Page 58 of Until Next Summer

“Maybe you should,” she says, her eyes focused on the computer screen.

I blink. Why did I suggest such a stupid thing? I don’t want to leave. I want her to turn around and tell me to stay. To say she’s sorry she overreacted, that we’ll get through this together.

“Jessie, I hope you know I’d never say or do anything to hurt you on purpose. Not in a million years.”

“It’s fine,” Jessie says. Then she stands and, without so much as looking in my direction, walks right past me and out the door.

And just like that, it really is over.

sixteen

Jessie

I hurry away from my office—theoneplace on the property where I can usually find privacy. My heart is breaking. Bad enough to hear from Jack Valentine that they’ve found a buyer for this place. It’s ten times worse to know that Hillary thinks it’s my fault.

I have to find Dot—she’s the only person who will understand how I feel.

But she’s down by the lake, preparing for the canoe parade tonight, which means I have to walk through the heart of camp, which means I keep running into campers, which means I have to pretend to be as happy as a lark, even though I’m falling apart.

Two women dressed in swimsuits pass me. “Hey, Jessie!” they say, waving.

I force a smile and wave back. “Hi, Susan, hi, Ashley! Have fun at the lake!”

I’m sickened by the desperation in my voice. Trying to be a good little camp director, making this summer magical for everyone else before it all burns down.

And itwillburn down. My favorite place on earth will be wiped away. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Two men carrying tennis rackets wave at me, call, “How’s it going, Jessie?”

Another forced smile. “Hi, Jeff, hi, Scott—how was the game?”

More campers pass, and it’s more of the same. No one seems to notice I’m dying inside.

I’m nearly to the lawn when I see Luke walking toward me with Scout on a leash. I summon my fake smile and chirp, “Hi, Luke, how’s the writing going?”

His eyes narrow. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Jeez, grumpy much?” I snap.

But as I step past him, he puts a hand on my arm, stopping me. The groove between his eyebrows deepens as he searches my face. “No—something’s wrong. What is it?”

I sigh. “I don’t need you to rescue me again, Luke.”

His eyebrows lift, and he releases my arm. “That’s not—sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just…”

I hesitate;couldI talk to him about this? Dot isn’t exactly impartial; she knows my history with Hillary, and she’s as upset as I am about the news of the sale.

“Actually, do you have time to talk?” I ask, tentatively.

Luke nods once. “I do.”

—

I haven’t been in Luke’s cabin since the day he arrived, and as I step inside, I’m surprised at all the ways he’s made it his own. He’s moved two twin beds together and covered them with a colorful patchwork quilt. The mattress for the third bed is on the floor, with a blanket—Scout is curled up there now, a golden ball of floof, snoozing.

The fourth bed, where I’m sitting now, he’s made into a sort of sofa, with pillows propped up against the wall. The picnic table, under the largest window, must be where he works—it’s covered with notebooks, pens, and balled-up paper. In one corner he’s made himself a kitchenette using the single outlet in the cabin, with a hot plate and electric kettle.

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