Page 44 of The Summer Intern

As I approached the clearing where the music cabin stood, I slowed my pace, not wanting to interrupt whatever was happening.Through the trees, I could see a cluster of kids gathered around the cabin's wide wooden deck.And there, perched on the edge with his legs dangling, was Casey.His pastel hair — now lavender — caught in the afternoon sun like cotton candy at a fair.He cradled the guitar I'd given him in his lap, and around him, a semicircle of campers watched with rapt attention, their eyes tracking his every movement.

Somewhere along the way, the music cabin had gone from being a huge pain in my ass to one of my proudest additions to Camp Eagle Ridge.I’d given Wade creative license, and he’d built something beautiful; a cedar structure with large windows and a wraparound deck, designed specifically with acoustics in mind.Seeing eager campers flock to it during their free time made me consider that Casey might’ve been right all along about the arts program.The kids craved this.

Casey adjusted his position, the wooden deck creaking.His baggy gray cargo pants hung loosely from his frame, contrasted against the slim-fitting black t-shirt that hugged his torso.He placed the guitar properly in his lap, and the rich wood gleamed against his dark clothes.He looked comfortable with it already, and that made me happier than I’d ever admit to anyone.Behind him, there was a rolling rack of the guitars we’d had donated just sitting there, inviting campers to pick one up.

"So who here has played before?"Casey asked, looking around at the group of about twelve campers sprawled on the benches he'd arranged in a semicircle.Several hands shot up."Cool, cool.And who's never touched a guitar but wants to learn?"

More hands.Casey nodded, beaming at the kids.

"Perfect.Here's the thing about music—there's no right or wrong way to connect with it.You're here because something about it speaks to you, and that's all that matters."His voice carried clearly across the clearing, confident and gentle in a way I hadn't heard before.This wasn't the confrontational Casey who'd challenged me about the camp's traditions, or the quietly reserved Casey who'd avoided my gaze across the dining hall.This was someone wholly comfortable in his element.

And it was so damn beautiful.

A small, dark-haired girl raised her hand."But what if we suck at it?"

Casey laughed, the sound warm and genuine."Then you'll fit right in with every musician ever.Seriously—you should hear my first recordings.Total garbage.And I wasn’t even brave enough to record myself until I’d been playing for quite a while."

The kids laughed, and I leaned against a tree as I continued to watch.I should have moved on—there were a thousand things demanding my attention around camp—but I couldn't bring myself to walk away.

"Music saved my life," Casey continued, his fingers idly strumming soft chords that somehow made his words more impactful."Middle school was...rough.I didn't have many friends.I was figuring out who I was, and a lot of people didn't like what they saw."He shrugged, but I caught the shadow that crossed his face, a flicker of old pain."Then my mom got me a secondhand guitar for my birthday."He tapped his new guitar with this palm."This one was a birthday gift too, more recent.From someone special."

My chest tightened.

"The cool thing about music," Casey said, his eyes scanning the circle of attentive faces, "is that you can fuck up—" A couple of kids giggled at the casual profanity, "—and even then, you’ve still made something beautiful."

A lanky teenage boy with braces spoke up."But what if you mess up in front of people?"

Casey's lips curved into a small smile."I used to worry about that, too.But then I realized that I was my own worst critic.Usually, the audience couldn’t even tell if I’d missed a note or messed up a chord.If you’re confident, they’ll think you meant to do it all along.I’m sure you didn’t even notice my most recent fuck-up."He waggled his eyebrows, and the kids laughed."Seriously though, the best musicians I know have made more mistakes than anyone.But they learned from them.That's how they got good."

I watched as Casey demonstrated a simple chord progression, his hands moving with practiced ease.The new guitar produced a rich, full sound that carried beautifully in the outdoor space.As much as I wanted to take credit for choosing the perfect instrument, it was Casey who brought it to life, coaxing music from it as naturally as breathing.It made me realize that we’d spent more time arguing than listening — hell, I’d never even heard him play.

"I have some guitars here.Who wants to try?"Casey asked, and to my surprise, nearly every hand shot up.He smiled—a real smile that reached his eyes—and selected a shy-looking girl, showing her how to hold it, and cheering as she cautiously plucked at the strings.As more kids crowded in close, Casey stood and retrieved several more guitars from the rack, distributing them to eager campers.He'd clearly prepared for this impromptu lesson, anticipating interest from the kids during free time.It spoke to a level of dedication that impressed me.He'd thrown himself completely into creating a meaningful music and arts program, and the results were already showing.

"Okay, everyone, find a spot," Casey directed, helping arrange the kids with guitars on the benches."We're going to learn the easiest chord progression in the history of music.Four chords that make up like ninety percent of pop songs."

He demonstrated slowly, breaking down each movement, each finger placement.His teaching style was natural and intuitive, mixing technical instruction with humor and encouragement.I found myself wondering if he'd considered music education as a career path rather than performance.

"Music's about connection," Casey told them as they practiced."It's about finding your voice when words aren't enough.And sometimes—" he strummed a dramatic minor chord, "—it's about being dramatic as hell."More giggles from the campers.

I was rooted to my spot, mesmerized by this side of Casey I'd never seen before.His passion was infectious, drawing in even the most fidgety kids.In the span of twenty minutes, he'd created a community within our community, united by music and his guidance.

"Okay, let's try playing together," Casey suggested, returning to his spot on the deck."Don't worry about being perfect—just feel the rhythm.We're going to start super slow."

He counted them in, and a halting but recognizable chord progression emerged from the circle.Some campers were more confident than others, but Casey nodded encouragingly, tapping his foot to help them keep time.When they finished the sequence, he grinned widely.

"That was awesome!Seriously—first time playing together and you already sound like a band.Let's try once more, and this time, I'll add a little melody over the top.Just keep doing what you're doing."

The second attempt was more cohesive, and Casey improvised a simple melody line that somehow made their basic chords sound intentional and beautiful.The look of wonder on some of the kids' faces made my chest tighten.This was what camp was about—these moments of discovery and connection.

As I watched, my admiration for Casey's teaching abilities warred with a more complicated appreciation for the way his slim fingers danced across the fretboard, how his lips parted in concentration, the glimpse of collarbone visible at the neck of his t-shirt.I shifted my weight, uncomfortable with the direction of my thoughts.This was neither the time nor the place.

Yet I couldn't deny the pull I felt toward him, stronger even than that morning in my tiny house when we'd given in to whatever this was between us.There was something about seeing someone in their element, completely confident and sharing their passion, that was undeniably attractive.And Casey, with his lilting laugh and his gentle guidance of struggling students, was magnetic.

One of the younger campers fumbled a chord and made a frustrated noise.Casey set his own guitar aside and knelt in front of her.

"Hey, it's okay.You know what my music teacher used to tell me?"

She shook her head, eyes downcast.

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