You Have a Match(30)

Finn cracks an eye open. “Things to be less fucked up, I guess.”

“What things?”

He gestures vaguely with his free hand. “The things.”

Whatever those things are, he doesn’t get a chance to elaborate, because of the particular thing that brings our communion with the camp ghost to a crushing halt: Savvy, yelling at us from the ground.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Finn leans over, popping his head down to look at her. I don’t bother. I already know the exact crease of her scowl, the precise angle of her fists propped on her hips.

“G’morning, Sav,” Finn calls down.

“Seriously? You too? What the hell is the matter with you both?” And in the blink of an eye Finn’s attempt at smoothing things over between me and the sentient spon con is null and void.

“Coming, O grand junior counselor, crown princess of Camp Reynolds, ruler of hashtags—”

“Clam up, Finn,” Savvy calls. “We both know you’re too terrible at climbing trees to multitask.”

“Okay, that was ten years ago. And I only fell, like, five feet.”

“On top of me.”

“But did you die?”

I follow Finn down, albeit slowly. His tree-climbing skills really are lacking at best. Watching him come down, I’m wondering how he got up in the first place. I focus on not tripping him up, which gives me plenty of time to think up something especially biting to say to Savvy—except when I reach the ground, I’ve got nothing.

“Literally the first rule,” says Savvy, pacing like she’s trying to build a moat around the tree. “Like, not even a Camp Reynolds rule, but a legitimate rule. No more climbing this damn thing.”

Finn brushes some dirt off his shoulder, walking over to her like he’s expecting something. A hug or a fist bump or whatever it is they are to each other. But Savvy’s too busy glaring at me to notice, and Finn stops short.

“Nice to see you, Finn,” he says under his breath, in an uncanny imitation of Savvy’s voice. “Been a long year, what’s going on in your life—”

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Savvy interrupts, aiming every word at me. “You’re just going to run around this place and rack up demerits like carnival prizes?”

“Wait, you’re giving us demerits?” Finn asks.

Savvy doesn’t hear him, scowling at my mouth with enough rage to pop a vein. “Spit that out.”

I scowl right back. “It’s a piece of gum, not cocaine—”

“Spit. It. Out.”

I look her right in the eyes and spit it into my open palm, offering her the big saliva-soaked blob as she reels back in disgust.

“Savvy’s got a thing about germs—”

“Not helping, Finn,” Savvy snaps.

Finn’s face goes beet red and he takes a step back, kicking some dirt. “They give you a shiny junior counselor lanyard and you get to be the boss of us all, huh, Sav?”

This rattles her enough that I see something I’d rather not. This moment of recognition reflected back at me in her face. It’s not even something I can see, but something I feel. It’s not my mom or my dad or my brothers. It’s me. My own confusion, my own fear. She could look like a stranger to me, and I’d still feel it as plainly.

She sucks in a breath and says, “You are both getting demerits, and when we get back to camp, you are emptying your suitcases of any more contraband.”

I grind my heel into the dirt. “Fine. Take anything you want. I’m leaving.”

It’s almost satisfying, watching the way her eyebrows fly up. “You’re not going anywhere. You promised—”

“I didn’t promise anything.”

She takes a sharp step toward me, taking the last card in her deck and playing it ruthlessly. “You’re supposed to be my sister.”

I open my mouth to say something I’m going to regret, but Finn beats me to it. “And you’re supposed to be my friend,” he says.

“Finn, what are you—”

“But I guess you’re all too busy to be friends with me now that I’m just a camper and you’re all running the damn place,” he says.

“That’s not true. I didn’t—” An alarm goes off on Savvy’s phone. “Shit. I have to go. I’m leading a yoga class.”

Finn scoffs. “Naturally.”

“We’ll talk,” she tells him, leaning forward to pull him into a quick hug. It happens too fast for him to react, so fast that I’m not expecting the heat of her eyes on me in the next instant. “And you—I’ll be seeing you this afternoon. The gum has to go. Seriously. If another counselor catches you, they’ll be a lot less lenient.”

She takes off down the path without waiting to see if we’ve followed. I stand there, stunned, the gum in my palm and my mouth wide open.

“Lenient?” I repeat, dumbfounded. “Also, did she … not hear the part where I very explicitly said, within one foot of her human ears, that I am leaving?”

Finn shakes his head ruefully. “Guess she’s got more important things to worry about these days than her best friends or blood relations.” He sighs. “We should head back to the camp before she rats us out to Victoria.”