10. Chapter Ten Theo
Chapter Ten: Theo
[ Twelve Years Ago ]
“Come on, Theo,” groans Brandon. “It’s our last night. Live a little.”
“I think our definitions of ‘living a little’ are somewhat different,” I quip.
Jake snorts. “Seriously, dude. What are they going to do if they catch us? Send us home? We’re already going home tomorrow.”
“Yeah, man, it’s not like we’re doing anything illegal,” Zack adds. “We’re just going to hang out with the girls down by Cabin B.”
I roll my eyes. For whatever reason, Cabin B was abandoned years ago and sits on the very perimeter of Camp Hannefort. The most poorly behaved campers often get caught doing all sorts of stupid things there, like smoking or casual vandalism, but it’s not like much can be done to stop them beyond tearing the cabin down. Even then, the rule breakers would just find a new hub to gather in.
I cross my arms. “And don’t you think it’ll be pretty obvious when a bunch of boys and girls are making a ton of noise in the middle of the woods when we should all be sleeping?”
“It’s not even going to be that many of us,” Brandon replies.
“Come on, superstar,” Jake complains, using the nickname they made up for me during our second week of camp. For the past six weeks, whenever anyone has called me superstar , I’ve been forced to face the fact that they all know exactly who my parents are. I haven’t bothered to ask them to stop, especially since that would only encourage them to keep doing it.
“Just go without me,” I insist.
“Theo!”
“Dude, what’s the problem?”
“Bro, for real!”
Just like that, I know I’m not going to get out of this. For whatever reason, my lackluster social skills haven’t prevented these guys from feeling like I’m part of their group. Or maybe it’s just that they want to be able to go home tomorrow and brag about how they hung out with Daphne Shay’s son all summer.
Either way, I’m pretty sure resistance is futile. And even though we’re definitely not allowed to sneak out past curfew, I have a feeling that Dr. Sans would approve of this, if only because it means I’m behaving like a normal teenager.
“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll come.”
And that’s how I find myself traipsing through the woods with the others by the weak light of Jake’s flashlight and the crescent moon two hours later. A few more guys join us on the way to Cabin B, making us ten in total. I keep an ear out for any sign that one of the counselors might be on our trail, but I seem to be the only one who cares about getting caught. I don’t even know why I care. Like Jake said, the worst they can do is send us home, which is hardly a punishment at all considering our parents are coming to collect us in the morning.
Or rather, their parents are coming. At least one of them, that is, considering this is divorce camp. Mine, on the other hand, have already arranged for a chauffeur to pick me up and bring me to the airport. And when I land at LAX tomorrow evening, another chauffeur will pick me up and bring me to my mother’s house in Malibu. She won’t be there, but our private chef will be, and I suppose Rosa’s company is better than none.
Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if both my parents have completely forgotten about me this summer. I imagine they’ll stumble upon me in the couple weeks between now and the start of my senior year, purely by accident, and play it off like they meant to cross paths with me.
I’m jolted out of my thoughts as we arrive at Cabin B. The boys file in through the crooked door, the rusted hinges groaning conspicuously in the otherwise quiet night.
Inside, I count eight—no, nine—girls. The dirty, ramshackle cabin is lit with a dozen flashlights propped up like candles around the room. It gives the whole place an oddly spooky atmosphere.
My stomach drops when I immediately recognize Abby and Katrina, because that means their beloved queen is definitely nearby.
And, sure enough, Lucy’s voice is the first to cut through the hushed whispers and muffled giggles.
“Breaking the rules is so fun!” she exclaims. Too loudly.
I cringe, but everyone else laughs. As usual.
“I have an idea,” says Abby, sidling up next to Jake with a mischievous grin.
“Oh?” he replies, looping his arm around her waist.
I fight the urge to gag.
Abby pulls a bottle out from behind her back. Dread pools in my stomach. I seem to remember nothing illegal was one of the promises made to me by the boys.
Except, a moment later, I realize it’s just an empty coke bottle. One of the fancy, old glass ones.
“I found it outside,” Abby says. “It’s probably, like, older than I am. Look how dirty it is. Anyway, we should totally use it to play spin the bottle!”
Beside me, a boy named Charlie mutters a curse under his breath. I sneak a glance at him. He looks about as thrilled by the prospect as I am and is currently inching backwards toward the door.
“Don’t worry, Charlie,” says Brandon, noticing the escape attempt immediately with a hawkish eye. “We know you’ve got your girlfriend back home. You can sit this out.”
I open my mouth to lie about having a girlfriend at home so that I can also be freed from participation, but then I realize that it wouldn’t do any good. I can’t exactly convince everyone I’m romantically attached to someone if I haven’t mentioned her at all for the past eight weeks.
