by B. R. Myers
“I’m worried about Mom,” I confessed.
“Of course,” Grandma said. “But your mom needs this time too. Her grief is different from yours. She needs to go through all of his things, get rid of his clothes, organize papers—”
“But I can help her do that!”
“No, Legs, she needs to grieve without you watching or listening.” She let me sort out what she had said. And the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Didn’t I do all my real gut-wrenching crying when I was alone?
“She needs to cry, without being worried I’ll hear her,” I finally said. I hadn’t been the only one in the house pretending all these months. I drew up my knees, hugging them under the bedspread.
Grandma looked at my door as if she expected Mom to walk in on us. “Can I give you some advice?”
My eyes flicked between the door and Grandma. “You’ve never asked before.”
Then she leaned closer and made her voice soft. “Kiss as many boys as you can.”
“Is this the same advice you gave to Mom when she was my age?”
“Of course not, you’re completely different girls.” She paused, and then brushed a stray hair away from my face. “Therefore, you get different advice.”
“Anything else I should know?”
She pursed her lips and looked to the side. “If you’re ever in a sticky situation, especially with a boy—”
“This sounds kinky.”
“—and you need a quick getaway, there are two courses of action that never fail.”
“Mace and kicking?”
“No,” she waved her hand. “Crying and talking about tampons.”
“Grandma,” I moaned. “I think you just set feminism back by thirty years.”
“It always worked for me.”
“So…kiss lots of boys. That’s your advice?”
She laughed. “Because someday you’ll be an old fool like me, and no one will want to kiss you.”
I circled her tiny frame with my arms, inhaling her familiar scent of lavender skin cream. She leaned back and patted my cheek. “Legs,” she said, “take this summer for you. Go skinny dipping, curse out loud in a quiet room, eat French fries and ice cream for breakfast…”
“That’s more your style than mine.”
“Doing things outside of your comfort zone helps you grow,” she said matter-of-factly.
But I was terrified. What if I couldn’t do it? My commitment to training and running had kept me focused. Without it I was floundering and clueless, completely lost. Maybe doing something brand new wasn’t the best idea. “What if…” I started, then my voice caught in my throat.
What if I never feel like me again? What if I stay this loser forever? What if I ruin everything at camp too?
“What if this is a mistake?” I finally asked.
“That’s how you learn. I didn’t get this smart from always making the right choices. Besides,” she squeezed my hand, “the mistakes are the best stories.” She laughed and a little bit of my worry
melted away. “Now get up. Scarlett O’Hara has called twice already.”
Chloe squealed so loudly, I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “So?” she giggled. “Is the Kissing Clause a myth or did the hot lifeguard bring you back to life?”
“His name is Ben,” I reminded her. “Last year he worked as a camp counsellor, so he gave me some advice—don’t let the kids drown. Profound, huh?”
She let out a disappointed sigh. “Another one bites the dust.”
I squirmed on the spot. “It’s me that’s the problem. I feel like I’m letting everyone down.”
Chloe made a surprised sound. “The only one you’re letting down is Old Jesse.”
“Old Jesse?”
“Yeah, remember her?” she sassed. “That girl was always smiling and laughing, but she was a real bulldog on the track. She’s the one who never gives up.”
Bulldog on the track.
I never used to back down from a challenge. The dirtier, the better. But that girl left town four months ago and was never coming back. I was watching life from the sidelines now. My finish line vanished the day I threw my runners in the closet.
She was quiet, then she said, “Hey, at least tell me how the kissing was.” Her tone was so hopeful it made me smile.
I wanted to tell her that I’d felt it all the way to my toes. That kissing Ben was like tasting honey over vanilla ice cream. But I couldn’t. I pictured the tiny molecules of flavored MSG sliding off of his tongue and into my mouth. The kiss could be summed up in one word—well, actually, one flavour. “Dill pickle,” I said, dully.
After promising to email Chloe regularly, Mom, Grandma, and I piled into the van. The scenic drive through the valley was a little over two hours. There wasn’t much talking; instead we let the radio break up the silence. Soon the wooden sign announcing we had arrived at Kamp Krystal Lake came into view.
Along the winding dirt road, trees to either side gave way to expansive grounds. The area was teeming with kids. In a flash of red, one kid ran right in front of the van, then something slapped against the door.
“That little bastard threw mud at the car!” Grandma announced from the back seat. “What kind of place is this, the delinquent hall?”
My heart began to beat faster. What did I know about delinquents? The only kids I babysat were the Turner triplets, and they were angels. I gripped the edge of the seat.
“Don’t worry, Jesse,” Mom soothed. “I’m sure he’s full of nervous energy. Besides, girls are always better behaved.”
The parking lot was a sea of buses and cars. All around us kids were hugging parents goodbye while teenagers high-fived each other.
“Wow,” Grandma said. “I bet she’s pop, pop, popular!”
Standing tall among a giggling group of kids, a platinum blond ponytail armed with a clipboard showed off a brilliant smile. Everyone else was a tray of stale graham crackers, and she was the cupcake with pink fluffy frosting. She ushered the group away from the buses, clearly their newly appointed summer queen.
