Nothing Happened

by Molly Booth

  Claudia looked like she was going to be sick.

  “Um…thanks?” I said to Nik.

  “Sure thing.” She cackled, clearly delighted with herself, and held the door open. Donald threw an arm around Claudia and steered her into Dam. I let them go and took a somewhat private moment on the veranda to deeply regret my choice to return this summer.

  OKAY, IF I’M being real, I did not stay behind just to help Bee clean up. I mean, yeah, that was the right thing to do. But also, I had this idea.

  A year and a half before, Bee and I had kissed. In January, under a half moon, snow falling all around us like a terrible movie. And I’d wanted to kiss her again ever since. And it was my last summer at camp, so I had to go for it.

  The going for it, however, proved harder than I’d anticipated. We’d cleaned up slowly, circling each other, picking up sparklers and trash in muggy silence. I thought about asking Bee to hang out on her own, just for a sec, so I could do a quick run down to the cabins and wake up Donald for advice.

  After a few more silent minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore. The awkward, burning sensation that I was thoroughly screwing this up. So I did exactly what I felt like doing—I collapsed facedown in the middle of the clearing, on a forgotten, scratchy picnic blanket.

  My own breath bounced back and hit me in the face repeatedly. As long as she didn’t notice, I could stay there, slightly suffocating, forever.

  Good move, I told myself. Until you figure out what to do, don’t do anything.

  Then I heard a laugh—her laugh. Cackling, like Nik’s, but sweet, like a really nice witch. Suddenly, I felt a weight drop onto the blanket next to me. I turned my head and opened my eyes. She’d sat down. Aces.

  “I thought you weren’t tired?”

  I couldn’t see her face—just her legs. That felt creepy, so I quickly sat up too. She passed me a warm beer.

  “Definitely not tired,” I replied. “It’s just so hot out.”

  “Yeah, it’s really gross.” She opened her beer, the noise thunderous, and took a long sip. I waited for Come on, dingus, we need to get back to work. Nothing. Weird.

  I looked down at the beer in my hand, and a thought hit me in the gut like a kick ball: She has the same idea. Of how this could go. Maybe?

  “So, do you think…” she began, and my breath caught. “…that Margo and Bobby are going to hook up again this year?”

  “What?” I sputtered, spitting out a little bit of my beer. She laughed at me again.

  “Margo and Bobby.” She sipped from her can and stretched out her legs. I tried not to stare at them. But then, if I didn’t look at them at all, would she think I didn’t like her legs?

  “Were they flirting tonight?” One part of my brain somehow kept on top of the conversation.

  “Uhhh, duh!” She rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you notice?” I used this question as an excuse to properly look at her: hair tied up in an elegant knot, the moonlight illuminating her skin, her eyes—widening, prompting me, indicating my incompetence.

  I tried to clear my mind enough to answer. “Yeah, I mean, I really mostly noticed Bobby’s ass?”

  She laughed. That was three. “Right, yeah, that was pretty spectacular. I bet Donald’ll do a beautiful impressionist collage of that sprint someday.”

  “Titled ‘Truth or Dick’?”

  We both cracked up.

  “Anyway, that was Margo’s dare,” she continued. “Not a coincidence.”

  “And you don’t like the whole Margo-Bobby thing?” I guessed. I knew she wasn’t Bobby’s biggest fan.

  She sipped her beer, wrinkling her nose. “Bobby’s immature. But they kept hooking up last year anyway, so…maybe they’re meant to be or something.”

  Aha! I had something to say about that. “Meant to be is kind of a bullshit concept,” I declared.

  “Oh?” She turned to face me, brown eyes pinning mine. I almost lost my words again.

  “Yeah.” I looked at the blanket so I could talk. “Because we’re not meant to be with just one person.”

  “Huh,” she replied. I felt her go cold—then it dawned on me what I’d just said.

  “I didn’t mean it like that!” I said quickly. Back up, Ben. “I meant fate doesn’t exist, we have free will, so how can anyone be meant to be?” I said the last part as more of a demand. Whoops.

  Bee sipped her beer again. I’d said too much. Maybe I was ruining the mood. Eventually, she murmured: “I guess I didn’t really think about it like that.”

