Chapter Twenty-One

twenty-one

Hillary

The energy around camp this week is nothing short of electric—and not just because it's Color Wars. The optimism and excitement about the co-op has seeped into every aspect of camp life. From raising the flag in the morning to drinking "bug juice" at lunch and sitting around the campfire at night, everything is more joyful.

I didn't realize how big a shadow the impending sale had cast until it started to lift. In its place is a sense of hope, the growing belief that there might be more summers at Camp Chickawah, for all of us. I've been crunching numbers, and if the pledges continue at this rate, we'll be within spitting distance of our goal.

I've been working on a few ideas to put us over the edge. Jessie told me not to hold anything back this time—an invitation I'm going to put to the test this afternoon. She isn't going to like what I have to say, but the more I look into the camp financials, the more I understand why the Valentines decided to sell.

"Hello!"

Jessie's voice rings through the Arts and Crafts cabin, bringing me out of my anxious mind and into my anxious reality.

"Out here!" I call. I left the back door open and set a bottle of rosé and a small charcuterie board that Cooper put together out on the picnic table behind the cabin. I'm learning there are more benefits to this summer fling than the sexual variety.

"What's all this?" Jessie asks, walking outside. "Are you trying to seduce me, Goldberg?"

I shrug. "I mean, if there's nothing going on between you and Luke…"

Jessie's eyes flash with mischief, and my suspicions about her feelings are as good as confirmed. But I won't push for details. Yet.

"Honestly, I thought you could use a break," I tell her as we settle across from each other at the picnic table. "And I wanted to show you something I've been working on."

Jessie's face lights up. Shoot. I hope she isn't expecting to see one of the craft projects we've been working on for Color Wars—although the medals the campers made by wrapping cardboard circles with tinfoil are pretty awesome.

I should have started this conversation differently: with wine.

"Here," I say, grabbing the bottle and two glasses. "Don't tell the boss I snuck the good plastic cups out of the dining hall."

"Your secret's safe with me," she says, filling hers almost to the top. "Here's to delayed endings and new beginnings."

"I'll drink to that." I clink my cup against hers and take a sip, hoping that one of the new beginnings she's thinking about is our friendship.

The wine is sweet and a little tart—not unlike this moment. It's just after five, but the summer sun is still high in the sky, casting tree-shaped shadows over the table. Dragonflies zip past us; in the distance, laughter and splashing echo from the lake.

We sit in companionable silence, sipping our wine, while I try to gather my nerves.

"You wanted to show me something?" Jessie asks.

"Yeah," I say, fumbling my notebook out of my canvas tote bag. "I've been working on some ideas to help us raise more capital. A few of the campers mentioned their companies having corporate matching programs—the co-op doesn't qualify, but if we form a 501(c)(3), a nonprofit arm of the camp, then we can accept donations and get their matches."

"Brilliant," Jessie says, taking a big sip of wine.

"And I was thinking about the Willis Tower," I say.

"The what?"

"It used to be called the Sears Tower," I explain, and she nods, the Chicago building's old and more familiar name ringing a bell. "But another company bought the rights, so now it's the Willis Tower."

"As in Bruce Willis?" she says, grinning at me.

"Sadly, no," I say, chuckling. "But I was thinking we could sell naming rights to places around camp—like the Valentine Lodge or the Pederson Swimming Dock. People would pay a pretty penny to have things named after themselves or their loved ones."

"Oooh!" Jessie says, rubbing her hands together. "I like that! And maybe we charge more to name things after people's enemies—like the Jack Valentine latrines!"

I laugh. "Exactly! That's one of the most important parts of fundraising: the value of everything is directly proportional to how valuable we make it. A rock can be worth ten grand if you position it right."

Jessie's nodding enthusiastically, and I hate that I'm about to pop her bubble.

"But there's something else," I say, dropping my voice to hopefully convey the shift to a more serious topic. "When we were in the office the other day, I saw a historical document of the camp's financials. The profit margin has dropped significantly over the last five or six years."

Jessie narrows her eyes, taking a slice each of cheese and prosciutto from the charcuterie board. "I'm aware of that."

"I know you are. I'm just saying, if a co-op buys a failing company, it will still be a failing company."

"Do you think I'm trying to trick people into investing?" Jessie asks, a wounded expression on her face. "That I'll take their money, sit back, and let the camp fall apart?"

"No, no, not at all." I take a sip of my wine, rethinking my approach. "I just have ideas—more drastic changes that could help the camp do more than survive. Jessie, it could thrive."

