Chapter 43
When we arrive to Rainbow Valley, Xander asks that I check if his mom is here before he gets out of the truck. I complete a full inspection of every camp area, just like I do with pools at work.
She’s nowhere to be found.
Xander peers through my windshield, waiting for the all-clear signal, and I wave him forward while Sheryl and Kim recruit me to help finish setting up for the dance.
They don’t know I’m here with a date, so I can’t exactly refuse without seeming rude.
But in the end, I don’t mind. After all, I’m making the place nice for Xander too.
We hang twinkle lights across the camp pavilion.
Every picnic table gets covered with a blue plastic tablecloth and a fake white candle as a centerpiece.
Kim inflates two giant unicorns that flank the DJ booth.
There’s not really a theme to the dance, but it’s fun and gay and that’s all that matters.
The drained pool is blocked off by caution tape strung between orange traffic cones, giving it a Halloween vibe by accident.
I’m off the health department’s clock, so I don’t stare for too long.
But I make a mental note to tell Victor that it’s still closed even after all this time.
Hopefully it’s enough to get him to finish my letter.
The DJ kicks off the night with an upbeat song, and suddenly, a stampede of campers comes rushing from the woods.
No one else is dressed up. They’re in shorts, T-shirts, and bare feet, some even in bathing suits.
Xander and I are swans among ducks. The only problem is that I’m the only one they can see.
I want to proclaim that I’m not from the local church.
But tonight’s not about me or them. It’s about Xander.
And he dazzles beneath the yellow twinkle lights, emitting an auburn cotton-candy-like haze that nearly makes the other campers disappear.
The two shots of Froot-Loops vodka we threw back in the truck make my solo dancing seem less awkward, even if it’s not.
Xander bobs his head and gently sways his hips, with his hands in his pockets, eyeing the growing mosh pit.
I’m technically chaperoning this dance, so I keep us off to the side on our own private dance floor.
A rap song takes over the speakers and the new beat gets my feet moving. The campers form a circle around a boy killing a break dance. With all the eyes off us, or me, I lean into Xander’s ear.
“Do you want to, like, dance together?” I ask.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he replies. “I didn’t know if you would feel weird or not.”
“I’m all yours.”
He smiles. “Let me take my jacket off.” He slips out of his orange tuxedo and tosses it onto the nearest picnic table. Underneath, orange suspenders clip to his waistband.
We take each other’s hands and spin, twirl, jump, and twist through a dozen songs. Sweat stains appear along our backs and under our armpits, but we don’t stop.
“Stetson, do you want a partner?” Sheryl asks, jigging her way over to me from the other side of the pavilion. “Or are you going to dance out here alone all night?” She laughs.
“I’m okay,” I shout over the song, releasing Xander so my grip on the air doesn’t look so odd. “Just enjoying the music.”
She nods. “Thanks so much for coming.” Her fingers snap along to the beat. “The kids had a really special couple of weeks.”
“I bet. I’d love to help next summer. I don’t think I’ll do the pool job again, so I’ll probably be free.”
Xander notices my words mid-arm-wave. He raises his brow and shoots me a smile. “Next summer?” he mouths.
“Oh.” Sheryl raises her finger. “By the way, the technician came and looked at the pipes.”
My eyes twitch. “What did he find?”
She shakes her head with pursed lips. “Most of them need replacing.”
“What? Why?”
“Too much time has passed. They were clogged with mud and debris from the woods. There were even tree roots growing in a few of ’em.”
My feet freeze mid-step. “Tree roots? In the pipes?”
“Mm-hmm.” She nods. “They went after the moisture. Squeezed them until they collapsed.”
“I didn’t know that could happen.”
“Me neither.” She stops dancing too and rests her hand on my shoulder, breathing deep. “All that to say . . . the pool won’t be open until next year.”
“I can come back soon and close your site out.”
“We’ll be here.” She pats my back. “I’m going to go see if we need more ice for the drinks.”
Xander drifts back toward me as Sheryl leaves the pavilion. He presses his shoulder into my chest.
“Did you hear that?” I ask.
“What?” He wipes sweat from his forehead.
“She said there were tree roots in the pool’s pipes.” I glance at the caution tape. It glows under the strobe lights.
He puts his moist palm over my mouth. “Shhh. I don’t want to talk about that.”
