Chapter Ten

ten

Jessie

It's just after dawn. The sun peeks over the eastern hills as I push my canoe into the lake. Last night I was up late, keeping watch over a group of tipsy campers enjoying a late-night swim, and I'm in desperate need of solitude before the day begins.

My earbuds are in, playing the original Broadway cast recording of Waitress . The music is pure comfort, Jessie Mueller's voice as sweet and rich as the sugar and butter she sings about. I've been obsessed with Broadway musicals since my first camp play, though I've never had the time (or funds) to take a break from my job here and travel to New York. I guess when camp closes, I'll have all the time in the world.

A flash of movement catches my eye, and I glance to the right.

Someone's in the water.

Panic lances through me—a drowning accident is one of my worst nightmares, and we're easily three hundred yards from shore. But this person isn't struggling. I'm not an expert swimmer, but I can recognize the even strokes and perfect form as the morning sunlight glints off the swimmer's wet shoulders and back.

I sigh, frustrated. I made it very clear that no one should swim alone.

Then the swimmer gets closer, and I realize who it is.

William Lucas Duncan.

Irritation prickles through me and I remove my earbuds. I felt guilty after snubbing him at dinner the other day, so I stopped by his cabin earlier this week and invited him to participate in some of the camp activities. It was quite friendly of me, in my opinion. He responded by shutting the door in my face. Again.

"Hey!" I shout when he's about twenty feet from my canoe.

He lifts his head, splashing water droplets through the air. "What?"

"You're not supposed to swim alone. That's rule number one."

"Since when?" Even at this distance, his fiery blue eyes throw sparks my way.

"Since forever!"

"That's a stupid rule," he snaps.

"It's an important rule!" I shout. "There's no lifeguard this early. What if you start to drown? I'm sure as hell not going to save you."

He scoffs. "I'm not going to drown."

"Drowning happens when you least expect it!"

"So where's your life jacket?" Luke yells back.

Alarmed, I glance around my canoe and realize I forgot to grab one; Zac and Zoey moved them to a different storage spot.

"Shit," I whisper.

He smirks. "Better head back, then."

"I'll head back when I'm good and ready," I mutter. I don't know why I'm so irritated—maybe because he's showing such blatant disregard for everything I've done to make camp a safe and enjoyable experience.

But he's treading water so easily. It's clear he's at no risk of drowning, and I feel a twinge of envy. I always struggled to pass the swim test—my body seems biologically designed to sink.

"Relax," he says, brushing dark, wet hair from his forehead. "I'll sign a waiver or something."

And with that, he takes off again with those perfect, even strokes.

Huffing, I paddle back toward shore. Against my will, my mind drifts to my friendship with Luke all those years ago, when he was a counselor. When he was The Man.

He would've been around nineteen at the time and new to Camp Chickawah. I was sixteen, a counselor-in-training, and so awkward and uncomfortable in my body. Being a nearly six-foot-tall, skinny-as-a-rail, flat-chested teenage girl will do that to you. Adolescent boys can be mean . Luckily, I had plenty of girlfriends and reasonably strong self-esteem. I tried not to let it bother me.

A couple weeks into the summer, we had a break from our CIT duties. Hillary wanted to do a craft project, so I went to the Lodge to get a book from the camp library.

"Have you read this one?" a voice said behind me.

I whirled around to see the most popular counselor of the summer pointing to The Hunger Games . My heart skidded to a stop; he was ridiculously cute, with bright blue eyes and an easy smile.

I shook my head, feeling shy.

"It's awesome." Luke pulled the book off the shelf and placed it in my hands. "When you're finished, come find me. I want to hear what you think."

I read it in one day, staying up late with a flashlight while my cabinmates slept. The next morning, I ran to find Luke, who was hanging out near the canteen with his cabin of boys. One nudged another and said something about how giraffes aren't only at the zoo. The rest laughed.

Then Luke saw the paperback in my hand, and his face lit up, a brilliant smile that made my stomach flip. "You finished?"

