Five Summers (18 page)

“I HOPE WE GET BACK IN TIME TO CATCH THE END OF dinner,” Adam said as he started to row. The dingy red canoe had scared Emma at first when he’d pulled it out of the brush, but then she realized it was kind of perfect. She and Adam may have capsized in a canoe when they were ten, but now they were riding off into the proverbial sunset in one. She couldn’t think of a better metaphor for taking risks and facing her fear.

“I know, I’m hungry,” Emma said, reaching her arms around Adam’s waist.

“Hey!” he laughed. “Not while I’m driving.” Emma picked up her oar.

“Should I help?”

“Nah, the water’s calm,” Adam said. “I’ll let you know if I need you.”

Emma rested the oar across her legs and looked up at the stars. She couldn’t wait to get back to the others and tell them about her and Adam. She’d been talking about kissing him for so long, they might not believe that it had actually happened. She was so proud of herself. Emma had never been afraid to raise her hand in class or volunteer for a committee, or even apply to Brown, which was a reach school even for someone with her GPA. But letting go and showing Adam how she felt had been the bravest thing she’d ever done, and so far the rewards were more than she had hoped for. She leaned forward again and kissed the back of Adam’s neck. He startled, and the canoe wobbled.

“Down girl!” His voice was firm but friendly.

Emma drew back, feeling a little rejected, and he looked over his shoulder.

“I just don’t want to capsize,” he said. She smiled.

“Sorry, I’ll try to control myself.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I want to make good time. I need to find the guys and find out what I missed.”

What he
missed
? Had Adam been spending the afternoon wishing he was back on the beach chasing Frisbees and snapping towels with his friends? Emma suddenly felt a little uneasy.

“I thought you had a pretty good time,” she said.

“Believe me, I did,” he said. “I just need to find Nate. We were supposed to plot our capture the flag victory.” He laughed, and she relaxed a little. “I bet Jo’s looking for you for the same reason.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she said. “But . . . I was kind of hoping we could hang out tonight. Maybe go down to the rocks. Except this time you can get some.” (Did that sound slutty? She didn’t care.)

Adam didn’t answer right away, and Emma wished she wasn’t staring at his back. In the same way that it was almost impossible to read someone’s tone in an e-mail or a text, it was hard to have a conversation with someone’s shoulder blades. It seemed like Adam was acting a little cooler toward her since they left the beach, but maybe everything was fine. She took a deep breath and tried not to worry.

“What do you think?” she asked after a few seconds.

“That sounds awesome,” he said, “but let’s just see how the night goes.”

Emma’s heart sank. They’d spent over an hour making out after the sun set, and if anything she’d been the one who’d insisted they head back before it got too late. He’d seemed upset to have to leave, and she’d literally had to pry his hands off her. What could possibly have happened to make him change his mind?

Adam didn’t miss a stroke, his oars cutting through the water with a wet thunk and a whoosh every three seconds. Birds shrieked in the branches of trees back on the mainland.

“Sure,” she said quietly. “We’ll see.”

“Hey, don’t be mad,” he said. “I just have a lot to do.”

“Like what? Drink beer by the lake?” Her tone was teasing, but she meant it to cut a little bit.

“Emma,” Adam said, dragging his oar against the current. “I’m a counselor now. I actually do have stuff to do.”

“I know,” she said. “I just thought things would be different now that we . . .”

“They
are
different.” He turned and gave her a wink. “But come on, the world doesn’t stop just because we kissed.”

Emma sat back and stared at the sinewy muscles moving underneath the damp fabric of his T-shirt. She wanted to say that something had changed in him, but had it, really? Adam had always been hot and cold. It was just that they’d raised the stakes back there in the water, and now his hot ran scalding and his cold made her numb. She didn’t think that was what love, or whatever this was, was supposed to feel like.

She waited, though. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was thinking of something to say that would make it feel okay again. Maybe he would apologize and tell her he was just scared because he’d never felt this way about anyone before, and that she was different. That was what he owed her, not the stale sandwich cookies that were already giving her stomach cramps.

But instead, he just went on rowing. Adam didn’t say another word to her the whole way back to camp.