  “Right?!” I turned to her excitedly. “I didn’t either. But it’s total bullshit. Because you can choose: you can be with someone, or you can leave them. It’s not already written out for you. None of it is.”

  A bead of sweat trickled down her neck. I wanted to lick it. Ew no, no I didn’t. What the hell was wrong with me?

  I waited for another response, but again, didn’t get one. I looked away.

  Maybe, I thought, you’re not supposed to tell a girl that you think fate is bullshit on the same night that you badly want to kiss her.

  “MUSHROOM FAIRY!” MARGO said sternly. “Get in here, darlin’!”

  The jet-black baby pygmy goat stared back at her with his bizarre rectangular pupils. Then he looked away and kept eating. Margo might sound no-nonsense, but she looked downright charming standing there with her purple pigtails and knee-high rubber boots.

  “Bee, can you give him a nudge?” Margo held open the shed door, blocking the opening with her leg so the other four kids wouldn’t escape.

  “Probably have to do more than nudge.” I eyed him.

  Margo spent most of her time here, at Salamander, the dusky green nature building, complete with accompanying goat shed. It was her favorite place at camp. As soon as Margo arrived every summer, my parents relinquished animal care to her. We had turtles, lizards, a pair of rats, and a new crop of baby goats each year, in addition to whatever our grandma-like nature leader, Doc, would show up with tomorrow.

  I grabbed Mushroom Fairy’s collar and led him up to the door. “How did he grow an extra set of horns?”

  Farmer Amy, who’d lent us the goats for the summer, had removed their little baby goat horns that spring, but Mushroom Fairy’s had freakishly begun to grow in again.

  “He’s clearly the alpha,” Margo said, shoving his bum into the shed. “And destined for greatness.”

  We grabbed pitchforks and started mucking out the goat pen, big shovelfuls of hay and poop. I was always thankful that when the CITs and campers arrived, we’d divide up the chores.

  It had been a slow afternoon, for the first time all week. We’d been recertified, I’d gone over every inch of CIT paperwork, and we’d had the diversity and “camp-appropriate” talks with Dad. Now we were almost ready for campers. One more weekend of spending way too much time around Ben, and then the kids would get here, and it would be so hectic I would hardly notice him. Right now he was, well…noticeable. Twinkly and floppy. I hated the sight of his adorable bare chest at the waterfront.

  “So, island party tonight?” Margo asked, casually flinging muck into the fertilizer bin.

  Right, I also had to survive the island party with Ben.

  I dug my fork into the muck with my boot. “Donald’s collecting the booze money. I still don’t know how he’s going to get it.”

  “Yeah, he’s kind of booze magical,” Margo said. She passed me a heap of straw, and we started laying it down on the less poop-y dirt.

  Margo tossed a handful behind her. “So, can we talk about my boobs?”

  I laughed. “Sure, what’s up with your boobs?”

  We deposited our pitchforks in the bucket and made our way to the side of the building to wash our hands in the squeaky outdoor sink.

  “Have you not noticed?” She gestured to her chest, soapy water drops flicking onto her shirt.

  “I’ve noticed you have boobs,” I admitted. “Is there something in particular you’re referring to?”

  “Is there som
ething in particular?” Margo flung her hands down, exasperated. “Bee, they’re huge! They just like, popped at the end of the school year. I bet Max is really regretting dumping me now.”

  Awww. Margo’d had her first boyfriend this year, but he’d broken up with her a couple months ago.

  “If Max is regretting dumping you for that reason, he’s a jackass.”

  “Well, he is a jackass.” She laughed. It teetered off into what she’d call a big ol’ sigh.

  Poor babe. I struggled for the right words to say. I almost wanted to tell her I knew how she felt—but something stopped me. I couldn’t…It was just easier if nobody knew. Instead, I slung an arm around her and pulled her into Salamander. Once inside, Margo grabbed a chunk of lettuce from the mini-fridge and started tenderly feeding the turtles. I sat at one of the old soft wooden tables, etched with claw marks.

  “Okay,” I said. “So what was it you were going to say about your boobage?”

