“I have no idea. That’s okay, when you’re a big Bollywood star, you can talk about the mean girl back home who threw mud at you. And did this.” With a nudge from my hip, Dev lost his balance on the bank and landed with a splash flat on his butt on the shallow edge of the creek. The wide-eyed, O-mouthed expression on his face as he hit the water made me curl over with even more hiccup-y laughter.
Dev wiped the back of his hand across his face, spreading a streak of mud across his forehead.
“Oh, now that’s grounds for payback.” Instead of getting up, he swiped a leg under my feet and, with a totally non-Marissa-like screech, I was back in the water and practically on his lap. And while his fall only got him a little wet, I managed to splash another layer of silty mud onto myself.
Scooping up a handful of mud and decayed plant-goo, I scooted closer to him and held it up like a baseball. “You did not just do that. You’re supposed to be the nice counselor.” Even though the water was cold, being this close to him made me feel like I was in a sauna.
Dev bumped my shoulder with his so I had to drop my “weapon” just to keep from getting submerged again. “I like this mud-slinging you. You know, sometimes you make yourself unapproachable. You’re always so deep in your own world that it’s hard to break in.”
I looked up at him and, unbidden, one of Kaylie’s lines straight out of Cradled on the Waves popped out of my mouth.
“Am I unapproachable now?” Oh my God, I did not just say that. It was the mud or the sun or this temporary insanity that dragged me into that book moment.
The corner of his mouth turned up slightly and he swiped some mud under my eyes, warrior-style. But his fingers lingered on my cheek. “Not so much.” He tilted his head closer to mine and I froze. This wasn’t like anything I’ve read about or planned. Still, every single molecule in my body took over, anticipating his movement, and I stretched up to meet him. We were a breath away from each other.
“Oh, there you two are. What happened here?” Mr. Hamm’s voice broke the silence and I jumped away from Dev, scrambling ungracefully onto the creek’s bank. Flames of embarrassment rushed over me and I tried wiping my face with my wet and muddy sleeve.
Dev, looking a lot more composed than I felt, stood, wiped his hands on a dry part of his shirt and turned to face the teacher. “I goaded Phoebe into trying the bridge and, um, she fell in a few times. And then I fell in when I tried to help her.”
Mr. Hamm took in both of our appearances and looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I’m used to seeing a few campers get muddy, but this is a first.”
“And a last. I’m not athletic enough for something like this. I’m sticking with archery.” I was finally steady enough to walk back over to them. I gave Dev a sidelong glance. He didn’t seem flustered at all. Maybe I had just imagined the whole moment between us.
“Good idea. How about you go get cleaned up and I’ll get one of the other counselors to help Dev with your table until you get back?” Mr. Hamm frowned at Dev. “You’re not too much of a mess.”
Dev tugged at his polo. The me-shaped mud was drying and flaking at the edges. “Sure. I’ll grab a fresh shirt and jeans on the way over.” He nodded at me. “See you in a few, Feebs.”
After the two left, I turned and headed for my cabin and the communal camp showers, turning the last few moments over and over in my head. Maybe all of these books full of fictional romances were starting to get to me. Dev was probably just joking around, like he did with all of his friends.
That still didn’t make the goose bumps on my skin go away, or the ghost of his touch on my cheek. I shuffled my way to the showers. I needed to wash away the memory with the mud. Not even bothering to strip off my muddy clothes or sneakers, I stuck myself under the running water.
48
Lunch was half over by the time I reached the mess hall. I grabbed a hobo hamburger and that watered-down stuff we called bug juice and made my way over to our long table, acutely conscious of how I looked. No spare shoes meant that I had to wear my flip-flops until my sneakers dried, oh-so-fashionable with a pair of striped toe socks. My hair dripped down my back, the drying pieces starting to stand out halo-like around my head. And my shorts stood out in a mess hall full of jeans. Grace would have had a heart attack if she saw me right then.
“And the mudwoman returneth,” Dev said, sliding over to make room for me next to him.
