Sixteen

sixteen

“Let me get this straight,” says Connie on the other end of the phone. “You’ve only been there a week, and you drove your sister to a minor league felony?”

I press the camp phone closer to my ear, my eye on the door as if Savvy might pop out from behind it. “In my defense, how on earth could I have predicted an Instagram prank was going to lead to grand theft auto?”

“Back up here. What possessed her to steal a camp van?”

I cringe. “She, uh, did not realize it was a fake account. And when she couldn’t delete the pictures fast enough, apparently she kind of … took off? And drove up the hill to where there was better Wi-Fi in town, so she could fix it?”

“You’re joking,” says Connie, delighted by this drama.

In fact, I am not. Savvy did just that, and so early in the morning that none of us were awake to see it happen. I was, however, quite awake and trying to get shots of the sunrise when she drove the jacked Camp Reynolds minivan back down the hill, after which I witnessed a chewing-out from Victoria so legendary that I almost dropped Kitty in secondhand horror.

“I wish I were. She got a ton of demerits. Like, the ones they usually give campers,” I say. “We’ve been on cleaning duty together for nearly two weeks and she won’t even look at me.”

“So I guess that means no progress on figuring out what the hell happened with your parents?”

I hold the phone away from my mouth so she won’t get the full volume of my sigh. “Nada.” I sense another pep talk brewing, so I’m quick to add, “But you were right, you know. About staying. The rest of it … it’s actually been kind of fun.”

Sure, getting stuck in an academic cage all morning is rough, but the other girls have made it oddly bearable. Once they let us out in the afternoon, demerit duty aside, we’re relatively free. We go kayaking. We play dumb camp games and set marshmallows on fire. We swap bug spray and ghost stories and T-shirts. We take enough goofy pictures of ourselves that Kitty is sometimes less of a camera and more of a mirror.

Come to think of it, I’ve taken so many pictures that Kitty’s memory card is probably wheezing with effort to save them—sweeping views of the Puget Sound, of thick, infinite clouds, of unusual birds, of bunnies and butterflies and deer. Pictures that make me proud to go through my camera roll, that finally ease this ache I’ve had as long as I can remember to get out and see the world beyond Shoreline, beyond the three-mile radius of my house. It feels like something’s opened up to me—not only landscapes and sweeping views, but the future. It’s not clear, but it’s wider than I ever remember it feeling, full of possibility, of places I can go someday.

“Are you guys just gonna do a big old photo dump on your Instas at the end of the summer?” I asked the rest of the Phoenix Cabin girls before dinner one night, when we were swapping a chip bag Leo smuggled for us back and forth. I’d been AirDropping them photos—the ones we took of ourselves, not anything I’ve been taking on my own—but I hadn’t seen any of them volleying for the shared computer in the rec room or wandering around to get bars on their phones.

“Oh, no, this is for our finstas,” Jemmy explained, holding out her phone. “I’m nowhere near the level to be launching a brand yet.”

I looked at the screen and saw that like the “How to Stay Wacky” account we made, there were only a handful of followers, and it was locked. Connie had a finsta too, but I was never on Instagram to see it. Jemmy’s was in the same vein. Kind of like a scrapbook, without any real theme.

“Oh. I guess mine’s a finsta too then, since the posts are only for fun.”

“Kind of,” said Cam. “Mostly it’s good to have your own space, I guess? Get to know your vibe? So when we launch our legit accounts we know what our vision is.”

“What are your visions?” I asked.

Cam beamed, adjusting the blond hair she’d pulled into a much lower, non-Savvy ponytail in recent days. “There’s a whole body-positive running community on Instagram. I’m gonna start with that, and have my thing be highlighting running brands with inclusive sizing that are actually cute, and match them up with weekly curated playlists.” She cast one leg out like a ballerina, showing off the purple leggings with cloud prints she was wearing. “This one’s full Ariana, obviously.”

Izzy plucked some of the spandex on her calf and snapped it back, making her yelp out a laugh. “Well, I’m gonna be a doctor, so I’m gonna use mine to chronicle everything like a photo diary—premed, med school, residency,” she told me. “Like Grey’s Anatomy, but make it Gen Z. And with like, way less murder.”

Before I could react, Jemmy grinned widely, making a bow-and-arrow movement. “Our Dungeons & Dragons group makes all our own cosplay, so I’m gonna chronicle the campaign we’re kicking off in the fall. We’ve all decided it doesn’t end until every last one of us is dead.”

I stared at each of them in turn, impressed. “Wow, I love all of these,” I said. I was so into their ideas that for the first time I wanted to be on Instagram as an actual recreational hobby, and not just something I glanced at once a year to make sure Leo hadn’t posted pictures of the clown from It on my account on April Fools’ Day.

But there was one part that didn’t make sense. “If you all have your own Instagram ideas … why are you so into Savvy?”

“Well, first off, cuz she’s a badass,” said Jemmy. “But also because of the workshop she’s leading next week.”

“Workshop?” I asked. I knew there were specialty classes that rotated every week, but I’d been too busy harassing Mickey and Leo in the kitchens and running around the campground with Kitty and Finn to pay much attention.

“Social Media and the Personal Brand,” said Izzy. “Savvy built her Instagram up from basically nothing in two years. If anyone knows how to do it, it’s her.”

