Just a Boy and a Girl in a Little Canoe

by Sarah Mlynowski

  The door opens and Gavin steps inside. He’s off the phone.

  I jump off the couch.

  “Omigod,” I say. “You are not going to believe this.”

  “What?” he asks, not looking me in the eye.

  “You are really not going to believe this. Let’s go outside.”

  We step outside the office and close the door.

  He forces a smile. “Is it that Kat is in Monte Carlo with your boyfriend right now?”

  “Omigod, yes! I mean . . . what are the freakin’ chances?”

  “How did that happen?” he asks.

  “It seems like Eli met some Americans in Switzerland, and one of them is some girl named Sydney—”

  “Kat’s best friend. She goes to our school.”

  “Right. So Sydney went to the South of France with Eli and his cousin and they must have invited Kat . . . I don’t know. Small world?”

  “You could say that.” He looks a bit shell-shocked.

  I feel a bit shell-shocked.

  “Should we . . . walk back?” I ask.

  “Okay,” he says.

  He puts his sunglasses back on. We walk in silence for a few minutes.

  “Maybe they’ll fall in love,” I say.

  He turns to me. “Who?”

  “Eli and Kat!” I laugh.

  If he cheats on me, then I don’t have to feel bad about any of this. Then I was justified. Am justified. If he’s cheating on me, then I’m doing nothing wrong,

  “That is not going to happen,” Gavin snaps, and I see his neck muscles tense.

  “Okay, so they probably won’t fall in love,” I say quickly. “But they could hook up. It’s not impossible. They’re all together, in a glamorous place, a million miles away from us. It’s easy to get caught up in the moment.”

  Very easy.

  I should know. So should Gavin.

  He shakes his head.

  “I’m kind of joking,” I say, “but wouldn’t that make everything easier? If they hook up, then we’re all even. We get to not feel guilty about this. Don’t you want to not feel guilty about this?”

  “I don’t feel that guilty,” he says.

  “You don’t?”

  He stops and turns to me, but I can’t see his eyes. “I don’t. I don’t know why. I know I should. But I don’t.”

  I’m not sure what he means. That he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with cheating? That he doesn’t care if Kat finds out? That he doesn’t care if he loses her? That he really cares about me?

  I don’t ask him to explain. I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

  “Laundry’s back!” I call out later that night. “Let’s go, everyone, let’s go! And then put your stuff away and get into bed!” I’m on OD tonight and Gavin is coming over any minute. Lis and Talia are both on their day off and Janelle is . . . I don’t know. But she put on a tube top and took off for the night.

  Once a week we leave all our laundry on the porch in our individual laundry bags, and a van comes back with all of our clothes mixed together. It’s our job to sort them.

  I empty all the clothes onto Prague’s bed, very carefully. The clothes come back folded, but you have to find the name tags to see who the piece of clothing belongs to.

  I call out the kids’ names, and they run up to get their stuff.

  “Yes!” Lily says. “Clean undies! Finally!”

  I agree. I am running low on all my cute ones. All I have left are my period ones, and I don’t want Gavin seeing those.

  “Who’s Emma Carleton?” I ask. “Oh! Slugger! I forgot you had a real name.” I throw her a pair of sweatpants.

  “Emma F.!” I call out, and toss her a yellow T-shirt.

  “Um . . .” She holds it up against her body. It is half her size.

  “Did you grow or did it shrink?” I ask.

  “I think it shrank,” she says. “By, like, a lot.”

  “It’s not the world’s best laundromat,” I say.

  “Oh! I know!” Em says. She takes out her stuffed lion and dresses her in the now itty-bitty shirt. “Pajamas for Ms. Lion!”

  When we’re done, I usher them into bed and then change into a clean thong and my cutest leggings and tank top. Not that they’ll stay on for long.

  The girls are asleep. Gavin is in my bed. All our clothes are off with the exception of my clean thong and his boxers.

  He somehow elbows the shelf I share with Janelle and it crashes to the ground. All of our stuff is on the floor. Tissues. Tampons. Janelle’s purple hairbrush. A box of condoms.

  “Oooooh, condoms,” Gavin says, picking up the box.

