Page 48 of Until Next Summer

“Yup.” Cooper laughs. “This do-over has been a long time coming.”

“Well, it was worth the wait,” I say, lifting my head so our lips meet again.

He sinks into this kiss, his hands running up my back and pulling me against him. My body feels light and breezy, like it’s made of stars, and I let out a sigh of appreciation for this place, for this man.

And, most importantly, for this new version of myself.

fourteen

Jessie

Putting on a musical at camp is always a challenge, but usually we have weeks to get ready. In this case, the cast and crew arrived five days ago, so it’s been a flurry of activity. Luckily, the campers are former theater kids, so everyone knows what to do: practicing lines, working on costumes, makeup, and sound. We’re staging a gender-flipped, camp-ified version ofThe Wizard of Oz.

“These are perfect,” I say, smiling at Hillary. We’re on the makeshift stage at one end of the dining hall, seeing everything in place for the first time.

She lights up, pleased. She led the group making the sets, which finished drying last night. “Yeah?”

“They’re Chick-amazing. What do you think, Sam?” I ask our stage manager.

Sam gives a thumbs-up. “By far the best sets we’ve had for a camp musical.”

When Sam turned in their registration with a note that they were nonbinary, I was determined to make sure they felt completely welcome. We’d divided the cabins along gender lines—with Sam’s application, I realized maybe that wasn’t the best idea. Dot and I asked Sam if they’d prefer amen’s cabin, a women’s cabin, or a private room somewhere else.

Sam asked to be assigned to a women’s cabin, and everyone has been incredibly welcoming. Say what you will about theater nerds—they’re overly dramatic, they can be petty or cliquish, but god love them, theywillbe inclusive.

“Let’s run through the lighting and set changes,” I say to Sam, “before the performers show up for dress rehearsal—”

The doors to the dining hall burst open.

“Jessie! You need to see this!” a male voice bellows. It’s Paul, who’s playing the Wicked Witch, along with two other guys from his cabin. He’s holding up his phone.

I walk over to him. “What’s going on?”

“Darren has a…” Paul hesitates, then sighs. “Just look.”

He turns his phone so I can see the screen: a picture of a flaccid penis.

“Ew!” I yelp, shoving it away. “What the fuck, Paul? I don’t want to see your dick!”

“It’s not my dick, it’s Darren’s,” Paul says. “And the dick isn’t the point. What is thatthing?” He uses his fingers to enlarge the photo, zooming in, and I wrinkle my nose as the thing in question comes into focus: a round, blackish speck against wrinkly pale flesh.

“Looks like a deer tick,” I say, grimacing. That won’t be fun to remove. For Darren or for Dot, our designated tick extractor.

“I knew it!” Paul says, and his friends agree. “It was those chicks in Cabin Eight. They stole his bedding the other day and hid it in the woods. He had to tromp all through the underbrush to find it!”

Beside me, Hillary sighs in exasperation. I feel the sameway. While innocent pranking is part of the fun of camp, these two cabins have taken things too far. I’m sick and tired of it.

I pull out my walkie-talkie. “Dot? You there?”

A moment later, my walkie crackles. “Go for Dot.”

“We’ve got a situation with Darren in Cabin Five,” I say. “He’s got a—”

“Dick tick!” Paul shouts into the walkie-talkie, and his friends burst into loud guffaws.

“Yes, a tick on his penis,” I say, trying not to roll my eyes. You’d think these guys were thirteen years old by the way they’re acting.

“Is it engorged?” Dot asks.

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