Sun Kissed (Camp Boyfriend) (22 page)

“Girls!” Emily, our cabin’s counselor, dashed our way, her hair wild, cheeks a bright pink. “You will never guess who is going to be leading a very special new initiative at camp.”

“We know!” I exclaimed then mouthed “Seth” at Alex. I wanted her to know that we were in this together and that I needed her support as much as she needed mine with her skit. The thought made me spin in a circle, my gauzy skirt billowing around my calves. “And we absolutely can’t wait. It’s going to be awesome.”

“Yes!” Emily fist-pumped like a New Jersey DJ. “Knew I could count on my home girls to help with my ‘Personal Development and Growth’ workshop.”

“Wait. What?” I stopped so fast that Piper ran into my back and we both stumbled. First Alex’s skit, and now Emily’s project? How would I ever see Seth? My gut twisted.

Emily steadied us. “I know. I’ve got to work on that title—something catchier. How does ‘Don’t be a Teen Statistic’ sound? More to the point, right?”

Jackie chuckled. “It says it all.”

“I liked the first name,” Yasmine said. “And I want to help.”

“Wait.” Alex sprinted ahead and turned to face us, halting our progress. “So now you’re all going to rebuild the gazebo with Seth and do Emily’s workshop…Hello? What about my skit? I need you. Where are your priorities?”

“Where are yours?” A cool voice shot back.

I watched as Alex gave Yasmine a dirty look, but all our zen bunk mate returned was a calm smile. Her soft blue aura was as soothing as a warm bath.

As I tuned out their squabbling, I stumbled over a piece of flat wood and scooped it up. It was perfect for the gazebo and a great reason to go back and see Seth in the woods…if I could catch him before he left.

I pulled Emily aside. “This would be great for a sign over the gazebo Seth’s rebuilding. Emily, do you mind if I run back and give it to him during our break before dinner?”

Emily gave me a level stare. “Why do I feel like this is about more than just a piece of wood?”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment then nodded. There was no lying to Emily. She’d figure things out one way or another. “It is, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

As the girls walked ahead, still arguing, Emily leaned down and whispered in my ear. “You, of all people, should have faith in things that don’t seem possible.”

Her eyes twinkled, and her blonde ponytail bobbed as she inclined her head. “Now, get!”

My headlong rush was halted by her next words. “Be back in time for dinner. I don’t want to explain to Mr. Woodrow why you missed out on cheese-filled
arepas
and fudge pops.”

“With peanut butter!” she added in a shout as I took off, my stomach too filled with butterflies to feel hungry.

I flew past a confused-looking Mr. Barry, down the archery course and through the gap in the trees, where a faint thud and a cutoff swear word told me Seth hadn’t left.

Thank. You. Goddess.

Only— now that I was here, fear caught up with me. Seth had been kind last summer after he found out about my crush, but I’d never read anything from him other than friendship. I’d crushed on him so hard one summer, I’d even gone home and asked my mother to do a reading for me— hoping against hope her superior skills with cartomancy and astrology would show her something in my future that I couldn’t see. But there’d been no hint of Seth in her reading either, leading her to warn me about the dangers of using our family’s “gift” for personal insights.

I shrank back a little, debating what to do next. My gift had gotten me more ridicule than anything, but I still believed one day I’d be able to use it wisely and for good reasons, the way my mother did. Her readings weren’t a money grab to tell people they’d find true love. Her sessions with clients helped counsel lost souls. Her talent for pairing natural human insight with the understanding of the cards brought new self-awareness to people who would never visit a psychologist. It was a beautiful thing. Making me wonder why I’d let Mr. Slater convince me I needed some time away from all things mystical.

Reminding me why I was here. Why I had to get over my old feelings for Seth and talk to him about the gazebo.

“Trinity?” His familiar, husky voice called to me, and the small hairs on my arms rose, my pulse thrumming. “Is that you?”

A twig cracked as he stepped toward the place where I stood, half hidden behind a tree.

I swallowed over the cotton suddenly lining my mouth, and held up the flat, wood piece I’d found earlier. My perfect conversation starter about the gazebo. Only seeing him this close, his amber-colored eyes making me forget my name, flustered me to no end. How much time had I spent daydreaming about him?

