Page 101 of Until Next Summer

With that, he shakes his head and gets back in the car, closing the door on any future we might have had together. The car starts, and the photographer snaps one more picture before running around to the other side and climbing in.

No sooner does the black car pull away than another one comes rumbling down the road. It’s not wide enough for them both, and Aaron’s driver lays on the horn. The sound, once a familiar part of my city soundtrack, feels like an assault on my ears. I bring my hands up to cover them until the noise stops.

The second car, which I assume is carrying the Valentines—unless someone else has a jilted ex trying to win them back—backs up to let Aaron’s car through. Once there’s enough room, the driver hits the gas, sending dust and gravel flying.

I flush with embarrassment. And then I realize I have no reason to feel embarrassed. Aaron is no longer my problemormy responsibility. And that knowledge brings relief—that Aaron is gone, and that I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for his ridiculous grand gesture. I’m proud of myself for standing my ground, even though I know I’ll probably hear it from my dad about my “poor decisions” when I’m back in Chicago.

Growing up, my dad always said I seemed to turn into a different person when I went to camp—almost like that girl was an alternate me and my “real” self was who I was back home. His docile and obedient daughter.

But what if the opposite is true? What if I’m the real me here? Here, where I can sing camp songs with abandon and walk around with paint on my shirt, where I can craft to my heart’s content and laugh until my sides hurt?

This summer, I’ve been able to bring my professional side to camp, too. My head and my heart, working together. For the first time in my life, I’m being my authentic self. All of me, at the same time, in this place.

And now, finally, here comes Jessie, just in time. Impulsively, I throw my arms around her and give her a hug, trying to transmit everything I’m feeling, my gratitude for her friendship, for the opportunity to come back to camp this year and set things right. “Thank you,” I whisper in her ear.

When we separate, she raises an eyebrow, looking confused. “What’s going on? Who was in that car?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I promise.

“Was it something to do with Cooper? He stormed onto the boat. Now he’s belowdecks, rage-chopping vegetables.”

Jessie’s words make my stomach twist. I need to find and talk to Cooper. His reaction to Aaron showing up here was bizarre.

“I’ll explain that later, too,” I tell Jessie. I have to process what happened before I can even think about sharing it.

Her eyes fill with concern. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I nod, stuffing the shock of Aaron’s proposal and my worry about Cooper into a separate compartment. I’ll deal with all that later. Now, I have to focus on what might be the most important business meeting of my life.

As if on cue, the car holding Jack and Mary Valentine rolls up in front of us.

We have a camp to save.

twenty-six

Jessie

“You sure everything’s all right?” I whisper to Hillary as we hustle down the path toward the lakefront. She seems dazed.

Zoey is about thirty yards behind us with Jack and Mary, charming them with stories of her childhood summers here. Zac’s on the sailboat, ready to go, and Cooper has hopefully finished the salad (all fingers intact).

“Aaron just proposed to me,” Hillary says in a soft voice.

I whip my head around like a cartoon character. “What? Aaron? The guy you were dating in Chicago?”

That part of her life feels like a separate universe now. Like I forgot that she doesn’t livehere, that summer camp isn’t her entire world.

“That was him in the car you saw speeding away,” she says. “It was…unexpected.”

“What did you say?” I whisper. We’ve neared the lake, and Jack, Mary, and Zoey aren’t far behind.

Hillary opens her mouth to answer, then sees Cooper coming toward us, wearing a plain white apron (seems boring for him, but he’s trying to look professional), balancing several covered bowls and platters in his arms.

“Cooper!” Hillary calls. “I need to—”

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice curt. He climbs on boardthe sailboat and disappears belowdecks without a backward glance.

I turn to Hillary. “What was that?”

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