by Una LaMarche
“If you stay, I’m staying,” Skylar said, retying the knot on her own matching anklet. She’d made them for the whole group, one in what seemed like a never-ending series of craft projects. Leaf rubbings, nature paintings, picture frames made out of sticks and beads—Skylar’s bunk had been so cluttered with knickknacks that she’d had to give some of them away to the counselors to make room for more.
Emma wished that she had more tangible objects to take home from camp. Aside from the anklet and a very lumpy mug she’d made for her mother in the pottery studio, all her memories were in her head. Her “roses,” as Adri and Tara would say. It was a Camp Nedoba tradition that every night before they went to bed, the girls went around the cabin telling the best part of their day (the “rose”) and the worst (the “thorn”), and then the counselors would sing them to sleep. Jo’s dad thought the ritual was a good way to keep things in perspective, celebrating the good moments and letting go of the bad ones.
“Awesome,” Emma said, trying to focus on the fantasy of staying at camp, and not on the fact that at any minute, Tara would be rounding them up to leave each other for a whole year. “We can go swim in the lake every day.”
“And drink bug juice at every meal!” Skylar laughed.
“I can learn to play the trumpet!” Maddie offered. She adopted a thick Southern drawl. “I’ll only charge y’all a dollar a show. More if I tap dance.”
“You’d never survive the winter,” Jo yawned. “The barn has no heat. The lake will give you hypothermia. And if the kitchen’s closed, who would make the bug juice? Or the waffles? You’d starve.” She rolled over lazily and put her head in Emma’s lap, and Emma marveled that just four weeks earlier, they’d all been strangers. She hadn’t known that Skylar only used conditioner, never shampoo, because of a regimen her mother had picked up in France, or that Maddie could deal a deck of cards with one hand just by flicking them off with her index finger, or that Jo liked to sneak spoonfuls of coffee and sugar into her milk carton in the cafeteria when the counselors weren’t watching.
“It was a joke,” Emma groaned, tugging playfully on Jo’s ponytail. “Obviously we can’t stay. I just . . . really want to.”
“Me too,” Maddie said quietly, in her normal voice. “I had the best summer of my whole life.”
“You’ll be back next year,” Jo said. “It’s not the end of our lives.”
Maddie tied off Emma’s braid with an elastic. “Still,” she said. “It’s a long time. Send me that picture. I don’t want to forget what you look like.”
“Send it to all of us,” Skylar said. “We should make an e-mail list.”
“Phone, too!” Emma added. She rooted around in her backpack and pulled out a notebook.
“E-mail me before you call,” Maddie said after she hesitantly recited her number for Emma. “My house can be . . . chaotic.”
Emma looked down at the short list of letters and numbers, which only took up four lines, not counting the heading she had added in bold capitals:
JO
EMMA
MADDIE
SKYLAR
Still, it didn’t feel like enough.
Emma would have given anything to do a Freaky Friday body swap with Jo and spend the next four weeks being awesome at diving and eating Belgian waffles topped with M&Ms instead of sweating in front of a fan in the Medford library reading the autobiography of Frederick Douglass for extra credit, or helping her dad build a bocce court for the senior citizens’ center. Even just sitting around watching TV for the rest of the summer like a normal kid suddenly seemed hopelessly boring, and going outside would be pointless, since there was no lake or barn or arts and crafts cabin filled with spools of every color of lanyard.
It wasn’t that Emma didn’t have friends—she even had a best friend, Anna, who had nothing to do but hang out since she’d broken her leg in the spring. But suddenly, compared to Skylar, Anna seemed kind of (Emma hated to think it, but it was true) boring. She didn’t know how she would make it through the school year.
“I have an idea!” Emma said. “Before we leave, let’s make a pact that we’ll always be friends.”
“Pinky swear?” Jo asked, extending a finger.
“No, something more . . . official,” Emma said.
“Blood sisters?” Maddie asked excitedly.
“No,” Tara intoned from the door. “And whatever you’re writing, make it quick.”
“There’s this thing called an exquisite corpse,” Skylar said.
