Chapter 2
Chapter Two
VICTORIA
B ack at home, I change into my pajamas, pour myself a glass of wine, and collapse onto the couch. The lights are still on in Gwen’s house next door, so I can see her moving around the kitchen with Logan. I love living next to my sister, but sometimes it feels like staring at the sun. She’s got this great life doing what she loves, and now she’s got Logan, who encourages her to shine even brighter. She’s always been super talented at baking, immensely creative, and a whip-smart entrepreneur—even though she never would have described herself that way. Our mother was really good at making her doubt herself.
Once she met Logan, though, it was like she finally started to see herself the way the rest of her friends already did—like a total dynamo who can build whatever life she wants for herself. I’m so proud of her, and also friend-jealous. More than anything, I want to feel the contentment that she feels now. I want to go to bed each night happy with the knowledge that I’m doing something that makes the world a little brighter.
Gwen’s words echo in the stillness: No one ever grew from being comfortable.
I need to be braver. Think bigger. Take a leap.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I text Roxy. It’s after eleven, but I’m feeling bold. And maybe desperate. Sometimes, the two overlap.
Hey, I write. That job you told me about at the camp. Is it still available?
Her notifications are turned off—probably because she’s spending her Saturday night doing something fun and not falling out of trees with her skirt above her head. I should have taken the job when she offered, but it seemed like a bad fit. Me, in the wilderness. With kids. It sounded like one more thing I’d fail at. One more way to be humiliated.
Ever since Theo, I feel like I can’t trust my gut anymore. I came so close to marrying a guy who undermined me, belittled me, and made me feel small because my parents had made me think that was normal behavior. I chased perfection because being wrong was bad, but being perfect meant being loved. So I spent years working endless hours in a job I didn’t like because it felt like one I should be grateful to have. I’d fooled myself into thinking that I’d needed those things—worse, that I wanted them.
But I was wrong. What I wanted was for my mom to tell me I was good enough. That I could stop trying so hard and just enjoy my life. And now, after so many years of living the life someone else told me to live, I don’t know who I am.
This job with Roxy still feels like a long shot, but when I think of how far Gwen’s come in the last year, I can’t help but think that maybe a long shot is exactly what I need to move forward.
I just hope it’s not too late.
When my phone rings for the sixth time, I grind my teeth so hard it’s a miracle I don’t crack a molar. My mother has already left me five voicemails, demanding to know why I left her party last night without saying goodbye—and without meeting Dan Sterling, another person she thought could somehow salvage my career.
Ugh.
Five voicemails, and it’s not even ten in the morning.
I pick up the phone, ready to set up a new boundary that she’ll delight in tearing down when I see that it’s Roxy calling.
“Hey, stranger,” I say in greeting. I wince as I climb off the bar stool at my kitchen island because crashing to the earth has indeed left one mighty bruise.
“Hey yourself,” she says. “I didn’t get your text until this morning.”
“Yeah, about that,” I say, biting my lip. “I was thinking more about that job you mentioned and thought maybe I was too quick to say no. Is it still open?”
She blows out a heavy breath. Roxy and I met right after college, when we were working at the same temp agency in Charleston. We were roommates for a couple of years until I moved back to Jasmine Falls. Hiding anything from her is impossible because she knows all of my tells, and she knows when I’m feeling desperate. With my bills piling up and my savings dwindling, I’m determined to get myself back on track.
And she knows that, too.
“I wish I could say yes,” Roxy says. “I’d bring you on in a heartbeat, but they just filled that position with someone in-house.”
My heart sinks. It feels like the universe is toying with me. I finally came around to see that it was offering me an opportunity only to have it snatched away.
“Surprised me, too,” she grumbles. “You’d have been better.” Her espresso machine whirs in the background. She still lives near the College of Charleston, where she’s the director of a program for students interested in STEM. A few weeks ago, this job sounded like too much of a leap. Now it feels like a life raft.
“Is there anything else?” I ask.
“Not right away.” She pauses, her spoon clinking as she stirs her coffee. “Except for a temp position that opened up, but I can’t imagine you’d want?—”
“Does it pay money?”
“Yes, but?—”
“I’ll take it.”
She laughs. “Don’t you want to know what it is first?”
“I’ll make your coffee and handle your emails. No problem.”