“Don’t worry,” said Jemmy, “we signed you up, but we can pull your name off it if you’d rather not.”

There was this warmth, then—one I’d been too nervous to acknowledge, in case it went away. Like I really did belong here. Like I was capable of finding my place outside the bubble I’d been living in, with the same best friends and the same town and the same endless to-do list on Abby’s Agenda.

“See?” says Connie, tugging me out of my thoughts. “You just have to bust out of your shell a bit. Maybe do something totally radical, even, like show your photos to people who aren’t me and Leo.”

“Let’s not get too carried away.”

“How is Leo, by the way?”

I glance out the window of the main office, wondering if I’ll spot him on his way to the kitchen so I can wave him over to say hi, but no luck. Truth is, I was worried Leo might be mad after what happened with Savvy, but even he agreed her reaction was out of proportion. In true Benvolio form, though, he has stayed fair to both parties, hanging out with us each individually without bringing it up.

“He’s good,” I say. “He and Mickey have been doing these little cook-offs after dinner every night and letting me and Finn be celebrity judges.”

“So you’re basically living out Leo’s Chopped fantasies?”

“Or nightmares. Last night he accidentally dumped an entire container of cinnamon into the pork sisig Mickey was trying to teach him to make. She said that’s what he gets for going off script on her family recipes.”

“I wish I could be there,” says Connie. “I’m missing out on everything. It’s like Thanksgiving break all over again.”

I manage not to wince thinking of the BEI, which either means I’ve made progress, or have done enough humiliating things to eclipse it since. “Don’t worry. You’re not missing much,” I tell her. “I haven’t tried to fling myself at Leo again. I got the message on that loud and clear.”

I’m expecting her to laugh, but there’s silence on the other end of the line—enough that for a second I think the call was dropped.

“That was a joke,” I add quickly.

“Yeah,” says Connie, with a weak laugh. “Besides, what about Finn? He sounds nice.”

I shrug. “I mean, yeah. But I guess after the whole thing with Leo … I dunno. Even if I did like Finn, doesn’t seem worth the risk of humiliating myself again.”

I don’t know why I’m being so frank. I guess because it was rare for me to get Connie alone when we were back at school, and now it’s only the two of us, so I can say whatever I want. Or maybe I need to do it to prove something to myself. Like if I admit I had feelings for Leo, it means I’ve moved on enough that it can’t embarrass me anymore. Like it’ll lose its power over me, if I take some of it back.

But there’s muffled movement on the other end, like Connie is holding the phone away from her face. When she’s back, she says in this careful voice, “Abs … do you like Leo?”

“What? No,” I say, going so red that I stare down at the floor as if she’s in the room with me. “It doesn’t matter. Leo doesn’t like me. You asked him yourself.”

There’s a beat. “I think I messed up.”

I press the phone closer to my ear, trying to read her tone, not wanting to believe the thought currently racing through my brain. “Messed up how?”

“Messed up like—I—I wasn’t entirely honest with you. About … what I said about Leo not liking you. The truth is we never talked about it.”

My mouth is open for a few seconds before it remembers to form words. “Then why did you say you did?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

She’s trying to be funny, but I’m afraid if I give in and laugh I might never stop. “Do you like Leo?” I ask instead.

“No. No, it’s not like that,” she says, the words tripping over each other. “I did it because—honestly, Abby, I thought it was a blip. You looked so freaked out, and I wanted to smooth everything over, so I said what I could to get you guys to move on from it.”

“But I didn’t move on,” I say through my teeth. “I was … oh my god, I’ve been so embarrassed, every single day I’ve looked at him since.”

“I didn’t realize you—”

“Why are you only telling me this now?”

Connie takes a breath like she’s steeling herself. Like she’s wrestled with telling me this for a while.

“Leo said something before he left about missing out on a lost chance. And I tried to ask him about it, but he kind of shrugged it off. I thought maybe it had to do with the DNA test stuff, but I think—Abby, I think maybe he was talking about you.”

The conversation has shifted so fast that it feels like whiplash. I’m breathing too hard, as if I’m trying to outrun it, like I’ve been running all this time. It casts new colors on every interaction I’ve had with Leo in the past few months, on every feeling I’ve worked so hard to press back inside myself, on every embarrassment I’ve felt in the moments I failed.

“I’m sorry, Abby. I really am.”

This is the part where we’re supposed to talk it out, and I forgive her. The part where I’m supposed to say something to save this awful moment, this swooping feeling in my chest.

But it feels like this whole summer has seeped rot into the foundations of all the things I thought I could depend on. My parents lied to me. Connie lied to me. And those lies may have been quiet, with the best of intentions, but they’re all imploding the order of my stupid universe.

“I’ve gotta get back to camp,” I say, barely getting it out without the words choking in my throat.

“Abby.” She says my name like a plea. I pretend I don’t hear it. My heart’s beating so loud that it’s hard to focus on anything else.

Click.

After I hang up, I stand there, listening to the dial tone, trying to wrap my head around what just happened. We’ve had plenty of disagreements in our years of friendship, but nothing like this. There’s never been anything I wasn’t quick to forgive and forget. I wasn’t built any other way, and I really do love Connie like the sister I never had.

I set the phone back in its cradle, standing perfectly still, trying to ground myself—trying to make it seem less like we started that phone call far away from each other and ended it further than we’ve ever been.