You Have a Match(22)

They pause, giving me space to do the sociable thing like agree with them or at the very least introduce myself, but I’m struck by sudden and decidedly unwelcome panic at the words “whole plan” and “already set on.” It’s not like senior year is a surprise or anything. I guess it’s just a surprise that I still don’t have any kind of scope for what comes after it.

“Seriously,” says the girl who beckoned me over, “parents are so competitive now, all the school districts here have gotten out of control.”

I’m about to nod in agreement when we all cringe at the crackle and whine of a cheap microphone coming to life.

“Hey, Camp Ev—Reynolds!”

It’s Savvy, standing on the little elevated stage just beyond the middle of the pit. Despite the perpetually damp air, her hair and makeup are as immaculate as ever, but now she’s wearing a tank top with the camp’s name on it tucked into a pair of high-waisted khaki shorts and rocking sleek black sneakers. A hush falls over the campers, save for the group of girls next to me, who all start whispering at once.

“Oh my god, that’s her.”

“Those shorts are so cute.”

“She’s shorter than I expected!”

“But so much prettier in real—”

“Shh,” one of the other junior counselors hushes them as the gears start clicking together in my brain and I realize that I accidentally planted myself next to an entire Savannah Tully fan club. I peer at them out of the corner of my eye and see three high ponytails and three pairs of identical black sneakers and immediately pull out another piece of gum to stress chew.

“As you know, we had a bit of a revamp this year,” says Savvy. “Some of the pieces are still moving, so we appreciate you bearing with us. But we’re proud to announce the first official camp session of Camp Reynolds and thrilled to have you here.”

I’m expecting the unrepentantly half-hearted cheers I’m used to hearing at school, but the volume ramps up all at once—kids whistling and whooping and clapping their hands. When it doesn’t die down, I realize it isn’t only Savvy hype. A lot of the kids have been here before. I’m the unenthused outsider.

I try to make eye contact with Savvy, but she looks away quickly when our eyes meet. Mine dart away too slow, and I feel like a total loser in the aftermath.

“If we could, uh, start with everyone grouping themselves together based on the camp track you’re on?” says Savvy to the group, seeming to go out of her way to point her face in any direction other than mine. “SAT prep here in the middle, AP prep to my left, and general campers on my right.”

The girls start to get up with reluctant sighs, but I grab the elbow of 1560, and the other two pause.

“Hold on,” I whisper. “I heard they messed up the rosters. Maybe if we don’t move they won’t know we were enrolled in the SAT thing.”

“I Already Have a Whole Plan” narrows her eyes. “Wait, seriously?”

“Just—sit tight for a second,” I say. “If we get busted we can pretend we got confused.”

We go silent, letting the crowd of general campers swallow us up until we’re standing in the middle of the pack. I’m so sure we’re going to get caught that I start chewing my gum with violence.

“Oh,” says the girl who beckoned me over in the first place. “We’re really not supposed to—”

The same junior counselor from before shushes us, and we all clap our mouths shut and face front, jumpy that we’re about to get caught playing SAT prep hooky.

“As for what to expect … I really appreciate you reading up on the new rules in advance, and pre-appreciate you respecting them during your session here. It might have seemed like a lot, but it’s all pretty simple really—”

I pop a bubble, and Savvy stops dead at the sound, finally turning to look at me. I’m so stunned that it takes me a second to realize the entire pit of campers has turned, too. I lick the deflated bubble goo off my lips and stare back, wondering if there’s some kind of stray insect climbing up my face and nobody wants to tell me.

“Uh.” It’s Savvy, talking to me. Talking to me. I take a step back, wondering if she’s lost her goddamn mind when she adds, “Sorry, but … I’m going to have to give you a demerit.”

I blink at her, and everyone seems to lean in like they’re passing a fender bender on the road and want to get a better view. “Wait. What?”

The girl next to me brushes my elbow, her voice small and tentative. “Um, the camp banned gum?” she says. To her credit, she sounds every bit as miserable giving the news as I am to receive it.

This has got to be a prank, but when I look around, not a single camper looks fazed. Before whatever part of my brain is responsible for common sense kicks in, I blurt out, “Are you shitting me?”

“Excuse me.”

The voice behind me is way too old to be a junior counselor, or even a head one. It has an authority to it that makes me extremely certain I’m done for before I even turn around.

Sure enough, it’s a woman with a clipboard and a name tag that reads VICTORIA REYNOLDS. She has steely gray hair and matching steely eyes, which are focused on me in a way that makes me want to stare down at myself and make sure I haven’t burst into flames.