Chapter Fifteen
N ate sat across from Brooke as she worked to pull herself together. In a way, she wished the tasting bar wasn’t between them so she could give in to the strong urge to hug him. In another way, though, the impediment seemed like an appropriate metaphor. There was more than a bar between them. There was a world of explaining. She’d never called him. It was so long ago, and they were different people now. But he’d given her his phone number that terrible day at camp, left her with a way to reach out, and she was the one who never did.
The feeling she’d had back when she was fifteen years old grabbed her stomach and twisted it like a fist. It was the same nauseating sickness that shook her when she realized she may never see or talk to Nate again. That old Camp Dogwood day may very well qualify as the worst day of her life. “Stay where you are,” she said. “I’m going to fix my face. I’ll be right back.”
She scurried off to the safety of the bathroom, her mind fully engulfed in teenage flames, in days gone by, and the dog days of summer before camp came to an end. She and Nate had found another duck hidden in the stack of kayaks. It was number two, which meant a dance party. It was a small miracle that the same people had found two of the three ducks—probably a camp record. They’d been standing by the jumping rock—a flat one that jutted out over the water, and Brooke was so happy she was pretty sure she could do a triple flip with a twist into the cool depths.
“I can’t do this to you,” Nate had said.
“What? Do what?” She couldn’t hold still. She danced and spun across the rock.
“What’s already happening.”
“What are you talking about?” As far as she was concerned, she’d just experienced the best twenty-four hours of her life. Plus, her first kiss—a great one. A bonding one. He had to have felt it too. She spun past him with a grin.
“They’ve targeted us, Brooke, and I’m not going to let you suffer because of me.”
“Who?” Brooke stopped dancing.
“Someone stole my stuff last night. Everything. My suit and my toothbrush.”
“Let’s go tell a counselor. They’ll find them.”
Nate shook his head. “I’ll handle it. But for now, you need to stay away from me.”
“I’m not afraid, Nate. I don’t need to stay away from you.”
“You know how it works here. As soon as someone is a target, the whole pack joins in. You’re safe with Jessa. Stay with her. But we shouldn’t be seen together.”
The freedom and light she’d felt just seconds ago turned as dark and heavy as tar. “Look, if you don’t like me, then just say so.”
Nathan took her hand. “I like you, Brooke. I’ve liked you since the first day of camp when you smiled at me. I saved all year for this fancy camp, and I promise you, it’s not for the campfire songs.”
She didn’t hear much past the part about looking forward to coming to camp because of her. “I like you too,” she’d said. “So, we don’t need to change anything.”
“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t protect you?”
Man? He was a boy. “I’m not afraid of whoever is behind this.”
“I’m just saying we need to be careful, and winning another prize is going to make things worse.”
The duck in her hand had a large number two written in black sharpie. “Then I don’t want this stupid duck.”
“Maybe we should hide it for now,” he’d said. “We’ll turn it in when things calm down. There’s only a week left of camp. Let’s be smart.”
She’d handed him the duck, and he tucked it into his shorts pocket. “But we’re not changing anything, right?” She remembered feeling vulnerable asking the question, but her feelings for him were big and powerful, and just thinking about ending things made tears sting and threaten.
Nate’s eyes met hers like they had the night before. The green flecks and dark lashes were familiar now. So was the feeling that he could actually see her—past her looks, past her wealthy parents, past her lack of confidence, and straight into the core of who she was. He’d leaned over and kissed her. That time she was prepared. She kissed him back, applying more pressure to send him the message that she really, really liked him. His breath was choppy again and he met her passion, his hands touching her hair, then her cheeks, then wrapping around her waist and pulling her so tight that her entire torso was pressed against his. That was what making out felt like. Like heat and force and closeness. Like the breathless excitement of first kisses and first loves.
“Brooke!” Her name was screamed in a high, panicky pitch. “Brooke! Are you okay?” Standing by the bridge was Libby and one of her followers.