“This is perfect,” I managed then flushed when his slanted brows came together in confusion. “I—uh—mean—it’d be perfect for us.”

His mouth opened slightly as he seemed to struggle with what to say.

Oh, this was a disaster.

I leaned closer to hand him the piece of wood and then backed up fast, heat crawling up my neck. Here was my chance to finally put my artistic skills to use in a practical format, and I babbled like an idiot, making no sense.

“It’s for the gazebo,” I said, my shoulders hunched.

I could feel my aura shriveling to a weak shade of gray.

Seth’s eyes widened, understanding dawning. “I didn’t know they’d announced I was working on that.”

“Your former cabin mates already signed up to help you.” I shifted on my flip-flops, dried pine needles sliding over my toes.

Seth stepped back. “It’s an activity? I’m working on it alone.”

I shrugged, curious about his defensiveness. Aquarian to the core, Seth had always been full of natural charisma and personal integrity. Everyone liked him. It seemed strange to see him so protective of his project.

“You know Gollum, always finding opportunities for us to have,” I made air quotes, “real-world experiences.”

A rush of air escaped him. “Our camp director wouldn’t know reality if it bit him in the ass. Sorry to say it, Trinity, but camp is an escape from real life, a fantasy world that someday we all wake up from.”

I had the feeling we were talking about more than camp. More than the gazebo. Was he still hung up on Lauren, or had she hurt him enough to make him sound like this bitter version of himself?

“There’s nothing wrong with a little fantasy,” I said, my art teacher’s criticism still ringing in my ears even months afterward. I liked my fairy paintings. Why shouldn’t I draw and paint what I liked? Create worlds I wished I could live in?

Seth shook his head and looked at me sympathetically, as if I were a child. “The real world finds you soon enough. One day, you’ll understand.”

Like he was so much older and wiser than me? For some reason, that really ticked me off. I was tired of people treating me like some New Age Luna Lovegood just because I happened to like astrology and mythology. I’d grown up in a small New England tourist town, filled with artisans. Back home, no one had ever suggested it was wrong to use a Ouija board, to see futures in the patterns of cards, to paint worlds and creatures that didn’t exist. Maybe I’d been sheltered. Then again, maybe I’d just been lucky to be born in a place that was so non-judgmental and accepting of others.

Besides, I didn’t think I was ready to consider the alternative—that I
wasn’t
grown up and might never be ready for a world that wasn’t the fairytale I wanted. Or worse, that Seth wasn’t the prince I’d once dreamed about.

“I want to help you restore the gazebo,” I blurted.

“I’m not really restoring it. I’m rebuilding it from the ground up.” He handed me back the wooden piece and shook his head.

We could debate that later. Right now, I just wanted him to let me help. He didn’t believe in karma, but I did. And I was convinced that fate had brought us together to work on this project, if nothing else.

“Okay. But still. I’d like to be a part of it.” I took back the piece of driftwood, but I was just going to save it. I could almost envision a new sign over the restored structure.

“If the guys are coming, I guess that’s okay. I could use the labor. But this isn’t an art project. We’ll be pouring foundations and putting up walls. It’s going to have some weight and heft to it.”

“Of course.” I tucked the driftwood under my arm. That’s what I wanted after all— art that was both useful and beautiful. “But it can still be pretty like the old one. It’s a part of camp history.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m starting over. The old gazebo is gone. If you’re not okay with that, maybe this isn’t the right a project for you.”

His stubbornness surprised me. He’d always been so easygoing. Had I just been seeing what I wanted?

“‘You’re never too old to set a new goal or to dream another dream,’” I quoted from C.S. Lewis, hoping he’d give an inch.

He grabbed a large piece of shorn trunk and lugged it over to a small motorized truck. It landed with a
thunk
and rattled around the metal bed. When he turned, his eyes had dimmed, a set sun.

“‘
Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.’” The sinewy grace of his movements as he strode back made my breath catch, despite his bleak words. He leaned closer to me, meeting my gaze head on. “Buddha said that. Sorry, Trinity.”