My heart is pounding so loud I can feel it pulsing in my ears. As much as I want to keep going, to convince Jessie that I know what I'm talking about, my father taught me that sometimes the most persuasive thing you can say is nothing.

"I'm listening," Jessie says eventually, taking an olive off the board, and I exhale a sigh of relief.

"We both know that registration for sleepaway camps is down across the country," I say. "But there are more and more people like Luke who are looking for an escape or a retreat year-round."

"I've actually thought about that," Jessie says. "But the cabins aren't winterized."

"Yes, exactly! That's one of the first things we should do once the sale goes through. Winterize the cabins so we can use them in every season. And maybe give the Lodge a little facelift."

I hope she doesn't balk at my use of the word "we." I'm so invested in this idea; I want to stay a part of it. This could be a new chapter for both of us.

"I was thinking, summer camps only run from mid-June to mid-August because of school schedules. That gives us two weeks on either side where the weather is still great, and we could offer adult sessions. This thing you've created is too good to let go—and with fewer spots available, people will pay even more to relive their favorite camp memories."

I'm talking too much, so I pause and spread some Brie on a cracker, leaving space for Jessie to take in what I'm suggesting—a shift in the way she thinks about the business. Rather than being viable two months of the year, it could work for all twelve.

"I like it," Jessie says, and I exhale in relief. "I've had similar thoughts…what I'd do differently if I was really in charge, you know?"

"This could be amazing, Jess," I say, the wheels in my mind spinning with possibilities. "The two of us working together? It's a dream come true."

"I know companies pay a lot for your time and talent," Jessie says, and I start to protest, but she holds her hand up, and I stop. "We obviously don't have much disposable income at the moment, but we could definitely pay you three Kit Kats and a Twix."

There's a sparkle in her eye, and I feel like I'm missing something, but I'm not about to question her. Not when this is the outcome I wanted.

"Deal," I say, clinking my glass against Jessie's. "And to think I was going to do it for free."

Jessie laughs and takes another sip of her wine. "Thanks for this break. I needed it."

"You should thank Cooper," I say, suddenly feeling an urge to let her in on my little secret.

"Cooper, huh?" The suggestive lilt to her voice says she already knows.

"Let's just say I highly recommend a summer fling with a chef."

She grins, delighted. "Hillary Goldberg finally got a camp boyfriend!"

"Not a boyfriend—it's super casual," I say.

"Casual?" Jessie looks skeptical. "Aren't you the girl who planned your entire camp schedule two weeks in advance? You've changed since we were kids, but not that much, Hill."

"True. But honestly, the predictability of my life has been stifling. I think I've been itching to break free, only I didn't know it till I got here. I want to stop obsessing about what I should do and start focusing on what I want to do . On doing what feels good."

"And doing Cooper feels good?" Jessie says, her eyes alight with mischief. My cheeks heat up, which answers her question. She leans back, laughing out loud. "Go, Hillary!" Then she looks at me. "Wait—so that guy in all your Facebook photos…"

"Aaron?" I ask, surprised but secretly pleased that Jessie was paying attention to my rare social media posts. "We were on a break, but I made it permanent on the Fourth."

This piques Jessie's interest, and I fill her in on the rapid demise of my relationship. She gasps and shakes her head in all the right places, and it strikes me that this is exactly the kind of conversation I craved the night Aaron made his indecent proposal. My heart swells, knowing that whatever lies ahead—the good and the not-so-good—I'll finally have a best friend by my side again.

I finish by telling her about Cooper, how kind and patient he's been. In and out of bed—though, come to think of it, we haven't actually been in a bed yet.

"Sounds amazing, Hilly," Jessie says, resting her hand on top of mine. "Just be careful with that heart of yours."

Her words remind me of another warning I got earlier this week. I was sitting around the campfire, subtly (or so I thought) admiring Cooper from a distance. Then the woman sitting next to me started talking about him. She was from Boston, and according to her, my fling left a trail of broken hearts in his wake, sleeping with "anything that had a pulse."

I shake the memory away, trying to dislodge the unsettled feeling it gave me.

"Speaking of romantic entanglements, what's happening with you and Luke?"

Her smile fades. "Oh, nothing."

"Nothing?" I prod. "Come on, I told you about Cooper."

Jessie sighs. "If there was anything to tell, I would. But there's nothing. I thought there might be, but it's probably my overactive imagination conjuring up that old teenage crush."

"Everyone had the hots for him when he was a counselor," I say.

"Yeah, well, turns out he had the hots for me back then, too." Jessie's cheeks flush and she covers her face with her hands.