Roxy snorts. “My inbox would make you curl up and cry.” She sips her coffee loudly and then says, “The open job is an activities director at one of the camp locations. Someone backed out last week. I was going to post the position tomorrow.”
“Keep talking,” I say. I’m not into tons of physical activities unless you count pacing in frustration and doing yoga every blue moon, but I can fake it.
“It’s our astronomy camp near Pisgah,” she says. “In the North Carolina mountains.”
Deflated, I mutter, “I don’t know anything about astronomy.” I can fake a lot of things, but not physics. Unless their activities involve making model solar systems out of styrofoam balls and florist’s wire, I'm out of luck.
“You wouldn’t need to,” she says. “That’s the instructor’s job. Each satellite camp has a partnership with us. They have dorms or cabins for sleeping quarters, plus classrooms, research facilities, and whatever else the kids need. They let us use their spaces for the three weeks that we’re there, and we bring our own support staff—the instructors, the site director, and some admin and activities staff.”
“So I’d be like a camp counselor?”
“Kind of,” she says. “We have one male and female admin who stay in residence with the kids, and then plan and lead their non-academic activities. That’s the open position. The woman I hired is a senior at NC State and got this summer internship studying sea turtles in the Caymans. I can’t be too annoyed because that’s a legit career move, and this woman loves sea turtles the way some girls love unicorns. Plus, who would say no to a summer in the Caribbean?” She slurps her coffee. “You’re way overqualified for this job, and it doesn’t pay anywhere close to what you’re worth, or what you’re used to. But if you want it, it’s yours.” She says that last part like she knows how dire my situation is.
I cringe, thinking that I’ll likely be the oldest person there, with the possible exception of the instructor. Usually, these positions are filled by college students.
“Actually,” she says, “there’s a full-time version of this director job that’s going to be posted later this summer. If you’re interested, then this is a great way to get a leg up because they’ll want to see some experience with kids. You could consider this session your trial period.”
“I don’t have to know anything about stars?”
“Nope.”
“How old are the kids?”
“Seventh and eighth grade,” she says. “They’re great kids—thrilled to be there and geek out with each other at science camp. They’re bright and well-behaved, and this is the highlight of their year. The most mischievous thing they’ll do is build a moon rover out of roller skates and an old satellite dish.”
Pacing in the kitchen, I think of the summer camps I went to as a kid. Swimming in the lake, roasting marshmallows, telling stories around a campfire. Do kids still do those things at camp? “Full disclosure, I’m not a natural with kids,” I tell her, because truthfully, I never know what to do around them. “And you know I’m not outdoorsy, either.” The original position I was interested in involved marketing strategy—not kids. What Roxy’s describing is a million miles outside my comfort zone.
She laughs. “Babe, you can manage anyone. These kids will be a breeze. And the activities are just meant to get them some outside time. Low contact sports, hiking, canoeing, scavenger hunts—that sort of thing. You could do this in your sleep.”
I bite my lip. When was the last time I went hiking? Working in real estate meant working some crazy hours—the only way I got my steps in was by doing back-to-back showings all day. “That sounds doable,” I say at last, because I really need it to be.
“Plus, your counterpart is like the prince of the wilderness,” Roxy says. “He’s been working with us for a few years, and he’s a total pro—and a super nice guy. You can tag team, and I’m sure he’ll take on anything you’re not comfortable doing. And the site is gorgeous—staff get a day off each week and have mornings off, so you’d have a little time to yourself. It’d be like a mountain retreat for you, too.”
Lately, I’ve been feeling like I have more than enough time alone, but I keep that thought to myself. Some fresh air in a place that is not Jasmine Falls might give me the clarity that I need to figure out my next move. I can’t even remember the last time I took an actual vacation, but this is more than that. This is a chance for discovery. A big leap. I need to embrace it and be brave.
Because brave is the only way forward.
“Okay,” I tell her. “Let’s do this.”
“Super,” she says. “I’ll email you all the details. The camp starts June third.”
“That’s two weeks away.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Nope,” I tell her. “Not at all.” Probably, the sooner I get out of here, the better.
When she ends the call, I flop back onto the couch and tell myself, You got this, Griffin. You can do anything for three weeks.
You can do hard things.
You can take big leaps.
I’ll keep saying it until I believe it’s true.