We walk for a little while, and all of the noise of camp feels so far away. We can still hear it, but it’s muffled.
“One more promise. You have to make this one. Okay?” he asks me.
“Okay.”
“Promise you’re coming back next summer?” Golfy asks.
“Oh, definitely.”
There’s this thing with Golfy where it kind of feels like I’ve known him my whole life. Like maybe we were both born in the same hospital, and we don’t know it. Or our parents knew each other when they were kids. There’s this cosmic connection kind of feeling I get with him, but it feels too soon to tell him that. I know the tell a boy how we really feel thing is on this summer’s list, but I don’t think that’s the thing, or this is the time for that anyway.
“Okay, close your eyes,” he says. “Just for a second.”
My heart pounds, but I don’t know why. I trust him, and I feel totally cool in this situation, but it’s still a little strange to not know what’s about to happen. “Um, okay.”
I put my hand over my eyes, and he guides me just the tiniest bit like that.
“Okay, open them,” he says.
I look around, and I swear we haven’t walked that far but I still have no idea where we are.
We’re standing in front of a teeny-tiny waterfall that flows through a tree and down into a little babbling brook. It looks so perfect, like someone made this for a school project or something—constructed it just so and got it to look exactly the way they wanted it to.
“This is my favorite place at camp,” Golfy says. “I’ll tell you a secret if you promise not to tell anyone else?”
“We’re making a lot of promises today, did you realize that?” I giggle.
“You’re right,” he says. “So does that mean you’re promising? Again?”
I crack up. “Yeah.”
“Sometimes I come here in the afternoon when we have free time, and I just, like, sit here and stare at the waterfall.” He pauses and looks me right in my eyes, and all of a sudden there’s a shiver down my back. A good shiver. “Like for a long time. Is that so weird?”
It’s not really all that weird, just a little unusual because I’ve never heard a boy talk like this before. And also they don’t usually sit still for long stretches.
“You haven’t answered,” Golfy says.
“Oh, I got lost in thought,” I reply, laughing a little. “No, I don’t think it’s that weird. I mean, maybe it’s a little unique. But it’s good to just sit and be with nature sometimes. I think so anyway.”
“Thanks for reassuring me I’m not the strangest person in the world.” He pauses and looks at me. “Do you want to sit for a second?”
“What about getting me back to the basketball courts in four minutes? We’re so getting in trouble, Golfy.”
“Okay, you’re right.”
We stand there staring at the waterfall and then he puts his arm around my shoulder, and we stay like that. I still want to get back to my friends and the basketball court, but I also want to stay in this moment, too. It’s strange to be really happy in a moment you’re in, but then also kind of want to be somewhere else at the same time. I guess the best option would be the ability to split yourself in half and get to be in both places.
Golfy leans his head on my shoulder, and I have no idea what’s about to happen.
“Okay, we’re running out of time and I just want to do one more thing but I don’t know how to do it, so can I just come out and ask you?” Golfy says, talking more quickly than I’ve ever heard him talk before.
I nod, and he picks his head up from my shoulder and moves his arm away, and then he’s standing in front of me. The rushing of the waterfall seems to get louder, and then it’s the only sound I can hear, like the whole world is this patch of grass and this waterfall and this tree.
“Camp’s over tomorrow, and I may not see you for a whole year, but you already promised you’ll come back next summer, so I’m not worried about that. But . . .” He stops talking. My heart races and I can’t stop biting my lip.
“Golfy! Please just tell me,” I blurt out, half laughing.
“Can I please kiss you?” he asks. “I have to tell you I’ve never kissed a girl before, and I don’t know what I’m doing, and please don’t tell anyone. But can I?”
I put my hands on his shoulders. I’ve never done that before, but in this moment it just kind of feels right and okay. “First of all, it’s not like I’ve kissed a million boys. Most people I know haven’t kissed anyone.” I smile. “I’ll just stand here and you can kiss me, and don’t worry, you really can’t mess it up.”