JO ADJUSTED HER SARONG AS SHE APPROACHED THE fire pit. After they’d gotten back to the mainland—once again without Emma, who hadn’t answered any of their texts—Maddie and Skylar had helped her get dressed for her . . . meeting.

“It’s
not
a date,” Jo had said more than once, but that didn’t stop them from fussing over her like the moms backstage on
Toddlers & Tiaras
. Maddie had tied the sarong so that it crisscrossed over Jo’s chest and fastened behind her neck like a halter top. Jo made her promise to double knot it, since she didn’t generally trust things without a built-in sports bra, or at the very least sleeves.

As promised, Nate was waiting for her when she got to the campsite, standing awkwardly and stoking a small fire.

“Wow. You look amazing,” he stammered.

She smiled. “Thanks. I like your . . .” Nate was wearing the same basketball shorts and tank top he had been wearing earlier, although he’d changed his shoes and added an open flannel shirt. “. . . sneakers,” Jo finished.

“They’re limited edition,” he said. “I got them on eBay.” Jo nodded politely. “Oh, I got you these.” He picked up a mason jar full of wildflowers. “Don’t get mad. I only picked up the ones that had already fallen on the ground.” Most of the flowers looked to have been dead for a number of weeks.

“That’s sweet,” Jo said, pretending to admire them. “Thank you.” She wished she had just worn her camp T-shirt and jeans; she felt so awkward in the dress, like she was some sort of low-budget teen catalog model. Nate gestured for her to sit on a blanket he’d draped over one of the logs, and Jo sat carefully, keeping her thighs glued together. He presented her with what he referred to as a “cheese plate,” which consisted of four Kraft Singles surrounded by a sunburst of string cheeses.

“So,” Jo said, unwrapping a plastic-covered slice, “how was your day?”

“Pretty good,” Nate said. “Did a lot of capture the flag strategy.” He winked. “Obviously I can’t tell you about that, though.”

“Haha,” she said. “Right.”

“What about you?”

She racked her brain for some interesting tidbit she could share from her day that didn’t involve her friends’ sexual missteps, and then realized she couldn’t do it—any of it. She couldn’t exchange pleasantries with Nate, and she certainly couldn’t do it wearing a ridiculous sarong. It was
Nate
. He was supposed to feel familiar and comfortable. In fact, this was the only time she could ever remember not feeling comfortable around him.

“You know what?” she said. “Not that the fire and the flowers and the blanket and the cheese aren’t all great, but can we not do this formal date thing? It’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Oh, God, yes,” he said, sitting down next to her with a sigh of relief. “Sorry. I got the idea from—”

“Adam?”

“Yeah! How’d you know?”

“Overproduction is kind of his style.” She rested her arms on her knees—terrible posture; her mother would wince—and looked at him. “But it’s not yours. And I like that.”

“Good,” he said. “I prefer to set the bar low.”

“That’s not what I meant!” she laughed. A breeze blew through, sending sparks shooting up into the smoke. Jo shivered; she wasn’t used to being outside at night with a bare back.

“Do you want my shirt?” he asked, starting to take it off.

“No, I’m fine.” She’d done the polar bear plunge in the Atlantic Ocean in the middle of January. She could handle it.

“No, you’re cold.”

“Quit being so chivalrous.”

“Stop being so stubborn!”

Jo laughed. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I can’t.”

“I can live with that,” Nate said. “Just don’t call me Stay-Puft, okay? It hurts my feelings. I used to be fat.”

Jo’s mouth fell open, and Nate started to laugh.

“Relax, I’m kidding!”

“Fine. I guess I deserve that.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “I’m sorry I tried to blow you off before,” she went on. “This reunion is just really intense, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to add any potential . . .” She realized too late she’d talked herself into a corner. “Whatever,” she finished awkwardly.

“Wow,” he said. “Whatever it is, it sounds like you’re having a much more exciting weekend than I am. My highlight so far—other than right now, obviously—was beaning Loring in the face with that Jell-O.”

She laughed hollowly. “It’s not exciting so much as stressful.”

“What?” he asked. “Keeping Emma and Skylar away from Adam?”

“Oh, I’ve given up on that,” she said.

