Page 23 of Until Next Summer

She points to the schedule in her binder. “I have Tuesdays, Cooper has Wednesdays, Zac and Zoey have Thursdays. Dot has a half day off on Wednesdays and Fridays. But you don’t have any time off.”

I shift my weight in my hiking boots. “I’m the director.It’s a 24/7 job.” Before she can say anything else, I shut my binder and smile. “All right, we have time to work individually, but let’s regroup for lunch. Any questions?”

—

The week progresses: Cooper in the kitchen, Zac and Zoey at the lakefront, Hillary in the Arts and Crafts cabin. Dot finalizes registration, and Mr. Billy does last-minute property maintenance. William Lucas Duncan and his geriatric retriever keep to themselves; he doesn’t even join us for meals. Apparently, he ducks into the kitchen while Cooper’s finishing cooking, grabs some food, and leaves. Which is rude, but for the best. The last thing we need is Luke’s black cloud casting a shadow over everything.

Meanwhile, I’m out of sorts. Usually training week is intense—wrangling counselors is often more difficult than wrangling campers—but this has been oddly…easy. By Wednesday, I’m out of things to do.

I end up in the office, “helping” Dot. I think I’m annoying the shit out of her, though.

Pretty sure that’s why she’s sent me on some made-up errand to ask Hillary what supplies she needs.

As I mosey toward the Arts and Crafts cabin, my steps dragging the closer I get, it dawns on me Dot has an ulterior motive: forcing me to talk with Hillary.

I reach the cabin and push open the door. The interior is cozy and colorful, with big wood tables and art from past summers decorating the walls. But last year’s Arts and Crafts director—a twenty-two-year-old art student named Clarissa—quit a week early and left everything in chaos. Hillary has her work cut out for her.

“Hillary?” I call. My hands twist together, and I force them to relax by my sides.

She emerges from the storage area, holding a box of tangled yarn.

“Hi, Jessie,” she says. “Do you need anything?”

“No, no. Just wanted to check in. See what supplies you need me to order.”

She glances behind her. “Right now, I’m trying to get organized so I can see what I need.”

“Well, um, when you figure it out, just give me a list.”

“Will do.”

She smiles politely, and I smile politely. It’s hard to believe that I used to feel more comfortable around her than anyone else on the planet. What happened?

No. I know exactly what happened. Beneath the awkwardness is a cavern of loss, and part of me wants to ask herwhy.Why did you abandon me? Why did you walk away from our friendship?But that feels so…needy. So dramatic. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. We’ve both moved on.

“Awesome,” I say, slapping my hands on my thighs. “Better get going. See you at dinner?”

“Yep.”

I head toward the door, my heart beating oddly fast.

“Jessie?” Hillary says then, and I turn.

“Yeah?”

She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, something she used to do as a kid when she was nervous.

“I…I wanted to say that I’m sorry. For how it all happened, back then.”

For a moment I’m frozen. The memories of that time—thefeelings—swell inside me, trying to burst free of the tight box where I’ve kept them locked for twelve years.

Then I pull myself together and smile. “No worries. It’s water under the bridge.”

Hillary nods, but she looks pensive. “I hope we can be friends this summer.”

“Sure,” I say stiffly. “See you around.”

Outside, I stuff my hands in my pockets and head down the path toward the lake. My chest feels sore, like someone reached inside and rummaged around.

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