13. Becca
Ihold my breath, expecting a tiny voice to pipe up or the rustling of someone shifting in their sleeping bag on the bunk bed, but there’s just silence. I let out a breath. They’re finally asleep.
I close the door silently behind me, leaving eight campers and their sweet dreams behind in the cabin. I’d almost forgotten just how taxing this job can be. It’s amazing, don’t get me wrong, but it’s also physically and emotionally draining.
I lean my head to one side, feeling the stretch along my neck.
I’m proud of myself, and it’s a strange feeling. I haven’t felt like this in a while—maybe even since the day I started med school, or even college. In academics, no matter how well I do on a test, there’s always something I could have done better. Lately, in med school, there’s a lot I could do better.
But today, I felt like I found my groove again. I know who I am here at camp and what my role is. Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. And I know how to engage a group of kids.
It’s a skill that I’ve known I’ve had for a long time, to the point where I realize now that I’ve taken it for granted. The skill isn’t exactly useful when my goal is to memorize the layers of the abdominal wall or the innervation of the cranial nerves.
But when a group of ten-year-olds looks up at me, their faces nervous and uncertain? That’s when I really shine.
It only took two icebreaker games before they were giggling, and one more before they were hugging one another and laughing uncontrollably. Ha-Ha will do that. It’s one of my favorite icebreaker games, where each girl lays her head on the stomach of the one next to her and they say “ha-ha” one at a time, creating ticklish vibrations that roll through the group.
It starts slow, but it brings kids together in record time. A few rounds of that and they were even excited for their swim tests, which normally cause a lot of anxiety.
I might have been the one most nervous to head to the swimming area, actually. I’ve been preoccupied with camper arrivals all day and managed to keep thoughts of Miller out of my head. Fortunately, he was nowhere to be seen when we finally made it to the swimming area—the last group of the afternoon, according to Jana.
I mean, not fortunately. I don’t care. At all, actually. I don’t want to see him, or care what he’s up to. He just annoys me.
“I can take tonight,” Vivien says as we make our way to the picnic table, her flashlight illuminating the ground ahead of us.
I glance back at her. “You sure?”
Each cabin needs one counselor to stay within view of the door, but when there’s two of us, one gets to relax a little. I don’t mind being the one to stay, since Vivien knows more of the staff members from her recent summers here and is probably dying to socialize.
She gives me a nudge with her hip and sets the flashlight on the picnic table. “Go. I’ll go tomorrow. You were amazing today, for what it’s worth. I was already psyched to be your co-counselor, but I can tell it’s going to be an amazing summer. For us and for the girls.”
I manage a smile as heat rises in my cheeks. “Thanks. I’ll be back well before curfew.”
* * *
The lights are bright in the dining hall as I approach. I used to love these nights, hanging out with the other staff members and hearing all the stories of the crazy things the campers did. But I find myself walking past the door, even as the mix of voices filters out through the windows that are cracked open to let in the cooler evening breeze.
I slip my shoes off when I reach the sand. The air is starting to cool, but the sand is still warm from the hot day. I wiggle my toes to dig them deeper into the grains.
Out on the lake, the water is as smooth as glass, making the full moon reflect in a long line that leaves me in awe. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The smell of sand and pine trees, the gentle breeze on my face, the sound of the tiny waves lapping at the shore. It’s everything I love.
I gaze across the glistening lake as I walk along the shore, loving the contrast between the cooling air and the still-warm water as my feet find my way to my favorite spot.
But as I approach the swing, I’m pulled out of my reverie. There’s someone there already, on my swing, their body moving it back and forth in the moonlight. A few steps closer and the mess of blond hair gives it away. My face twists into a scowl.
Miller has taken over my spot.
A rush of frustration fills me as I turn around. My almost meditative walk is ruined, and any plans I had of some quiet time alone on the swing is shot to hell. I start back toward the dining hall, debating whether I should work up the energy to socialize. Maybe I’ll just head to bed.
“Becca.” His voice is soft, and I almost don’t hear it against the sounds of lapping water and the breeze. “Becca,” he says again, a little louder.
I finally look over my shoulder as his footsteps approach, uneven on the sand.
“Hey,” he says, catching up.
“Hi.” I don’t have much else to say. Stay off my swing sounds petty, and to be fair it’s not exclusively my swing. I just happen to love it. And you’re the last person I want to see right now sounds even worse. And it’s not even true. I just enjoy my quiet time.
Miller falls easily into step next to me. “Sorry if I startled you. I was just hoping for a quiet minute, you know? It’s been nonstop today with the campers.”
I do know, and the fact that Miller is seeking the same solace I am is somehow jarring, since I’ve settled into the idea of him being my polar opposite. “I thought you’d be chatting it up in the dining hall,” I admit.
He shrugs, a lopsided grin spreading over his face. “I like hanging out with people, but I like the quiet sometimes too. Plus, I wanted to call my mom. Tough to do that with all those people around.”
He talks to his mom voluntarily? I call my parents when required and do my best to not disappoint them in the few short minutes I spend on the phone with them. It’s not that I don’t like them—not at all. They’re wonderful parents. But that’s what they are. Parents. Not friends, necessarily, and I think they made that choice consciously. They’re of the mindset that your children have plenty of friends, so what they need from you is a parent. Not a friend. I’ve never minded it, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a parent I wanted to share things with all the time, to joke around, to just hang out.
“That’s nice,” I manage. I’m struggling to reconcile the Miller in front of me, the one who craves silence and likes to talk with his mother, with the loud, obnoxious guy I know.
