Page 8 of Lovebug
I look down and see it’s speckled with cream and a tiny bit of blood from my toof. I mean, my tooth.
“Mabel. Baby,” he says, looking and sounding more earnest than I’ve ever seen him before. “Will you marry me?”
Everyone holds their breath, waiting for my answer.
I look into his eyes for a long moment. Probably too long, I’m guessing.
And then, I say the words I’ve always known I would say, from the time we were seventeen years old, holding hands and totally in sync while circling the roller-skating rink.
“Yeth, Bert. I will mawwy you.”
“You will?” he asks with a bright smile.
“Of courthe, I will. Yeth.”
Chapter Two
“Whoa! Blingedy bling bling bling! Did a massive iceberg crap on your finger, or did you just become a wifey-to-be?”
I knew I should have taken off the ring before coming to work.
It’s our final counselor training day at Bucks County Arboretum and Nature Conservancy. Did I mention I’m chief of staff this year? Wait. That’s not right. That sounded presidential. Head of staff? Wrangler of counselors? Head counselor! Yes, that’s my title. I am head counselor. Sorry. My brain is still foggy from the laughing gas I was treated to during my impromptu dental procedure this morning to fix my cracked tooth from last night. That and the fact that I was late to work this morning—I’m never late—has me feeling all out of whack.
It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that I got engaged last night, and I’m not quite sure how to feel about that. Nope, nothing to do with that at all.
One of my CITs—aka counselors-in-training—has just spotted my “bling,” and it’s more than a little embarrassing. I don’t do so well with lots of attention on me.
“It’s no big deal, April,” I say all easy-breezy-like. “I’m just taking the next step in my personal andprivaterelationship, a relationship I will not be discussing with minors.” There. That should do it.
“There’s nothing minor about me, baby!” Dante shouts while doing some questionable pelvic pumpsinto the air.
These people are fifteen- and sixteen-year-old children whose confidence and awareness are running circles around mine.
“Alright, alright, everybody! Please put your pelvises away. Let’s gather around the picnic table so we can get started.”
Four teenagers assemble around me with varying degrees of readiness on their faces. I decide to dive right in.
“First of all, I want to apologize for starting a bit late today. Punctuality is super important, and I should absolutely be modeling that for you. I had a dental emergency I had to take care of, but all is well now.”
“Are you sure all is well?” Chloe asks. “Because the left side of your face doesn’t seem to be moving when you speak.”
“True, Chloe, true. I appreciate your attention to detail! That’s going to serve you really well when working with the children this summer. See, my dentist had to administer some Novocain to deal with a cracked tooth, and it hasn’t quite worn off yet.”
“Redheads are more sensitive to pain,” Chloe says. Sidling up next to me, she gently strokes the end of her own red tresses secured into a side braid. “They often need more anesthesia for dental and medical procedures. Maybe your dentist knew that and administered a bit too much.” She holds her braid up to my red ponytail. “We have a really similar shade, don’t you think?”
“Is that true?” I wonder out loud.
“I think so!” Chloe smiles and smooshes our strands together. “Look, we could braid our hair together, and no one would know whose hair was which.”
Chloe is brand new to camp this summer. She’s a bit younger than the other CITs. Fifteen instead of sixteen. But she has a real maturity to her. She was one of the few who applied for the job without her parents present. She’s one of those rare teenagers super curious about other people and not hyper-focused on herself. She also rivals me in bug knowledge, which isn’t easy to do.
“Ha, yeah, you’re right!” I smile at her and gently guide my hair away from hers. “But I meant is it true that redheads feel more pain?”
“Oh, totally true,” Chloe says excitedly. “It’s because the gene mutation that causes red hair is on the same gene linked to pain receptors.”
“Interesting,” I say.
“So basically, the dentist gave Mabel too many drugs, and she’s high right now?” April says. “Are you high right now? Dante, I think she’s high right now.”
