Don't Ever Change (16 page)

When we’re next in line, about to meet the writer, I whisper to Foster that he should ask her the question he was going to ask earlier during the Q & A. I nudge him and he laughs and then we’re up, standing in front of the writer, whose eyebrows are raised, her pen ready to sign. She doesn’t look that much older than Courtney, or all that brilliant. She is wearing glasses, though, frameless ones sort of floating in front of her face, and I think they’re really helping with the overall Writer Image, and I’m definitely taking note of that. I’m reminded of what Alyssa said (“I know you can’t judge a book by its cover, but isn’t that what a cover’s for?”), and this writer’s cover says: Sort of Bookish, Regular Person Who Wrote a Book. And the book’s cover says: Sort of Sad, Sort of Sweet, Regular Book.

“Hello,” Foster says.

“Hello there,” the writer says. She holds her hand out to take Foster’s copy of the book.

“We really liked the reading,” Foster tells her.

“You’re sweet,” she says.

“We just graduated from high school and we’re writers. We’re both going to major in creative writing in college.”

“That’s wonderful,” the writer says. “If I had to give myself advice ten years ago, I would tell myself to write every day. Doesn’t matter what.”

“What if you’re not inspired?” I say.

“That’s sometimes when the best writing comes out—when you feel challenged, when you don’t want to write because it’s too hard,” she says. “If you only wrote when you felt inspired, you wouldn’t find something new inside of it, you wouldn’t
uncover
anything.”

“What about writing what you know?” I ask.

“That works for some people, not really for me.”

“So this is entirely made up?” I say, holding out the book.

“Well, it’s fiction,” the writer says. “But there’s truth in fiction, right?”

“I think so,” I say.

“Me too,” Foster says.

“What are your names?” she asks.

“Foster and Eva,” Foster says.

“You’re cute,” the writer says. “Who should I make the book out to?”

“To Eva,” Foster says.

“Foster,” I say, “that’s too nice, don’t do that.”

“Well, I know you haven’t read it yet,” he says, smiling, and I nudge him.

Outside Book Soup, Foster’s holding his keys, so I reach for mine too. I wish one of us didn’t have our keys so we could drive home together. Foster asks where I parked, and I’m sad when I tell him, “That’s my car right there,” less than twenty feet away. He says he’s parked much farther down, out of sight, so I offer to be a
gentleman
and walk with him along Sunset to his meter.

“Are you having a good summer?” Foster asks as we cross the street.

“I am,” I say.

“And you like camp?”

“I like my campers. Pretty much.”

“What about the other counselors?” Foster asks.

I’ve barely ever thought about any of the other counselors besides Foster; I only know the names of two or three of them. I shrug, say, “Jen seems cool.”

“Do you mean Jennifer, Jenny, or Genesis?” Foster asks.

“Jenny?”

“Trick question. No Jenny.”

“Foster, it took me forever just to learn my campers’ names!”

“Well, now it’s time to move on to the counselors.”

“I want to,” I say.

Foster shoots me a skeptical look.

“I
do
want to!”

“Making friends is
cool
, Eva.”

“Did you read that on a bookmark?”

“I’m serious. You might meet someone you like. You might meet
one person
in the entire camp that you like.”

“I already like you.”

“You didn’t used to.”

“But then,” I say, tapping on my forehead, pointing to my brain, “I gave you a chance.”

“Think of it as extra credit.”

“Well, I love extra credit.”

When we get to his car, Foster takes a long time to put his key in the door’s lock. Then he and I both go to talk at the same time, and then both say, “No, you go first, no, you.”

I start: “You know Kerry Ward?”

“From PE freshman year. She was in Roush’s class too.”

“Right,” I say. “To you, did it seem like I
hated
her or anything?”

Foster just laughs.

“What, why are you laughing?”

“I remember you wrote on her short story about that traveling circus, ‘I’m excited to see what you write next, especially if what you write next is a lot more interesting than this.’”