With a sigh of resignation, I allow Brandon to drag me to the center of the room, where everyone arranges themselves on the floor in a circle. Everyone is smiling and giggling like fools. Personally, I feel like I might be sick.
Which is stupid. I’ve kissed girls before. The first time in seventh grade, on a dare. Then again, on a few occasions, when I dated Ashleigh Adwell for three months last year. It’s not a big deal. I like doing it, if I’m being honest. I am a teenage boy, after all, no matter how often Dr. Sans expresses concerns that I act and think and speak too maturely for my age. As if that’s really something to be concerned about. Isn’t it a good thing to be mature?
I’m sat between Brandon and Zack, desperately wishing that I could crumble into dust and disappear between the worn floorboards.
Unfortunately, it seems like I’m going to have to endure this game for at least the next hour or so. With any luck, my turn will have the bottle landing on one of the quieter girls like Lana or Ellie. A quick peck and it can be over with. Then I can lie about being too tired to stay any longer and head back to my bunkbed. I’m sure my absence will be easily forgotten.
Katrina is the first to spin. For a horrifying moment, it looks like it might land on me, but the mouth of the bottle stills on Brandon.
“Let’s go, Trina!” Lucy cheers with a laugh.
“I don’t want to do it in front of everyone!” she protests.
Brandon, with admittedly impressive smoothness, replies, “We can go into the closet.”
Katrina gapes at him. “Excuse me?”
“There’s a storage closet in the back corner,” Jake supplies.
“But that’s more like seven minutes in heaven than spin the bottle,” someone else protests.
“It can be a hybrid game,” Brandon answers. “If the girls want privacy, we should be gentlemen about it.”
I almost snort. How chivalrous .
In the end, Katrina and Brandon disappear into the closet, which is probably home to a rat nest or two. Or maybe enough teens come sneaking through Cabin B during the summers that the rats haven’t been brave enough to make a home here.
It doesn’t take them long to get it over with. I sit with growing anxiety as the game moves around the circle, tensing up whenever the bottle inches in my direction. Luckily, it never lands on me.
Until the unavoidable happens.
“Your turn, superstar,” Jake taunts me.
I roll my eyes and lean forward. I spin the glass bottle, stomach churning. I really hope nobody has noticed that my hand is shaking. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as the bottle spins, spins, spins.
I don’t want to do this. I really don’t want to do this. I’d give just about anything to be able to run out of this room without drawing even more attention to myself.
Just when I’m pretty sure I’m actually going to vomit, the bottle comes to a lazy halt.
And it’s pointing directly at Lucy.
Everyone erupts in laughter and good-natured jeers.
“Mortal enemies! Ha!” shouts Zack.
“They’ll probably bite each other’s heads off instead,” giggles Lana.
Brandon simply laughs and smacks me on the back, causing me to jolt forward and nearly lose my balance.
I meet Lucy’s eye across the circle. Her lips are pursed. She doesn’t look thrilled by this turn of events at all.
Likewise, princess.
“Come on, superstar!”
“Just do it, Lucy!”
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
On shaky legs, I force myself to rise to my feet. Lucy remains sitting, glaring up at me. There’s a challenge in her eyes, though, and when she realizes that I’m going to follow through with this, she raises her brows at me and stands.
My stomach squirms as the cheers get even louder—so loud that I’m pretty sure a camp counselor is about to come bursting in here. I’m barely aware of my body as we make our way over to the closet. I clench my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. Every gaze on the back of my head feels like needles.
I can’t do this. I want to leave. I want to disappear.
It’s not even about Lucy. She’s pretty. Kissing her isn’t the worst possible thing that could ever happen to me, even if we have been snapping at each other and butting heads all summer.
To make matters worse, the circle on the floor has broken because some of them have decided that we might try to make a run for it before we make it the fifteen feet to the closet. I feel too nauseous to look and see who’s behind us, but all I know is that several people reach out and shove us into the closet rather roughly. Nobody else has gotten this treatment. This is true entertainment for them.
“You’re not coming out until you kiss!” shouts Abby.
I’m plunged into too-warm darkness. The space is so small that I have to press myself against the wall to keep from touching Lucy.
And then a bolt slides into place. From the outside.
“Did you just lock us in here ?” shrieks Lucy at the door. “Are you actually serious right now?”
Her protest is met with nothing but raucous laughter.
“Just leave them in there for a while and see what happens,” Jake says.
I resist the urge to bang my fist against the door in anger. I might not like Lucy, but I don’t want to freak her out.
A minute later, we’re relatively alone. The game has resumed, even with the closet currently occupied.
“I’m going to murder all of them,” mutters Lucy.
I want to agree, but I can’t actually speak. In fact, I’m not sure I can even breathe right now. The closet is so small. And the door is locked.
The door is locked .