I said yes, and he scooted over so I could sit next to him on the bench. He asked me what I thought about the characters, about the themes of the book, if I was #TeamGale or #TeamPeeta. I remember how it felt to have his attention on me, like some of his glow had expanded to include me, too.

Over the next week, I finished the series. Each time I finished a book, I found Luke to talk. He recommended other books—like the Maze Runner and Divergent series—and I devoured them, too. Reading about teenagers like me in a dystopian society was exhilarating. So was chatting with Luke. He seemed to actually care about my opinions, and even though we'd sometimes get into big debates, it was always fun. As a bonus, his cabin of boys stopped teasing me.

Of course I had a crush on Luke, but it was nothing more than hero worship combined with teenage infatuation. I knew he was just being kind. But it made the entire summer better for me.

Which was why the way he treated me the following year was so confusing.

I returned to camp as a seventeen-year-old, excited to see Hillary and be a CIT for the second time. But I was also excited to see Luke. I'd read a new book called Eleanor other campers go hiking or swimming, or they nap or read in hammocks. After lunch, a group heads to the Arts and Crafts cabin while Zac and Zoey stage a canoe race across the lake.

But it's like I'm watching from a window, enjoying the scenery while separated from it. I guess I miss having children here—it definitely kept me busier.

Now I'm drifting around aimlessly.

Near sundown, someone suggests playing Capture the Flag in the wooded area north of camp, where the uneven terrain, hills, and old-growth forest make it more challenging—and fun.

"Jessie! Come be on our team!" It's Moira, one of the campers, standing with a group of women.

"Are you sure?" I ask, secretly delighted. "I don't want to ruin the game by having the director involved."

"Yeah," she says. "It's men against women, and Zac and Cooper are playing for the men. We already have Zoey and Dot—we need you!"

Hillary is sitting not far away, sketching in a notebook, and my old habit of pulling her into activities nearly kicks in. But I squelch it. Ever since she brought up those ideas to "make the camp more profitable," I've been a little defensive. It doesn't feel great to have her show up after years of ignoring this place only to start critiquing it. Critiquing me , since I'm the one in charge.

Although I have to admit, she has a point. Nathaniel and Lola weren't great at the financial side of things. That's never been my strength, either. Hillary was probably trying to help.

And since I'm trying to make sure Dot and Mr. Billy are financially taken care of, I ought to stop being defensive and start listening to Hillary's ideas.

Before I can think more about that, Moira invites Hillary, who jumps up like she was just waiting to be asked. A dozen memories flood my mind, past games of Capture the Flag: sneaking with Hillary through the trees, working together to corner our opponents. My chest aches with the specific pain that only memories of Hillary seem to trigger.

Shaking it off, I shift to the side of the group opposite her as our team congregates. The captains—Moira and a guy named Lance, who's built like a linebacker—discuss the rules. We'll each plant our flag in our team's territory; the other team will try to capture it. If someone gets tagged, they go to "jail." They'll be out of play unless someone from their team tags them back in.

Moira then pulls our team into a huddle to talk positions and strategy; she played professional women's soccer, and it shows.

Across from us, the men's team finishes their huddle. One of them calls, "Don't worry, girls, we'll go easy on you."

Zoey straightens up, eyes flashing. "Don't worry, boys, we won't go easy on you!"

"I'm rooting for you, baby," Zac calls to his wife, and his teammates groan and tell him to stop being such a simp.

Zoey and I are tasked with guarding the flag. Three other women, including Hillary, play the midfield, watching for approaching members from the other team and chasing them down. Moira, Dot, and another group of women start sneaking toward the other team's territory.

The sun is setting, casting lengthening shadows through the trees. Soon I spot the first member of the men's team creeping through the bushes on Zoey's side. I catch her eye and point, and she slinks off, sneaky as a cat. When she tags him out, he howls in shock.

"Sorry, buddy," she says, flashing a grin.

He heads to jail—an area behind me that I'll guard.

Zoey and I continue to keep watch. I hold my breath as I peer into the shadows.

