Page 80 of Until Next Summer

I finish by telling her about Cooper, how kind and patient he’s been. In and out of bed—though, come to think of it, we haven’t actually beenina bed yet.

“Sounds amazing, Hilly,” Jessie says, resting her hand on top of mine. “Just be careful with that heart of yours.”

Her words remind me of another warning I got earlier this week. I was sitting around the campfire, subtly (or so I thought) admiring Cooper from a distance. Then the woman sitting next to me started talking about him. She was from Boston, and according to her, my fling left a trail of broken hearts in his wake, sleeping with “anything that had a pulse.”

I shake the memory away, trying to dislodge the unsettled feeling it gave me.

“Speaking of romantic entanglements, what’s happening with you and Luke?”

Her smile fades. “Oh, nothing.”

“Nothing?” I prod. “Come on, I told you about Cooper.”

Jessie sighs. “If there was anything to tell, I would. But there’s nothing. I thought there might be, but it’s probably my overactive imagination conjuring up that old teenage crush.”

“Everyone had the hots for him when he was a counselor,” I say.

“Yeah, well, turns out he had the hots for me back then,too.” Jessie’s cheeks flush and she covers her face with her hands.

“Wait, what?”

She peeks out from beneath her fingers, a giant grin on her face. “He may have mentioned having erotic dreams about me when I was a CIT.”

My jaw drops. “Jessie May Pederson! I’m going to need more details, stat.”

“It’s pretty much what it sounds like,” she says. “That’s why he got so weird with me back then—but it doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen between us now. He’s got a lot going on, and so do I.”

“Hot, no-strings-attached sex is something you want to make time for,” I tell her. “Trust me.”

“Oh, I’m all about summer flings—it’s just been a while since I’ve had one.” Jessie hesitates, then tilts her head, studying me. “Actually, maybe I can ask you something. Google hasnotbeen helpful.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve been thinking about…I mean, wondering…” She hesitates, fiddling with her braids. “And if you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay, I just—”

“Just spit it out!” I say, laughing. “Whatever it is, it can’t bethatbig of a deal.”

She takes a deep breath, then blurts, “Whatarethepubichairstylesnowadays?”

I stare at her. “Wait…what?” My mind slowly catches up. “Jessie, are you planning on letting Luke go to Virginia? When he hasn’t even been to Cleveland yet?”

At this reference to the geographical locations we used asteenage campers to describe sexual activity, she bursts out laughing. Paris was kissing (for obvious reasons); Cleveland was for touching boob, since it sounded kind of like cleavage; the Netherlands was anything in the underwear region; and Virginia was “all the way.” Back then, we didn’t know anyone who’d let a boy go to Uranus.

“No. I don’t know,” Jessie says. “I mean, nothing’s happened. But if it does…I guess I want to be prepared? I’ve been living in the forest for ten years, and he’s from, like, the most citified city in the world. I’m sure things have changed…out there…with regards to grooming. Down there.”

“Grooming down where?”

We both glance up to see that Zoey has somehow snuck up on us. She’s fresh from the lake, her dark hair in a wet braid, her dimples winking. “Ooh, wine! What are we talking about?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Jessie says brightly. Her cheeks are pink. “We’re talking about nothing.”

“Jessie wants to know about pubic hair styles with the youths,” I say pointedly, passing Zoey the bottle of wine, since I only brought two cups.

“Girl talk. Yay!” She plops down beside me and takes a swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Well, you know, it’s really whatever you want to do with it. Some girls put a little gel in it, bring out the natural waves.”

Jessie’s eyes bulge.

“I hear they’re doing middle parts nowadays,” I say, barely holding in a laugh.

---