I inhale through my nose, then gently pull his hand away. “You’re right,” I say. “But it’s still a weird coincidence.”
The music slows to a melancholy tune. It’s soft enough to hear the nearby cicada screams.
“First and last slow song of the night, y’all,” the DJ announces. “Time to grab your new summer crush.”
Half the dance floor ceases to exist. Red-faced kids line the edge of the pavilion, whispering and waiting to see who couples up.
Xander squeezes my hand and tugs me forward.
“Wait!” I yell in a hushed whisper. “I can’t slow dance in the center of the crowd. It’s just me, remember?”
He drags his fancy white shoes to a stop. They’re scuffed on the sides from tonight’s heel twists and kicks. “Will you dance with me back here, then?”
“Anywhere except directly in front of the DJ.”
He laughs, then places his hands on my hips. I drape mine around his shoulders and move us to the shadows. We sway between the picnic tables pushed toward the back of the pavilion, while four other couples dance in the front, soaking up the spotlight.
“I like dancing with you,” I say.
He cocks his head, looking down. “Even if no one can see me?”
“If everyone could see you, then I’d have to compete with everyone.”
He grins. “Compete for what?”
My eyes flicker across the pavilion behind him. “Compete to be your dance partner,” I say. “Like, that boy in the black T-shirt has been eyeing you up all night.”
Xander turns and looks at the crowd. A boy in black with bushy eyebrows sits on a picnic table watching us, elbow on his knee.
Xander snorts. “Uhh, Stetson. He can’t see me. So that means he’s eyeing you up. Probably because your arms are around air right now.”
My spine straightens. I release him, then tug on my shirt collar.
“Right, right,” I mutter.
“Are you okay?”
I swallow. “Yeah, I’m just . . . sorry, a little distracted after hearing about the pipes.”
He studies me. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asks. I raise my eyebrows. “Are you not having fun?”
“I am. It’s just one of those things. You know?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Tell me.”
He sighs, dipping his shoulders. “After a while, when I’m out, and no one can see me, it’s as if I’m playing pretend. It makes me feel worthless, like a hole in the ground everyone just steps over. I’m there, but I’m really not.” He drags his fingers along my belt.
“Oh.” I frown. “Do you want me to go?”
“No.” He pulls me back to him. “I want us to leave together. To only be with you, so everything is real.” He looks at me with an earnest, puppylike expression, a dog waiting for a treat.
His sweet words tighten my cheeks, as if I’ve swallowed a sour Jolly Rancher. “I can do an after-party. Where to?”
“My tree house. It’s a short walk through the woods. I can finally show it to you.” He glances at the drink table. “We can sneak out before Sheryl and Kim force you into cleanup duty.”
The slow song ends. The campers clap and catcall at the other dancing couples. “Kiss!” someone yells.
“Quick, then,” I say to Xander, pushing him toward the woods. “This could be the end.”
Xander giggles and pulls me off the pavilion’s concrete slab and into the trees. We scamper across a dirt path. Mud quickly cakes my white shoes.
Without the light from camp, the woods are pitch-black. But Xander knows exactly where he’s going. I struggle to keep up with his confident pace as I fight the urge to stop and get my bearings. The trees are like street signs to him. The stars are reference points. And the moon is a compass.
Right. Left. Right. Right.
Soon, we round a thick tree and come upon a ladder.
“Here,” Xander says, stopping abruptly.
My neck cranes toward the structure hidden in the branches. It’s barely visible in the darkness.
“You don’t leave a light on for when you get home?” I joke.
“Hell no,” he says. “I don’t want someone else finding this place.” He pats the camouflaged wood. “I wasn’t sure if the curse would break randomly and someone would spot me. You learn a few things after ten years.” I think he winks, but in the darkness, I can’t see his face.
He takes ahold of the pegs and ascends the tree. I follow.
At the top, he pushes on the trapdoor with both hands. It swings open and lands with a thud, sending a drizzle of dust particles down from the wooden planks above. Xander digs around inside, his upper body disappearing while his legs dangle over the ladder.
Then there’s a click. Light bursts through the opening, beaming down on me like we’ve opened the gates of heaven. I shield my eyes with my forearm as the brightness nearly knocks me off-balance.