  “Well—”

  The door flew open. Margo scowled and turned pink all at once—maybe she was expecting one of the guys, but it was just Connie.

  “Hey!” Connie kind of shouted.

  “Hey,” Margo and I chorused.

  “Have you guys seen Donald?” she asked. “I’m trying to find him to…get him cash. I’ve heard he’s making a run after dinner.”

  “He’s probably in Turtle,” Margo replied. Her face was returning to normal, her freckles slowly reappearing.

  “Or illegally napping,” I added. “I’d check his cabin, too.”

  “Okay, thanks, guys,” Connie said. “You excited for the party tonight?” She slid onto the bench next to me.

  Margo and I exchanged glances. Connie DeAngelo had been at Camp Dogberry for years—she’d done her CIT training here and everything. She was so cute: tall, dark tan skin, shiny black hair. She was nice, kind of friendly, but just so awkward sometimes. A few summers back she and Bobby led a hiking trip and returned best friends, and then they glommed on to John last year.

  “Not really.” I made a face. “I heard Donald’s getting tequila.”

  “Is he?” Margo’s face lit up.

  “Yuck.” Connie stuck out her tongue and stood up. “Well, that’ll be fun—adding tequila to the Donald mess. That won’t backfire at all.”

  I’d kind of been phoning it in, but at that, I turned and blinked at her. “Donald mess? What?”

  “Yeah, huh?” Margo looked at her, bewildered, then at me. I shrugged. Connie paused, leaning her right elbow up against the doorway, but, like, all wrong. It just kind of stuck into the wood. It looked super uncomfortable, and I wanted to tell her and her elbow to chill out.

  “You know…that rumor going around camp?” she said, but her voice sounded less certain. “The one about how Donald likes Hana?”

  “Hana?” I asked. “Ha!”

  “No way.” Margo’s eyes went wide. “Who told you that?”

  “Ellie,” Connie said. “She heard Ben, Donald, and Claudia talking outside Dam at lunch. Donald said he was going to make a move on Hana tonight. At the island party?”

  Ellie, a second-year counselor. Not the best source, but…Mom had made this funny comment at lunch, about how those three were standing outside talking about us. I’d assumed she’d made it to embarrass them. What if they actually were talking about us?

  Donald liked Hana?! Hana was a baby! What the hell?

  But it’s not like he’d tell you, a voice reasoned in my head. And Hana doesn’t look like a baby anymore…. But really? Donald liking my little sister?

  Suddenly, I realized Connie was nervously glancing between Margo and me. I tried to come up with something to say that didn’t give away how disturbing this was. “Uhh, well…”

  “Bee, we should muck out the goats before dinner,” Margo said quickly, saving me. “See you later, Connie?”

  “Sure.” She nodded. “See you. Um, sorry?” She and her strange elbow stance disappeared from the doorway.

  Margo immediately sprang across the room to me. “What is going on?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “But I think we need to tell Hana.”

  AT DINNER, EVERYONE buzzed about the island party. The beer, the fire pit, the s’mores…all I could think about was the moonlight. Claudia in the moonlight, specifically. And her text this afternoon.

  I can’t wait to be together tonight

  Same

  I had to believe we were speaking in code. There were times that I began to doubt and felt a little unsure—Christopher had spoken in code, too, but like a code nobody, like none of my friends, could crack. I’d known Claudia longer, so my gut told me to trust her. Although my gut had told me to trust Christopher, too….

  She sat toward the other end of the table at dinner, every so often glancing in my direction in a way she thought was sneaky. Her shorter hair brought out her cheekbones and made her look older. And hotter. This entire week had been torture. I’d crushed on her last year, but I knew how to kiss now, and I wanted to kiss her.

  “Hana!” Bee poked my shoulder. I looked up, dazed.

  Margo poked my other shoulder. “Dinner’s over. Let’s go get ready.”

  “Definitely!” I smiled, stood up, scraped my leftover food, almost the whole plate, into the compost bucket.

  “Girls!” On our way out, Mom and Dad called us over to their table in the corner. Margo recognized a family conference and went over to wait by the door.

  “So, morning meeting is tomorrow at eight,” Mom said in a lowered voice. They were both polishing off bowls of red Jell-O with whipped cream, a Camp Dogberry special.

