28
THE NEXT MORNING, I spotted Mack first, standing with his hands clutching the back of his head, fingers lost in that mess of hair, chatting with Nick, who was clad in a Hawaiian shirt the color of fruit punch. He had the same ridiculous glasses he’d worn to our Capture the Flag game a few days ago, but now he’d added a full-on captain’s hat.
Even though weirdness lingered from last night, the sight of Mack still vaporized my insides, turning every bone and organ into lovesick gas. Twelve hours without him had been too many, but I quickly shoved the mushy feelings aside and reminded myself that in a few days we’d be separated by an entire country’s worth of distance.
The mental clock that ticked closer and closer to me leaving Pine Lake was just the protection I needed right now to keep my heart safe. This couldn’t be anything, because soon this place—just like my time with Mack—would be finished, closed, gone for good.
But despite all of that, I couldn’t help the hopeful excitement that danced across my skin. I’d been looking forward to this ever since Mack had said the word “date” to me last night. And so I’d left my phone behind in Sunrise today; I didn’t want to think about Amaya snubbing my email any more than I already had. And I’d tucked my camp checklist next to it; today I wanted to be free of distractions.
Mack’s sparkling laugh cut through my thoughts, and my eyes lingered too long on the length of his neck, the tensed muscles in his arms, the way his shoulders always seemed just a little too broad for his T-shirts.
Well, free of most distractions.
“Well, if it isn’t the competition,” he said as I sidled up next to him, lips curling into the love child of a smile and a smirk.
“I thought this was a date,” I said, genuinely confused about what I was about to get myself into.
“Oh boy, this is gonna be fun.” Nick rubbed his hands together, and Mack full-on chortled, buckling at the hips in laughter. I shot him an icy glare, suddenly self-conscious that I’d been excited for a “date” he seemed to view as a joke.
“Can one of you please tell me what’s going on?” I asked, looking back and forth between them for clues.
“Patience, my dear Clara,” Nick said, reaching up to slide his glasses down an inch, a regular millennial James Bond.
“Fine, then can we discuss your outfit?” I eyed him deliberately, and then shot him a devilish grin.
“Yes, please, can we?” Mack snuck a conspiratorial look at me before turning back to Nick. “Because if you ever get married, I want to borrow this whole look to wear at your wedding.”
“Fine, then I’ll just have to demote you from officiant to regular boring old guest.” Nick’s brows knit together over his Miami Vice shades.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Mack said, playfully calling his bluff.
“It’s the hat that really pulls it all together.” I stood back, eyeing Nick up and down like a fashion designer reviewing a dubious frock on a mannequin.
“Eloise and I raided the costume closet in the theater.” Nick gave us both the stink-eye. “Now, can we please get started?”
Mack gestured at Nick, an openhanded invitation to spill the beans.
“We’re doing the relay,” Nick said matter-of-factly. “Well, you’re doing the relay.”
“Our date… is the relay?” I repeated back, turning to Mack.
“You’re only here for, like, three more days. I wanted us to do something fun together. Something you couldn’t do on a date with anyone else.” He was bouncing on his feet with excitement, and suddenly all the doubt I had about him—about us—just moments ago was spun on its head yet again.
“And then Nick and I were discussing the relay,” he continued. “And how we missed it yesterday, and we thought it might be more fun if it was just the two of us.”
“So, like, you want me to kick your ass again?” I taunted, pushing my shoulders back confidently.
“Come on, Millen, you didn’t think I could really handle you beating me in our little swim race the other night, did you?” he said in that voice that had just a hint of sultriness. “You know my ego can’t take it.”
He took a step closer to me, clearly enjoying egging me on. The sight of him like this—cocky and confident—ignited something in me, something familiar and nostalgic. I’d always relished every second we spent verbally sparring like this, but when I was younger, I’d assumed it was because I liked driving him nuts. Now I realized it was the opposite; I adored it, because deep down, I adored him.
I always had.
“Well, I’d say, ‘May the best person win’ but we all know that’s going to be me. So.”
I yanked a bottle of sunscreen from the back pocket of my shorts and sprayed it down my arms, purposely ignoring him, just to get under his skin.
