Page 54 of Until Next Summer

“Worse than that,” he says darkly. “Do you remember that tall guy with the red hair? Vince? He would say disgusting things about you, vulgar things, and it started rubbing off on the others. So I told all the boys’ counselors tokeep their mouths shut and leave you the fuck alone or I’d report them to Nathaniel.”

I blink, memories rearranging in my mind. Me, walking up to Luke at the beginning of that second summer. The way the other male counselors stared at me…

They were leering. My body had filled out that year, boobs and hips appearing for the first time, but I didn’t realize anyone was looking at me that way.

When Luke told me to leave, he wasn’t trying to dismiss me. He was trying to protect me.

“Vince ended up being sent home, do you remember?” Luke says.

I shake my head.

“He was getting too close with one of the girl campers. She was, like, fourteen. I told Nathaniel and he fired him immediately.”

Nausea twists my stomach. Sexual abuse is every camp director’s worst nightmare. It permanently taints (and potentially shuts down) the camp. Even worse, it forever damages innocent young lives.

“Thanks,” I say. “For doing that.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. I felt sick about the…”

“Dreams?” I finish.

He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and something shivers down my spine. Almost of their own accord, my eyes slide down his body: his chest and shoulders, lean muscle and tan skin, still glistening with water droplets. His swim shorts, clinging to his hips and thighs.

My cheeks flare with heat and I shake myself.

“You were a good counselor, Luke,” I say, trying to keepmy tone professional. “And like I said, those kinds of dreams don’t mean anything.”

A muscle in his jaw flexes, and he looks away.

“I’m going to shower and change.” I motion to his towel, which is still wrapped around me. “Can I get this to you later?”

He waves a hand. “Yeah, no worries. But I—uh…I need to apologize.”

I blink.

“For how I acted yesterday. I’m dealing with some stuff and none of it is your fault.”

“Stuff like your writing?”

“Among other things. You’ve borne the brunt of my negativity on more than one occasion, and I’m sorry.”

His expression is serious, stiff, like the straight nose and high cheekbones are carved out of marble. Like some talented artist spent days shaping the curve of his lips, the shallow dimple in his chin.

“I forgive you,” I say, surprised—in the best way—to receive this apology.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m actually feeling better being here?”

That makes me smile. “Don’t tell me the magic of summer camp is warming your frozen heart.”

His lips curve up ever so slightly. “Something like that.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” I hold his gaze. All the fear and panic I felt in the water rushes back, and a lump comes to my throat. “Thank you for saving me this morning.”

He gives a curt nod. “No problem.”

“Come to the campfire tonight,” I say. He still hasn’t attended one. It’s our last night with this group of campers,and with a bunch of theater nerds, the singing is sure to be amazing. “Please. You owe it to me.”

He scoffs. “I oweyou?”

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