I pretended I didn’t see him move and instead squeezed into a spot next to Bethany Two. I also pretended not to notice the confused look he gave me.
“That stuff took forever to get out of my hair,” I said lightly and then bit into my burger. I was not going to act like this whole situation was awkward. Not if I could help it. The almost-kiss was probably all in my head.
Miranda grimaced at me. “We have to do the bridge this afternoon. And I don’t like mud.”
“Believe me, no one is as clumsy as Phoebe. You’ll be fine.” Dev told her. His hair still had visible patches of mud in spots and I resisted the urge to reach across the table and smooth a stick-y out piece into place.
“I didn’t have anyone to steady the bridge for me on one side. I promise Dev and I will make sure it doesn’t wobble on you,” I said in a reassuring tone. In a fit of forced silliness, I pat my face dramatically. “Besides, mud does wonders for your complexion, you know.”
“You’re absolutely radiant, darling,” Dev said in a mock British accent before a mini pickle-fight between two of the boys in his cabin had him running to the far end of the table.
I looked at my campers, who had been watching the conversation between Dev and me like it was a tennis match. “I’m so glad I got you guys and not them. At least when you drive me crazy, it doesn’t involve food or fire.”
Diana smiled over her glass of bug juice. “It’s because girls are just so much more sophisticated.”
Bethany Two poked me to get my attention. “Phoebe, I peeked at your copy of Cradled on the Waves and we’re finally on the same part.”
At the moment, I wanted to forget the book that was making me so dramatic and making me feel all the screwedup feels as Kaylie and Evan’s conflict and relationship built up in it. But I schooled my expression into a curious one.
“Really? What do you think so far?”
Bethany Two dropped her chin into her hands. “I think Kaylie needs to stay on PEI with Evan. Maybe forever, if she becomes a permanent foreign exchange student.”
“But she doesn’t even know how Evan feels. He could just be acting like one of those stereotypical über-helpful and polite Canadian farmboys, eh?” The “eh” sounded weird. Maybe I was too South Jersey to “eh” properly.
She shook her head emphatically. “Oh, come on. The way they talked during the performance at the Indian River Festival? No way, he’s totally into her. And the way he pushed back that loose strand of her hair at the bridge? That was H. O. T. Hot.” Pulling one hand out from under her chin, she fanned herself.
I smiled at her drama. This was my kind of camper. “The hair was in her face. He probably talks like that to every girl on the island.”
“So, you really think she’s right about wanting go to New York?” She paused and tilted her head. “I mean, we both know she’s not going for the music program, because it’s pretty obvious that working at the ceilidh and practicing with Evan is making her a better violinist, even if she doesn’t know it.” Her tongue tripped over ceilidh, pronouncing it “see-le-deh.”
“It’s kay-lee, like her name,” I pointed out. “I think she has no idea how she feels and doesn’t want to get played by anyone. Even someone who probably doesn’t realize he’s playing her,” I said softly, willing myself not to look at Dev.
“No way. Evan’s too nice to play anyone.”
“I think she should stay wherever she is and give this guy a chance,” Dev said, dropping a handful of confiscated pickle slices onto his place as he sat down again.
I looked up sharply, wondered how much he h
eard, and hoped he didn’t think I was projecting or anything. “You have no idea what we’re talking about, do you?”
“Potato farmer book?”
“Ugh.” He really had a memory like an elephant. “You should be on my side, then. You were the one who said Bollywood backup dancer beat potato farmer.” I made little air-quotes as I spoke.
Dev’s eyes met mine. “What’s this girl afraid of, anyway?”
I didn’t break his gaze. “Letting herself fall for him completely and then getting her heart and ego crushed.” That came out softer than I had planned.
He let out a frustrated sound. “So, you’d rather have her throw away any chance with this guy because of the tiniest chance she could be reading him wrong?”
“No, she—” Bethany Two tried to break in, but failed.
“If the guy was more transparent and didn’t keep leaving her wondering how he felt, she wouldn’t be in this situation at all,” I said.