  “They’re not mine,” I say quickly. I push the shelf back up and start rearranging the stuff that fell off.

  “I figured,” he says. “Since we haven’t had sex. Janelle’s, I guess?”

  “I assume so,” I say.

  “The box is opened,” he says, giving it a little shake.

  “I’m guessing she’s used some of them, then.”

  “Good for her,” he says. He pauses. “Do you think she’d mind if we used one?”

  “We are not using her condoms,” I say. “That’s our rule. Our only rule. No sex. Sex is too far.”

  He returns the box of condoms behind the tissue box, and climbs back into bed beside me. He puts his head on my pillow and looks into my eyes. “That’s not our only rule.”

  “It’s not?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. He kisses me lightly on the lips and then pulls back, our eyes locked. “No falling in love. That would really be going too far.”

  There are butterflies in my stomach. “No falling in love,” I repeat softly. “Got it.” I want to add, And no tensing your damn neck if I mention the possibility of Kat falling in love either.

  There’s a knock on the doorframe.

  “Crap,” I whisper. They were all asleep twenty minutes ago. “One sec! Hide,” I tell Gavin. I pull my T-shirt over my head and step out of the counselors’ room.

  It’s Fancy.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. Please let her not have gotten a peek of the mostly naked guy in my bed.

  “I don’t . . . I think . . .” She vomits all over the floor. And me. And the door sheet. Then she starts to cry.

  “Oh, sweetie,” I say. I grab the garbage pail and pull it over to her. “More?”

  She nods. And vomits more in the pail. And more. I see the burgers we had for dinner as well as this evening’s milk and chocolate chip cookies.

  I rub her tiny back as she sobs and pukes, sobs and pukes.

  I hear the window opening in my counselors’ room. What is he doing? Is he sneaking out? I guess that’s smart?

  “What’s going on?” Slugger says, stepping into the hallway. “Oh, gross.”

  A second later there’s a knock at the front door to the cabin. “Hello?” Gavin says. “Everything okay in there?”

  He is totally dressed and standing at the front door. Aw. Cuteness. He wants to help.

  “Hey,” I say, opening the door. “I have a sick kid.”

  “Oh no,” he says. “Sam, should I get the doctor?”

  “I need to take her to the infirmary,” I say.

  “I can stay with the kids,” he says. “Until you get back.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Slugger, get back into bed. Gavin will stay on the porch until I get back, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says. “Is Fancy going to be okay?”

  “She’s going to be fine,” I say as she heaves again into the garbage pail. “Just go to bed, please.”

  I take Fancy’s hand and lead her carefully to the infirmary, which luckily is not that far from our bunk.

  I ring the doorbell, and Dr. Harris answers in sweatpants, a T-shirt, and glasses. I hear a Law & Order episode in the background.

  “What do we have here?” she asks, bending down to Fancy’s level.

  “A very sick kid,” I say.

  The doctor puts her hand on her forehead. “A fever too
. You don’t feel too good, do you?”

  Fancy shakes her head.

  “You want to bunk with me tonight?” the doctor asks.

  Fancy’s head shakes even harder. “Not alone! Can Sam stay with me?”

  “I . . .”

  “You don’t have to,” Dr. Harris says. “But we do have an extra cot.”

  “Tell you what,” I say. “I have to clean up the bunk and then as soon as one of the other counselors gets back, I’ll come stay with you. How’s that?”

  She nods. “Thank you.”

  “Let’s get you some medicine,” the doctor says, taking her hand.

  I get back to the bunk at around midnight. Gavin is sitting on the porch reading my copy of The Interestings.

  “I borrowed a book,” he says.

  “No problem,” I say, surprised. I didn’t take him for a reader. “I finished it already. You can have it. Did any of the kids wake up?”

  “Nope,” he says.

  “Did anyone see you here?” I ask.

  “No one even walked by,” he says.

  “Good,” I say. “Less explaining.”

  “We’re allowed to be friends,” he says. “There’s no rule against that.”

  “I know,” I say. “And now I have to clean up the vomit.”

  “I did it already,” he says.