“Then what’s up?” He looked at her, and his face was so open and guileless, she wanted to tell him everything. Not just about Skylar and Emma and their tug-of-war that she was now caught in the middle of, but about Maddie and the five-year-old letter she’d found on the last night of camp that had made her realize her own best friend didn’t trust her.

But she hadn’t even talked to Maddie yet. She didn’t know how to bring it up. Could she ever? She looked at Nate, and he smiled reassuringly. It was exactly what she needed.

“Well, maybe you can help me,” she said hesitantly. “I need some advice. But I have to be vague, since it’s a delicate situation.”

“I’m listening,” he said.

Jo took a deep breath. “Say you knew someone who was lying about who they were.”

“That sounds intense.” He started to unwrap a string cheese and then thought the better of it.

“This person, you know, they don’t
mean
to lie,” Jo continued, feeling the tension that had been building in her shoulders all weekend release with each word. “They’re just so ashamed by the truth of their life that they
think
they have to lie.”

“What are they lying about?” he asked.

“Just . . . what makes them who they are,” she said.

“Why is who they are so bad?”

“Who they are isn’t bad,” she said. “They’re great, but there are things they don’t tell anyone that keep them from being . . . I don’t know. Free, I guess?” The main thing she wanted to tell Maddie was that she didn’t care who her parents were or what kind of house she lived in. Those things didn’t make a person good—just look at Sunny Sherman, whose parents really
were
jet-setting rich people. She had Maddie’s imaginary life for real, and she would never be half as good a person, or a friend, as Maddie. But to tell Maddie that would be to admit that she’d read her file and invaded her privacy. It would embarrass her.

“Okay,” Nate said, smiling. “Now you lost me a little.”

“They just wish they would fit in. And be more like everyone else, and not have anything to hide.”

Nate considered this for a minute. “Well, I don’t think this person should be ashamed of anything,” he said. “I’m just sorry they feel like no one would understand.” He looked her in the eyes and put a hand on her knee. “Tell them they can talk to me, okay? I know what it’s like to feel like no one really sees you. I know—”

Jo leaned over and kissed him. She couldn’t stop herself. It felt kind of like playing goalie in soccer—she didn’t even think, she just dove. It wasn’t the great kiss of her dreams—he was taken by surprise, and so she ended up kind of kissing his top lip and front teeth, and it only lasted a second—but it still felt like she’d always hoped it would feel, like the night sky opened up overhead and the stars started falling out.

Her heart raced as she sat back and smiled. Nate looked shocked, his mouth still frozen mid-word.

“Wow,” he whispered. “I was not expecting that.”

Jo bit her lip. “Me neither.” She started to lean in again, but he pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’m confused.”

“About what?”

“I just thought—” He shook his head, his lips moving slightly like he was trying to find the right words. “I mean, aren’t you . . . a lesbian?”

“What?!” She shoved him, nearly toppling the cheese plate. “Why would you think that? I just
kissed you
!”

“Because . . . that whole speech you just gave about lying about who you were . . . was that not what you were saying?”

“No!” She jumped up.

“I am
so
sorry,” he said, his face a mask of regret. “I never should have said anything. I don’t
want
you to be a lesbian. I have a crush on you!”

“Well, you must have thought I was at least kind of gay before, if that made you so sure.”

“I swear I didn’t!”

“It’s my hair, isn’t it?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes. “That is such a cliché, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“No! I love your hair short! Can we please just forget I said anything?” He reached for her arm but she dodged him.

“Or maybe,” she went on, energized by the sudden surge of rage she was feeling, “it’s because I don’t suck at sports, or wear skirts and little heart necklaces that say BFF on them.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he yelled. “I said I was sorry. I’m glad you kissed me.”

“Good,” she said. “Duly noted.”

Jo spun on her heel and stomped back into the woods, not caring that the branches scratched and tugged at the loose threads of her dress. She hoped they ripped it off. She felt naked already, anyway. And clearly, no clothing—no skin and bone and muscle, even—could protect her where she really needed it. No wonder her friends were so moody, Jo realized. Once you opened your heart, you couldn’t close it again. It just sat there like a moving target on your chest, at the mercy of whoever happened to be aiming at you.