Bethany Two tugged at my sleeve, but I brushed her hand away.
His mouth set in a straight line at the challenge. “Maybe she’s just too dense to see the signs he keeps throwing at her.”
“Maybe putting herself out there is too much to ask for just a few signs,” I shot back.
“I bet potato farmer guy has put himself out there a few times and this girl just blew him off like this hot-and-cold bookworm ice princess.”
“She’s a violinist, not a bookworm, and—”
“Guys? Guys!” Bethany Two’s raised voice made us both turn our heads to face her, and that’s when I realized that Dev and I were standing and practically nose-to-nose over the table. “It’s just a book, you know.”
Holy heavens above, half of the mess hall was watching us. Waves of embarrassment washed over me. “It’s never just a book,” I said under my breath as I sat down again.
“And, anyway, you’re both getting the plot wrong. Evan and Kaylie aren’t like that.”
I surreptitiously looked up at Dev, who was busy twisting and untwisting his napkin. His lips relaxed from that straight line as he checked his watch. “Okay, guys, five minutes ‘til the end of lunch. Anyone in the mood to rile up the other teams?”
Our entire table let off a chorus of “yeah”s and yeses except for Bethany Two and some of the other girls from my cabin, who were all watching me with matching smirks. The team cheer was some silly thing Dev had created that the kids loved to yell randomly throughout the day. Other teams tried to match it, resulting in a lot of off-key chanting through all of the activities. Usually, he used it to break up any arguments that might happen between the campers, but this time, he seemed to want to break the intense tension between us that hung in the air like the energy of a pending thunderstorm.
“Awesome. Let’s make this loud and proud. Ready?”
Cups and trays rattled as the campers started stomping their feet under the table. “Team eight, team eight, team eight is really great. We’re great in the morning, we’re great at night, we’re better than dynamite!” Thank God most of them were still too innocent to get any possible innuendo from that.
I cringed as the chant set off similar ones throughout the mess hall until I could barely think through all the noise. One-and-a-half more days. And then I could hide from him again.
The Hidden House series book 1: Hidden PG 86
I clutch at the bundle of lace and flowers in my hand as I make my way up to my room. If Cyril’s not going to talk to me in modern terms, I’m going to talk his language21. Mirror or not, this thing has dragged on way too long. My hands shake a little too much and some of the hydrangea petals flutter down to the carpet.
I push into my room and hold the little bouquet behind my back with one hand while smoothing the skirt of my dress with the other. “Cyril?”
No matter how many times I see him, my heart still does a little flip when he walks into the mirror frame on his side. His eyes grow wide when he sees me, and I grow warm as he looks me up and down in a way that he never does when I’m wearing my normal clothes. “You are dressed very—”
“—old fashioned,” I finish for him, resisting the urge to tug at my blouse’s high neck or untie the bow at my collar. My black skirt is still short, but from midthigh up, I can probably pass for a girl from his time. I don’t know how girls back then kept from overheating, especially when dressed like this around guys like him.
He smiles and nods. “Perhaps. But in my time, you’d never have an empty dance card.”
The smile comes naturally to my face and, like that, my nerves disappear. “Would you be one of the names22?” I ask in my flirtiest—but Victorianish—voice.
“Marissa.” His tone is guarded and, from the look on his face, I know he’s going to jump into his “we can’t talk about feelings and stuff ” speech.
Before he can, I pull the bouquet out from behind my back and hold it up so he can see all the flowers in it, hours of research on the internet and hours more of babysitting money spent at the florist all rolled into a bundle a little bigger than my fist. “I made something for you.” A yellow tulip, red rose, and some lilac are clumped in the center of the bouquet, with hydrangeas circling them. I hope the whole thing says “I’m hopelessly in love with you and I won’t give up” and not “did anyone die of consumption today23?”
He freezes on his side of the mirror and I can assume from his expression that I got it right. “You made that?”
