—some sort of confirmation that we were still, you know, us, whatever that even meant anymore. But that hadn’t happened. Nothing had happened. Total radio silence.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “You should check at the front office. You know they keep the messages there, right?” Torin guided me toward the line of staffers at the buffet, their plastic plates perched in their hands as they loaded up on carbs and sugar-coated sweets. Diabetes on a platter. Camp food left much to be desired for my poor taste buds.

  “I didn’t know that,” I said, grabbing my own tray, fork, and napkin. I followed him down the line, transferring deli meat and fruit onto my plate, but none of it looked all that edible. I was still trying to find my stomach again after that free fall from earlier.

  “I’ll go with you after lunch. I bet there’s something there from him.”

  I nodded gratefully and deposited another slice of ham onto my plate. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

  “You on the Atkins diet?” Torin’s eyes narrowed and he pointed to the pile of meat grasped between the metal tongs suspended between my fingers. I had mindlessly stacked more slices than I could possibly eat onto my tray, completely covering it, leaving no inch of it empty.

  “No.”

  “It looks like you’re hungry.”

  “I’m not really.” I unloaded some of the food, dumping it into a trashcan near the end of the buffet line, feeling a little bad to be so wasteful and feeling a little embarrassed to come across so out of sorts.

  “Could’ve fooled me.” Torin’s smile was huge. “Let’s eat outside.”