Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)
I walk faster, needing to get away from talk of love and sex goo and anything else that’s going to drive me deeper into whatever mental infirmity gripped me up at the lookout. “Nope. No yoga for me. Just coding and pretending to play tetherball during forced outdoor fun. Thanks for the scavenger hunt. See you in the morning.”
He stops dead beside me, only to hustle to catch up when he realizes I’m not stopping. “Seriously? You’re going to bed?”
“Yeah. It’s the perfect time.” I turn, walking backwards as I motion toward the cabins, all with their outdoor lamps beaming but no lights on inside. “Everyone else is out rounding third base. I’ll be able to get at least two hours of solid rest in before they get back to the cabin for final bed check.” I wave and force a smile. “See you in the morning for breakfast. Save me sausage if you get there first?”
“Sure, and you save me bacon,” he says, supplying his usual line. He still looks confused as he stops at the edge of the girls’ side of camp but lifts a hand in farewell. “Good night. Hope you get some rest.”
“You, too,” I say, fluttering my fingers one last time before turning and dashing up the steps to my cabin. I change into my pajamas without turning on the lights and brush my teeth in shadow, hoping it will help me get in a sleepy frame of mind.
But nearly an hour later, I’m still lying wide awake on my top bunk, staring at the spiderwebs between the heavy wooden beams overhead, imagining what might have happened if I hadn’t run away. What if I’d stayed there with Sam until the fireflies started dancing in the trees below us? What if I’d taken his hand in the darkness and he’d threaded his fingers through mine?
Would we have been each other’s first kiss?
And if so, would it have been a stupid mistake…or the best thing that ever happened to me?
“Probably somewhere in between,” I whisper to the spiders. “Most things are in-between things.”
But even as I mutter the words, knowing they’re true, they don’t feel true in this situation.
My gut swears that kissing Sam would have been epic.
Maybe even life-changing…
Thankfully, before the rational side of my brain can lash into me for thinking something as pedestrian as kissing a boy—even a really cool, special boy like Sam—could be “life-changing,” Natasha bursts into the cabin, crying her eyes out. Apparently, Chandler decided they should just be “a camp thing,” and broke things off, only minutes after coming on her boobs.
“And I didn’t even w-w-want to do that!” Natasha sobs into the tissues I fetch her from the bathroom before settling next to her on her bottom bunk. “That’s weird porn stuff, but I did it because he really wanted to, and I th-though we were boyfriend and girlfriend.” Her voice pitches up as she adds, “But we’re not, and he’s a huge hairy asshole.”
“The hugest and the hairiest,” I assure her, petting her back.
“But I still like him,” she whimpers. “What’s wrong with me, Jess? Am I a stupid bimbo?”
“No, of course not,” I say. “You’re a really smart bimbo who codes genius puzzles.”
She sob-laughs and nudges my knee with hers. “Thanks, I guess.”
“It was a compliment. For sure.”
She sighs, the joke thankfully seeming to calm her down a bit. “Thanks.” She shakes her head, swiping at her cheeks with the now soaked tissues. “You’re the smartest, though. You knew better than to mess with any of these stupid boys. Well, except Sam, but he’s a good one.”
“And we’re just friends,” I say, wondering who I’m reminding—her, or myself.
She sighs again. “Yeah. That’s so smart. Just stay friends. That way you never have to have broccoli-scented spooge all over your chest.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ew. For real?”
She shudders. “Yes. I guess it’s because he eats so much kale, and kale and broccoli are cousins or whatever? I don’t know, but it was nasty. I’m going to take a shower and write a really mean poem about his funky spunk. Do you mind if I keep my bed lamp on for a while?”
“Nope,” I say. “I can’t sleep anyway. I ate too many marshmallows. Sam and I stole them from the s’mores table and had way more than our fair share.”
She laughs as she grabs her shower caddy from under her bunk. “You two are the best. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re still friends years from now and open a game company together or something.” She lingers in the doorway to our tiny bathroom and points a finger my way. “Don’t ever change, okay? Stay awesome and brilliant and too cool for boys who drool.”
I shoot her a thumbs-up. “Will do.”
And even though I have never seen Sam drool and there’s no doubt in my mind that he would never ask to come on my chest—or, if he did, he wouldn’t break up with me right afterward—I take the promise seriously.