by Molly Booth
“So this means you’re going to New Hampshire?” he asked.
“Oh.” I’d forgotten that I’d told him about my acceptances but not my final choice. He’d written one of my recommendation letters. “No, I mean, I guess I’ll get used to city life, because I’m going to EBU.” East Boston University.
“Bee, I am so proud of you!” He pulled me in for another hug. How did he smell like a Macy’s, even at camp? “You’re going to love it!” He pulled back and handed me a poster to hang. In the Heights. “You’re majoring in…?”
“Education with a minor in theatre.”
“That’s my girl! Oh, I am just so thrilled for you.”
When I said my major aloud to Raph, it sounded cool and confident. Like I knew what I was doing. Wouldn’t it be nice if that were real?
We started moving around chairs and organizing Luna into our usual setup. We chatted about the shows we’d worked on this year—Raph had assistant directed Sunday in the Park with George, and my school had tried to do a production of The King and I, but I’d gathered a petition against it, seeing as we had all white students. Except me, and I’m not Thai. I’d won.
Raph shook his head. “I can’t believe they even tried. That drama director is—”
“Out of touch as fuck?”
He laughed. “Putting it mildly, yes. What’d you do instead?”
“Bye Bye Birdie.”
“And you were Kim?”
“Naturally.”
“Could’ve been worse.”
“Could’ve been the most racist The King and I ever.”
“Dear God.”
I’d missed him so much. After thoroughly Broadway-ing the space, we spread out on the rugs to plan the games for the first session. Starting off with Statues, Machine, What Are You Doing?, Park Bench, and then more complicated games as the week went on. I was trying to figure out how to bring up Ben stuff with him, without sounding like I wanted to talk all about me. So far, no balanced phrasing had presented itself in my head.
“Well, I’m sure your new theatre department will be much more informed,” Raph assured me, while he color-coded the lesson plan by age group. He’d given me the calendar to mark up for special events and theme days. His organization skills were on point.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure.” My new theatre department. I didn’t want to think about it.
“You’ll get into the city, and it’ll be such a relief, Bee,” he continued.
“Right.”
“That’s totally how it was for me,” he explained. “In New York, I could finally be myself. And then it was easier to be me here in Maine too.”
“Great.” I tried not to grit my teeth. Even if I was the only black girl in my class, Messina was still my home. Raph and I weren’t coming from the same place on this. Maybe I’d made a mistake and I should stay here—
“Have you told Ben yet?”
I froze.
“Umm, told him…?”
“That you’re going to EBU?”
“Oh right, that. No. Nope. Definitely not.” I’d managed to only answer college questions when Ben was conveniently out at Monarch. Or out on the trails. Or peeing.
“Iiiinteresting,” he replied, drawing out his green highlighter with the word. “So, is there anything new to tell there? He’s here, right? That wasn’t the plan, if I remember correctly.”
I bit my lip. Though I’d wanted to bring him up, now that the opportunity was there, I wanted to scream and duck into the pile of pillows, or make an emergency exit. Where was the closest fire alarm?
I took a breath. I was so used to hiding the Ben stuff from everyone, it felt weird to finally talk about it. But I really, really wanted to. I passed Raph the finished calendar.
“Yeah, he’s here,” I said, finally.
“And how’s that going?”
I thought back over the week. “I’m, uh…not handling it well.” By the end of the sentence, my eyes had filled with syrupy tears. I grabbed my lips to try and stop them from quivering.
“Aw, Bee.” Raph put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”
I swallowed, forcing some crying down. “No, it totally is.” I hated my choked voice. “And he’s totally given up. I really think the whole thing is just dead now. Like, in the water. Like a dead seagull carcass floating in the water.”
Raph nodded, his big blue eyes widening with sympathy. “I know, sweetie. It’s the worst when you’ve thought about it for so long, and then it’s over, like it never mattered.”
I nodded back. I didn’t want to speak again until I could sound like a grown-up human, not a homesick baby camper.