“Are you all right?” Mom asked, studying my face. “Have you changed your mind?”
I snuck a look at Grandma in the backseat. “No, I need this time too, Mom.”
My armpits got sticky and my fists, full of vinyl, started to cramp. I couldn’t move.
Grandma leaned forward and put her head between me and Mom. “When I was seventeen,” she began, “I spent my summer at a resort. There was one nerdy boy who was a terrible flirt. One night he asked me to help him carry some watermelons up to a private function. I expected some bridge club meeting, but it turned out to be this wild party for staff.”
Grandma sighed and her voice became dreamy. “And that’s when I saw Johnny. He was hired to teach the rich old ladies the fox trot. I fell so hard for him. He taught me about dancing, and love and well…it was a summer I’ll never forget. And all because I helped carry watermelons to a party.” She stared out the windshield, lost in her thoughts.
“Grandma! That’s Dirty Dancing!”
Mom closed her eyes then pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and finger. “I think the point Grandma is trying to make is that someday, you may have your own daughter at camp.” She paused for a moment then gave me a slight smile. “Do you want to tell her about a movie, or a real story—maybe one that might happen here, this summer?”
My mouth fell open. “Are you telling me to have sex?!”
Grandma exploded with laughter from the back seat. “Oh my god, Maria, if Stevie was still alive he’d have a heart attack all over again.”
“Mom!”
“Grandma!”
An uncomfortable silence filled the car. Slowly our sniffles punctured the quiet air.
“I’m sorry,” the three of us said together. Grandma reached f
or our hands.
“That was a good movie,” Mom finally said.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Especially the ending, when he catches her in the air.”
Mom cleared her throat. “Next year you’ll be getting ready for university, and you’ve always spent so much time training. It’s good to slow down sometimes, Jesse,” she said. “I’m worried you’re missing out on being a teenager.”
I stared down at my lap. My little summer camp experiment had become a test. A test to see if I could learn to live without running. Without Dad.
“But don’t do anything stupid,” Mom said, suddenly panicked. “Don’t lose your head in a false romance.”
“False romance?”
“Have fun, but don’t come home pregnant,” Grandma said.
“That’s it!” I screeched. “Any more talk of sex from you two, and I’ll be in the monastery for life!” I jumped out of the car and grabbed my duffel bag from the trunk.
“Nuns go to the convent,” Grandma called out.
We had discussed earlier that I would walk away on my own. No goodbyes, no tears—well, none outside the car. I shouldered my duffel bag and followed all the other kids. The Cupcake ran by me, her perfect ponytail swinging from side to side, a clipboard tucked under her arm. I reached up and tried to smooth out my own hair, still somewhat straight from Chloe’s makeover last night.
“Hey Legs!”
Grandma had taken my seat, and was leaning out of the passenger window of the light blue van as it pulled away, and I suddenly wished I was going with them. “Just remember,” she called out. “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.” Then she laughed and blew me a kiss.
THREE
“Are you new?”
I greeted the face and muscled body that went with the voice. Football star, I guessed, with a smile that a sponsor would pay millions for.
“Um, yeah,” I said, pulling the strap of my duffel bag over my shoulder.
“I’ll show you where to register.” He offered his hand. “I’m Devin.”
“Thanks. I’m Jesse.” My fingers felt small in his handshake.
He led me to a long table set up under a temporary canopy. There were a few people already in line in front of us. Kids were all over the place, randomly screaming and shouting.
A red T-shirt caught my eye. Grandma’s mud-slinging scoundrel ran from a screaming girl who’d thrown her backpack on the ground. A pile of terrified snakes zigzagged out of the backpack and across the dusty yard. I fought the urge to climb into Devin’s arms and crawl to the top of his head.
“Oh, great,” Devin said. “He’s starting early this year.”
My feet danced in place anticipating a snake spiraling up my calf. “The kid in the red T-shirt?” I asked.
“Yeah, Spencer. He’s only twelve, and already a legend. Hey, I thought you said you were new?” he smiled.
“Just good at reading kids,” I lied.
The only thing I was good at reading was the sports page. We traded the usual information while inching to the front of the line. He was a receiver on his school football team, right in the middle of five brothers, and was returning for his third summer at Krystal Lake.
“Three years,” I said. “You must like it here.”
“Sure. The lake’s always warm, the kids are mostly good, and the counsellors keep getting prettier every year.”
I smiled and looked down at my flip-flops. “I wasn’t sure what to expect,” I confessed, feeling a new kind of nervousness. “Hopefully, I’ll have a fun summer.”
“I’ll do my best to make that happen.”
Receiver? This guy was more like a quarterback. I couldn’t wait to see what the next play would be. Could it happen that fast? Was this the start of getting Old Jesse back? I stood grinning at him.
Someone cleared their throat. “Name?”
I peeled my eyes away from Devin. “Sorry?” I said.
“Name…please.” The voice sounded bored with an impatient edge.
He sat behind the table covered in paperwork, staring at a long list of names. A tanned hand pushed back a shaggy black wave of hair, and he looked up. His eyes were like the milk chocolate kisses that Grandma eats while watching the soaps in the afternoon.