“There she is.” He shot me a pleased look, his voice laced with something that sounded a lot like affection. “Let’s do this.”
“Excellent!” Nick said with a smack of his hands. “No rules, except that the first person to complete each of the challenges and burn through their rope wins.”
“Oh my god, we’re doing an actual rope burn?” I squealed, unable to contain my excitement at this news.
Nick nodded eagerly.
“And the winner can obnoxiously gloat about it forever and ever, in perpetuity.” Mack leaned over to gently knock my elbow with his, giving me that self-assured smirk.
There was that glimmer in his eye again, the one I’d seen in Capture the Flag the other day. I’d chalked it up to his competitive nature, and I was still almost certain that’s all it was.
And so I ignored the whisper in my gut that told me I wanted it to be more. I wanted it to be because of me.
Nick bent down and reached for the giant tote bag resting near his feet, pulling out two dented silver spoons that were surely from the dining hall, and a small container of a half dozen eggs, popping it open and tipping it toward us.
“Egg and spoon race kicks things off. Take your pick.”
“I’m assuming,” I said as I gingerly picked an egg out of its little cardboard home, “that these are hard-boiled like when we were kids?”
“Uh, hell no.” Nick shook his head firmly, “You’re grown-ups now. You get the real stuff.”
He paced in front of us like a high school gym coach, fiddling with the whistle that hung around his neck. “All right!” he barked. “Dominant hand behind your back after you put your egg in the spoon. Make it to the other side without dropping it. If you do drop it, you come back and start again.”
I steadied my breath and closed my eyes for a beat, traveling back in time to the girl I was when I first walked into Pine Lake Camp. There she was, a little shy, taller than everyone else, and overwhelmed by the chaos of the first day of camp. But then, a shift in just eight short weeks, toward confidence, independence, and friendships that fulfilled me.
“Three,” Nick counted down. I exhaled.
Another memory, of that same first day. A kid with shaggy hair bounding out of the camp van, like he couldn’t contain the energy that lived inside of him.
“Two.”
That kid, five years later. My same height, he’d sprout more inches later. The look of wonder on his face—a flash of fear, desire, things I didn’t truly understand at the time. And then he kissed me.
Back in the present day, my fingers clenched the handle of the spoon, and I felt the weight of cotton and polyester sticking to my sweaty skin. My muscles already throbbed even though we hadn’t even started moving. I was ready to snap like a mouse trap at any second.
“One.”
I took off walking the second Nick’s whistle cut through the air, taking tiny, delicate steps so as not to throw the upper part of my body off balance. It already felt lopsided with one arm tense and outstretched, and the other tucked behind my back. Surely I looked ridiculous, like a giant trying to tiptoe through a fairy forest. It seemed impossible that half of my body could be so confused and off-kilter, but this, I realized, was the whole point, not just of this dumb egg walk, or Color Week, but of camp.
We may have just been kids, but we had always been encouraged to use the parts of ourselves that were so often left untapped. And sometimes that required pushing yourself into some discomfort, forcing you to really examine what you could actually do, discovering what was possible—or not.
“Slow and steady, Clara,” I murmured to myself, because aggressive was probably not the best move to make while walking with an egg nested in a spoon. “Slow and steady.”
“You talking to yourself back there, Millen?” Mack asked, just a few inches in front of me. “You sound nervous.”
“Just making fun of your technique,” I teased as we both picked up our pace, heading toward the two red sacks waiting for us on the ground.
I tossed my egg into the grass as Mack haphazardly tried to shove one long leg into the sack while hopping the other one in after it. It was the most awkward I’d seen him all week, and the sight of him struggling triggered every mushy feeling I’d been trying to suppress.
“Come on, champ,” I goaded, laying my sack on the ground, the opening facing up at me.
In one swift jump, I leaped both feet into the center of the bag, bending down to lift the sides up to my waist, forcefully yanking it over my body like pair of tight jeans. “You’ve got this.”
“Jesus, how did you do that?” Mack yelled, clearly frustrated. But I ignored him and took off hopping, gripping the sides of the sack with sweaty hands.
