Page 25 of Until Next Summer

“Ice,” Hillary says. “I’d create an ice castle.”

I press my lips together, inexplicably annoyed. Hillary threw away her opportunity to be here years ago, and now she’s acting like she never left.

“Fire,” I say, a little too forcefully. “Would save me so much time on bonfire nights.”

Dot narrows her eyes, like she’s wondering what’s going on with me, and I glance away.

“Ice,” Cooper says, and Hillary beams at him, delighted. “I’d never have to worry about losing refrigeration. Once Ihad a hundred pounds of premium steak spoil because we lost power.” He shudders.

“Fire would be good to cook that premium steak, though,” Zac says, and I feel a weird burst of triumph. Like this silly game has turned into a display of loyalty.

Dot points her fork at all of us. “Creating ice would be helpful in a future climate apocalypse caused by global warming.”

Hillary lights up, and I scowl; why can’t Dot be on my side?

“But what if the zombie apocalypse happens instead?” I say. “Fire would be more useful in that case.”

There’s an edge of defensiveness in my voice. Dot’s forehead wrinkles in concern, and my cheeks flush. I’m being immature, I realize that, and I order myself to knock it off. To stop acting like a petty teenager whose feelings were hurt.

“Burn those fuckers alive,” Zac says, and I’m momentarily startled.

Zombie apocalypse, I remind myself.

“Zombies aren’t alive,” a voice says behind me. “They’re undead.”

Everyone turns; it’s Luke. He’s holding a dinner tray, glowering at us like we’re intruding onhismeal, rather than the other way around.

“Huh?” Zac says, bewildered.

“Imagine a reanimated corpse,” Luke continues in a flat voice, “devoid of vitality or soul.”

“Ah, so you have something in common,” I say.

Cooper laughs, then covers it with a cough.

Luke’s eyes snap to mine. They’re icy blue, and I shiver. The rest of the table is silent, everyone staring at him. Luke looks like he’s about to fire back a retort, but instead he turns around and stalks out of the dining hall, taking his tray with him.

“What’s up with him?” Zoey says when he’s gone.

I shrug. “Who knows.”

The conversation moves on, but I keep thinking about those cool blue eyes, and the emotion I saw hiding in them. Not anger or contempt, as I expected. More like hurt.

And then I remember something: he was holding a dinner tray. I think Luke wanted to sit with us.

nine

Hillary

Camp is officially on! Or it will be as soon as the first bus arrives.

Our welcoming committee—Dot, Jessie, Zoey, and me—is buzzing with energy as we wait outside the dining hall, which looks festive with an arch of green and white balloons.

“Any minute now,” Jessie says, looking at her watch. She’s been pacing for the last fifteen minutes. While she’s been tense around me since I arrived, this is somehow worse. I wonder if she’s like this before every first day of camp, or if my being here has gotten her out of sorts.

Dot seems anxious, too, organizing the already organized welcome folders. Only Zoey seems unaffected.

Suddenly, Jessie stops. She lifts and tilts her head in a catlike motion before turning to us. “You guys ready to welcome our first campers?”

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