“Like a dead person?!” Jo asked.
“No, well, not really. It’s a drawing thing. One person draws something and then folds over the paper, hiding everything but the very edge, so the next person continues the drawing without seeing what the first person drew—and then you keep going until you have a full page.” She tucked a stringy piece of hair behind her ear and smiled self-consciously. “It’s pretty cool.”
Jo looked confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I get it,” Emma said. “We all write part of the pact but we don’t read what anyone else writes. Right?”
“Exactly!” Skylar grinned.
“Top secret,” Maddie said. “I like it.”
Emma tore a new page out of her notebook and selected a pink rollerball pen.
FRIENDSHIP PACT, she wrote in flowery script. Below that, she recorded the date and time. She folded over the top and thought for a minute before writing her rule. Then she folded the paper again and passed it to Skylar, who chewed on the pen cap and then started to write, her sharp, skinny elbow bouncing wildly. Jo chuckled to herself while writing hers—she probably didn’t take it that seriously, Emma thought. But Maddie clearly had her rule already in mind, because she put pen to paper with no hesitation. When she handed the pact back to Emma, it was a thick rectangle. Skylar made the executive decision to decorate it with red foil stars, so that it would stand out from the dozens of other crumpled notes that filled Emma’s backpack.
“Now what?” Emma asked. “Do we read them?”
“No,” Skylar said. “Let’s wait until next summer. It can be like a time capsule!”
In the doorway, Gus cleared his throat. “You ladies are gonna be a living time capsule if you don’t get your butts moving,” he said, hoisting Emma’s trunk onto his shoulders. “Don’t think I won’t leave you here.”
Jo rolled her eyes, but they all got up and started moving toward the door.
Emma looked down at the folded piece of notebook paper. It would get crushed in her backpack, but she had no other place to put it.
“Hey, want me to keep it here?” Jo asked, holding out her hand. “That way it never leaves camp.” Emma smiled gratefully and passed it to Jo as she followed Skylar down the steps and out the door. Jo shrugged like it was no big deal, but to Emma, it was.
This way, in a small way, a part of her would always be at camp.
This way, a piece of all of them would never leave.
Emma
Reunion: Day 3
“CAREFUL, DON’T SET IT ON FIRE!” JO SAID. EMMA looked up at the others, standing over her in the darkness. The flame of the match in her hand was licking at the edge of the paper lunch bag between her feet, but she knew what she was doing. Emma carefully lowered her hand down and angled the match toward the tiny wick of the votive candle. “Come on . . .” she whispered. Finally, it lit, and she pulled her fingers out, shaking the match before it burned her. The bag glowed amber in the darkness, illuminating Skylar’s, Jo’s, and Maddie’s faces against the purple sunset. Behind them, through the trees, Emma could hear laughter and shouting wafting up from the fire pit. But after the day they’d had, none of them had felt like going to a big party. They just wanted to be together on their last night, and unlike their last last night, this time they wouldn’t leave each other’s sides.
It had been Sk
ylar’s idea to make the floating luminaries, and in just an hour in the arts and crafts barn, she’d whipped up four little rafts made of twigs bound by hemp cord. She’d even made four little masts with four construction paper sails, on which she’d painted each of their names. They were so beautiful, Emma almost didn’t want to send them out on the water. Luckily, she had motivation.
“We don’t have all night,” Jo said, looking back at the trees. “It’s only a matter of time before people start wandering out here to pee.”
“And here I didn’t think anything could make this moment more special,” Maddie said.
Emma lit another match and reached for the second bag. “I’m going as fast as I can,” she promised.
Jo sat down next to Skylar and dug her toes into the sand. She was back in her Camp Nedoba T-shirt and cargo shorts, but she’d looked different ever since she’d come back from talking to Nate. It looked like someone had lit a votive inside her, too.
“I can’t believe the kids are coming back tomorrow,” Jo murmured.
“I know,” Skylar said miserably. “I need like twenty-four hours of sleep.”
