Gage
Chapter sixteen
Ikissed Olivia Delaney . The realization runs through my head like a refrain as I walk back to my empty cabin.
It’s hard to believe. If someone had told me a month ago that not only would I see and talk to Olivia again, but I’d kiss her again, I’d have laughed in their face. I’d closed that chapter of my heart, even if I hadn’t left it behind completely.
At the same time, the fact that Olivia and I kissed tonight is somehow the most natural thing in the world. It was inevitable, really. From the moment we locked eyes in the office on her first day at camp, we’ve been careening toward this very thing.
That whole first week of orientation when Olivia was essentially forced to hang out with me, because I was the only person who would talk to her, we fell easily back into friendship.
That first weekend when we went into town together, we started crossing the line, flirting, and hinting at an attraction that must still be there for both of us.
Then this past week, being dropped back into a routine that didn’t include spending time with Olivia every day, I felt ready to crawl out of my own skin. Those brief moments when I brought my campers to swim or boat were the focal point of my days only because I got to see her.
Sometimes after dropping them off, I had to leave to check in with Linda or prepare for another activity, but when I could, I stayed.
I would watch her organizing the groups and instructing the kids and interacting—talking and laughing with a smile on her face.
The joy she brings to her job. The competence. I could watch her all day.
Which all meant that I was desperate to spend time with her this weekend.
I sought her out on Friday night, hoping against all hope that she would be staying at camp.
That she would grant me a little bit of her time today.
Instead, she gave me nearly all of it, and greedily, I gobbled it up. I still want more.
But I don’t know where her head is. I don’t know how she feels about me or our kiss or what it means for her and me as an “us.”
I’d do anything to keep her from walking away from me again. Anything to keep her in my life this time around.
And that’s terrifying because I still don’t know why she walked away the first time. I don’t know why she turned me down on graduation day, and I don’t know why she ghosted me after.
Clearly I need answers. I go to bed resolved to have the conversation with her in the morning, even if it’s hard.
Sunday morning, I sit in one of the rocking chairs in front of the mess hall and wait for Olivia.
I thought about waiting outside her cabin, but I don’t want to look overly eager.
Even though my instincts are telling me to grab her and hold on, my self-preservation cautions that I should tread carefully.
Finally, after what feels like hours but is likely less than ten minutes, I see her coming up the path toward me. I stand, and when she sees me, she gives me a tentative smile.
I let her come to me most of the way before I cover those last few steps that bring us toe to toe. I hand her the mug of coffee I poured for her in the mess hall before I started my vigil on the porch.
“Thank you,” she says, taking the mug.
“You’re welcome.”
The air between us is fraught with awkward tension. I shuffle my feet. I want to tell her everything about how much that kiss meant to me and the way it reawakened all the feelings I had for her back in high school and more.
But instead, I wait, wanting her to speak first, needing to know what she’s thinking before I make a fool out of myself again.
“About last night—” she starts, and I can tell by the regret in her eyes that I won’t like what she has to say.
I quickly interrupt her. “I know. I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry. I think I got swept up in the moment.”
Relief crosses her face, and my heart sinks.
“So, I was actually thinking … Well, what I'm trying to say …” She blushes. “It's clear we're attracted to each other, right?” She looks at me for confirmation.
I bob my head vigorously up and down. “Yes, definitely,” I agree.
“So, what if…” she continues. My heart speeds up, a hope I haven't felt since high school lifting me. “Well, what if we kept doing this? Kissing? Like … like … like a summer fling?”
“A summer fling,” I echo hollowly. As quickly as it came in, the hope leaks out of my body. “What would that mean,” I say carefully, “for you?”
“Well, like, we enjoy a physical relationship this summer.” My eyebrows rise. “PG-13,” she clarifies quickly. “We're both here, we both want it, and neither of us want anything serious, right?”
Wrong, I think. Absolutely wrong. Could not be more wrong.
I lift one shoulder. “I guess?”
The truth is I’ve wanted Olivia for so long that I’ll take whatever she’s offering. Happily. And maybe by the end of the summer, she’ll feel differently about a real relationship.
I put away my questions about our past, so I can focus on my new mission here and now.
“So, are you in? Summer fling?”
I grin at her, hoping she can’t detect the ambivalent feelings under the surface. “Yeah,” I agree. “I'm in.”
I really hope I don’t regret it.
This week, I have a very active group of nine ten-year-old boys. One of the boys from last week, Martin, is back again, but everyone else is new.