  “Might wanna make that nine,” Bee suggested. “Or noon?”

  I nudged her.

  “Noon?” Dad looked alarmed, which was not normal for him. It looked weird on his face. “If you’re staying up so late that you can’t get up before noon, we have a problem.”

  “Relax!” Bee laughed and waved a hand at him. “I was joking. Ten is fine.”

  “Eight thirty,” Mom pointed her spoon at Bee.

  “Nine thirty.”

  “Nine.”

  “Done.” They nodded solemnly—their version of a handshake.

  “And be careful.” Mom’s brow wrinkled into her worry lines. “I don’t want anyone getting rowdy and pushing someone into the water.”

  “Well, we don’t get rowdy,” Bee reminded them. “But I can make no promises about pushing people into the water.”

  “I’m not worried.” Dad stood up and shoved his chair in. “If Ben drowns, we’d know immediately who to blame. I think you’re smarter than that, Bee.”

  “Am I?”

  Our parents started walking toward the dish pit, but Mom stopped and lowered her voice even further. “Call us if you need help.” She held up her walkie-talkie. “We’ll leave this on. I expect you”—this was mostly directed at Bee—“to keep the madness to a minimum. And be watchful for the first-year counselors, please.”

  “Of course.” Bee was suddenly serious.

  “I can help too.”

  We both jumped and turned around. Ben had been hovering nearby, hands behind his back, looking eager. Bee eyed him for a moment, then turned back to my mom.

  “Yeah, don’t worry, I got this.”

  “Thanks, Ben.” Mom squeezed his shoulder as she walked past him. Bee wasn’t going to like that. “And, Bee, if Ben’s boat capsizes…”

  Bee threw up her hands. “Ben’s really bad at boats!”

  “Not that bad,” he protested, but Bee was already walking away. I shot Ben what I hoped was a supportive smile, then caught up to her.

  After changing and grabbing our supplies, Bee, Margo, and I went to the bathroom for the girl cabins, Opossum. I’d changed into a white eyelet tank top and khaki shorts, nicer than anything I could wear during a normal camp day. Margo wore a blue halter top with leggings, and Bee hadn’t changed anything: she still wore her ripped jean shorts and green camp T-shirt. Once in the bathroom,
she slipped on a pair of large gold wind-chimey earrings. That’s all it took for my sister to go from camp to party.

  “Hair?” she asked.

  I looked in the mirror. I had some zits and flyaways. Not all of us could look so flawless with zero effort.

  “Half up, half down, with a braid!” Margo called, from her position at the sink. She was doing eyeliner calligraphy—little wing tips. It looked really dramatic with her pale complexion and loose, dark violet curls.

  “Sounds good.” I nodded.

  Bee sat me down on a stool and carefully moved her fingers through my hair, which had started curling out of of nowhere this year. I still didn’t really know how to wrangle it. I felt lucky to have Bee and Margo figuring it out.

  Bee gave me a little scalp massage, and it felt so good, I closed my eyes, relaxed, and let myself think about the space between Claudia’s ear and her neck.

  “So, dearest, there’s something we should tell you.” Margo’s voice floated in.

  “Now?” Bee whispered.

  “What is it?” I was still mostly thinking about ear-neck situations.

  “Well…the thing is…” Margo’s voice came closer. “Donald likes you.”

  “What?” My eyelids sprang open. Margo cringed in the mirror.

  “Don’t move!” Bee corrected my head forward again. My sister was somehow still concentrating on my hair! “Margo, maybe this wasn’t the best time.”

  “Sorry, but when did you want to tell her? Five seconds before we got there?” Margo bit her lip and eyed me warily. “It’s true, Hana darlin’. Donald likes you.”

  I watched the sunburn drain right out of my face. “No way. Did he say something?”

  “No. Connie told us this afternoon,” Bee said, still working on the back of my head. “She thought we already knew.”

  “Apparently, Ellie heard Ben, Donald, and Claudia talking about it outside Dam at lunch today,” Margo confirmed. “I asked Ellie about it at dinner, and she said it was true.”

  Bee tied off the braid in my hair. “Done!”