“We’ll make it an early night,” Emma said as she lit the final candle. “Unless you guys want to rage.”
“No thank you,” Skylar groaned. Jo clapped her on the back.
“Turning over a new leaf, are we?”
“Yeah,” Skylar said, smiling. “I think I’m gonna take it easy for a while. Read some books. Write some terrible poetry. Maybe do some SAT prep.”
Emma shuddered. “You can have all of my books,” she said. She stepped back and admired the rafts, the candles flickering like trapped lightning bugs. “Okay, we’re ready to launch.”
They waded into the lake in their bare feet, holding the bags gingerly so that the flames stayed lit. When they got past the softly breaking waves, they set the rafts down on the surface and gently pushed them forward into the black water. Even though the lake had cooled to a shivering temperature, none of them made a move to go back to the shore. Instead, they clasped hands and watched in silence as the lanterns floated away.
“There we go,” Maddie whispered. The rafts bobbed in the moonlight, each to their own rhythm.
“Here we are,” Emma said, squeezing their hands. She looked up at the sky, and a tiny light flickered above them. Emma gasped. “Was that a shooting star?”
The others looked up, and for a silent minute they all waited. But then the light flashed again.
“Nah, just a plane,” Jo said.
But none of them moved. Instead, they just stood in the water gazing at the stars until it finally got too cold to stand.
By the time they got back to the farewell bonfire, the crowd had thinned considerably, owing to a game of beer pong that was taking place on the boys’ side, according to Aileen Abrams, who had filled them in when they’d crossed paths near the tree house. Sunny and her friends had been avoiding them since that morning; apparently one of Sunny’s Louis Vuitton purses had sustained water damage when the boys raided the cabin. “I could take your dad to small claims court,” she’d huffed to Jo. Once she was out of sight, they had all agreed that the only appropriate retort would be to short-sheet her bed later.
They sat down knee to knee on the seniors’ log and held their hands over the fire, which was dwindling but still warm enough to make Emma’s legs stop shaking. Jo found a few forgotten marshmallows at the bottom of a nearby milk crate, skewered them onto sticks, and passed them around. Emma held hers low over the flames, letting them lick at the bottom until it got sooty and black.
“Mind if we join you?” Emma looked up to see Nate coming through the trees. But he wasn’t alone. Adam followed behind, staring intently at the ground. It was becoming his signature stance.
Jo jumped up and gave Nate a hug.
“I missed you,” she said. Emma glanced at Maddie and raised her eyebrows. It was a new side of Jo she’d never seen. “But he’s not welcome.” She crossed her arms and glared at Adam, and Emma smiled. It looked like the old Jo was still alive and kicking.
“It’s okay with me,” Skylar said. “As long as it’s okay with Emma.”
“It’s okay with me,” Emma said, keeping her gaze on the fire. She wasn’t sure if it was, really, but she was too tired to fight anymore.
“Do I get a vote?” Maddie asked in a tone that suggested if it were up to her, Adam would get hog-tied and put on a spit.
Nate sat next to Jo, draping an arm casually around her shoulders, and Adam looked around as if trying to compute where he could sit that would keep him the farthest away from a potential slap. After hesitating for a second he settled next to Emma, leaving a few feet between them. But the wind conspired against her; she could smell his Old Spice mixing in with the smoke, and in spite of everything, it still made her heart beat faster. She inched closer to Skylar, who stared straight ahead like she had blinders on.
“Belated congratulations on your win today,” Nate said. Jo beamed and leaned into him. Nate had always known just what to say to her, Emma thought, and Jo had finally started to listen. Emma was glad someone was getting a neat, happy ending, because as she inched away from Adam on the log, she realized once and for all that it could never be them.
“I’m guessing I’m not getting that kind of reception,” Adam said, attempting a joke. Emma gave him a withering look.
“If you’re going to pretend that you don’t know why you’re not exactly the guest of honor, the exit’s that way,” she said, pointing to the path.
“Sorry.” He paused. “I know I really screwed up,” he said softly. Emma didn’t respond. She’d been giving Adam a lot of thought that afternoon, and she still wasn’t sure how to word what she wanted to say.