"Wait, what?"

She peeks out from beneath her fingers, a giant grin on her face. "He may have mentioned having erotic dreams about me when I was a CIT."

My jaw drops. "Jessie May Pederson! I'm going to need more details, stat."

"It's pretty much what it sounds like," she says. "That's why he got so weird with me back then—but it doesn't mean anything's going to happen between us now. He's got a lot going on, and so do I."

"Hot, no-strings-attached sex is something you want to make time for," I tell her. "Trust me."

"Oh, I'm all about summer flings—it's just been a while since I've had one." Jessie hesitates, then tilts her head, studying me. "Actually, maybe I can ask you something. Google has not been helpful."

"Go ahead."

"I've been thinking about…I mean, wondering…" She hesitates, fiddling with her braids. "And if you don't want to tell me, it's okay, I just—"

"Just spit it out!" I say, laughing. "Whatever it is, it can't be that big of a deal."

She takes a deep breath, then blurts, "Whatarethepubichairstylesnowadays?"

I stare at her. "Wait…what?" My mind slowly catches up. "Jessie, are you planning on letting Luke go to Virginia? When he hasn't even been to Cleveland yet?"

At this reference to the geographical locations we used as teenage campers to describe sexual activity, she bursts out laughing. Paris was kissing (for obvious reasons); Cleveland was for touching boob, since it sounded kind of like cleavage; the Netherlands was anything in the underwear region; and Virginia was "all the way." Back then, we didn't know anyone who'd let a boy go to Uranus.

"No. I don't know," Jessie says. "I mean, nothing's happened. But if it does…I guess I want to be prepared? I've been living in the forest for ten years, and he's from, like, the most citified city in the world. I'm sure things have changed…out there…with regards to grooming. Down there."

"Grooming down where?"

We both glance up to see that Zoey has somehow snuck up on us. She's fresh from the lake, her dark hair in a wet braid, her dimples winking. "Ooh, wine! What are we talking about?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Jessie says brightly. Her cheeks are pink. "We're talking about nothing."

"Jessie wants to know about pubic hair styles with the youths," I say pointedly, passing Zoey the bottle of wine, since I only brought two cups.

"Girl talk. Yay!" She plops down beside me and takes a swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Well, you know, it's really whatever you want to do with it. Some girls put a little gel in it, bring out the natural waves."

Jessie's eyes bulge.

"I hear they're doing middle parts nowadays," I say, barely holding in a laugh.

"You're messing with me," Jessie says.

"You could shave it into fun little shapes—like a heart or a triangle. Ooh!" Zoey lights up. "A little arrow pointing the way."

"Pointing the way to what? Hey, that meat looks good."

Now it's Dot, walking toward the three of us, her walkie-talkie swinging from her belt.

Jessie shakes her head. "Please, join us. Let's make this a full staff meeting."

"It's good to get opinions from a wide demographic," I say, then turn to Dot and motion her to sit. "We're talking pubic hair. To shave or not to shave."

"Or wax," Zoey adds.

"Nah, you gotta let that grow," Dot says. She swings her leg around to sit sideways on the bench next to Jessie, helping herself to some salami. "I'll tell ya, I shaved it all off one time and I looked like a plucked chicken down there for weeks." I wrinkle my nose at that mental image. "And the regrowth!" Dot shudders. "Nope. It's there for a reason. Keeps things hygienic. Plus…" She winks. "Wilderness is fun to explore."

"It shouldn't matter what you have down there," Zoey says, getting more passionate with each word. "If a man has a problem with it, he's not worthy. He should be honored to even be there. He should bow down and worship the queen of the jungle!"

"Who's this ‘he'? Are we talking about someone specifically?" Dot asks.

"No!" Jessie shouts, at the exact same time I say, "Luke."

Jessie shoots me a death glare as Dot chuckles and says, "Ah, The Man's getting acquainted with the ol' Vulvarine?"

Jessie's cheeks flame red. "No. No acquaintance."

"Yet," I add.

Jessie rolls her eyes. " Nothing is happening."

"Then why are we talking beav?" Dot helps herself to another big slice of salami, topping it with cheese before popping it in her mouth.

Jessie presses her lips together and squeezes her eyes shut; I can't tell if she's mortified or trying not to laugh. Or both. "I just don't want to look like a forest troll."

"You'd never look like a forest troll," Zoey says. "Trolls are short. You're more like a…forest ogre?"

"Thanks," Jessie says dryly.

"Who's a forest ogre?"

We all turn our heads to see Zac walking up, shirtless in his swimming shorts, a towel draped around his shoulders.

