Chapter Eight
Then
Forty-Eight Days Before the Fire
The first full day of camp was always the longest, but it was also the most fun.
We had our work cut out for us this year.
When Chelsea and I got to Brook Trout to pick them all up for our first morning on the lake, getting them out of bed took ages.
I was blown away by the sheer number of things they’d all packed, the potions they absolutely needed to apply to their perfect, thirteen-year-old skin.
One girl said she’d brought twenty-three pairs of shorts, and another one-upped her with twenty-six.
Then I swore I heard one of them ask if anyone had seen her retinol.
On the first bunk bed closest to the door, I noticed a tiny blond girl wearing a blue shirt with a kitten on it that made a weird sort of sadness bloom in my chest; the rest of these girls were dressed in crop tops and Lululemon shorts.
The ones who were awake were in front of the shared mirror, pushing each other out of the way to apply lip gloss and blush.
I hoped this summer wouldn’t be hard on her, though I had a sneaking suspicion it might be.
“What’s your name?” I asked, overselling my cheery smile.
“Kendall Everton,” she told me, her tone oddly formal. “My parents said I had to come here and make friends. The problem is that I don’t actually like water. Or trees. Or anything outside.”
I tried to channel my inner teacher and gave her a nod of abundant understanding.
“I totally get it, Kendall. The first time I went into the lake, I was really scared, too. But no one’s going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, you know?
Camp is supposed to be fun.” Though I wasn’t sure how she’d be able to avoid the outdoors, but, well. Baby steps.
“If you say so,” she said with a sigh.
“All right, girls!” Chelsea called from the back of the cabin, clapping twice. “We’re heading out in five minutes!”
This announcement inspired a series of groans and shrieks and the frantic ripping of bedsheets.
Kendall was ready to go, and she sat primly on the edge of her bed like a little doll, legs crossed and chin resting delicately in her hands. I sat down next to her while we waited.
“Will we ever get to sleep in?” a tall, gangly girl with a dark brown ponytail I was pretty sure was named McKenzie asked from her bunk.
“No sleeping in at summer camp!” Chelsea called back, practically indignant. “Two minutes! This is your two-minute warning, girls!”
I repressed the strong urge to roll my eyes, wanting to keep a united front.
I loved Chelsea, but she could get a little intense as a counselor.
Her wallflower tendencies were superseded by her love of giving directions.
She was a micromanager to her core. I, on the other hand, was often chastised for letting the kids just be.
More than once over the past few summers, my mom had to pull me aside and remind me that I was in charge.
That I was allowed to be strict, say no to them. That I wasn’t here to be their friend.
I would always apologize, promise to do better, but secretly, I disagreed. When I looked at Kendall, I didn’t see someone looking for another mom. I saw a shy girl looking for a friend. I didn’t want her to fall through the cracks.
“And, time!” Chelsea shouted, though she may have fudged the numbers a bit.
The girls filtered out, Chelsea in the front, holding a clipboard and shouting today’s agenda. I waited to be the last person out, not surprised to find Kendall hanging back.
“You ready?” I asked, bumping my hip into hers, which was sort of challenging because she was so short.
She gave me a quick tilt of the head and the faintest hint of a smile.
We met Steph, Margo, and the girls of Smallmouth down at the lake. Trevor stood in front of the dock house, shirtless and smiling. I definitely didn’t notice how good he looked in aviator sunglasses.
He raised his hand in a wave, and I was grateful for the blistering heat, because otherwise, it would have been clear that his attention was having a physical effect on me.
“Morning, girlies,” came Steph’s voice, and it was almost funny how magnetic she was. All the girls in my cabin sized her up immediately—smooth hair, perfectly pink lips, and oversize cat-eye sunglasses.
I could tell that her magnetism wasn’t limited only to the Brook Trout girls.
There were two girls from her own cabin with their arms already looped through hers, like a mini entourage.
They were both wearing matching smiles that took up their full faces, and the other girls were eyeing them with obvious envy.
Margo was warding off a burgeoning entourage of her own. She was surrounded by four girls who—I was guessing not by accident—had all styled their hair in tight buns on the top of their head, just like hers. They were circling her like she was chum in their tank.
“What was college like? Did you just, like, go to parties all the time?”
“Sometimes,” Margo said coolly, her gaze fixed somewhere on the lake. “But mostly I studied. I’m applying to graduate school next year. And I’m planning to write a novel.”