How long had they been there? How much had they seen? Libby had her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Get away from her!” she’d screamed at Nate, before turning her head toward the heart of camp and yelling louder than a fire alarm, “Help! Someone help!”
Nate jumped off the rock and calmly walked toward her. “What are you trying to do, Libby?”
“Oh my God!” she’d screamed. “Don’t touch me! Help! Brooke, run!”
He wasn’t even within touching distance, and nothing about his affect implied that he was about to touch her.
Brooke calmly joined him. The girl standing next to Libby appeared to be both scared and invigorated but said nothing.
“Stop yelling, Libby. There’s nothing going on here.” Brooke did her best to sound authoritative, but what she truly felt was horror and confusion.
“I know you,” Libby said, an excited gleam in her eye. “You would never break the rules like this. I know he was attacking you.”
What rules? The no-fraternizing rule? Everyone broke that one. Or, at least, everyone had wanted to. “Libby. Stop. You’re being ridiculous.”
“We just want to make sure you’re okay. Right, Karen Anne?”
The girl beside her nodded.
“Let’s go,” Nathan said.
Libby chuckled as they walked past. “Help!” she yelled again. “He’s getting away!”
“You’re awful.” Brooke no longer tried to modulate her voice or keep her face passive. “How can you live with yourself?” She’d never hated anyone as much as she hated Libby Trotter. How could a person be so evil?
Libby had responded by switching her tune to sweet and innocent. “This is how you treat someone who’s trying to help you?”
Karen Anne jutted out a hip and waited for an answer on Libby’s behalf.
“You’re not helping me and you know it.” Brooke wanted to punch her in the mouth.
Three counselors came running.
“Libby is lying,” Brooke had said as soon as they were within earshot. “Nathan didn’t do anything.”
“I can’t breathe,” Libby huffed, her hand on her heart like she was having palpitations. “I saw it. Zippy attacked her.” It was like she knew that using the cruel nickname would intensify her accusation.
“He didn’t attack me!” Brooke screamed. “Libby’s making this up!”
The tall male counselor turned to Karen Anne. “Did you see what happened?”
The girl nodded, and Brooke saw Libby kick Karen Anne’s ankle with her toe. “He attacked her,” she confirmed, without looking them in the eye.
“You’re lying,” Brooke said with force, directly at her. “Tell them the truth.”
Karen Anne kept her eyes on the ground and shrugged. One of the female counselors put a hand on Libby’s back and guided her gently toward camp. “It’s okay, honey,” Brooke heard the counselor say. “It can be traumatizing to see something like that. You did the right thing.” Brooke wanted to throw a rock at them.
Libby walked up the hill with the counselor, pretending like she was crying. The remaining counselor, a female who was more often seen doing paperwork than interacting with campers, had stayed behind with Brooke. “We’re gonna need to call your folks.”
That was it. Brooke’s mother was informed that her daughter had been the victim of an inappropriate boy, and although Brooke had insisted that it was consensual, they had two witnesses giving a different story. It was assumed that Brooke would stay at camp, but Nathan was being sent home.
Brooke was angry. And, she was glad he’d taken the duck with him. No one would get the dance now, and as far as she was concerned, the whole camp didn’t deserve it.
She’d spent the rest of the day like a zombie, doing her best not to interact with anyone aside from Jessa. Just before lights-out, an announcement came over the intercom. The duck hunt was over, and every team was invited to a dance party the following night. It was a slap in the face. They must’ve found the duck in his pocket. She pulled the musty covers over her head. He’d been so terribly misunderstood, and there was nothing she could do about it. The injustice of it burned her innards like hot embers and every intense emotion she felt was aimed directly at Libby Trotter.
Nathan Daugherty was not a thief, he wasn’t a sex offender, or a liar, or a player, or a bully—he was simply the best guy she’d ever met. One who’d perpetually been looked down on because he was different. Libby Trotter was pure evil.