We’re trapped.
I close my eyes and let my head drop back against the wall. Lucy shifts ever so slightly, the sleeve of her t-shirt brushing against my arm. I can smell the sunscreen still lingering on her skin and her fruity shampoo.
“Let’s just get it over with, Danvers,” she sighs.
“No,” I blurt.
“No?”
“No.”
“If we do it, they’ll let us out.”
“No.”
She scoffs. “Am I really that repulsive to you?”
No , I mean to say. You’re not repulsive at all. Not really.
Unfortunately, words choose to fail me in that moment.
“Whatever,” she grumbles.
I say nothing.
“Guys, come on!” Lucy shouts through the door. “Just let us out!”
Nobody responds.
She huffs out a frustrated exhale. Pauses for a moment. Then, “We did it! We just kissed! You can let us out now!”
“We know you’re lying!” Katrina calls back.
Lucy grabs the door handle and throws her shoulder against the barrier. Despite how rundown Cabin B is, the door holds firm. She hisses in pain, then tries again.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” I murmur.
“Oh, so you do speak.”
“I just…” I don’t know what the end of my sentence is supposed to be, so I fall silent.
“I know you hate me, but surely you can close your eyes and think of some pretty girl you like back in LA, can’t you?”
I swallow hard. “No.”
Not because I would have to picture someone else to kiss her. Not because it’s really that horrible to think of pressing my lips to hers for a handful of seconds.
It’s just that I’m pretty sure I’m about to vomit or faint or cry. Or die.
An anxiety attack. I’m having an anxiety attack. A silent one, thankfully, sans hyperventilation, but an anxiety attack nonetheless.
Lucy sighs loudly. The opposite wall groans quietly as she sinks against it.
“I hate this game anyway,” she admits.
Again, I say nothing.
And, for the next twenty minutes, I continue to say nothing. She, too, says nothing. We stay like that, trapped in the dark, until someone finally takes mercy on us. When the lock clicks and the door swings open, several faces peer in on us.
“Well?” Abby prompts us.
“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” Lucy replies breezily, walking out of the closet with her head held high. And because she is the sun around which the entire world spins, nobody even seems to remember I’m there. They float after her like mere dust particles caught in her breeze.
Even she doesn’t spare me a backwards glance. I should be offended, but it’s a small mercy, because it allows me to slip away into the night and recover from the remainder of my anxiety attack in peace.
***
I wake up the morning after the barbecue with a jolt, sitting upright in bed as if something physically yanked me out of sleep.
It takes me several minutes to reorder my mind around the present. To remember where I am. To recall that I am twenty-nine, not seventeen. That I am perfectly calm and well-medicated against my anxiety, not panicked and spiraling at every small trigger.
You are fine , I tell myself.
And then I think of Lucy. Twenty-eight-year-old Lucy. Pretty and smiling and dressed in blue, scowling at me from across the yard.
Whatever, Theo. It was twelve years ago.
Her words were defensive. That much was obvious. I hurt her feelings that summer and a small part of her has carried it with her this entire time. Which clearly embarrasses her. But I don’t think it’s something she should be ashamed of.
In fact, I’m the one who is ashamed. Regardless of my panic at the time, I rejected her about ten times in the span of ten minutes. It wasn’t kind.
I run my fingers through my hair and glance at the old analog clock on the wall. It’s barely six thirty in the morning. It’s the day before the wedding, and there aren’t any social engagements scheduled until later this evening. If I pretend to ignore the group chat that Harry added me to, I can have the entire day to myself.
Which is good, because I feel shaky and strange and confused.
And I can’t stop thinking about Lucy. In a bad way.
In a good way, too.
I just need to go for a run or something. A long jog down the beach should clear my mind and make everything inside my head go back to normal. I’m certain of it.
Except, even as I lace up my running shoes and head out the back door of the cottage, my thoughts drift back to the guy I saw Lucy conversing rather intimately with after the basement situation. I don’t know him, but it looked like they knew each other really well. He was even stroking the sleeve of her jumpsuit, as if he often has the privilege of touching her.
For some reason, that bothered me.
It’s stupid.
I’m stupid.
This whole situation is stupid.
I start running the second my feet hit the sand. Lucy might be pretty and charming and oddly fascinating, but there’s no point in letting myself get all confused about my feelings for her. She’s just someone I knew as a kid. Someone who rarely smiles or laughs when I’m near her, despite the fact that she offers up those smiles and laughs to everyone else so freely.
She’s better off with that guy she was talking to. He’d make her happy. I’d just make her miserable. Clearly, that’s really all I’m good for where Lucy is concerned.
That shouldn’t bother me. It really shouldn’t.
But, no matter how fast I race down the coastline, I can’t outrun the fact that I am, indeed, very bothered.