“But, like, what are boys like in college?”
Margo clicked her tongue. “Don’t worry, they’re all still losers. Stay far away, as long as you can.”
“You don’t have a boyfriend?” one of them asked, putting a hand on her hip.
“All right, all right, y’all ready to get started?” Trevor called. Because he was actually speaking now, and he of course needed my undivided attention, it made all the sense in the world that I look at him. At his face and definitely not his abs.
Unfortunately, the girls of Smallmouth and Brook Trout were not so inclined to play it cool.
“What about him, though, Margo?” one of them whisper-yelled.
Her name was Jade, and she’d been an awkward, quiet girl with her nose constantly in a Percy Jackson book last year.
Now, apparently, she had a thing for college boys.
“What about him?” Margo said, feigning confusion, though I didn’t miss the knowing look she gave me over the top of Jade’s head.
I ignored it and shushed the rest of the girls so Trevor could start his spiel on lake safety.
For the next few hours, the girls tired themselves out, while Steph, Margo, Chelsea, and I watched from the shore, drinking copious amounts of water so we didn’t pass out from the relentless midmorning heat.
It was more chaotic than I’d expected, even after my stint as a counselor last year for the nines.
“So, tell me more about Trevor,” Margo said when the others went to refill our water bottles.
“What do you mean?” I asked, not casual at all. “You don’t like him, do you?”
She shook her head, the ghost of a smirk on her face. “Nope.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“No reason,” she said, examining her cuticles. “Except that you’re obsessed with him.”
When I didn’t say anything, she gave me a sidelong look, her mouth slowly curving into a knowing smile.
“I am not obsessed with him. Chelsea was being dramatic. He’s cute, obviously. I…like to look at him, I guess. That’s all.”
“Whatever you say, Little G.”
“Margo, please,” I chided, not wanting to do this with her. Not when he was standing thirty feet away from us, making sure Jade and McKenzie didn’t fall off their paddleboards.
“You don’t have to explain it to me. I can see the appeal,” she said, fully smirking now. “If you’re into the Lifeguard Ken thing. I’m all for a himbo, trust me. But, you know,” she said, leaning close. “He’s gotta be on something to have all those muscles. I bet his dick is tiny.”
My cheeks heated. I did not want to think about anything tiny of Trevor’s.
I picked at my nails, wildly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. “I’m not concerned about…that,” I said. “We’re just friends.”
A moment later, he sauntered by us and down the dock, whistle swinging around his neck. He didn’t stop or say a word, but he did look at both of us, his eyes full of light and mischief, and then he smiled. At me.
I had to work hard to keep from cringing.
“Just friends, you say,” Margo cooed in my ear, just quiet enough that he couldn’t hear. “You’re such a little liar.”
—
“Greer.”
Many hours later, I blinked into the darkness, trying to figure out what was going on. I’d been sound asleep, and now, I wasn’t. Because someone had said my name.
After a moment, I realized where I was. My cheek was crammed against the wall beside Steph’s bed.
Our backs were pressed against each other, and I could feel hers rising and falling as she slept.
Someone else was snoring softly—Chelsea, I was pretty sure.
But it might have been Margo. It might have been both of them.
We were all asleep in Black Bass, and it was the middle of the night. So who had said my name? Was I hallucinating?
“Greer, do you copy?”
Understanding hit me like a surge of caffeine, and I sat bolt upright. It was my mom, calling me on the walkie-talkie plugged into its charger beside my bed. I groped around for my phone, trying to check the time, but I couldn’t find it anywhere.
“I need you, Greer. Please, do you copy?”
Now that I was slightly less disoriented, I could hear the urgency in her voice.
“Fuck,” I said, louder than I meant to, and Steph’s head whipped toward me.
Her eyes were still closed. She had all the sheets pulled up around her, like she was in some sort of cocoon.
“Was that a ghost?” I couldn’t tell if she was joking, half asleep, or both.
“Shh, I’m sorry,” I whispered, climbing over her as gently as I could. “Go back to sleep.” I slunk across the room, trying to keep the floorboards from squeaking, and immediately cranked the volume down on my walkie before slipping outside.
Judging by the darkness, I figured it must have been around 2:00 a.m. We were still a long way from sunrise. The witching hour, my mother liked to call it—when it feels like the whole world is asleep.
“Mom, it’s me,” I said. “What’s up?”