The Names They Gave Us(62)

“It’s . . . hard. And great.” I smile over at him. “The kids are from really different backgrounds, and sometimes it feels like . . . slowly learning a new language for each person. But that’s why I love it.”

“And you have friends there?”

“I do.”

He’s studying me, like maybe he can see me now in the light I feel I’m standing in. “I like your hair.”

“Oh, thanks.” It’s wilder in the summer heat; no time or energy to straighten it.

We sit for a while, talking about my life, about this summer.

Lukas was exactly who I should have been with . . . if I was the girl I was trying so hard to be. But I’m not her. I’m not.

And when the morning is over, we part the way we belong: as friends.

The leaves rustle as I stride back to Daybreak, and I can’t believe it’s settled. Lukas and I ended it . . . because I wanted to. A month ago, I never would have believed that.

There are a lot of things I wouldn’t have believed two months ago. But then, there were a lot of other things I did believe in, without questioning.

Next weekend is the Fourth of July. Independence Day. And maybe a little part of me will be celebrating myself.

Back at camp, my cabin girls are playing tag outside while Keely braids Nadia’s hair on the front porch. She glances up at me, my assured stride, hair breezing backward. “Whose empire did you just overthrow?”

My own.

After lights-out, I pound a minor scherzo into the piano keys. I’m amped up on my own decisiveness and certainty. I made the right decision for my life today, even though it isn’t the safest one.

“So. You okay?” Jones asks, when I come to sit by him. He sets down his biography du jour and angles toward me. “Keely blabbed. Your boyfriend came up to see you?”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Right.”

“It’s really okay. It’s nice to have things finalized. Very amicable. Mutual.”

“That sounds . . . very grown-up.”

I snort. “Lukas is very grown-up. I’m . . . trying.”

“But you went out for a while, right?”

“Two years. Yeah.” When I say it like that, it seems callous that I’m not upset. “It was hard to realize it wasn’t working, because we were really good to each other. Just not good for each other. Does that make any sense?”

“Yeah. I’ve been there. When nothing about the relationship is wrong. But ‘not wrong’ isn’t the same as ‘totally right.’”

“Exactly. He’s just . . . He’s really great, in so many ways. But when something difficult happens, he can’t be real about it. He can offer advice and be thoughtful . . . but he can’t seem to . . .”

“Really feel it with you.”

“Yes!” How did he know that?

He smiles sadly, as if hearing my question. “It happened a lot after my sister died. Some people just couldn’t get in there. They could be kind. But Keely came over one night that first week and just threw herself down on my bed and sobbed. She really looked up to Vanessa.”

I forget, sometimes, that Keely has been in his life for that long. That she knew his sister too.

“Anyway,” he says. “I liked that she wasn’t afraid to be upset in front of me. She didn’t feel guilty, when I had more reason to be upset. She just felt it. That mattered. Because . . .”

“It gave you permission to do it too.”

He smiles. “Right. That’s it.”

“What was she like? Your sister?”

“Nessa?” He considers this, lacing his fingers together. “She was . . . smart. Loved math. But she was also creative, in this precise way. Like, we dyed Easter eggs every year. And she’d always be at the table for hours after the rest of us, experimenting with color fades and stickers.”

I love dyeing Easter eggs. Just thinking about it, I can almost smell the sharp vinegar. We sat at the kitchen table every year, fingers stained rose and robin’s-egg blue. Somewhere not so far from my family, Jones and his sister were doing the same thing.

“How much older was she?”

“Five years. It’s a weird age gap. But I think it was fun for her, like I was an excuse to watch kid movies and play with Legos when it wasn’t supposed to be cool anymore.” He glances over. “I guess I’m the same way. I think about her a lot when I’m with the campers.”

“I’m that way too. I still like Disney movies. Not in an ironic or nostalgic way. Like, I genuinely enjoy them. I’ve never been too old or too cool for anything in my life.”

“The campers sense that, you know—when we’re really having fun with them.” His smile is wistful, and I know it well. It’s the same one my mom wears when she talks about her parents. “Vanessa would have been a great counselor.”

“Did your parents ever consider Daybreak for her? As a camper?”

“Yeah. She straight up refused. It makes me wonder, though, if it would have helped. But maybe you’ve noticed, depression can be a tricky one for campers. Everything at Daybreak is kind of centered around fun. Sensory experiences. Swimming, cooking, crafts. I think maybe it’s even harder to be surrounded by all that when you’re supposed to feel things and don’t.”