“I promise, it’ll heal,” he continued. “It’ll always hurt, but it won’t be everything, all-consuming, and you’ll feel like yourself again.”
I took a shuddery breath and sighed. Did I want to be myself without my feelings for Ben?
“Thanks. Sorry.” I stood up. “I know you’re right, I just wish he hadn’t come back. It would be so much easier if I didn’t have to see him.”
“I hear you.” Raph stood up too. “Here’s some advice from the great beyond: do not hook up with your roommate just because he says he’s moving out.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “Because the housing hunt is brutal and he’s probably actually not moving out.”
I laughed. That’s why Raph was awesome. He was older; he’d been through this stuff before. He made it all sound normal.
Of course, this was why love and sex and whatever was so unappealing to me. Because who the hell wanted this to be their normal?
We finished, and I walked Raph out to his car. Another hug, because tomorrow morning was a long way away, and he and his white SUV pulled out of the lot. I trudged back to Dam, his words sitting heavily on my shoulders: it’ll always hurt. I pushed away the Ben stuff, but there was a lot left over.
The city, a new theatre department, a new life. The MHS theatre department was a nightmare, but I knew everything about it. It was mine. When there were problems, I felt like I could fix them. I didn’t even know what the EBU theatre problems were yet.
I went to bed that night and woke up clammy from a dream that my new theatre was putting on an all-white production of Hamilton. With some water and the soundtrack, I coaxed myself back to sleep.
The next dream was one more familiar.
WE’D TOLD EACH other secrets and promised to keep them. Our hands were touching, mine on top of his, skin-to-skin, and we were looking at each other like, like, like—it was too much. I broke it off.
“Wanna go for a walk?” I asked, standing up quickly
He paused for a beat, then jumped up too. “Sure.”
We folded the blankets and stacked everything in a corner of the clearing. Donald and Margo and the rest could carry it down in the morning. Well, later in the morning. The stars had already begun to fade. I tried to ignore that.
Wordlessly, we wandered toward the opposite edge of Nest, toward the path that led down around the cabins. Getting down off Nest was steep and tricky, the path dirt was loose, and I had to carefully place each step. I felt Ben next to me, concentrating on his steps, too.
We’re not drunk anymore, are we? But I pushed that thought backward. Because if we weren’t drunk, what were we doing?
The trail leveled out. The water grew louder, waves hitting the shore nearby. We followed the sound down a small side trail that led by the off-season boat shed, Stickleback. We stored the kayaks and paddleboats there during the winter.
Past the barn, the trail came to a small point—rocks with a view of the water. We pulled up short at the edge. You couldn’t swim here or anything, too many sharp edges below. But you got the nice view of Messina’s cove, with the harbor, houses on the other side, and sailboats in the middle, rocking gently.
“The fog…” Ben trailed off.
The paling sky and still-bright moon illuminated levels of mist, a bridge over the water. It was pretty, but cooler down here. I
pulled my hair out of the topknot and shook it all out so it would cover my ears.
I glanced over at Ben. His eyes squinted at the ocean. Neither of us said anything.
What now? I panicked. I’ve ruined everything by taking us down here. We never should’ve left Nest.
“We should probably go—” I turned around, but I must’ve been distracted, or tipsier than I thought, and misjudged the edge of the point.
As scary as it was, it only took about two seconds. I tripped, I started to fall to the side, saw my life flash before my eyes, my body splayed across the rocks below, and then I was scooped up into Ben’s arms immediately. He held me close, and we breathed hard into each other.
“Hey, you okay?”
It wasn’t even that far a fall; I probably wouldn’t have died. I was fine. But automatic reactions took over: my heart pounded, my eyes watered, my cheeks grew hot.
“Ahhh! I’m sorry,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I’m so tired, I must’ve—”
“I know,” Ben said gently. “It’s okay though, you’re okay. You’re fine.”
I’d heard him use that soothing voice with campers, with his little sisters. It was kind of humiliating he was using it on me, even more that it worked. My breathing softened, You’re okay, my heart slowed, You’re fine. After a few deep breaths I looked up at him.