“I’m just naturally better than you!” A half-laugh, half-shriek escaped my lips as I imagined how ridiculous we must look. From the distance, I heard someone scream my name, and that was when I realized the rest of our friends were down by the boathouse, watching and cheering us on.
I stumbled as I tried to quicken my pace, my foot getting tangled in the bottom of the bag. That was enough time for Mack to hop by, his messy hair bouncing past me.
“Oh shit, looks like someone’s rusty!” Mack shouted as he literally stumbled into the lead.
“Goddamnit,” I snapped, and every competitive cell in my body cranked up to a ten. “Stop trying to distract me just so you can win!”
“Hey, Millen,” he yelled from a few feet ahead of me. “I have a good one then. This will distract you for sure.”
“I’m seriously going to kill you,” I huffed in between leaps, bringing up the rear.
“You were my number one camp crush.” He sounded out of breath but was still able to get the full sentence out—just as he raced down the hill, his feet pounding on the grass. He moved so quickly that it almost felt like I’d imagined his words, and I stood there for a moment, frozen, before I took off after him.
“No fair!” I shouted, kicking the sack off as I crossed the finish line. I had to catch up to him, to tell him the truth that had lingered behind every single one of my sarcastic quips, every feverish kiss.
“I liked you from the moment I saw you get off that van full of kids coming in from the airport!” I said loudly as I moved toward him at warp speed. “Before we even spoke. So beat that.”
It was all I could get out with my heart pounding the way it was.
He stopped, pivoting around to look at me for a split second, his face full of adoration. And then he took off again, ahead of me still.
Down at the beach, a brand-new yellow sponge was waiting at the edge of the water. I grabbed it and dunked it into the lake, cupping it gingerly in my hands so as not to lose any water.
On paper, this part of the relay should be easy: Fill a sponge with water, walk a little bit, and then squeeze it out into a bucket. Piece of cake, baby. But it was all a ruse, designed to hide an exquisite, unique kind of torture, the sponge leaking through your fingertips as you ran back and forth.
I crouched down in front of my red pail, right next to Mack, who was on his knees, frantically wringing his own sponge.
“I’ve liked you literally for forever, you know,” I said, the words spilling out faster than the water I squeezed from my sponge. “And I’ve thought about that kiss an abnormal amount over the last few years.”
“It was a good kiss,” he said as he leaped back up to his feet, heading down toward the water. “So good I was too terrified to even look in your direction after.”
“I’m glad you’re making up for lost time then,” I said as I jogged behind him.
Mack stood for a moment at the edge of the water, turning to look at me. “You know, for the last five years, I sat around, waiting for you to finally come back up here. And this year, after Marla and Steve told me they were selling this place, I just figured, fuck it. I’m going to call her, ask her to come. And then Sam texted me and said it was already happening. So maybe it’s fate that you’re here.”
We were in the middle of a race, but he didn’t move. Instead, he just held my gaze, hands cupped in front of him with that stupid sponge, as if he were holding my whole heart.
“Last night you said that fate was stuff not working out,” I said, completely taken aback. “You weren’t talking about us?”
“God, no,” he said, squinting as he shook his head at me. “Millen, if anything, this thing with us feels like the only thing in my life that’s working right now.”
“Mack—”
“Hold that thought,” he said, and took off sprinting. I didn’t need to see him to know he almost certainly had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
“Motherfucker!” I squealed, remembering where I was and who I was battling as I took off toward my bucket. “Oh, you’re asking for it now, Mack.”
“Honestly, Millen, I don’t know whether to be pissed off or turned on by that,” he said with a breathless laugh.
“Both, I hope,” I said as I clenched my brow, willing my hands to squeeze as hard as they could. And then there it was, my water just skimming the fill line at the top of the bucket. Done.
I stumbled over my legs, racing to where our two ropes hung between wooden stakes in the ground like tiny laundry lines. The rope burn was the pivotal moment of Color Week, days of competition culminating in this one dramatic feat.
My team had lost the rope burn in spectacular fashion that last year at camp, only seconds behind Mack’s team, resulting in our inevitable tie. I could still remember how crushed I’d felt, devastated by our team’s loss, compounded by the hollow ache I’d already carried that whole week, after my kiss with Mack.
