Gage
Chapter twenty-four
Saturday after breakfast, Olivia and I canoe to the center of the lake. We bring a picnic lunch so we can find a nice spot on the other side of the water to eat and relax together. The air is warm today, but the heat wave of a few weeks ago has dissipated, so it’s normal end-of-June heat.
I’m nervous as I consider the best way to invite Olivia to my parents’ Fourth of July party. The best way being the way that gets her to say yes. I stare at the back of her head from the stern seat, shuffling potential words around in my mind as we paddle.
The rhythmic pump of my arms as I pull the oar through the water, gently on one side and then pulling it out and dipping it in on the other, calms me.
The thwack of the oar as it carves through the surface, the drip of the water as it sluices down the blade, the thump of the handle against the side of the boat—these are all part of the soundtrack that slows my heart rate and quiets my racing thoughts.
We stop rowing when we reach the middle of the lake, and Olivia spins around in her seat so she’s facing me. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
I blow out a breath. Here we go. “I talked to my dad the other day. They’re getting ready for their Fourth of July party next weekend.”
“Oh yeah?” Olivia smiles. “We always used to have so much fun at those.”
We did. Olivia stopped coming after high school, though. Whether it was because she was busy with other things or avoiding me, I’m not sure.
“They’re even more fun now that we’re old enough for Dad’s Patriotic Punch,” I joke.
She laughs. “I did always want to try that punch, but I knew if I snuck even a sip, my mom would catch me. Or yours.”
“You could try it this year,” I suggest cautiously.
She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I guess Annie told my parents you were working here, too, and my dad wants me to invite you to the party.”
Olivia’s mouth draws into a straight line, and she bites her lip. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Just … I don’t know, Gage. It’s easy here at camp, you know? No one knows us or our families or our past, and we can hang out together. But at home…” Her voice drops, and she reaches up to adjust her ponytail.
I swallow. “You don’t want our families to know we’re together.”
“It’s a summer fling, right?” She smiles ruefully and shrugs her shoulders. “No sense giving anyone the wrong idea.”
I know the whole “summer fling” thing is her stance and has been since the beginning, but it’s like a jab to the heart with a dull knife every time she says it.
“Please,” I practically beg, “come with me, Olivia.”
Her eyes soften, and I see her start to waver.
“You don’t need to come as my date or anything,” I push on.
I know I’m pressing hard, but I can’t stop myself.
I can’t give up the time I have with her.
Time not only to soak her in, but also to help her see how right we are together.
“Come to see Annie. Come to see your parents. I’ll keep my distance if that’s what you want. ”
“Well,” she says, “we can be friends at the party. We don’t need to ignore each other or anything. But, no flirting or unnecessary touching.”
“So, you’ll come?” I ask eagerly as the corners of my mouth lift.
She chuckles and shakes her head. “Yeah, I’ll come. It’ll be fun to drive over with you, and it feels like forever since I’ve seen Annie. Plus, I miss your parents’ parties.”
I want to ask her why she stopped coming, then. Why she’d been avoiding me. Why she ghosted me after graduation after she agreed to stay friends.
It’s fragile, this thing between us, or at least it feels that way to me. I worry that one wrong word or one indelicate action from me could make it come crashing down like a tower of wooden blocks. And I desperately need the fortress to hold, need to keep Olivia with me.
I feign an assurance I don’t feel. “Great, it’s settled then. I’ll let my parents know.”
Olivia’s eyes twinkle as she rotates to face the front again. “Let’s paddle around some more before lunch,” she suggests.
Before I can agree, she sinks her oar into the water and flips the blade up in my direction, sending a wave of lake water splashing onto my lap.
I yelp, barely suppressing my instinct to jump up. That would topple the whole canoe and put us both in the lake.
I shift my eyes from my wet shorts to Olivia, who’s smirking.
“Did you do that on purpose?” I ask. At least I’m wearing my quick-dry shorts today.
“Would I do that to you?” She rests her chin on her shoulder and blinks at me innocently.
I snort. “Yes, absolutely. One hundred percent.”
She grins. “You know me so well. But I know you, too, and I know you won’t retaliate.” Again, she bats her eyes.
“Aw, Olivia,” I coo. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” With that, I dip my oar in the lake and launch a tidal wave of water onto her back.
She gasps and stands up, twisting to face me as she does. The canoe wobbles. “Sit down!” I bark. “You’re going to tip the canoe.”
Her expression shifts from one of shock to one of pure mischief. She smirks, looking me straight in the eye.
“You mean I shouldn’t do this?” She shifts from one foot to the other, exaggerating the movements to tilt the boat first to the left and then to the right.
I don’t want to take an unplanned dip in the lake fully clothed. We’d get wet, and our lunch would likely be ruined.
“I’m serious. Sit. Down.” My tone is commanding, much more assertive than I’ve ever used with Olivia before. To my surprise, she listens, dropping to her seat as if her legs are spring-loaded like the screen doors on the cabins that slam against the door frame every time they shut.
Within seconds, the canoe stops swaying, and we’re stable again.
My chest tingles, smug satisfaction curling the corners of my lips.
Her immediate response to my words encourages me to hope that I might have power over her the same way she does over me.
I’m not interested in overpowering Olivia, but knowing how much her every whim and word control my life, it’s nice to think I might have even half as much of an effect on her.
I can’t hold back from murmuring, “Good girl,” and though my voice is low, I know she hears me. She’s facing forward again, but the tips of her ears turn an exquisite shade of pink that extends down her neck.