"Annnnnnnd we're done!" Jessie says, standing up. "Good talk, gotta go."

I reach across the table and grab her arm, pulling her back down. "Actually, Zac, it's great you're here. We need a guy's opinion."

"Sure," Zac says, sitting next to his wife and giving her a kiss. "Can I have some?" he asks, motioning to the food.

"Please do," I say, pushing the charcuterie board toward him. He dives in, stacking meat, cheese, and dried fruit high on a cracker.

"Do men have pubic hair preferences for women?" Zoey asks him, matter-of-fact.

Zac pops the entire cracker in his mouth, then chews, taking the question seriously. "I mean, I know some guys say they like it bare, but doesn't that seem a little…prepubescent?"

He smiles broadly, like he's proud of himself for using such a big word.

"Good job, baby," Zoey says. "So you don't mind a full bush?"

"What kind of Aussie would I be if I didn't like the bush down under?" He grins, loading up another cracker. "Wilderness is meant to be explored, I'd say."

"That's right," Dot says, and she and Zac high-five. Jessie buries her face in her hands.

"What are we exploring?"

It's Cooper, and he's carrying over another bottle of wine. At the sight of him, Jessie groans and slumps onto the table, her entire face hidden. "If Mr. Billy comes out next, I'm going to pass away. RIP me."

"We're talking pubes," Zac tells Cooper cheerfully.

Cooper's eyes widen as he looks at me.

I shrug. "Yeah. Jessie wanted to know what the styles are nowadays."

"And if men have preferences," Zoey adds.

Jessie, head still in her hands, lets out another groan. "Oh my gooooood."

"You want my honest opinion?" Cooper asks, squeezing in beside me.

"No. No, I do not," Jessie mumbles, her voice muffled, but I nod at Cooper to continue.

"You should do what you prefer," Cooper says. "Whatever makes you feel most confident. Nothing sexier than confidence."

He glances toward me, and I squeeze my thighs together and look away.

"I'd feel most confident if we never spoke of this again," Jessie says, lifting her head, her cheeks blazing red.

"Honestly?" I say, smiling. "I think you should just put it in two braids, so the carpet matches the drapes."

Dot's holding in a grin as she adds, "Or a mullet—business in the front, party in the back."

"All right, we're done here," Jessie says, swinging her leg around the picnic bench. "Back to work, everyone. That's a direct order."

As she walks away, I call after her, "Good luck with your next visitor from St. Petersburg!"

Without turning, Jessie flips me the bird.

Zac whispers to his wife, "We're getting a camper from Russia?"

—

The next morning, instead of my normal camp uniform, I put on a pair of running shorts and my Blue Team T-shirt, then head to the flagpole for the official opening ceremony of Color Wars.

"You're just in time," Jessie says, sounding as excited as I feel. Luckily, she didn't rescind her offer to be partners for the games today after the whole pubic council.

"Ready?" Zac says, coming up beside us. He and Zoey are both on the Orange Team.

Jessie nods, and he hits play on his phone, sending an Olympic fanfare blasting from his Bluetooth speaker. I'm not sure what's going on, but audible gasps and whistles rise from the crowd. I stand on my tiptoes, trying to figure out what the fuss is about.

And that's when I see him.

Cooper, dressed in a toga tie-dyed with all four team colors—red, orange, green, and blue—and a crown of leaves around his head. He's holding one of the torches Jessie asked me to make for the opening ceremony. She forgot to mention my fling would be the one carrying it. Or that his toga would show that much leg. I've never found calves particularly sexy before, but the way Cooper's flex when he runs is nothing short of hot.

When he reaches the flagpole, leaving several women and a few men looking lustily after him, he hands Jessie the papier-maché torch. She holds it high above her head and shouts, "May the best Color win!"

—

The Blue Team wins our first team event (kickball) and crushes it in the individual competitions, adding ten points for winning the egg and canoe races and five points for coming in second for the balloon race and apple bobbing.

My personal best activity is flip cup, a new addition to these adult games. I haven't played since college, but apparently, I've still got it. That win put us in the lead by twenty points with two events left.

"Hill, over here!" Jessie shouts. Our team is huddled by the flagpole, watching tug-of-war. If the Red Team wins and we lose, they'll move into first place.

"Shit!" Jessie mutters as the Orange Team tumbles and the Red Team celebrates. Then she remembers herself and gets back into team captain mode. "It's okay, we've got this. Who has the most upper body strength?"

"Not me," I say, stepping back.

