Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Summer
I bury my head in the pillow, hazy details of last night trying to break through the pounding hangover fog.
I remember big boots.
Big brother?
Green eyes. Beautiful green eyes.
And a face that’s taken some hard hits but is somehow in its own way…beautiful.
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me. I smile remembering him telling me to drink water, that I’d had enough alcohol. Bossy. A bossy, strong, safe man and—good God.
There were blow job shots.
Then, a blow job and I don’t even know his name.
I try to open my eyes, but the world is a horrible mix brightness, discomfort and disbelief.
“Ow, my head,” I complain, flattening a hand over my face in an attempt to block out the sun that’s decided to be up so damned early…
Early.
“Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT .” I throw off the comforter, as I turn to see the red glowing numbers of the digital clock on the bedside table. “ Shit !”
Kicking away the sheet that’s wrapped itself around my feet, I half fall out of bed. The floor feels like it’s moving under my feet, throwing me off balance. My clothes from last night are scattered like confetti, and with no time to find clean ones I scramble for anything within reach.
Where the hell is my shirt?
As I frantically search, I spot the note, folded neatly so that it stands like a tent on the dresser. Little Sister , is written in black ink, in rough, thick letters.
He could have done anything to me. I wonder if he did… And if he did, whether I’d mind. Maybe, but only because I want to remember it.
I open the paper, lay it on the table next to my bag, reading as I grab at the closest pair of shorts and shimmy myself into them.
First, I want you to know that I didn’t touch you after you passed out.
You didn’t make it easy though. You were teasing me even in your sleep.
Your cherry is still 100% intact.
There’s a bottle of water here, I want you to drink all of it as soon as you’re awake. And I’ve also left you a carabiner. It might not seem like much, but it almost killed me once, and I don’t know… I just always kept it close as a reminder of how quickly things can change. It’s all I have to give you, to let you know I think you’re special. One of a kind.
Sorry, I have to go. Drink your water.
Your Big Brother
I re-read the note as I secure my bralette and the plaid shirt from last night onto my torso, working the buttons closed, leaving the tails to hang down instead of retying the inappropriate boob-enhancing knot Dolly insisted on last night, and let it fall to cover my belly.
I stuff my feet into socks and my new hiking boots with embroidered flowers on the leather and I know I look ridiculous but there’s no time for primping.
I stuff any of my remaining belongings into my pink Vera Bradley suitcase and tug the zipper around the edge, pulling the handle out until it clicks in place.
My heart is aching more than my head. It’s ridiculous to imagine that I have some sort of connection to the surly, well-endowed man from last night, right? Still, I trace the curling lines of his handwriting with a fingertip.
Tequila really does make you crazy.
I drink down the water, hopping on one foot as I work my socks and boots on, thankful for the cool water washing away the remnants of my hangover mouth.
I’m heading toward the door with one quick look back at the flower garden of a room where I gave my first blow job, taking one last side step, picking up the chipped green aluminum clip thing from the nightstand, and securing it on the belt loop of my shorts with a melancholy ache in my chest as I head out the door.
It’s an unusual gift I suppose, especially for a girl that has no idea really what a carabiner is or does, but somehow it feels personal. Almost intimate, like he left me the most valuable thing he had. A part of him.
Shit. I’m so late…get it together, girl.
My hair is frizzed and half stuck to my face. I stink of booze. And I have no time to do anything about it.
Perfect first impressions.
I find my phone in my bag, which stinks of the spilled beer and whiskey, the screen filled with texts and calls from Dolly.
I read as I fly down the hallway toward the stairs.
Dolly: If I don’t hear from you, or you don’t get here by the time orientation is over, I’m calling the ranger to come look for you. Okay, gotta go, the new director of the camp is coming in to do orientation…please be okay. Just hungover and deflowered…
I shoot her a quick, I’m okay, on my way, cover for me until I get there text, so she’s not losing her mind. Then I hit the staircase, my boots clunking along with my suitcase behind me.
On the bottom step, one of the wheels from my bag snaps. It stays half connected, thank God, but it’s making a weird sound and my bag is rolling unevenly behind me as I move through the doorway toward the front desk.
There’s an elderly couple checking in with Mrs. Kelsey and they turn my way. As does Mrs. Kelsey herself.
And her glare of disapproval could shame the Pope.
“Um, hi, just checking out,” I say, ignoring their judgmental looks. Back straight, eyes open. No walk of shame here, folks. I hold out my key and Mrs. Kelsey takes it gingerly between two pinched fingers as though she’s holding a rat by its tail.
“Rough night?”
“Great night, actually.” I turn to the man beside me and give him my best smile as his eyes lock onto my chest, then quickly dart away when his wife delivers a hard elbow to his ribs.
Come on…
“I hope you enjoyed your stay,” Mrs. Kelsey says pointedly, then adds, “I’ll be in touch if there are any damages to the room.”
I offer an A-okay sign and turn toward the door, dragging my sad, wobbly suitcase behind.