“How do
you
know that?!”

“Kerry told everyone,” Foster says, laughing again.

“Okay, listen, I’m not a bad person.”

“I know, you’re awesome, Eva,” Foster says, still laughing.

“I wasn’t trying to, like, cut her down, or anything.”

“So you’re a little snobby,” Foster says, smiling. “So what?”

If I’d known all through high school that one day there’d be a boy—a boy who sat only two or three desks away from me for
four
years—who would react to my snobbiness with the casual, un-judge-y opinion “So what?” then everything might’ve gone a lot, lot differently.

But I know
now
. So maybe things can go differently
now
.

Maybe I can grab Foster and kiss him on the lips just for a second, real fast, and then go running across Sunset, dodging cars and laughing, with a Regular Book in my hand and a Regular Feeling too.

Happiness, that’s what.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

SUNDAY NIGHT, AFTER
dinner, there’s an earthquake. Nothing too big, but it means the next day at camp we have to do earthquake drills all day. The drills are pretty pointless—or if not pointless, then at least unnecessary—because basically every camp activity takes place in a giant open outdoor space. So unless the ground split in two and swallowed us whole, there’s not much an earthquake could do to harm us. But still, at nine, and then at eleven, and again at two, the special alarm sounds and all the groups gather on the main field. Some come dripping wet, straight from the pool, and some come still chewing, carrying the rest of their lunch or snack. But my girls are the only ones who come carrying pink-and-turquoise-decorated books, already silent when Steven strolls by for roll call.

“Everyone’s here,” I tell Steven’s assistant, a short, mustached man with a bandanna around his head.

He turns to my girls and shouts out the camp cheer. None of them respond with the camp callback.

I smile and shrug, shielding my eyes from the sun. “At least they’re quiet and calm,” I say. “It’s a good way to react.”

In a real emergency situation, I actually think my group would do the best. Look at them: Alexis Powell softly spinning my clipboard against the grass; Jessica Avery swatting at a fly; Lila and Alyssa and Renee comparing designs of friendship bracelets. They’re unpanicked and undisturbed. When the last drill is over and Steven blows his whistle, I motion to my girls to stand and they do, one at a time, wobbly, wiping grass and dirt off the bottoms of their shorts.

“Okay,” I say, rubbing my hands together when I have their attention. “Let’s go.”

I turn and they start following me, but halfway up a hill I realize, not for the first time, that I have no idea where I’m leading them. But Alyssa seems confident, holding Rebecca’s hand, who’s holding Billie’s hand, everyone all holding hands in a chain, hiking up the hill behind me.

“Alyssa,” I say, “how long have you been coming to Sunny Skies?”

“Since I was seven,” Alyssa says.

“You really know how camp works.”

“What do you mean
works
?”

“I mean, you could take over. Like if I wasn’t here.”

“Where are you going?” Zoe asks.

“You can’t go anywhere,” Jenna says.

“Can I go too?” Alexis says, jumping up and down.

“I’m not leaving. I just feel like promoting Alyssa,” I say.

“To what?” Alyssa says.

“Co-counselor.”

“Then can I be CIT?” Rebecca asks.

“No, all the campers have to stay campers,” I explain.

“Co-counselor’s cool,” Alyssa says. “Even if it’s not a real thing.”

I look back. From our vantage point on the hill I can see most of camp, laid out below. This is probably what my mom means when she tells me to take a Bird’s-Eye View of things, to look at a situation from some faraway point and not from the
inside
. From where I’m standing, the camp looks pretty peaceful, all the different groups in different areas doing different things: playing H-O-R-S-E on the basketball courts, diving off the diving boards at the pool, sitting outside the Craft Shack at the long wood tables gluing glittery junk to pinecones. From up here it all seems to be running smoothly, an ant farm laid on its side, everyone’s in their zone, doing their thing. And all the ants are people, and any of these people could potentially be a friend. I decide right then: I’m going to be the Un-Eva; I’m going to learn some names, give some chances.