"There!" Zoey yells, pointing at a dark blur racing past me. I take off sprinting, coming at him from the side so he's forced to veer northward, where Zoey is hiding.

She pops out and tags him.

"Aw, shit!" he yells, kicking at a rock.

Zoey curtsies, and the guy heads off to jail.

The game progresses, the night getting darker, the moon coming out. An hour in, we have eighteen of the twenty men in our jail—including Zac, who kissed Zoey after she tagged him out and told his teammates to shut their mouths when they razzed him.

Then I see Hillary running toward us, breathing hard. "We're the only ones left," she says, motioning to the three of us.

Zoey trots over. "There are only two men left, so we have the advantage."

My competitive spirit instantly activates. "Cooper's still out there, plus that big guy Lance," I say.

"You two go for the flag," Zoey says to me and Hillary. "I'll keep guarding here."

"Keep watch on the jail, too," I tell Zoey, and she nods.

"Ready?" Hillary asks. In the moonlight, with her face sweaty and her hair frizzing into curls, she looks identical to her teenage self. My chest aches, and I force myself to stay focused.

"Let's do this," I say.

Side by side, we creep through the woods. Every snap of a branch makes me jump as we get deeper into enemy territory.

"The flag's in there," Hillary whispers, pointing toward a thicket of trees about thirty yards away.

"Let's come at it from different sides," I whisper. "The guard can only chase one of us."

We separate and head toward the trees as quietly as possible. My eyes catch movement and I turn; somehow, Cooper has gotten past us. He's going toward Zoey—and our flag.

"Zoey! Cooper's on his way!" I yell.

Hillary and I both start sprinting toward the thicket that conceals the enemy's flag. Instinctively working together, like we always did.

My foot catches on a branch and I stumble to my knees, but get up and keep running. Almost there. My heart pounds and my lungs burn, but I can make out the tip of the flag above the thicket. Victory is so close I can taste it.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder. "You're out!" Lance growls.

"Go, Hillary!" I yell, my voice cracking in desperation. "You're our only hope!"

All the years we've been apart vanish and we're kids again, competing against the boys, determined to win.

Lance takes off in her direction, surprisingly fast for his size. I'm screaming and jumping up and down; the other women join in, cheering her on. Hillary is almost there, but Lance is closing in fast.

In the distance, Zoey yelps, and my heart sinks. Has Cooper already gotten our flag?

"Run like the wind!" Dot shouts to Hillary.

"You can do it!" Moira yells.

Hillary barrels into the thicket, Lance right on her heels.

Silence.

Then Hillary's voice, triumphant: "I got it!"

A cheer erupts from our team, and everyone rushes toward Hillary, who emerges, holding the flag high. We surround her, jumping in victory. Then she's right in front of me, and I throw my arms around her and pick her up.

"You did it, Hilly Bean!" I squeal. "You did it, you did it, you did it!"

" We did it," she says. Her cheeks are flushed, the familiar patches that she always got as a kid. "You distracted him—"

"You were so fast!"

"I was terrified he was going to knock me over."

I gasp. "Oh my god, like the time Wally Higgins—"

"—ran into me playing Frisbee and gave me a concussion?" she finishes.

"You puked on his shoes!"

We're both grinning, but when Hillary's gaze meets mine, I stiffen. There's a question in her eyes, like she wants to know if this moment means anything.

"Jessie," she says tentatively. "What I said the other day—"

"Girls rule and boys drool!" Zoey shouts, and soon everyone is celebrating again. Moira leads us in a cheer; the men come over and congratulate us; Zoey teaches our team a victory dance.

Hillary and I are separated in the crowd. But as I watch her walk off, I'm overwhelmed with how right it felt to be on her team. Working together.

"Hey, Hill?" I say, catching up to her.

She turns, surprised.

"What you said about camp. Those ways to make it more profitable?"

"Yeah?"

My heart is pounding, and I take a breath. "I'd be interested in hearing them. I mean, if you want to share."

Hillary's eyes widen with surprise. And then she smiles. "Of course. I'd love to."