  “You did?” I open the door. The vomit on the floor is gone. “You did! You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I was here anyway. I used the paper towels in the bathroom. I wasn’t sure what to do with the door sheet, though. Laundry or toss?”

  “Laundry,” I say. “It’s not our bunk’s turn, but I’ll run it over as an emergency. And I’ll wash the garbage out tomorrow too. And I’ll go shower as soon as one of my co’s gets home. I’m sure I smell fantastic.”

  “Smell? I don’t smell anything,” he says, smiling.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “No, it’s true!”

  I laugh. “Thank you. And sorry our night was interrupted.”

  He shrugs. “It happens. And there’s always tomorrow. I think I have OD. You can come visit me.”

  Since no one is around, I lean over and kiss him lightly on the lips. “Perfect.”

  I take down the sheet, and throw it and my clothes in my laundry bag. I’ll stop by the laundry and see if they can sneak my stuff in, or if they mind if I do it myself. I’m waiting in my bathrobe when Lis, Talia, and Janelle get back.

  “What the heck happened here?” Lis asks.

  “It smells like dead fish!” says Janelle.

  “Vomit,” I tell them. “A whole lot of vomit.”

  Talia shivers. “Gross, gross, gross, gross. We have to sterilize everything.” She takes hand sanitizer out of her purse and squeezes some onto her hand. She hasn’t even touched anything yet.

  “Was it one of mine?” Janelle asks.

  “One of ours ate three burgers at dinner,” Lis says. “It was for sure her.”

  “No,” I say. “It was Fancy. And she was so sad looking. Poor baby.”

  “Are you going to tell your BFF?” Talia asks.

  “Huh?”

  “Her mom!” Talia says. “Your texting buddy.”

  “Oh God, no,” I say. “Do I have to?”

  “Not yet,” Lis says.

  “I’m going to shower,” I say, “but then I promised Fancy I’d sleep in the infirmary with her.”

  “That’s the worst!” Lis says. “Why would you do that? Is there air-conditioning in there?”

  “No. But she was crying! She asked!”

  “You’re too nice,” Talia says.

  “Maybe,” I say as I leave them to shower. But I don’t think so.

  I spend the next day with the bunk, but visit Fancy during Rest Hour and Free Play. She gets to watch movies, so she’s not too bored. She sleeps most of the time. I decide to text her mom and just accept that I’ll be deluged with replies. The infirmary has Wi-Fi.

  I’m not wrong. Her mom sends about seven hundred texts.

  Fancy’s Annoying Mom: What color was her vomit?

  Fancy’s Annoying Mom: Chunky or clear?

  Fancy’s Annoying Mom: Do you think she has a peanut allergy?

  Fancy’s Annoying Mom: Can I FaceTime her?

  Fancy’s Annoying Mom: Please? Just for five minutes.

  Fancy’s Annoying Mom: One minute.

  Fancy’s Annoying Mom: Thirty seconds.

  Fancy’s Annoying Mom: Please please please I’m losing it.

  Clearly. Finally we let her talk to Fancy, which makes her mom, if not Fancy, feel better.

  “I’m fine!” Fancy tells her. “Sam and the doctor are taking care of me. Calm down! I’ll see you in two days!”

  Saturday is Visiting Day. I am kind of excited to meet Fancy’s mom in person.

  I text Eli a few times, but I don’t have a chance to call him. Which is kind of a relief.

  I tell him I don’t have Wi-Fi in the infirmary. So now I’m officially a cheater and a liar.

  The rest of the bunk makes Fancy a get better soon card in art.

  When I’m not with Fancy and the bunk, I’m finding time to secretly make out with Gavin. In his counselors’ room. Behind our bunk. In our bunk when no one’s in it.

  “You know I’m gonna get sick and then you’ll get sick too,” I say.

  “I know,” he says. “Totally worth it.”

  I get a killer headache on Friday afternoon.

  Gavin brings me chicken soup. Talia’s hand sanitizing goes into overdrive.

  “Where did you get this?” I ask, impressed by his sweetness.

  “I called in some favors,” he says.

  He sits on the end of my bed and plays with my hair when no one’s looking.

  Saturday is wild.