So that last part may have been a little bit of a lie because of what happened with Kaylan and Jason and the redo, but I think that’s pretty rare, and I don’t want to make Golfy nervous.
“Okay,” he says, and rubs his palms on his shorts. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
He leans his head in a little, and I lean my head in a little, and our lips touch. We’re standing in front of a waterfall and I’m kissing a boy and it’s summer and I’m away from home and when we pull apart we see a shooting star.
None of this feels like real life.
NINE
ON THE BUS RIDE HOME from camp, I read all the letters that Hana, Zoe, and Alice put in the memory box for me.
I can’t even believe that camp is over and everyone is going home. That all of the bunks will be empty when they were filled with so much love and so much happiness for so long.
I have to go the full eight weeks next summer. I need to take advantage of the magic and be there for as long as they’ll let me.
I don’t even feel like the same person I was before I left, but the weird part is that I didn’t sense myself changing. I didn’t know when it was happening. I just know that I feel different now.
Dear Arianna,
You’re the best person ever. I am so glad I met you this summer. Everyone at camp loved you, and you fit right in immediately. That never happens. Thanks for teaching me to sing with my hairbrush, to twirl my spaghetti, and to do the tree pose in yoga without falling over. I miss you soooooo much already.
I love you forever, Zoe
Arianna, love of my life:
Why are you so amazing? I don’t even know. From the second I saw you get off the bus in your heart sunglasses, I just knew you were going to be the coolest, chillest girl in the world. You came to camp and didn’t know anyone, and it wasn’t even a big deal. You have the best hair and the best socks, and we were so tired of being a trio, so thank you for making us a foursome.
XOXOXOXO AlKal (Alice J. Kalman, the fabuloso)
ARIANNA NODBERG! Did you know about this tradition before you came to camp? You can never throw out these letters. You are obligated to save them forever, and then on the last night of our last summer, we read them all to each other. So don’t throw this out! Okay? Thank you for coming to camp. We all love you and think you’re amazing. I will miss you soooooo much.
LOVE YOU FOREVER!!!!!!!
Hana Elizabeth Bergman
We’re only halfway through the bus ride home and I’m sobbing. I’ve only known these girls for four weeks, but it feels like we’re linked together forever. I don’t understand how that happens. I’ve gone to school with girls for years and years and I like them and everything, but it’s not like this.
Maybe it’s different when you live with people. When you see them in the morning and at night, in towels and in pajamas. When you eat all your meals together and stay up late talking and doing activities. Maybe that’s how you go from a friend-friend to a soul-mate-friend.
I want to tell Kaylan all of these things, and share every detail of camp with her, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to. I don’t want her to get jealous. I don’t want her to feel like she’s been replaced.
How can you tell your best friend you had the most amazing four weeks of your whole life without her?
I don’t think you c
an.
TEN
ARI: I’M HOME!
I text Kaylan within three minutes of walking into the house, very excited to be reunited with my phone.
Ari: But my rents are insisting on fam din & fam time 2night. Pool tmw tho?
Kaylan: Wahhhhhh.
She writes back less than five seconds later, like she was staring at her phone this whole time waiting for me to text.
Kaylan: I can’t wait. so much 2 tell u. BTW—I told Jason I just want 2 be friends. we still have so much 2 do on the list. But fine! TEXT ME LATER. MWAHHHHHHHHHH.
I pause for a second before I reply.
Ari: 4 real about Jason?
Kaylan: yes but igg now. lunch table girls r coming over.
Ari: C—u r totes fine w/o me @ home. Proud of u, kay-kay! Smoochies.
A few minutes pass before she texts back.
Kaylan: I missed u so much. I am not ok AHHHHHH k bye
I laugh at Kaylan’s dramatic ways, and then I spend the next few hours unpacking and going through all of my stuff. As I take everything out of my duffel bag and throw it in the washing machine, I smell it, really breathe it in.
