Page 31 of Until Next Summer

I shook my head, feeling shy.

“It’s awesome.” Luke pulled the book off the shelf and placed it in my hands. “When you’re finished, come find me. I want to hear what you think.”

I read it in one day, staying up late with a flashlight while my cabinmates slept. The next morning, I ran to find Luke, who was hanging out near the canteen with his cabin of boys. One nudged another and said something about how giraffes aren’t only at the zoo. The rest laughed.

Then Luke saw the paperback in my hand, and his face lit up, a brilliant smile that made my stomach flip. “You finished?”

I said yes, and he scooted over so I could sit next to him on the bench. He asked me what I thought about the characters, about the themes of the book, if I was #TeamGale or #TeamPeeta. I remember how it felt to have his attention on me, like some of his glow had expanded to include me, too.

Over the next week, I finished the series. Each time I finished a book, I found Luke to talk. He recommended other books—like the Maze Runner and Divergent series—and I devoured them, too. Reading about teenagers like me in a dystopian society was exhilarating. So was chatting with Luke. He seemed to actually care about my opinions, and even though we’d sometimes get into big debates, it was always fun. As a bonus, his cabin of boys stopped teasing me.

Of course I had a crush on Luke, but it was nothing more than hero worship combined with teenage infatuation. I knew he was just being kind. But it made the entire summer better for me.

Which was why the way he treated me the following year was so confusing.

I returned to camp as a seventeen-year-old, excited to see Hillary and be a CIT for the second time. But I was also excited to see Luke. I’d read a new book calledEleanor & Park, and I was dying to share it with him.

It was training week, and after we finished for the day, I found Luke hanging out at the lake with a group of male counselors. As I walked up, they all turned to stare at me. They seemed shocked that I, a lowly CIT, would interrupt them—and that I would dare approach Luke Himself.

Luke’s face turned white when he saw me. Pale, ghostly white.

“Hey,” I said, lifting the book awkwardly. “I wanted to see if you’d read—”

“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” he said, cutting me off.

I blinked, my face heating with embarrassment. “Oh, sorry, I just—”

“Run along now,” he said dismissively, and turned his back to me.

I will never forget the sound of the counselors snickering as I hurried away.

For the rest of the summer, Luke acted the same way. Every time I saw him, he’d ignore me, or cut me off, or walk away—and he got the other male counselors to avoid me, too. It was like a fickle king withdrawing his favor. His minions saw his rejection as permission to be mean to me, and all the comments about my height started up again, compounded now by dumb blonde jokes. Someone started calling me “Camp Barbie,” and the nickname stuck. I detested it.

More than anything, I was confused and hurt by the way Luke had changed so drastically. The next year, he didn’tcome back. And now it’s clear that rudeness is his true personality, that the summer he was nice to me was a fluke. Good to know.

No more softhearted Jessie, I tell myself. I’ll have him sign a waiver later today, releasing the camp from any responsibility if he injures himself on the water.

When I reach the dock, I climb out of my canoe and look across the lake. Luke is heading back toward shore, still swimming with that perfect form, a lonely speck in the vast blue water.

—

The rest of the day is full of activities. A camper who’s a yoga instructor leads a session on the big lawn; other campers go hiking or swimming, or they nap or read in hammocks. After lunch, a group heads to the Arts and Crafts cabin while Zac and Zoey stage a canoe race across the lake.

But it’s like I’m watching from a window, enjoying the scenery while separated from it. I guess I miss having children here—it definitely kept me busier.

Now I’m drifting around aimlessly.

Near sundown, someone suggests playing Capture the Flag in the wooded area north of camp, where the uneven terrain, hills, and old-growth forest make it more challenging—and fun.

“Jessie! Come be on our team!” It’s Moira, one of the campers, standing with a group of women.

“Are you sure?” I ask, secretly delighted. “I don’t want to ruin the game by having the director involved.”

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s men against women, and Zac andCooper are playing for the men. We already have Zoey and Dot—we need you!”

Hillary is sitting not far away, sketching in a notebook, and my old habit of pulling her into activities nearly kicks in. But I squelch it. Ever since she brought up those ideas to “make the camp more profitable,” I’ve been a little defensive. It doesn’t feel great to have her show up after years of ignoring this place only to start critiquing it. Critiquingme, since I’m the one in charge.

Although I have to admit, she has a point. Nathaniel and Lola weren’t great at the financial side of things. That’s never been my strength, either. Hillary was probably trying to help.

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