Say You Still Love Me(27)

Suddenly he turns, just enough to give me his profile as he scans the newspaper sitting open on the desk.

I hold my breath, willing him to turn a bit farther, to look my way, to show me he hasn’t dismissed me from his thoughts so easily.

But his focus never strays.

When the ding sounds and my elevator doors open, I dive in, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here.





Chapter 6



THEN


2006, Camp Wawa, Day Two

Avery’s perfectly shaped brows spike as I set the can of Coke and ten packs of Fun Dips on the makeshift counter—a barrier of plywood atop stacked wooden crates.

“They’re for a bet,” I say, as if that explains everything. Well, not the Coke. That’s to help me survive the fact that they don’t serve coffee to camp counselors.

“I never took those bets with him,” she murmurs casually, her crystal-blue eyes on a clipboard of paper as she makes a few quick tick marks, her long red hair pulled to one side in a loose braid. Last night, I didn’t notice how milky white her skin is, nor how long and slender her arms are.

“Yeah, well . . . I like Fun Dips.” I shrug, because how else should Kyle’s potential summer fling for this year respond to Kyle’s summer fling from last year in a way that doesn’t guarantee an enemy?

“Hope you won,” Avery says, finally. She’s wasted no time altering her Camp Wawa T-shirt, cutting off the sleeves and collar and cinching the waist with a knot, a style that makes the bulky red cotton thing not quite as unflattering and her waist look that much tinier in comparison to her chest. I noticed a few other counselors at breakfast had done it, too. I guess they didn’t get Christa’s speech about “the rules.”

“I did win.” I pull out a twenty from my jean shorts pocket, which should just cover it, and set it next to the candy. “And you’ll want to order more razz apple.” There were only nine, so I grabbed a cherry flavor, as well.

“We went through, like, fifty cases of Fun Dips because of those two fools last year.” She jabs the buttons on the archaic cash register, the printer churning its tally.

Does she still like him? Is this air of indifference a cloak for her feelings? Why did they break up?

Did they sleep together? How many times?

I realize that I’m staring at her now, so I avert my eyes, letting them wander over the canteen’s interior again. It’s a modified mobile trailer with the wheels replaced by concrete blocks. From the outside, it looks like it belongs in the Louisiana bayou of a Disney cartoon, the typical white vinyl covered by cedar shingles painted a forest green and plastered with at least fifty kitschy metal signs. A loose string of patio lanterns dangles unevenly from the roof’s edge. The inside has been gutted of all the traditional mobile home amenities to make room for a perimeter of thin metal shelves that house everything from licorice, candy bars, and chips, to cans of Coke and Dr. Pepper, to bug spray and sunscreen, to tampons and maxi pads. In the corner sits a chest freezer with a laminated sign listing available ice cream flavors. Tubs of dime candy line the front of the cash register, tongs and small brown paper bags at the ready to fill up.

“Does all this stuff actually sell?”

Avery snorts. “You kidding? Those candy shelves will be empty and the kids will be broke by Wednesday.”

It can’t be that hard for a kid to go broke, I note, scanning the prices. Definitely no candy discounts around here.

“Of course, Christa won’t let your kids do that. She’ll have a whole speech about saving money prepared for the first day.” Avery laughs, a musical sound. “Who tries to teach money management to a bunch of eight-year-olds at camp? Just let them have fun!”

“That’s right. You guys shared a cabin last year.”

“Yeah . . .” The cash register drawer pops open with a ding, and she slides my money into the slot. “That was fun.” Her voices drips with sarcasm.

I match it. “Well, I’m the lucky winner this year. Any tips on how to deal with her?”

“Pretend she’s not there.” She rolls her eyes, parroting Christa with, “?‘You need to do’ this, ‘you need to do’ that.”

I laugh. Avery seems friendly enough toward me, even if it’s at Christa’s expense.

“Seriously. It’s brutal. Just wait ’til you try to get out after the kids are asleep. She threatened to go to Darian because I didn’t come back until, like, four one night.” Avery shakes her head. “So I lost it on her. She stayed out of my way after that.”

I frown. “So, we are allowed to leave our cabins at night?” Darian had alluded to counselors “unwinding” after a day of refereeing, but I forgot to ask Ashley.

Avery’s eyebrows arch in surprise. “Wow. You really haven’t been to camp before.”

“Not really. I . . . no.” There’s no point trying to describe White Pine.

“Some of the counselors go out after the kids are asleep, to hang out for a bit. It’s no big deal. There’s always someone around if a kid wakes up. That’s the one good thing about bunking with Christa—she always stays back. Which is great because nobody likes her anyway.” Avery stuffs my purchase into a brown paper bag just as the air-conditioning unit mounted in the far window kicks in. A fresh wave of cool air blows into the shop, ruffling the dusty and tattered floral window valance.