Her instinct was to hurt him the way he had hurt her, to reject him the way she felt rejected. But she’d already engaged in petty warfare at breakfast and during capture the flag, and now, maybe thanks to the chilly evening breezes, she had cooled off considerably. Adam wasn’t evil, he was just confused. And so was she.
Because the more thought about it, the less she felt like she really wanted Adam. What she had wanted was the second chance, the possibility of changing course. She’d been holding on to the idea of Adam for so long that he’d become the focus of a need that had nothing to do with him. After all, she’d gotten her second chance. She’d gotten her best friends back. And the course correction she’d needed wasn’t to fix the past, it was to face the future, and to have the courage to make choices that would make her happy. Emma didn’t need a MASH game or a paper fortune teller to let her know Adam wasn’t one of those choices.
“It’s for the best,” she said finally. “I think what I was trying to do this weekend was kiss you on the rock three years ago.”
“What?” He looked confused.
“I like you,” she said. “And I want to be your friend, if we can do that. But I think the idea of us together is better than the reality, you know?”
Adam got quiet. “Do you regret yesterday?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I needed that.” Plus, he had been a great kisser. But the less she dwelled on it, the better.
“I’m sorry I freaked out afterwards,” he said. “I just felt like I didn’t deserve you, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I’ve never felt that way before.” Emma felt Skylar’s leg tense against hers, and she pushed Adam down the log a few feet and scooted over.
“Anyway, I think you’re right,” he went on. “The idea of you was kind of overwhelming. Like, I had you on a pedestal for so long, actually being with you was way too much pressure.”
“You had me on a pedestal?” she asked. Her marshmallow, now blackened, fell into the coals.
“Don’t look so shocked. You’re pretty awesome.”
“You too. When you’re not being a jerk.” She smiled at him and he shook his head
.
“See, I told you, Emma. You get me.”
“Sometimes I think so,” she said. She fought one last, powerful urge to kiss him—just on the cheek, but still, she reasoned, unwise—and then shifted back over to Skylar. They watched Adam get up to leave, his face falling into shadow as he turned away from the fire.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked.
“No,” Skylar said, leaning her head on Emma’s shoulder. “Not yet. But I’ll live.”
Nate got up to follow Adam, after giving Jo a kiss and one last proposition.
“Hacky sack tomorrow?” he asked. “Before the munchkins attack?”
Jo smiled. “You got it,” she said. Once he was gone, she patted the log next to her and Maddie leapt over, wrapping her in a hug.
Skylar stared out into the fire. “He’s not the one, huh?” she said, exhaling heavily.
Emma shook her head. “Nope.”
“He is for someone,” Maddie said. “In thirty years when Adam reaches maturity, I’m sure he’ll make some poor woman very happy.”
Emma knew Maddie was right. Adam Loring had been her first crush, but he wouldn’t be her last. And while she would always remember with a bittersweet ache of nostalgia how it felt to love him from afar, she’d grown out of him since camp, just like the old watermelon backpack, or her stuffed animals (well, except for Harold; she still slept with him sometimes). Luckily, not everything felt too small, like the low-ceilinged cabins or the tiny paper cups that only held three sips of water. The people who really mattered had grown up with her.
She listened to Skylar’s even breath, and the crackling logs, and the reedy song of the crickets beyond in the grass. This is my rose, she thought. This moment. Her heart hurt, but in a good way, the way a muscle hurt when it had been pushed to its limits and had to tear to strengthen. The night air was cool on her face and the fire was warm on her legs. She was with the people who knew her best in the world, and she knew herself better, too—better than she had when she’d turned off the highway just two days earlier, at the old oak with the blue flag tangled in its branches. Emma felt a sudden urge to say something meaningful to her friends, something that would tell them how special and irreplaceable they were, and how lucky she was to have them in her life, even if only for a few days a year. She wanted to tell them how she would always be there for them, and how she would never, ever again throw them over for a guy, no matter how hard she fell.