Brooke was immersed in her reverie as she wiped the mascara from under her eyes and applied a fresh coat of lipstick in the Saltwater Winery’s employee bathroom. It wasn’t until she washed her hands and the cold water hit that she was pulled back to the present. But she didn’t want to be there yet. It felt too good to remember. The man Libby had taken from her was currently sitting on a barstool in the tasting room and he might very well tell her that he’s married or terminally ill. He was the same man who’d risked more trouble in order to sneak back to camp the very night he was sent home. He was the same man who’d waited in the underbrush and flagged her down from the edge of the woods after dinner.
“Can we talk?” he’d asked. The pines were so thick, she could hardly see his face. It was a strange feeling. Despite being raised on one of the wildest, most uninhabited of the South Carolina sea islands, she was afraid of whatever else might be out there. They ran deeper into the darkness and stood facing each other, her back against a tree. Even with Nate as a defense, she still jumped at every little rustle and knock.
“My uncle came to get me,” he’d said. “He took my cell phone as punishment. Then as soon as we got around the corner, he kicked me out of the truck—said it wasn’t part of our deal for me to come home yet.”
Brooke could barely see him, but she touched him on the chest, trying to express to him that it was okay.
“It’s no big deal. I’m fine out here alone. But I didn’t want to leave you that way.”
He was planning to live in the woods until camp was over?
“The camp won’t let me come back.” Under his breath, he’d added, “They finally found their excuse to boot me out.”
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed.
“Don’t be. None of this is your fault.” She’d dropped her hand, but he found it again and put it back on his chest. “You are the one who—” He stopped. “It was your smile. It’s always been about your smile.”
She’d brought her face close to his so that he could see her better in the dark, but he didn’t kiss her. He seemed to be taking in the moment, committing her to memory. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“Well, I’m not going to get you into any more trouble.” From his shorts pocket, he pulled out something. “But I have something for you.”
In his hand was a little yellow duck with a large number two written on its back. There was just enough light to see dark writing on the bright yellow surface. It was smooth and almost felt alive as he placed it on her palm.
“They didn’t take the duck!” She’d been surprisingly thrilled to see it.
“Turn it over.”
She saw more black writing on the bottom. “What does it say?”
“It’s my phone number. I don’t want to lose you, Brooke.”
“I don’t want to lose you either.” She’d never been more sincere in her life.
He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. She lifted her chin and found his lips.
“I’ll walk you to the edge of the woods,” he said. “Get to your cabin before someone gets suspicious.”
She really just wanted to stay there with him—even if it meant spiderwebs and glowing-eyed night creatures. But he was right. She had to go back. “I’ll come find you tomorrow.”
“Don’t come looking for me,” he’d said. “I’m gonna have to be far enough away to not get caught. Just call me when you get back home. You have my number now. I’ll come see you. We’ll figure it out.”
“Nate?” she’d asked. “Is your uncle going to come back and get you?”
His voice dropped. “I’ll catch a ride with somebody.”
“Where do you live? Maybe my parents can take you. We can pick you up down the street from camp.” In a matter of seconds, she saw it play out in her head. “I can make up a story. Your mama’s car broke down.”
She sensed he was shaking his head. “Probably not a good idea.”
“As soon as we get our cell phones back from camp lockup, I’ll text you. That way you’ll have my number and you can call me if you need a ride.” She’d spontaneously leaned in and kissed him again. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he chuckled in his nothing-can-bother-me way. “I’ll be fine.”
She had trusted that he would be. He was like what she imagined pioneers or adventurers would be like. He could handle anything. Nothing scared him.
She hid the duck in the front pocket of her backpack as soon as she got back to her cabin. It was strange how well she slept that night. It was as if Nate was her guardian in the woods, everywhere all at once, her shield against the evil of the world.
When she woke up the next morning, the tell-tale lump in the front of her pink backpack was flat. She tore through the bag, feeling sick to her stomach. The duck wasn’t there. Someone had stolen it. Which meant Nate’s phone number, her lifeline, was gone.