Olivia is unnaturally quiet as we paddle to shore and pull the canoe up on the bank.
I snag the cooler from the center of the boat and swing it by the handle in Olivia’s direction. “Thanks for not drowning our lunch.” I wink.
Her cheeks are still a little pink; I’m not sure if it’s from the sun or our exchange. But she’s still Olivia. “Thanks for not splashing me,” she snaps back. “Oh wait, you did.”
I set the cooler down and step closer to Olivia, wrapping one arm around her waist. Softly, I trace circles with my thumb on top of the wet spot on the back of her shirt. She shivers, and I’m once again enjoying the exhilaration of proving how much I affect her.
She tilts her chin up to look at me. “You’re dangerous,” she whispers, her eyes darkening.
“I would never hurt you,” I respond, silently willing her to believe me.
She pushes up on her toes and wraps her hand around the back of my neck. I meet her halfway to my lips, pressing my mouth over hers. Her lips are warm from the time we spent canoeing across the lake with the sun in our faces.
Despite the sharp energy between us, the kiss is slow and tender.
It’s almost harder for me to handle than the hot and heavy make outs we’ve shared over the past month and a half.
This kiss hints at feelings. Feelings that I’ve had to repress so as to not scare Olivia away.
Feelings that I’m getting more and more confident she reciprocates, if only she’d admit it.
I pour my feelings into kissing her now, hoping she understands what I’m trying to communicate without words.
When I can’t keep the soft pace a second longer, as soon as I feel the push to escalate my lips on hers into something faster and more frantic, I pull back. I take a couple of steadying breaths before pressing one last soft kiss onto her forehead.
“Ready for lunch?” I ask, surprised at the evenness of my voice despite how my heart’s pounding.
Olivia, her eyes anchored to mine and still electrified, bites her lip. Everything about her expression tells me it’s not the sandwiches she wants to devour.
Harnessing every speck of self-control I have, I manage to resist pulling her against me. I run a hand up my arm and pinch the skin near my armpit hidden beneath the sleeve. It helps redirect me.
I’m playing the long game here, wanting every signal I send to convey forever, not fling.
I take three steps back and focus my attention on the cooler of food I left sitting by the shoreline.
I turn my back to Olivia as I retrieve the cooler from the ground and a picnic blanket from the canoe. When I face her again, she sports a laid-back smile. “What did you pack for lunch?” she asks breezily.
I list the food I gathered from the mess hall as we spread out the picnic blanket. We sit in the sun so our clothes can dry while we eat.
Olivia and I so often end up soaked when we’re together—water fights, water parks, accidental dips in the creek. I can only assume it’s because of how desperately we need to cool down when we get within a hundred yards of each other.
We’re quiet while we eat, but it’s a comfortable silence.
I chew my sandwich, rolling through memories of the summer so far.
Even though these weekends with Olivia have been the highlight, I’m captivated with Olivia in work-mode during the week.
The way she organizes the activity schedule for each cabin every week.
The firm command she has when orienting each new group to the swimming hole rules or canoe safety.
“Had you done much canoeing before this summer?” I ask her. We’d kayaked together back in high school, but I don’t remember canoes featuring much in her past.
She hums. “In college,” she confirms. “The student rec center emphasized outdoor programs and students could rent all sorts of equipment cheaply. Canoes, but also camping gear, kayaks, paddleboards. When it wasn’t soccer season, my teammates and I liked to paddle in Brays Bayou or Buffalo Bayou.”
She’s quiet for a few minutes, staring out at the lake. “I felt like I had to move, I had to be outside, you know? Or else I would go crazy sitting inside classrooms all day.” She blinks and shifts her focus back to me, smiling wanly. “That burn in my muscles is like a kind of therapy for me.”
I imagine Olivia with her friends paddling down the marshy rivers in Houston, smiling, her face turned toward the sun. The images combine with how I’ve seen her this summer, working with the kids. An idea strikes.
“Olivia, you should be a teacher!” I pause. “You’re so good with the kids. Patient and encouraging. They all love you.”
She puffs out one loud, quick laugh, then goes quiet. She can’t seem to find the words to respond, leaving her mouth gaping while she blinks rapidly.
Meanwhile, the more I think about this idea, the more I like it. She already has experience through coaching and the work she’s doing at Camp Prairie Star this summer. She has a college degree in exercise science, not to mention her impressive résumé as an athlete.
“A teacher?” Olivia finally sputters. “Are you crazy? I’m not smart enough to be a teacher.”
I frown, and my eyebrows pull together. Why would she say that? “Of course you are. Listen, though. You should be a PE teacher.”
Olivia sits up straighter. “Huh. A PE teacher?”
“Yeah,” I say, warming up now. “It’ll let you be outside and continue to work with kids, coaching them and watching their confidence grow, but in a stable job that pays … well, not a lot probably, but at least enough for you to get your own apartment, if you want.”
She narrows her eyes as she considers my words. “That’s actually not a terrible idea.”
I laugh. “Well, thanks very much.”
“Don’t you need a license or something to be a teacher?” She grimaces.
I lift a hand. “Probably? We can look up the requirements when we get back to camp.”
I reach across the blanket to squeeze Olivia’s hand. I know this has been weighing on her, trying to figure out what to do with her life, and more immediately, what to do after this summer job ends.
The spark in her eyes now makes me think she’s considering this possibility, maybe even getting excited about it. She’s buoyed by the idea, at least.
A solid, satisfied warmth settles across my chest. Maybe if Olivia can imagine a future beyond this summer for herself, she can picture me in it, too. Permanently.