He stared at me hard. It felt like he was scanning my face for intelligence. “Name?” he asked again.
“Jessica,” Devin answered for me.
“Jessica,” Mr. Chocolate Kisses repeated, looking back down. “What’s your last name, Jessica?”
I finally found my voice. “It’s Jesse,” I said.
He flipped through the pages and hit me with those eyes again. “There’s no Jessica Jesse on my list.”
“My last name is Collins,” I said.
“Jessica Collins,” he repeated. His pen went down the page, touching each name, searching for mine.
“Kirk!” The Cupcake walked up and stood beside me.
His eyes stayed on the list. “What, Lacey?” he asked.
She put one hand on her waist and stuck out the opposite hip. “Why do we keep letting that Spencer brat come back to camp, if all he’s going to do is terrorize my girls?”
“Because his dad pays lots of money.”
“I thought it was because his dad owns the camp,” Devin said.
Kirk glanced up and noticed Devin for the first time. “Thanks, dude,” he said. “See if anymore newbies need your help.”
Devin gave a quick smile and disappeared through the crowd, leaving me alone with the Ken and Barbie look-alikes.
“Hey, Lacey,” Kirk said, pointing to her clipboard. “Is there a Jessica Collins on your sheet?”
“No,” I said. “My name is just Jesse.” His gaze flicked to me for a moment, then back to Lacey.
“Hmm.” Lacey tapped a pink fingernail down the page. “Nope.”
He ran a hand through that shaggy dark hair again, and leaned back in his chair. “Well, Just Jesse,” he said. “It seems there’s a mix-up.”
Kirk was quickly becoming the last black jelly bean at the bottom of the jar. And nobody ever took the last black jelly bean.
His smug attitude was the last thing I needed. “Actually,” I said, pointing to the paper, reading upside down. “That’s my name right there. Jesse Collins, Cabin 4A.” I noticed the “A” had been scratched in. None of the other cabins had letters assigned to them. A nervous buzz began in the pit of my stomach. What the hell did the “A” stand for?
Kirk didn’t even look down at my name. “Yes, it is,” he said, “but Cabin 4A is part of the boys’ section.”
Uh-oh.
“Boys’ section?” I asked.
He took his stupid pen and tapped the paper for effect. “I guess with your name, they assumed you were a guy.”
I wanted to punch him in the milk chocolate eye. Lacey snickered behind her clipboard. My ears burned. How could this happen? My high school guidance counsellor had filled out the application forms with me. I pictured myself in her office.
“Jesse,” she smiled. “With your athletic record and experience lifeguarding at the pool last summer, you’re a shoo-in.” I remember the papers were scattered all over her desk, and when the phone rang, she spilled her coffee. She answered the call then put her hand over the receiver. “Just sign the bottom,” she whispered to me. “I’ll fill out the rest.”
Oh crap.
My stomach felt like it should be lying on the ground between my flip-flops. Grandma said mistakes make the best stories, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t be the one enjoying this particular saga. Why had I ever come here? Was it too late to change my mind? God, I’m so pathetic, I can’t even make it through the first hour!
A crowd of impatient campers was building up behind me. My knees started to shake. “Can’t you assign me to a new cabin?” I asked.
�
��It’s not that easy,” he said. “That would leave us one counsellor short. We’re overbooked as it is. Cabin 4A is usually the nurse’s office, but we had to stick the extra kids plus you in there.”
He acted like this was my fault, and that I was the one who had to find the solution. He stared back with those milk chocolate eyes, waiting for my answer. My thumbnails made indentations on my palms and my toes gripped the edge of my flip-flops.
I may have buried her under layers of guilt, but Old Jesse, the bulldog, was still there. “I’m sure the supervisor can figure something out,” I finally said.
Kirk stood up. Way up. He must have been at least six foot five. I had to tilt my head upwards to keep eye contact—something I’m not used to doing. “I’m the head counsellor,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
I took a deep breath, and it hurt.
Feet and lungs, Jesse.
I cringed as my heart pounded against my ribs. I blinked a few times trying to clear my head. What would Grandma do?
Nobody puts Baby in the corner.
I straightened my posture, trying to match his frame. “I see only one solution,” I said. “I have to take it.”
He stared back, unflinching.
Whoa, he was good.
“Is that going to be a problem?” I asked.
“You want to be in charge of four twelve-year-old boys?”
Four kids? That was nothing. I was expecting at least eight. Four is easy. Four I could handle with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. “What choice is there?”
I could see him weighing the options. Lacey flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, bored with my problem. He looked behind me, scanning the impatient kids waiting in line. He met my stare. It was some kind of Wild West showdown. Whoever blinks first loses. He blinked first.
Ha!
He put a small check by my name and had me initial as well.
Who’s the loser now, milk chocolate eyes?
“Are you ready to get started?” he asked.
I did a mock salute. “Aye, aye, master corporal commander head counsellor guy sir.” The sarcasm flowed easily. It wasn’t like crossing the finish line first, but still, I won.