Page 78 of Until Next Summer

So I relax into the hammock, staring up at the sky, grateful to have someone next to me.

twenty-one

Hillary

The energy around camp this week is nothing short of electric—and not just because it’s Color Wars. The optimism and excitement about the co-op has seeped into every aspect of camp life. From raising the flag in the morning to drinking “bug juice” at lunch and sitting around the campfire at night, everything is more joyful.

I didn’t realize how big a shadow the impending sale had cast until it started to lift. In its place is a sense of hope, the growing belief that there might be more summers at Camp Chickawah, for all of us. I’ve been crunching numbers, and if the pledges continue at this rate, we’ll be within spitting distance of our goal.

I’ve been working on a few ideas to put us over the edge. Jessie told me not to hold anything back this time—an invitation I’m going to put to the test this afternoon. She isn’t going to like what I have to say, but the more I look into the camp financials, the more I understand why the Valentines decided to sell.

“Hello!”

Jessie’s voice rings through the Arts and Crafts cabin,bringing me out of my anxious mind and into my anxious reality.

“Out here!” I call. I left the back door open and set a bottle of rosé and a small charcuterie board that Cooper put together out on the picnic table behind the cabin. I’m learning there are more benefits to this summer fling than the sexual variety.

“What’s all this?” Jessie asks, walking outside. “Are you trying to seduce me, Goldberg?”

I shrug. “I mean, if there’s nothing going on between you and Luke…”

Jessie’s eyes flash with mischief, and my suspicions about her feelings are as good as confirmed. But I won’t push for details. Yet.

“Honestly, I thought you could use a break,” I tell her as we settle across from each other at the picnic table. “And I wanted to show you something I’ve been working on.”

Jessie’s face lights up. Shoot. I hope she isn’t expecting to see one of the craft projects we’ve been working on for Color Wars—although the medals the campers made by wrapping cardboard circles with tinfoil are pretty awesome.

I should have started this conversation differently: with wine.

“Here,” I say, grabbing the bottle and two glasses. “Don’t tell the boss I snuck the good plastic cups out of the dining hall.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she says, filling hers almost to the top. “Here’s to delayed endings and new beginnings.”

“I’ll drink to that.” I clink my cup against hers and take a sip, hoping that one of the new beginnings she’s thinking about is our friendship.

The wine is sweet and a little tart—not unlike thismoment. It’s just after five, but the summer sun is still high in the sky, casting tree-shaped shadows over the table. Dragonflies zip past us; in the distance, laughter and splashing echo from the lake.

We sit in companionable silence, sipping our wine, while I try to gather my nerves.

“You wanted to show me something?” Jessie asks.

“Yeah,” I say, fumbling my notebook out of my canvas tote bag. “I’ve been working on some ideas to help us raise more capital. A few of the campers mentioned their companies having corporate matching programs—the co-op doesn’t qualify, but if we form a 501(c)(3), a nonprofit arm of the camp, then we can accept donations and get their matches.”

“Brilliant,” Jessie says, taking a big sip of wine.

“And I was thinking about the Willis Tower,” I say.

“The what?”

“It used to be called the Sears Tower,” I explain, and she nods, the Chicago building’s old and more familiar name ringing a bell. “But another company bought the rights, so now it’s the Willis Tower.”

“As in Bruce Willis?” she says, grinning at me.

“Sadly, no,” I say, chuckling. “But I was thinking we could sell naming rights to places around camp—like the Valentine Lodge or the Pederson Swimming Dock. People would pay a pretty penny to have things named after themselves or their loved ones.”

“Oooh!” Jessie says, rubbing her hands together. “I like that! And maybe we charge more to name things after people’s enemies—like the Jack Valentine latrines!”

I laugh. “Exactly! That’s one of the most important parts of fundraising: the value of everything is directlyproportional to how valuable we make it. A rock can be worth ten grand if you position it right.”

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