I wonder if it would be okay to leave all of this stuff dirty in my duffel bag forever so I could preserve the delicious camp smell. I could sniff my clothes any time I felt sad.
Probably not.
“Ari! Dinner!” I hear my mom call from downstairs.
I get down to the kitchen and there are balloons all around, colorful plates on the table, and platters of hamburgers, hot dogs, corn on the cob, coleslaw, and potato salad.
“Barbecue night, your favorite, Ar!” my dad says, pulling me into a hug. “We’ve spent the past week planning what to make for your welcome home dinner, and this is what we decided on. The balloons were Gemma’s idea.”
“Amazing, right?” Gemma squeals. “I didn’t think they’d let me buy so many, but they did! I guess they really missed you!”
“So sweet, thanks,” I say quietly, and sit down in my chair.
The thing is, as awesome as all of this is, I don’t really want to be here, eating dinner in my kitchen. I want to be at camp, in the dining hall, with my bunk, complaining about the food and trying to concoct some crazy combination from the salad bar. (Chickpeas in the tuna salad actually turned out to be quite delicious.)
I want to be singing all together, and making up silly dances in the aisles, and stacking the dirty plates, and wondering what the evening program is going to be.
“It was so sad to see your empty seat at the table this whole time,” my mom adds, bringing over a pitcher of her famous strawberry lemonade. “But we knew you were having fun, so that made it better.”
I force a smile, but my insides feel like they’re drooping. All of this delicious food, and the balloons, and Gemma drew me pictures of our family all together.
“And ice cream sundae bar for dessert,” my dad adds. “We are going all out!”
All of this amazingness—and yet all I want to do is cry.
“So eat up, guys,” my mom says. “Ar, I hope you’ll tell us all about camp.”
I swallow hard, looking down at my plate. I squeeze some ketchup onto my hot dog and take a handful of potato chips.
After a bite, I say, “Mmm. Delish.”
I don’t want to be here, but they’ve tried so hard. The least I can do is pretend I’m enjoying it. I guess that’s one thing I learned in Mindfulness—to really be in the moment. To focus on each bite as you chew, each word you say, every detail of your surroundings.
I want to be at camp with Alice and Hana and Zoe and Golfy.
But I’m here in my kitchen with my parents and Gemma.
And camp is over. And there’s no way around that.
I’ll make it through this dinner and eat the food, and it’ll be fine. But part of me doesn’t even want to eat hot dogs and hamburgers. I think I may want to be a vegetarian. I guess I can save that conversation for another time.
“Ari, we are so, so, so happy to have you home,” my mom says, leaning on her elbow, staring at me from across the table.
“Was it really that bad without me?” I laugh, scooping some potato salad onto my plate.
“Kind of, yeah,” Gemma says, seeming like she’s about to launch into something.
“Why?” I laugh, after a sip of strawberry lemonade.
Gemma looks at my parents and then back at me.
“What?” I crinkle my nose.
Everything seemed totally normal and fine on visiting day, and even when they picked me up at the camp bus stop earlier.
“Just busy with bat mitzvah planning.” My mom sits up straighter and forces a smile. “Don’t forget you have a meeting with the cantor first thing tomorrow morning.”
I nod.
“And we’re meeting with the caterer later in the week,” she adds.
I nod again.
“I just don’t know how we will get everything done.” She takes a tiny bite of coleslaw—so small I don’t think she’s actually eating anything. “And are you really studying your Hebrew? I mean, you’re going to be so busy this year, Ari. It’s really a lot for a seventh grader to take on.”
“Mom!” I laugh-yell. “Stop.” I reach out and put my hand on hers. “It’s going to be fine, and it will all get done, and whatever. It’ll be good. Seriously. But chill. Come on.” I look over at my dad and Gemma, who look a little zoned out. “I just got home.”
My mom nods again and pushes the food around on her plate. I wonder if I should ask why she’s not really eating, or maybe I don’t want to know.
A few minutes later, the phone rings, and when I look at the caller ID I see that it’s Bubbie. I didn’t really even need to look—few people call us on our landline. But Bubbie always does.