Out in the early morning fresh air and sunshine, I fast walk to my VW Bug, a graduation gift from my parents, pop the trunk tossing my suitcase inside with a thunk, then throw myself behind the wheel and start her up.
With a quick look in the rearview, I see Earl’s bar in the distance. My heart clenches as my mouth waters, remembering the other gift the tall, brotherly stranger left me last night.
There’s no one in sight as I walk from the small dirt parking lot near the camp entry, following the sound of a man’s voice coming from a log cabin type structure about the size of a small grocery store at the end of a winding gravel path.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I hate being late. I’m never late.
It must be the main hall, made of logs with a rough cut stone base, standing out against the backdrop of wood chalets and old-fashioned canvas tents in the distance.
My last reckless summer, which took off like a rocket last night, smells like pine trees and looks like a scene out of Grizzly Adams.
Another show my mother forced me to watch growing up. We were city folks, but she must have had a thing for flannel-wearing men with unruly beards.
I sneak inside, swatting at a single thread from a spider web shining in the morning sun inside the door, heat exploding over my skin as I scan the area for one of the eight-legged monsters lying in wait to attack.
When I ascertain the coast is clear from any arachnids, a flash from last night of how my fake brother’s crazy green eyes watched me as I took my first dick in my mouth has that familiar tension gathering in my core.
I tip toe around a corner, settle my suitcase with its squeaky wheel against a log wall as I push open the back door to a large room filled with a sea of folding chairs occupied by bright green shirt wearing camp staff here for orientation.
I scan the group for Dolly as the deep voice coming from the front of the room vibrates down into my bones, and I freeze, turning in a slow circle, my eyes lighting on the speaker in the front of the room.
“Your job is to focus on the campers. Some of the activities are dangerous, their safety is top priority.” It’s him . Oh my God, my brother is standing at the front of the room, addressing the staff like he’s the…boss.
I slink forward, wishing I’d packed my invisibility cloak.
“To keep everyone focused, there’s a strict no fraternization policy. Anyone caught engaging in…” His eyes fan my way and his gravelly voice catches and stalls when he sees me. For a few heartbeats, it’s just me and him again and all the thrill and emotion from last night starts to drown me. Everyone else disappears in a puff of smoke as his eyes feel like they touch me, making me shiver. “Fraternization,” he finishes in a distracted mumble.
I might have been drunk, but I wasn’t so drunk that I don’t remember what the man who made sure I got back to the B & B safely, who refused to take my cherry, who let me suck his dick while I called him my Big Brother, looks like .
“ Summer !” I hear the hiss of my name. Following the sound, I spot Dolly a few rows ahead from where I’m standing, every eye in the small crowd of lime green t-shirts locked on me in my short shorts and rumpled shirt. “ Here ,” she whispers, pointing to the empty seat beside her, and I turtle into my shoulders as I shuffle her way.
I slink into the cool metal chair as she turns to me. “Where were you?” she whispers.
“I—”
She nods toward the front of the room where my brother is still standing silent, as a wave of low mumbling voices courses through the room. “That’s the guy you left with last night, right?”
My skin flashes as he goes back to his speech about no fraternization.
Pretty sure he fraternized right down my throat last night.
I grab Dolly’s wrist jerking it back as she raises a finger to point toward the front of the room. “Do you think I don’t know that? Don’t point.”
“I thought you might not recognize him. You were knee deep in the hoopla last night.”
“Did you know he was my new boss?” I lean in, keeping my eyes down on my boots as I squeeze my fingers into my palms.
“What?” Her eyebrows arch. “No! Last year the director was this old woman named Mavis. The year before that it was some creepy-ass dude who kept staring at my tits the whole time. They didn’t have a no fraternization policy that year, I can tell you.”
She screws up her face with a silent gagging expression, as my ‘big brother’, emphasis on big , turns and waves toward a more polished looking man standing off toward the edge of the room.
“This is Mr. Fletcher. He’s from the Adventure Channel. They’re thinking of turning Camp WanderLust into a reality show, and they’re here to observe. There are release forms for everyone to sign because they’ve installed cameras in the public areas of the camp. He’s just here to see whether what we have here might be right for their network.”
Big brother ushers the middle-aged man with a receding hairline and an uncomfortable looking brown suit to take over with a wave of his hand.
“Hey there everyone.” The guy looks uncomfortable, brushing the bit of hair on the top of his head back with his fingers and from what I can tell, he’s a behind the camera sort of guy. “Thanks, Mr. Webber. Everyone knows the famous Price Webber here and your boss’s content creation and YouTube fame are why we’re here. Now that he’s settling down to run the camp, we see an opportunity for more than just a YouTube channel. But, we will see. Just be yourselves and pretend we’re not here.”
Dolly leans over to whisper, “Your new boyfriend’s famous. I hadn’t heard of him, but from what some of the other counselors said, he’s a big deal in the adrenaline junkie world.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I mutter, but inside my head a plan is wiggling itself together.
No fraternization policy or not, I think I’ve found my Matt Dillon.