I capture his gaze and nod. “It’s called a tussie-mussie, right? It took me a little bit to research the right flowers to say what I wanted to. I know I can’t really give it to you, but I can put it right in front of the mirror for you if you want.” My smile falters and I lean forward to tie the bouquet to the mirror frame, my face inches from the silvered surface. “I need you to know how I feel,” I whisper.
49
“Sometimes, fear like this can be a gift. It means you’re growing beyond any artificial boundaries you thought you had.”Daymeon, Starbound
I pressed the pulp into the screen, looking up to check that all of the other campers at my table were doing the same. Most of them watched my movements and tried to imitate the way I dipped my screen and wiggled it in the water to catch the pulp. It wasn’t like I knew anything more about papermaking than they did, but I picked it up like it was second nature. My pulp sheets were thin, rectangular, and sort of uniform as I flipped them out onto the felt to dry, unlike the campers’ and Dev’s clumpy blobs. After the mud thing, a little part of me thrilled at being better than him at something other than archery.
Working the afternoon shift at the rope bridge had been the most uncomfortable five hours of my life. Dev and I didn’t talk to each other the whole time beyond what was absolutely necessary, but he was still his awesome, joking self to the kids. Dinner was impossible—we sat on opposite ends of the table. The dark cloud from our sort of-fight still hung heavy in the air, and even the kids seemed to sense it. Even now, the tension between us was like a too-taut rope. Pairing us up had been the worst idea Em ever had.
I looked up to find Dev studying me from across the room like he was trying to figure something out. For a second, our eyes met and I froze. It was only a heartbeat before he dropped his gaze back to the mound of paper clumping on his screen. Confusion tangled with an intense need to just throw myself at him and I fumbled, dropping my screen into the pan of pulpy water.
I steadied my fingers and dug the screen out of the pan. Forcing myself to sound light, I demonstrated—again — how to dip and float just enough pulp on the surface of the screen to make a perfect sheet.
“And then you just wiggle it really carefully to distribute the pulp, just like the teacher showed us. See?” I set my screen down to drain and stood back to watch everyone else try.
Dev’s eyes met mine again and this time I was the one who turned away, acting like I had been focusing on the boy next to him.
“Make sure you hold that screen parallel, Lee.” But I felt my ears getting warm
.
I gently rolled the surface of my paper, flipped it out, and mechanically went back into the pulp. The watery sludge swirled around my fingers and I pretended to be deep in my work. At the rate I was going, I’d have enough pages for a high fantasy novel.
Why was he always staring at me in that weird, but toecurling way? Something rose to the surface of my thoughts, like the lighter pieces of pulp, and I didn’t push it away.
Maybe those looks of his were like when Aedan was always watching Maeve, while he was trying to figure out if they could actually be together. Maybe he really was about to kiss me at the bridge, and I’d never know. Maybe I really was pushing him away without knowing it, like Maeve pushed away Aedan or Kaylie avoided Evan.
“I’m not an ice princess,” I said to myself, earning a weird look from the boy at my elbow.
What if Dev’s comments at lunch were him projecting, too?
I had a crazy, scary, maybe-awesome-maybe-awful idea. Was I really strong enough, like Maeve, to put everything on the line?
The friction between us was still thick through orienteering the next morning. Dev didn’t joke around like he usually did and we seemed to move in concentric circles around each other—passing but insanely careful not to touch. Afterwards, as I was packing up all of the compasses and maps, I took a deep breath and tried to sound light as I kept my back to him and said,
“I just need to weed through all of the bows and arrows for this afternoon, replace a few strings, put aside anything that’s too beaten up to use. You can handle lunch, right?”
“You’re not going to eat?” he asked as he reached around me for the small rake he used to cover up all of the fire pits.
“Not hungry. I had a big breakfast.” I turned to face him, but his back was to me. “So, can you? The equipment is really in too bad a shape to get through one more lesson and I don’t want anyone getting hurt.” I crossed my fingers and hoped he wouldn’t argue.
Bookishly Ever After Page 25