I learn quickly that a boy named Gabriel is determined to set himself apart as the funny kid.
He has plans for jokes and pranks and isn’t satisfied unless he’s making someone laugh.
I’ll admit, he is pretty funny, but the more I let it show that I’m actually enjoying his antics, the more carried away he gets.
It’s hard maintaining a stern face when I’m dying laughing inside.
Of course, his energy is contagious, and pretty soon I have nine boys running around trying to prank, wedgie, and horseplay with each other and with me.
I decide to help my campers channel all that spirit into some safe and sanctioned hijinks that also have the benefit of letting me spend time with Olivia. Sort of.
The boys help me plan our attack. First, we stockpile our arsenal of squirt guns, water bombs, and water blasters.
We discussed it and agreed not to use water balloons because of the mess and the danger to the wildlife.
None of us want to spend an hour afterward picking colorful pieces of latex off the ground.
Next, we choose our targets. The ten-year-old girls are an obvious choice, and it works out that we don’t have any activities scheduled during their free-swim time. Plus, I notice that some of my boys seem to be terrified of the girls, so hopefully this will help break the ice a little too.
The boys ask me why we would start a water fight when the girls are already in their bathing suits and swimming. “Wouldn’t it be funnier to get their dry clothes all wet?”
I explain that we want this to be fun for everyone, and the girls might not appreciate us soaking them in their regular clothes. Also, we have to attack while the girls are at the lake so that I can see Olivia, though I don’t share that part with my kids.
I also remind them that the lifeguard has a very important job to do and is off-limits.
Then, we suit up. Literally, I have all the boys put their swimsuits on, but they also want battle paint.
We borrow some washable paints from Nina in the craft cabin and soon the campers are decorating their own and each other’s faces—dark lines across their cheekbones, blue (because boys rule, naturally) dots across their noses.
One kid even does the whole Braveheart look, which surprises me because aren’t these kids a little young to know Braveheart?
That movie came out almost ten years before I was born, even.
Finally, we’re ready to attack. There’s not much cover between our cabin and the lake, but we do the best we can hiding behind buildings and a few scrawny trees.
We approach as the girls are lined up on the dock getting a safety reminder from the lifeguard, Rocky.
Their backs are to us, so they don’t see us approach.
It’s an ambush.
I silently motion the boys to stop walking. Then I hold up my hand, putting one finger down at a time for a silent countdown. 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1!
With roars and shouts, we run toward the dock, squirting our guns, and launching water at the girls when we get close enough.
The girls turn their heads when they hear the commotion and start screaming, some of them jumping into the lake to avoid the attack.
I’m armed with a Super Soaker that holds thirty ounces of water, giving me plenty of ammunition to annihilate my opponent. Of course, I have a specific opponent in mind.
I see Olivia standing at the end of the dock, trying to avoid the water war going on in front of her. There’s no way I can get to her without her seeing me, but she also has nowhere to go.
And she knows it. She stands with her hands on her hips trying to hide her smile as I get closer and closer, blasting her with the Super Soaker with every step.
“Gage,” she warns. “Don’t you dare! I should have known it was your little hooligans leading this attack.”
Her white T-shirt is drenched to the point I can see the black one-piece swimsuit she wears underneath. Her hair, in its high ponytail, is plastered against her neck.
Without losing momentum, I drop the squirt gun and grab Olivia around the waist before launching us both into the lake. I hold her tight as we fall and splash through the surface of the water.
She grips my arms as we come up again, both treading water to stay afloat. Taking advantage of the situation, I skate my hand up her side and around her back. Her breath catches, and she tilts her chin up to look at me full in the face.
Drops of water roll from her hairline down her face. I follow a bead as it slides down her forehead, between her eyes, off the tip of her nose, and drips right onto her lips.
I glance around us. Pulling Olivia behind one of the wooden dock pilings, I press her back against it and besiege her mouth with mine. She retaliates with equal force, hooking her legs around my waist and drawing me closer.
It’s a stolen moment, but I pull away before anything gets out of hand.
Olivia grins at me, and we both swim toward the shore.
When she gets out, I tear my eyes away from the shorts sticking against her skin long enough to notice a streak of green slime across the back of her T-shirt. It must have smudged onto her from the piling.
She turns her head and catches me staring. “What?” she demands.
I smirk. “Nothing, babe.” After all, this is a war.
I look around to see my boys are as sopping wet as the girls, and the weapons are pretty evenly distributed between the two groups now too.
Everyone is laughing and having fun. I think we can call the battle a stalemate.