He pushes his hair out of his eyes. “So, you can have the swing back if you want. I’m going to walk for a little. It’s kind of a perfect night.”
He’s giving me an easy out, but something is different about this Miller. He’s not the guy who’s been making me question myself all week. The idea that he’s close to his mother softens him somehow. I’m not sure he’s a classic mama’s boy, but there’s more to him than his frat guy exterior.
I’m not ready to be friends just yet, but maybe, just maybe, I want to know more about him.
“I think I’m going to walk a little, too,” I say after a minute, grasping for more topics of conversation. “You talk to your mom a lot?”
He nods and shoves his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Almost every day. Or we text. She’s one of my best friends.” He smiles a little.
“Wow.” The idea is a foreign concept to me.
“I know. It’s weird, right? But she’s cool, I swear.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “Sometimes I like her more than my group of best guy friends. She’s the one I tell everything to, cause she gives better advice.”
I grin despite myself. “That must be nice.” My mom gives good advice too, but somehow I don’t think she or my dad would exactly understand the situation I’m in right now.
He nods, and we walk in silence for a minute. “So how are your campers? They seem cool?”
I’m glad we’ve moved on to a topic I’m comfortable with. “Yeah, they seem like fun. Most of them are staying two weeks. They warmed up to one another fast and seem like they’re having fun already.” I look at the lake. Miller’s heavy steps shift the sand by my feet, a constant reminder of his presence. “There are going to be challenges, I’m sure, but so far it’s going well.”
“Yeah?”
It feels good to talk to Miller right now. He’s different in this one-on-one space than he is when he’s in a bigger group. He’s open and safe, and something about this conversation is just… comfortable.
Maybe it’s that I’ve had a long day with the campers.
Maybe it’s the moonlight, or the fact that I’d let my guard down when I started walking alone.
In the back of my mind, I also wonder if maybe I got him wrong the tiniest bit. I’m not interested in being friends, and I’m definitely not interested in something more, but maybe he’s not quite as… whatever I thought. Cavalier, maybe.
I push a stray hair behind my ear and smooth my French braid down with my fingers. “I have one camper, Maya. She has Down Syndrome, and I was worried the other campers were going to treat her differently. But so far, they’re being really accepting.”
“I think if you treat her the same, it’ll set the tone for the cabin. If adults treat her differently, that’ll prompt the kids to do it, too.”
I look back at Miller, expecting his expression to be mocking, or at least slightly sarcastic, but he looks sincere.
As I think about it, I realize he’s right. “That’s… actually a really good point.”
He grins. “You seem shocked that I had a good idea.”
I am, but I don’t think I should tell him that. It’s just that this level of seriousness seems so different from how he normally is with me. With everyone. I just shrug.
“I have a brother with Down Syndrome,” Miller says, surprising me again.
I‘m not sure why it takes me aback. Maybe it’s because I’m only seeing him here, alone, and I never thought to wonder about his family. Or maybe it’s the unexpected level of opening up he’s doing.
“If you have questions, I’m here,” he adds, then blows out a breath as he looks out over the lake. “It really is beautiful at night, isn’t it? Anyway, how are you keeping up with your campers? Mine have boundless energy. It’s fun, but it’s draining. It’s making me feel like an old man.”
I’m thrown by the abrupt change in topic, but I laugh, because Miller is older than me by a couple years—I may have asked around—but at twenty-nine, he’s the furthest thing from an old man.
“I’m actually not sure,” I say honestly. “I think their enthusiasm kind of rubs off on me somehow, and I take my cues from them. When they get comfortable and start to really be themselves, it’s just… I’m not sure there’s a word for it. But it’s an amazing feeling, and it keeps me going.” I study his face again, waiting for him to make fun of me, but it doesn’t change.
“Makes sense.” He looks at me, expression earnest. “You’re good at this counselor thing.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, and I peer back at the lake to gather myself for a minute. I’ve never been good at taking compliments. Growing up, my parents were proud of me, sure, but it was rare that they actually said it. Between that and my ever-present anxiety that tells me I’m not good enough, I have trouble believing compliments when I do get them.
And getting one from Miller is completely throwing me for a loop.
Except his next words ruin the moment completely.
“Want to help me put Brett’s boxers up the flagpole?”
I snap my gaze back to Miller. “What?”
His lazy grin is back, and the serious, sincere Miller is gone so fast I wonder if I imagined it. “I’ve got a pair of his underwear. I’m going to swap it with the flag. The campers will love it.”
“You don’t take any of this seriously, do you?” I throw my hands in the air, exasperated. For a minute I almost thought there was more to him than the joker in front of me, but turns out the joke was on me. Pun intended.
Miller shifts, coming to stand in front of me, so close the air gets too thick to breathe. “I take lots of things seriously.”
I step back, and Miller mirrors my movement, stepping closer. I open my mouth, searching for words to tell him off. He’s too close. My heart beats faster, so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
I step back again. I need to take a breath, because the pull toward him is too strong. The sand shifts beneath my feet and I stumble, almost losing my balance before a strong arm wraps around me, a large hand pressing into my back. It’s firm and warm as he holds me steady. The heat spreads through me as I stare up into his face.
“Give me a chance,” Miller says softly. He pulls me the tiniest bit closer to his body. My hands find his chest, pressing against him. I’m not sure if I’m pushing him away or pulling him closer to me.
His free hand traces my jaw, a line of electricity left in its wake, and an unfamiliar feeling pulses in my stomach.