Page 71 of Until Next Summer

“I wish I had,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

She nods, like she appreciates that, and silence descends between us.

Then I remember her earlier words. “Wait—you have an idea to save the camp?”

She nods eagerly. “Yes!”

“That’s not possible—Jack’s set on selling it.”

“So we buy the camp ourselves.”

I tilt my head. No way I heard that correctly. “What are you talking about?”

“What if I help you clean up the toilet paper outside while I explain?”

I’m still confused, and definitely not optimistic, but I’m not ready for Hillary to leave yet, either. We have more to talk about—and not just this idea Hillary has. We owe it to ourselves, to our history, to work through our past together.

“Sure. That would be great.”

We head out, but Hillary stops before she leaves the room. “You still have this?”

She’s pointing at the hooks I’ve stuck in the wall to hang my necklaces: the one my mom gave me when I graduatedhigh school; the one I inherited from my grandmother when she passed away.

And the half of the friendship heart that Hillary gave me when we were twelve. One of those “Best Friends Forever” necklaces every teenage girl seems to have. I’ve thought about throwing it out so many times, but something stopped me.

Maybe because deep down, I hoped I’d have another chance.

“Yes, I kept it,” I say, feeling awkward. “Isn’t that what forever means?”

Hillary smiles, tentatively. “Forever and ever and ever.”

We head outside, each with a garbage bag. The sky is cloudy—no moon, no stars—and my cabin is surrounded by tall trees and dense underbrush; the only light is the golden glow from my porch. Streamers of toilet paper, caught in the branches, flutter in the breeze. Little white flags of surrender.

As we start cleaning, I glance over at Hillary. Her hair is up in a messy bun, her eyes lit with a familiar fire. She always looked like this when she was excited to start a new craft project. Like her brain was overflowing with ideas.

“Okay,” I say, “tell me about this plan you came up with.”

She grins. “Have you ever heard of a co-op?”

nineteen

Hillary

It’s Sunday night, and I’m still here.

And if that’s not enough of a reason to celebrate, Cooper made one of my favorite camp meals: walking tacos. As thrilled as I am by the taco fixings and snack-sized bags of Fritos, I know it doesn’t please him. He takes pride in cooking something special for our family dinners—but his attention was needed elsewhere today.

The moment the last bus drove away—the bus I was supposed to be on—Cooper, Jessie, and I hunkered down in the office. Luke’s dog, Scout, was with us; she hasn’t strayed from Jessie’s side since Luke left.

Together, we went through all the paperwork Jessie could find related to the sale, did research on how much similar pieces of property in the area have sold for, and ran numbers to see how much we’d need to raise to make Jack Valentine a competitive offer he won’t be able to refuse.

“Explain this one more time,” Dot says now, looking up from her spot on the ground, where she’s petting Scout. “I thought the Valentines already accepted an offer.”

“They did,” Cooper says. “But the sale isn’t final yet—it’s just under contract.”

“Sales this big take time,” I explain. “There are all sorts of things that have to happen, like escrow, due diligence, title documents, that sort of thing.”

“It helps that Mary got Jack Valentine to agree to stall so the sale won’t be final until the end of the summer,” Jessie adds.

---