Chapter 33
I stall getting out of bed on the first workday after the holiday weekend.
For the past two mornings, I’ve slept in, texting Xander until the sun was high and my phone was warm against my palm.
I can’t remember the last time I let my alarm wake me. My history with Murray has been bouncing around my head all year like a pinball at the Main Street arcade, every incident another steel sphere ricocheting through my skull, refusing to settle, and keeping me awake most nights.
But sharing my secrets with Xander has reset the game. The flashing images, the buzzing, the keeping score—it’s all stopped. At least for now. My mind is quiet and there’s a fresh round of waiting to begin.
Xander doesn’t text back the way most people do. He sends voice memos and GIFs that are as animated as he is. My earbuds, once reserved for music and podcasts, now play his voice instead. His infectious laugh track cuts through the morning haze like sunlight splitting the clouds.
This morning a memo comes through as he jumps from a steep cliff into the Penango River.
His shout echoes before he disappears beneath the surface.
Another memo follows where he shares newly acquired dog knowledge while he floats in an inner tube.
I picture him grinning at the sky, his wet curls glistening in the sun.
My mattress shakes as I giggle along with him. His day is already full, while mine is slipping away, half wasted.
It’s hard to believe it’s already July seventh. Even after eighteen years, the speed at which the Fourth of July turns early summer into midsummer always catches me off guard.
July.
July.
I lock my phone and tap my chin.
What was so important about July? A forgotten task hisses for attention like a faulty firework stuck at its launch site. There is something else besides the scholarship essay.
Then it hits me. I sit up and slap my forehead. I speak Kim’s words aloud: “The first busload of campers is set to come in early July.”
Kim and Sheryl’s summer camp begins this week. Rainbow Valley’s pool still needs approval. If the campers go in that swampy, green pool, they’re bound to get sick. And if I let a group of kids get infected with some weird brain-eating amoeba, there’s no way Victor endorses my scholarship.
I throw on my uniform, grab my keys, and drive straight there.
A yellow school bus idles at the entrance when I arrive, unloading kids with colorful backpacks and duffel bags.
Kim waves them down the drive toward Sheryl, who sits under a white tent, checking names off a clipboard.
Beside her, Mrs. Pomers hands out name tags and watches the crowd with careful intent.
The presence of Xander’s mom means there’s no way he’s here.
The bus blocks my view of the pool, spiking my nerves, as I imagine campers splashing through algae-thick water. I park and step out, already sweating through my shirt.
“Stetson!” Kim greets me with a bright smile. “You made it for our first day.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” I say, rubbing the back of my head. “The days got away from me.”
“You’re just in time. We’re still getting settled. The welcome ceremony is in an hour, then we have a scavenger hunt planned.”
I force a laugh. “Actually, I kind of came to check on the pool again.”
Kim’s smile falters. “Did you get Sheryl’s message?”
I shake my head.
“She called the health department and spoke with a man named Victor.”
My stomach drops.
“We ended up draining the pool this weekend.” She sighs. “Nothing was fixing that stubborn green water. We’ve got a maintenance team coming to check the filtration system, but for now, no swimming. It’s just a shame this first group of kids won’t get any pool time.”
I exhale relief. “Victor didn’t tell me.”
She shrugs. “No problem. Sorry you had to make the extra trip.”
The bus reverses out of the drive and reveals the empty, cement pool. Middle schoolers, and maybe some high school freshmen, stake claim on the lounge chairs that are Xander’s usual spot. I scan the crowd, searching for him and counting the campers.
Two boys in backwards hats sit exactly where he would. But he’s nowhere to be found.
“Why don’t you stay for a little?” Kim suggests. “You can introduce yourself to some of the kids before the send-off dance.”
“Um.” I blink. I guess their previous invite wasn’t actually optional and I’m being voluntold to help chaperone the dance. “When is that again?”
“Each group stays two weeks. We’re throwing a dance every last Friday.” She catches me counting days on my fingers and laughs. “You don’t have to come to each one. Just the first would be perfect. Bring a friend . . . or a date.”
I nod absently, my cheeks warming, unsure if she’s teasing.
Kim leads me toward the camp’s pavilion, a small wooden structure with a few picnic tables, a mini stage, and a lone mic stand. A rainbow flag flutters from the roof as it catches the warm summer breeze. I slide onto the farthest bench, away from where the welcome ceremony will take place.
A few kids sit nearby. Some wear swimsuits, oblivious to the drained pool behind them.
“Oops,” I mutter.
After a few minutes, Sheryl and Kim step up to the microphone and greet the campers with wide smiles. My attention wanes as they discuss activities that I’m not signed up for. This won’t be my world for much longer.
But when they call for a guest speaker, my spine stiffens. Mrs. Pomers steps up to the mic. I swallow and shift my position on the hard wooden bench.
She introduces herself, her voice steady but thin. She shares her story—Xander’s story. The paper in her hands trembles as her words come out with unspoken weight.
The kids around me barely notice. One boy scrolls through his phone, his thumb flicking loudly against the screen.
I lose my patience.
“Hey,” I say, tapping his leg. “Pay attention. This is important.” I nod toward the stage. He flinches before tucking his phone between his thighs.
“I want this camp to be a safe space for you all,” Mrs. Pomers continues. “A place where you know you’re not alone. No one should ever feel the way Xander did.”
Sheryl steps closer and rubs her hand along her back.
“As you go about your activities, try to forget what’s happening back home. Don’t worry about school bullies or confused parents who don’t accept you for who you are. These next two weeks are yours. They don’t belong to the people who take up space in your mind out of fear.”
I fold my hands and squeeze them together until my fingers are white.
“Xander loved coming here.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And I hope you do too. Let this be the first of many communities you can call home.”
The microphone squeals as she steps off the stage.
The campers sit frozen, their gazes unfocused, their thoughts unreadable.
Kim and Sheryl lower their heads in quiet reflection.
The seconds stretch on, and the silence never breaks.
There’s just the cracking of the rainbow flag rippling in the breeze.
It’s so quiet, I can only hope Xander heard his mom’s words from wherever he is hiding.