Jessie scans the rest of our group, identifying a woman and two men who look like they work out.

"One of you should go in the front, another in the back, and the third right in the middle," she says. "Everyone, make sure you stand with your feet a little wider than shoulder-width apart. We are not going down!"

"Hell yeah!" the man who volunteered to be the caboose yells.

"Places, everyone!" Cooper calls out. He's the judge for this station, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to impress him. I take a deep breath, rubbing my sweaty palms against my shorts.

"Everyone, pick up your rope!" Cooper shouts.

The twined material feels heavier than I expected, and it's so thick I can barely wrap my hands around it.

"At the sound of my whistle," Cooper says, "tug! First team to pull the other over the halfway mark wins."

He pauses, standing right beside me, close enough to touch. Then he brings the whistle to his beautiful lips, lips that have explored every inch of my body, and my mind drifts to last night around midnight, behind the hay bales at the archery range; the way he pressed me against the…

The rope is yanked out of my hands as our entire team stumbles forward.

"Ooh!" I cry as I fall, scraping my knee, the rope burning my hands.

Cooper officially declares the Green Team victorious, then calls the Red Team to take our place for the final round. I walk toward Jessie, who's wiping dirt from her knees.

"It's okay," she says. "If Green takes the Red Team down, we still have a shot."

The match begins, and we turn to watch as the Red Team suffers the same fate, toppling over in less than thirty seconds, thanks to the former NFL player on the Green Team.

"Yes!" Jessie roars, pumping her fist in the air.

It's fun seeing this competitive side of her again. I just hope history doesn't repeat itself in the final event: the dreaded three-legged race.

—

Jessie and I are in the last of sixteen heats. If we win our race, it'll give our team enough points to win the whole Color Wars. If someone from the Red Team wins and we get second place, we'll go to a tie. Third place, it's over.

"You got this, boss," Dot says, tying a blue bandana around our ankles, binding me and Jessie together.

There are six other pairs in our heat—two from each team—including identical twins Avi and Olive on the Red Team. I wonder if they have an advantage; sharing DNA probably makes sharing a leg easier.

But Jessie and I have an advantage, too: this isn't the first time we've run this race. The last time, though, I tripped, taking Jessie down with me. It knocked us out of the lead, and we ended the Color Wars in second place. "First losers," as Jessie called it.

As if reading my mind, she wraps her arm around my waist, holding me tight.

"Just stay in sync with me," she says. "The only way we win is if we work together."

Dot blows the whistle and we're off. It takes a few steps for us to get our rhythm down, but soon, we're walk-running in tandem, as if we're one.

Inside, outside. Inside, outside. Inside, outside.

Before I know it, we cross the finish line—neck and neck with the twins. I turn to see if we won and upset the balance, almost falling. But Jessie catches me, holding me steady in her arms. I stay there, hugging my best friend, as Dot declares a victory for the Red Team.

Our teams are tied for gold.

"What happens now?" I ask, rubbing my ankle.

"Tiebreaker," Jessie says. "I volunteered us—so I hope you know your eggs."

—

Ten minutes later, I'm sitting in a chair, Jessie standing behind me, facing two players from the Red Team in the same position. A carton of eggs is on the table between us, and the entire camp community is gathered, watching.

"Before you are a dozen eggs," Cooper says, projecting his voice for all to hear. "Eleven are hard-boiled. One is raw. You won't know which is which until you smash it on your partner's head."

I cringe at the thought of wet, sticky yolk running through my hair.

"Take your first egg," Cooper instructs, and I hold my breath. "On the count of three, crack it on your partner's head."

I wince, closing my eyes as Cooper counts to three and Jessie knocks the egg against my head. To my relief, nothing happens.

Our rivals also get a hard-boiled egg. Two down, ten to go.

The next round, two more hard-boiled ones. The crowd is getting restless.

"Round three!" Cooper yells. "First to get the raw egg loses, giving gold to the other team."

Jessie reaches past me for an egg, changing her mind at the last minute and selecting another.

"One, two, three!" Cooper says, and I hold my breath.

The crowd erupts and I cringe with my whole body, folding myself away from Jessie. It takes a full ten seconds before I realize that I don't feel anything dripping down my scalp.

I look up and see my opponent covered in egg.

"We won!" I shout, leaping from my chair. "We did it!"

Jessie and I hug before getting swept up by our overjoyed Blue Team. They're chanting, "Blue gets gold!" over and over, and my eyes sting with happy tears.

It feels like I finally deserve to have Jessie's friendship back. And I hope this won't be the only victory in our future.