Page 60 of Until Next Summer

I exhale in frustration. “What do you want me to say, Luke?”

“Why does this camp mean so much to you?”

That’s easy. “Because it’s been part of my life for more than twenty years. It’s my career—the only job I’ve ever had.”

“Okay, butwhy, Jessie. Why did you keep coming back here? Why have you made it your career?”

His voice is gentle, prodding me to dig deeper. I lean against the pillows, look up at the rough wood ceiling. As anadded benefit, I don’t have to look at Luke, at those distracting blue eyes.

Scout nudges my hand with her wet nose, reminding me to keep petting her, so I do.

“This place has always felt like home to me,” I say. “My parents divorced when I was tiny, and they split custody, so I was constantly going back and forth between their houses. It was…alienating, I guess? I didn’t have a place that felt likemine. Not until I came here.”

“That must have been difficult, bouncing between two homes.”

I wave a hand, because “difficult” feels like an exaggeration. “It was challenging, sure. But I have a good relationship with my parents, with my stepparents and my half siblings. Overall it was fine.”

“Fine,” he repeats.

“Yes. And my summers at camp were good for all of us. My parents got to focus on their own children, take vacations together—”

“Theirownchildren?” He sounds mildly appalled.

“No, it’s—” I shake my head, flustered. “I mean their kids with their spouse, that’s all. I can’t blame them for wanting time with their family.”

“They’d go on vacations without you?”

“Well, yes!” I say, indignant. Is he not paying attention? “I was at camp. Iwantedto be at camp.”

“Because it was the only place that was yours.”

I roll my eyes. “You make it sound like I had a terrible childhood. It was fine.”

“You say that a lot.”

“What?”

“ ‘Fine.’ ”

“Because itwas! I didn’t want to go to Disney with my little half siblings when I was fifteen years old!”

But even as I say this, I think of other vacations I missed: the time my dad took his family to Yellowstone, where they saw bison and moose and Old Faithful; the time my mom and Mitch took their kids to New York and saw five different Broadway shows. I remember seeing pictures, hearing them talk about their experiences, and feeling like such an outsider.

But did I tell them that? Of course not. I immediately started talking about all the fun things I did at camp, trying to convince them I’d had an evenbettertime.

Or maybe trying to convince myself.

“Okay,” Luke says, like he doesn’t believe me but isn’t going to argue. “But you said everything that happened with Hillary years ago was ‘fine,’ too. I have a hard time believing that.”

Tears prickle my eyes, and I’m grateful for the solid warmth of Scout’s back against my leg, her soft fur between my fingers.

“Your best friend,” Luke says, “the person you felt closer to than your own biological family, chose to take that internship instead of coming back to camp with you. That must have been crushing.”

My chest tightens, and I give a tiny shrug.

“It must have felt like you were losing the only real family you had. Like she was rejecting this world that meant so much to you.”

My eyes well with tears, blurring the ceiling above me.

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