“Hi, Bub,” I answer, and walk back to the table with the cordless phone.
“Arianna, my darling! It’s so good to hear your voice.” She pauses. “How was camp?”
“Amazing,” I reply, jabbing a cucumber with my fork. “The best.”
“See! I told you,” she replies. “Camp is in our blood. The best times of my life.”
“I know. You were right. You’re always right.” I laugh and chew some more of my hot dog while Bubbie tells me some more of her camp stories, something about a prank involving tarring and feathering. I’m kind of glad that sort of thing didn’t happen at Silver.
“You’re eating dinner?” she asks. “Go finish. I’ll call you tomorrow. Welcome home.”
“Okay, sounds good. Love you, Bub.”
“Love you more,” she replies. I usually fight her on it and claim that I love her more and then she claims she loves me more and on and on. But since we’re in the middle of dinner, I let it go this time.
Later that night, we’re all in the den sort of watching TV. My parents are staring at their phones and Gemma is doing some make-a-pillow creation thing that Bubbie got her.
“Gem.” I nudge her knee with my foot. “Come in the kitchen; I want to show you something.”
She looks at me all suspicious.
“Just come,” I whisper again.
When I get there, I scan the pantry for some cool snack I can show her, and my eyes land on the boxes of Annie’s mac and cheese. My mind jumps to Kaylan and the list. It’s a little weird she didn’t ask me to come hang with the lunch table girls, but I guess I did tell her it was a family night.
“What are you showing me, Ari?” she asks, a hand on her hip.
“This amazing fruit leather!” I yell, faking excitement. “Did you even know we had this? It’s like candy, but healthy and all organic. OMG. Healthy candy!”
She lowers her eyebrows. “We’ve always had that.” She looks me up and down. “Are you okay, Ar? I think you got kind of crazy at camp.”
I pull her closer. “I’m fine. I was just making that up about the fruit leather.” I pause and guide her over to the table. “Tell me what’s going on. I’m getting weird vibes that someth
ing went down when I was away at camp.”
She shakes her head a little and leans in. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “It’s just strange. Mom and Dad are always whispering about stuff, and talking with the door closed, but I don’t know what it is.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I hiss. “Explain.”
“I don’t know,” she repeats. “There’s just something going on.” She gets up from the table. “Stop harassing me. I’m only nine! Sheesh.” She walks out of the kitchen.
I sit there at the table for a few more minutes, perplexed. I feel like she should have a better idea of what’s happening. But then again, it’s probably not that big of a deal if she doesn’t know what it is.
I look at my phone to see if Kaylan texted, and she didn’t.
I do have a long string of back-and-forth texts from the camp girls, though.
Hana: I miss u guys so much.
Hana: Why r’nt we in the bunk rn.
Hana: Ugghhhhhggghhhhhhh.
Alice: Wahhhhhhh.
Alice: I miss u beyondddddd.
Zoe: I know. This is legit missing u guys.
Zoe: How many days until camp?
I look up the date of camp for next summer, and quickly calculate.
Ari: Only 317 days until we r back 2gether again, my luvs.
I stare at the text for a few minutes after I send it.
Three hundred and seventeen days really isn’t that long at all. Before I know it, we’ll all be at Camp Silver again—showering in the rain and eating mung and singing Hebrew songs.
Three hundred and seventeen days isn’t that long at all.
ELEVEN
“THE CHEESE ARRIVED,” KAYLAN SAYS, gently nudging me awake.
For a second I think that I’m dreaming, but then I realize it’s for real. I open my eyes and there’s Kaylan sitting on the edge of my bed—the red polka dots of her tankini peeking out from under her navy tank top.
I stare at her. I don’t even know what time it is. Or what she’s talking about.
“The cheese from France.” She glares at me. “Remember? I wrote you about it. I found it online and I ordered it. I think it’s going to make all the difference in our mac and cheese.”
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