“Welcome,” he says, hoisting himself inside. He spins around and extends his hand. I clasp it and am pulled through the threshold.
Inside, I brush off my knees before looking up.
“Whoa,” I say. I bump my head on a hanging plant.
Xander scratches his neck. “You’re my first ever guest. Is it weird in here? I’ve never really thought about entertaining.”
“No.” I shake my head with a smile. “It’s so cozy.”
Vintage Edison bulbs hang across the maroon-painted ceiling. Bookshelves line an entire wall with the spines organized in a gradient of colors. A twin mattress, draped with a plaid comforter, is pushed into a corner. A round wooden table sits near a mock sink, set with two place settings.
My breath catches.
“You built this?” I ask, rubbing a hand down my cheek.
“Yeah, but again, over the course of ten years,” he says with a light laugh. “It started off as a plywood platform.”
I walk to the table and grip the backrest of a chair. “Who is this other seat for?”
He shrugs. “Someone. Eventually. It’s kind of like my blank space on the Ardor Tree.” His gaze flickers to me. “Maybe . . . you.”
A shiver runs down my spine. Every one of his phrases is kinder than the last. All summer, it’s been about getting over Murray and getting to Tennessee.
Xander was never part of the equation. How do I factor in this new variable?
I can’t be at this table because I’m not supposed to be in Penango.
Hurting a boy by telling him I was leaving town is how I ended spring. It’s not how I want to end summer.
“What should we do?” I ask.
He lets out a long yawn. “I’m kind of tired. Do you just want to relax?”
I nod enthusiastically. My legs ache from our dance marathon.
“Those chairs aren’t very comfortable,” he continues. “I have the bed. We could probably both fit. Or you could have the bed, and I’ll take the window seat.”
Ten years.
The words echo in my mind. Ten years since he was last held. Who am I to deny him that? I won’t let Murray get in the way of us.
“The bed looks perfect,” I say.
His whole face smiles—not just his lips but his cheeks, eyes, nose, brows, and even his ears all rise. He quickly drops his tuxedo pants and pulls off his shirt until he’s only in his briefs and socks.
I look away, forgetting to connect the dots. I obviously can’t sleep in my outfit. Slowly, I peel off my layers. When I glance back, Xander is fluffing the pillows and brushing dust off the comforter.
I haven’t seen him this bare since the first time we met, when he was tanning at the pool in his tiny yellow bathing suit. But this time his briefs fit tighter around his legs. I see more. I should have never looked away.
We slide under the cover. His muscular frame fits perfectly against mine. No adjustments needed. His hand rests on my stomach. Mine cups his shoulder. His breath slows as my heart rate quickens so fast I think I might be sick.
We stare up at the Edison lights, silent for minutes. I count them. There are three strands, each with eight bulbs.
Xander draws circles on my skin. I sense his gaze and dip my head. His finger strokes my bottom lip.
My pulse jumps again. The pressure lands like an unexpected shove.
Not like a sneak attack in the cafeteria when someone pushes me over with a tray full of food.
It’s a push from a friend, a nudge in the right direction when I’m standing in front of a crush beside their locker, afraid to make the first move.
My next kiss after Murray was supposed to be a boy from Tennessee. A new chapter. Not here. Not now. But I’m starting to get used to the idea of that plan changing.
“I guess I can finally leave this place now that I know the curse won’t break,” Xander says.
I stroke his arm. “Where will you go?”
“I have a list of places.” He exhales. “Will you join me? After college? Or in ten . . . twenty years when forever is left to us?”
“Of course.”
“Even if it’s somewhere crazy like the edge of the Arctic Circle?”
I smile. “If that’s where you are, then that’s where I’ll be.”
A beat of silence passes. Xander goes still.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask.
“Mm-hmm.” He nuzzles deeper into my chest. “This was the best night I’ve ever had.”
Sleep takes him in seconds. His body heavies in my arms. A soft whistle leaves his nose with each breath, a flutelike lullaby blending with the crickets, cicadas, and crackling trees. I finally let my heartbeat slow.
If there’s one thing I learned from Murray, it’s that when I don’t want to, I shouldn’t have to. But that’s what makes this situation with Xander so different. With him, I want to. I just don’t know when.
Maybe this whole thing with the Ardor Tree isn’t a curse at all.
Maybe it’s a blessing.