“Fudge,” I whispered, laughing a little. “That was so…but thanks.”
“What are friends for?” He smiled.
I smiled back.
And then we didn’t kiss.
MY DAD WOULD’VE said that the parking lot on the first day of camp was “abuzz,” but that was too light a word for it. It was more ablaze, and it was our job to be constantly at the ready with a massive hose.
I stood under the tent with the group signs—the kids dropped their stuff off by age and cabin. Donald, Margo, Bobby, and Ellie were on lice check duty, supervised by Dad in the chairs set up outside the office. Hana was down at the waterfront, conducting swim tests with the Dogberry swim team. The CITs and John and Connie took care of lugging the gear, while Doug, Dave, and Jen were at the mini trading post we’d set up in Dam, selling mosquito netting and Dogberry T-shirts to the new campers and families. Ben, of course, was nowhere to be found, because that would’ve meant he’d been on time.
I tapped the top of my clipboard. This was my first year running check-in out here—usually we had another, older counselor. Somehow, now I was that older counselor, and as much as I hated to admit it, I was really nervous. What if I said someone’s name wrong? Or put off an unprofessional air? What kind of air was I putting off? How did I change it? From where did that kind of air originate?
A yawn interrupted my worries—Ben, ten minutes late, the skin under his eyes still swollen from sleep. Like a troll. I’d somehow avoided him since the island party, but now there was no escape. Had he known Donald was going to ask me out? Was he just totally okay with that?
“Morning!” He gave me a tight smile. “We’re under the big top, huh?”
“I am.” I stiffened. “You’re just getting here.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I got stuck in my sleeping bag.”
“Only Peter gets to use that as a valid excuse.” Peter was our camper who got stuck in things. The bathroom, his sleeping bag, his luggage…
“Hey, look! It’s Jay and Maddie!” Ben pointed to the entrance, where a big tan van had parked, and two kids were jumping out. Suddenly, all my nerves and Ben-related annoyance evaporated. Right, I reminded myself. This is about these awesome kids, not my checklist, and not my coworker.
Jay and Maddie tore toward us, their mom following at a normal human pace.
“Slow down!” I shouted. They almost tripped, taming their sprints into Olympic speed walking. When they were finally close enough, they flung themselves into our arms. Sometimes being a camp counselor was kind of like being a celebrity.
“Bee!” cried Maddie. “And Bunny!”
“Bunny!” Jay cackled, jumping up and down with evil glee in the middle of hugging Ben.
I watched Ben’s expression flip from elated to a fake smile. “Okay, guys. LOL. But I’m not Bunny this year, just Ben.”
“Oh, but you’ll always be Bunny to us.” I smiled.
“Not. This. Year. Bee.” Ben grabbed Maddie and Jay’s bags, and huffed over to their group’s drop-off zone.
Whoops.
Last summer, for the first session, before the Fourth of July, Ben and I had led a group hike together to Blueberry Mountain. The trip was a disaster. It started pouring on the way, but we had half a dozen strangely determined kids, so we’d handed out extra ponchos and hiked anyway.
About halfway up the mountain, when we were basically climbing through mud and the kids were miserable, I got stung by a wasp. I’m really allergic to wasps, so I had to take a bunch of Benadryl, and we had to turn the group around.
Benadryl makes me really loopy.
So there we were, in the pouring rain, Ben trying to get these kids back down a mudslide safely, and me yammering on, high as a kite.
“Come on, kids!” Ben had yelled, as encouragement. “This trip wasn’t a mistake if nobody dies!”
That got a laugh out of them, but they were still exhausted, soaked, and hungry. So my loopy self was keeping them preoccupied by asking them icebreaker questions. Like their favorite movies and colors and animals.
At the time, the older campers had it in their heads that Ben and I were dating. So when I asked their favorite animals, they asked me the same question, and I said:
“I love bunnies.”
They’d figured out by then that I was out of it, so they egged me on.
Sophia, a camper at the time, giggled and said, “As much as you love Ben?”
“More,” I’d shouted. “I love bunnies more than Ben!”