Next to me, I could hear Mack’s heavy breath like the pull of the ocean. I turned to give him a quick peek, and the sight of him crouching on the ground, intensely staring at his small stack of kindling in front of him on the ground next to me did that thing to my heart that I now just expected every time I saw him.
“Mack,” I said, and when he didn’t respond, I said his name again louder. “Mack.”
His head bounced up, brows clenched, so incredibly focused. “What?”
“What is this, between us?” I kept my eyes on my work, trying to balance yet another stick against the pile. “Seriously. Are we a thing?”
I sounded like I was fifteen again—did anyone even use the phrase “a thing”?—but Mack’s reply cut through my spiraling thoughts.
“Millen,” he said confidently, “we’ve always been a thing.”
“Great. So now I’ve made it weird by asking,” I said, and he laughed.
“How many times do I have to tell you how much I like your weirdness?” he asked. “Please keep making things weird.”
“And now what?” I asked, my heart now pounding in my chest as my hands worked until every stick I’d scavenged was propped up against the others. “I’m going home in a few days. You’re moving back to California. Camp isn’t even going to exist anymore.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “Can’t we just enjoy the rest of this week together? Pretend it’s not really going to end?”
A bright light flicked in the corner of my eye, and sure enough, Mack’s fire was now sparked and quickly rising faster than mine. I kept my eyes on the flames in front of me, using my breath to push them higher.
“I think some people might call that living in denial,” I replied, unable to hide the sadness in my voice.
I shoved my kindling into the heart of the blaze with a steady poke of an extra stick I’d kept on the ground next to me, attempting to keep the embers fed and glowing. And then with what seemed like a flash, the flames hit the bottom of my rope.
This was the hardest part of the rope burn challenge: the moment when you were in control of absolutely nothing. From here on out, I had to just let the fire run its course.
“Clara,” Mack said, and his use of my first name caused my head to spin toward him. “I don’t know what happens next. I just know I like you, and I want to be with you right now, even if we only have a couple of days left together.”
I finally gave in and looked up at him. He was standing and staring directly down at me, and not at the fire in front of him. Even though his arms were across his chest, he didn’t look defensive, not one bit. Instead, he looked like he was deeply and truly sure of himself.
“I’ve been crazy about you since the day we met, but, like, never more than I am right now,” he continued. “You know that, right? I’m making myself clear? Because I’m trying to be better about saying what I mean. And I mean it.”
“Yes,” I said finally, and my entire body flushed. “I know.”
It was the heat from the fire, of course, but whatever was burning between Mack and me felt bigger and hotter than the real thing in front of me.
“Good,” he said, and then with a nod of his head toward my rope. “Congratulations.”
I broke our eye contact and swung my head around, and there it was in front of me: my rope split in half, two pieces dangling now from the wood stakes that held them.
I’d won.
“You know what this means, right?” I pushed myself up off the ground, scrubbing my dirty hands on the front of my shorts.
“Don’t do it, Millen,” he said as he pulled up the edge of his T-shirt, bringing it to his brow to wipe away sweat. “I told you, my ego can’t take it.”
“I kicked your ass!” I whooped. “I won our date!”
He held out his hand for a high five, and when I slapped it he gripped me tight, tugging me into a warm, sweaty hug.
“This was a shitload of fun,” I said, mentally checking that particular box on my camp list as my cheek pressed against his shoulder, taking in that scent that was so uniquely him; a mix of an ancient bar of soap, sun-touched skin, sunscreen, and sweat. It wasn’t fancy, or musky, or out of an expensive bottle, but it was his, and I was becoming addicted to it.
“Almost as fun as living in denial with you,” he muttered, his lips soft against my jaw.
I pulled back, clasped my hand against his pout. “Shh,” I scolded. “The first rule of living in denial is not talking about it.”
He reached up and laced his fingers through mine, pressing a kiss against our clasped hands. “I won’t speak of it again.”
But that nagging clock was still ticking away in the back of my mind, counting down our time together second by precious second.