That was it? He was done dreaming, so forget about any artistic flare in the new gazebo?

I started to turn, feeling gray from the inside out. My aura must have been in blackout mode because, it felt like Seth wasn’t Seth anymore. Like the boy I’d crushed on forever had been stolen away, leaving a hollow shell of a person behind. If you didn’t dream or have hope, what did you have inside? White noise, maybe. Not much else.

I felt bad for him. But I needed this project. Besides, I had a good vision for what the finished project could be like. I wasn’t going to consult the cards for the best way to make it happen or look to the stars for guidance. I would simply work hard and use my artistic skills to make Camp Juniper Point a more beautiful place.

“I’m going to help,” I told him, even though it was obvious he didn’t want me to. “Whether you know it or not, you’re going to need it.”

I didn’t hang around long enough to hear him discourage me again. Instead, I hurried out of the woods and back toward the sunny paths leading to my cabin. Seth might not care about the artistic value of the new gazebo, but I did. I had something to prove to my art teacher, to myself, and maybe even to Seth.

There had to be a middle ground between the fairytale and the “solid foundations” Seth wanted to pour. Beauty could be real and fine and long lasting, even if it was just in a simple wooden shelter, and I intended to prove it. Suddenly, I had a whole lot of work to do, starting with a call to my art teacher and one to my parents, which meant a visit to the camp director’s office. I wanted to run some ideas past Mr. Slater for my portfolio, and I had the feeling the project was going to require a lot more time than the random camp “free period” would allow. My mom might be able to talk Mr. Woodrow into letting me devote extra time to the gazebo work, especially if she signed a release and gave him a free phone reading. I had a major plan forming. The world could sneer at my dreams all they wanted. I wasn’t ready to give them up.

Chapter Three

Seth

“Seth, your mom keeps calling the house.” My gran’s voice sounded worried over the cell phone. I’d debated even answering her call since I was trying to avoid the whole mother discussion.

That’s why I’d left my grandparents’ house before sunrise. It was why I walked through the pre-dawn dark, navigating my way toward Rockbrooke Falls by memory, since the moon came up late in the morning this time of year and disappeared before midnight. I’d watched it slide into Lake Juniper Point from a canoe the night before in my effort to spend as much time outside of the house as possible.

“I know, Gran. But I don’t want to talk to her. If Dad wants to forgive her, that’s his decision. But that doesn’t mean I have to.” I hated to sound bitter and unforgiving to my grandmother, of all people. But there had been a time my grandparents had been pissed at my mother, too. It was their son who’d been stuck raising a kid on his own.

“Of course you don’t,” Gran shot back right away, lifting my spirits for all of a second before she said, “Just hear her out one time. It’s probably part of her twelve steps.”

I scaled a small hill in my work boots, my fingers touching the damp earth and dead leaves as I climbed the steeper parts. Up ahead, close to Rockbrooke Falls, water rushed and gurgled over rocks. But I also heard other noises. People talking?

“Gran, I just got to the falls and I hear someone at the site. Did Gramp have contractors coming in today?” I’d lobbied to do as much work as possible on the gazebo myself. I hated the idea of big machinery in the woods, leaving deep tread marks and plowing over saplings. I’d rather clear as much as I could on my own.

“He’s got some consultants coming in later to meet with him about roofing materials…” Gran trailed off as if she was in deep thought. “And Mr. Woodrow asked if the art instructor could bring a camper out to the site to see about adding some Appalachian design to the gazebo. Maybe that’s who you’re hearing?”

I had stopped listening at “art instructor.” This had Trinity written all over it. As I cleared the last rise to Rockbrooke Falls, my suspicions were confirmed. Camp Juniper Point’s fortune-teller-in-residence was walking through the future construction site, touching each tree as she passed. The art teacher, a paid local craftsperson who came in twice a week to work with campers on various art projects, seemed to be showing Trinity the pieces of the old gazebo that I’d torn down so far.

Anger churned deep in the pit of my gut that they would invade this place. My project.

“Yeah. They’re here. I’ll check in later this afternoon, okay, Gran?” She’d given me a place to stay at the worst possible time. The least I could do was touch base when I was out of the house.