“What if Ben was a bunny?” asked Rudy helpfully.
“Thanks, Rudy,” Ben had grumbled.
“That would be the best case scenario.” I’d laughed. “Bunny Ben. Hey, let’s call Ben Bunny from now on. Ben, your new name is Bunny!”
And it stuck. All summer. It caught like wildfire, and it super bugged him. Even Doc and Judy called him Bunny. And I swear, John, Connie, and Bobby told each new session of campers coming in. Probably Donald did too. Ben hated it.
And he blamed it all on me. Clearly. Fantastic. “Guys, if Ben doesn’t want to be called Bunny, we shouldn’t call him Bunny,” I said to Maddie and Jay, diplomatically. “Respect, remember? It’s an important thing at camp.”
Ben shot me a grateful look. It was probably the most civil moment we’d had yet, and it almost made me blush. I shook him off with a smile and changed the subject with Maddie and Jay. “So, did you have a good school year?”
“Jay has a pet frog now,” Maddie told me, pointing at him as if he was being accused of something terrible. “He named it Maddie.” Oh, he was being accused of something terrible.
Jay snickered, holding his hand up to his mouth to hide it.
“Frogs are cool,” I explained to Maddie. “I’m sure it was a compliment.”
“Was not.”
“Hey, you two,” Ben said, returning from stashing their duffel bags. “You need to go get a lice check and then change and do your swim test.”
Maddie tugged on the hem of my T-shirt. “Are you doing polar bear swim tomorrow?”
Ben grinned as I stifled a groan. Polar bear swim was a hellish tradition at Camp Dogberry, and the only one I fantasized about axing once I took over the camp someday. The kids were given the opportunity to wake up at six a.m. and go dunk in the ocean. If you perform this satanic ritual four times during your session, you get a certificate when you go home. I did this once as a camper—it was freezing and terrible and my least favorite thing ever, but I was determined to earn my certificate.
After one bone-chilling round of this, I realized the certificate was a sheet of blue paper with a polar bear on it. I could totally print that myself. I haven
’t participated since.
“If you want to go, just tell your counselors,” I said.
“We will.” Jay nodded. “But you’re going to come, right?”
“Never.” I laughed. “Not in a million years.”
“But, Bee, you always say that!”
“Correct!” I smiled. “Because I’m never going to do it again.”
“But you always tell us to try new things!” Maddie pointed out. These kids must’ve joined debate club this year.
“And she’s already tried polar bear swim,” Ben chimed in, taking Jay gently by the shoulders and turning him toward the lice-check area. “Now go get checked for bugs.”
“But—”
“Go!” Ben prodded them.
Wow. Was Ben actually taking my side? “Don’t worry. You can berate me more at lunch, if you want,” I told the kids.
“Fine,” Maddie said. “We’ll berate you then.” As they walked off, I heard Jay whisper to her, “What’s berate mean?”
Next I checked in Meredith, the tiniest, gangliest, freckliest eleven-year-old in the world. She was a longtime camper and was notorious for losing her toiletries every year. This year we’d given her counselors an extra set already, so they’d be prepared.
“Hey, Bunny.” She grinned a toothy grin at Ben, handing over her bag. “Long time no see.”
“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” Ben groaned, tossing me a look. But his eyes were twinkling, just a little, and I let myself smile back.
“OKAY! ERIC, BACK up the ladder. Toyah, how would you like it if a giant fish tried to catch you? Leave that little swimmer alone, please.”
First day of camp as a swim instructor was different. The youngest swimmers were the hardest. They really tried, but most of them needed to stay in the shallow end, no question. After Judy, the head swim instructor, announced the verdicts, they all sighed and slid back into their flip-flops dejectedly.
I loved being in the water the entire morning. Bee always said I was a mermaid because I floated like a balloon and my skin never pruned. Maybe that was true, because being in the water felt like my other world, and I forgot about everything else. On swim team, I wasn’t particularly good at keeping track of laps, though. It never mattered to me how many I’d done—once I started swimming, I never wanted to stop.