I sit down on the grass, and the girls plop down around me. Alexis hands me the clipboard; it says we were supposed to be at Outdoor Cooking with the boys ten minutes ago.

“Outdoor Cooking,” I sigh.

“Sucks,” Alyssa says.

“What do you want to do instead?”

Alyssa looks at me like she can’t believe I’m asking.

“Seriously, what do you guys all want to do?”

“I like sitting here,” Jessica says.

“What if there’s another earthquake?” Maggie asks.

“Then we’ll slide down the hill and break our legs,” Jenna says.

“We’re not going to break our legs,” I say, in a voice that sounds like my mom’s.

“Earthquakes are cool,” Alyssa says.

“My cat got lost during an earthquake two years ago,” Lila says, and then Renee says, “We put posters all over the neighborhood.”

“Did you find him?” Alexis asks.

“No,” Renee says, and Lila says, “His name was Mr. Baggy Jeans, but my brother called him BJ.”

“You should write about it,” Alyssa says.

“Yeah,” Billie says, “write a story about Mr. Baggy Jeans.”

“That’s such a good idea,” I say. “Let’s all write about something we’ve lost. Everyone here has lost something, right?”

Most of the girls nod, but some of the girls are already writing. I feel happy and extra proud because we’re like the awesome underdogs, and not underdogs like we’re the slowest or the dumbest or the ones no one is rooting for. It’s more like we’re the outsiders, and I love that about my group. I love that we’re spending the last hour of camp up on a hill, writing together, doing our own thing, because who says we’re not united and who says we’re not forming a bond and who doesn’t love an underdog?

I look at the clipboard again.
2:30–3:30, Outdoor Cooking w/ Foster’s group.
I tap Alyssa on the arm, and she leans in closer.

“I haven’t seen Foster all day,” I whisper.

“So?” she whispers back.

I lean in closer. “So, you
know
I like Foster.”

Alyssa’s eyes go wide and she pulls away, hand over her mouth, blown away.

“I want to go see him, but I also want to stay here,” I whisper. “The girls are being so sweet, writing
on their own
, it’s amazing. What should we do?”

“You’re asking
me
?” Alyssa whispers.

“I’m asking my
co-counselor
,” I whisper.

“Hmm. Let’s go to Outdoor Cooking then.”

“Why?”

“Because then I can see Corey too,” Alyssa says.

“Alyssa,” I whisper.

“The girls won’t care, they’ll go wherever you want and do whatever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Duh. You’re older, and you’re the one in charge.”

“Well, now I feel bad,” I whisper.

“I never feel bad,” Alyssa whispers.

“You should have my job then.”

“I’m just a kid,” Alyssa says, like I’m dumb.

I rouse everyone and we march down the hill, but when we get to Outdoor Cooking, it’s just the boys and Corey; I don’t see Foster anywhere. Before I can ask where he is, Steven walks up, looking really serious. He tells everyone that he’s taking over Foster’s group for the rest of the period and that he’ll walk both groups to End-of-Day Ceremonies. I can’t tell what’s going on and feel afraid to ask, but then Steven gives me a really serious look, so I can tell things are
definitely
not great and maybe Foster’s even in trouble. I gather my girls in a circle and tell them there’s nothing to worry about, but I have to leave them with Steven for a while.

“Just for a few minutes,” I say.

They all shout “Noooo!” super sad and distressed. Even Alyssa looks a little upset, which means the girls
do
need me and they
do
want me around, even if I don’t really know what I’m doing. I wonder if maybe we should’ve stayed on the hill and then I worry that I’m always learning the wrong lessons in important lesson-learning situations and this is something I have to work on. But now I have to go.

We all huddle together and put our arms around the girls on either side of us, and then I say, “Whirled Peas,” Alyssa says, “Curl Powder,” and we give a big squeeze.