Page 73 of Until Next Summer

“I can help with any writing,” he offers. “And maybe build a rudimentary website.”

Jessie narrows her eyes. “You’re in a weirdly helpful mood. Are you feeling okay? Did you hit your head in New York?”

“If my assistance is unwanted…” Luke says, acting like he’s about to get up and leave.

Jessie grabs his arm and tugs him back down. “Of course it’s wanted. You know how to make a website?”

It looks like Luke’s smothering a smile. “Sure. The only problem would be the Internet access…”

“You can come to my cabin,” Jessie offers, blushing as soon as the words leave her mouth. Everyone around the table chuckles—I’m not the only one who’s picked up on the chemistry between them—but she quickly recovers. “To use the Internet.”

“How fast can we start raising money?” Dot asks. “This next group of campers is mostly in their fifties, and I’d bet they have plenty of cash to burn.”

Jessie nods and takes a deep breath. I have a feeling she’s overwhelmed by all these plans. “We can talk about it, start laying the groundwork—and campers can make pledges if they’re interested. But we have to figure out a few things before we can collect the money.”

“Take too much time, and time will run out,” Dot says, sounding like a fortune cookie.

“We’ll start as soon as we can,” Jessie says. “In the meantime, we’ve got to get ready for Color Wars this week.”

With that, the conversation turns to what we’re all here for: bringing our beloved camp memories to life.

If we’re lucky, this won’t be our last summer after all.

twenty

Jessie

A new set of campers has arrived, a group in their forties and fifties. We’re all gathered in the dining hall and I’m doing my welcome speech—the schedule, the rules, check your crevices for ticks, where to buy booze and condoms.

But this time, there’s something more.

“Finally,” I say, “I have an interesting proposition. You know that the Camp Chickawah property is under contract to be sold—”

Someone boos loudly, and other people join in. Never takes long for these adult campers to regress and start acting like kids.

“I know, I know,” I say, smiling. “But as a staff”—I motion behind me to Hillary, Cooper, Dot, Zac, and Zoey—“we have an idea. A way to save the camp. And we need your help.”

“Tell us the plan!” someone shouts.

“Tell us! Tell us!” another table starts chanting, pounding their fists. More and more people join in, until the dining hall is full of thunderous noise.

“I’m getting there!” I shout, gesturing for quiet. “The idea is simple: form a cooperative business of former campers and staff and purchase the property ourselves. Every person who joins will have partial ownership and a stake in the camp.”

I explain the details, using the talking points Luke put together for our website.

“Let’s do it!” a camper shouts, and a bunch of others cheer.

“I’m in,” a deep voice booms.

Others call out: “Me too!”

I glance at Hillary, whose eyes are bright with excitement. She’s standing next to Cooper, and when she notices me looking, she takes a discreet step away—but not before I notice that their hands were touching, their fingers intertwined.

Hmm.What did Cooper tell me about the last person he dated? A waitress at his restaurant. She threw lobster bisque at him, something like that? I have no idea if he deserved it or not, and I can’t imagine Hillary blowing up and hurling stuff, but any drama could be a huge problem for the rest of the summer.

Plus—and the surge of protectiveness surprises me—I might claw out Cooper’s eyeballs if he hurts my friend.

Making a mental note to ask her about it later, I turn back to the campers. “Anyone interested, please come up and we’ll talk details. And thank you!”

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