  The kids are off the wall with excitement.

  Partly to see their parents, but mostly because visiting parents means more candy.

  “I asked for licorice!”

  “I’m going to eat a million brownies,” says Fancy, who has her appetite back.

  “My parents are divorced, so I’m getting twice as much!”

  “Tonight’s going to be bonkers,” Talia tells me.

  “I’m excited for the brownies,” I say.

  “I’m excited for the tips,” Talia says.

  During the last staff meeting, they told us that we are allowed to take tips. But you have to turn them down at least once. They acted out the process for us.

  “Thank you so much for taking such good care of my kid!” Priya said, and tried to hand Botts something.

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Botts said.

  “But I insist! You’ve earned it!”

  “Well, okay, thank you!”

  The morning is all about cleanup. There’s a paper chase through the camp, where all the kids run around and try to pick up as much garbage as possible. Whoever collects the most bags of garbage gets a sundae party later this week.

  Then we all clean up our bunks and porches.

  Everyone has showers the morning of Visiting Day. We take the girls up right before lunch. Juniors have the last slot.

  “Okay, no joke, girls, everyone has to wash their hair today!” I yell.

  “I don’t want to!” screams Fancy. Now that she’s well again, her spunkiness has returned.

  “No choice!” Talia says. “Today is a must-wash day!”

  “Am I done?” Slugger pops her head out of the shower.

  I glance at her hair, which is both soapy and slick with conditioner. “No,” I say. “Another rinse. Next!”

  I knock on the next stall. “Who’s in this one?”

  “I am!” I hear. It’s Prague. “Not done yet!”

  “Lily, where are you?” I ask.

  “In here!” she says from the last shower.

  “Did you take out your braid this time?”

  “Um . . . no!”

  I roll my eyes. “Take out your braid!”

  “Okay!”
>
  “Before you wash it!”

  “Oops!”

  Now Talia rolls her eyes. “They’re seriously helpless. Don’t their parents teach them anything?”

  “Everyone remember to look for ticks!” I yell out. “On your feet and armpits! I’ll look behind your ears! I do not want your parents finding ticks on you!”

  “Now am I done?” Slugger asks again, sticking her head out. She has a little conditioner on her ear, but that’s it. “Good enough,” I tell her.

  I double-check on Shira. Last week, I noticed that her shampoo had never been opened.

  When they are all done, we march them back to the bunk and get them dressed in their camp T-shirt and shorts. We brush all their hair. We check behind their ears for ticks.

  “They better not give us spaghetti for lunch,” I say.

  “Maybe we should have them wear other T-shirts and then change them?” Talia asks.

  “We just refolded all the clothes in their cubbies.”

  “I know, but it’s so risky.”

  “Okay, girls, take off your camp shirt, put it on your bed, and put whatever shirt is at the very top of your T-shirts on. Whatever that is. I do not care if it doesn’t match. Do it very, very carefully!”

  We are glad we did, because they manage to get cream cheese and bagel all over themselves. Smears of cream cheese. Everywhere.

  “Why are children so filthy?” Talia asks, and pulls out the hand sanitizer.

  At 2:00, the kids are standing on the porch. At this very moment, all the parents have arrived, driven onto Upper Field, and are waiting for Eric to announce the beginning of Visiting Day. All the kids are on their porches, ready to run.

  “And Visiting Day starts . . . in . . . three . . . two . . . one! Happy Visiting Day!” There’s a loud horn sound.

  The kids shriek and take off.

  Shira slips and falls right on her face.

  “Kid down,” Talia says. “Kid down!”

  I hurry beside her. “Are you okay?”

  Tears stream down her face.

  I pick her up. Her shirt is dirty and her knees are skinned. Crap. I take her back into the bunk, clean her up. I put her in a plain white shirt instead of the camp shirt.

  She takes off again. “Don’t run!” I yell.

  She slows down but then runs again.

  “If she goes down another time, we’re out of shirts,” I say.

  Talia sighs. “There goes our tip.”

  As instructed, we stay in the bunk to greet the families. Kids want to show their parents where they sleep, and they are adorably excited for their parents to meet us.